Senseless

by CSIGurlie07

Adaptation is key to survival. But what happens when survival rests on one's senses, and suddenly one sense is ripped away?

2. Sight

A/N: Wow... longest chapter to date. I'm exhausted and going to bed now... Please review if you can...I think I've earned it after this, yes?

ENJOY!!!

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Gibbs stood stiffly in his tuxedo, his back ramrod straight as he waited for the rest of the team to arrive. He hated the fact he had been the first to arrive, but did not have long to dwell on his displeasure before the familiar chime of medal on medal announced Ducky's approach. Gibbs turned to face his old friend, a casual glance taking stock of the ribbons on the Scotsman's chest with a critical eye. The old Gunnery Sergeant in him approved of their careful placement—he had expected nothing less of the medical examiner. He nodded mutely.

"Thank you for your approval, Jethro," Ducky commented knowingly. Gibbs grinned—the good doctor knew him a little too well. "This promises to be a rather lavish party," Ducky continued, glancing around at the richly decorated banquet hall. Gibbs grunted noncommittally.

The multiple memos and email announcements had indeed promised an extravagant evening, but Gibbs couldn't have cared less. He was here due to no less than an explicit mandate handed down by Director Vance himself. As the leader of a Major Case Response Team with the highest solve rate in the agency, it had been critical for Gibbs and his team to make an appearance and rub elbows with the biggest brass in Washington. The affair was guaranteed to be a smorgasbord of federal security organizations, in the spirit of promoting interagency cooperation. But as with all formal or official events, Gibbs would have preferred to be anywhere else.

"Where is your better half this evening?" The medical examiner inquired. Much to his chagrin, Gibbs was unable to do more than shrug in response.

"She's with Abby," he said. "Abs called a half hour ago and said they were gonna be a little late." He paused. "Apparently they had some kind of delay." To be perfectly honest, he was reluctant to investigate the nature of the 'delay'.

As soon as Abby had heard about the mandatory attendance of Team Gibbs, the forensic scientist had immediately jumped at the chance to dress Ziva up for the occasion. The Israeli had tried to protest, but Abby could not be dissuaded. By the end of that week, Ziva had ceded control to Abby.

Gibbs knew that Ziva had not wanted to come to the ball either, perhaps even more vehemently than he. He didn't blame her—after all, she would be surrounded by dozens of her former colleagues the entire evening, as well as even more federal employees who had heard through the Beltway grapevine about the events that had taken place six months ago. Even now, the anger and guilt over the botched mission burned in Gibbs' gut. He could only imagine what Ziva was still feeling.

He could clearly recall the joint operation that had gone south in a matter of minutes, being on the other end of the mic to hear the sounds of a wordless struggle and shouts of warning from Tony and McGee. He remembered storming into the abandoned building only to find six men standing over Ziva's crumpled form, the largest of them wielding a bloodied 2x4 in a meaty paw, while another four were busy pinning down McGee and Dinozzo with small arms fire as the two agents took cover behind a conveniently placed pile of abandoned furniture. He recalled the coppery scent of blood as he rushed to Ziva's aid, taking in the sight of the growing pool of blood dripping from the back of her head.

And then there were the memories of gently lifting her hair with one hand as he searched for a pulse with the other—of seeing the splinter of wood that had lodged itself in the back of her skull, just below the base of her ponytail. He remembered finding a faint pulse, against all odds, and calling frantically for an ambulance. Waiting for hours in the hospital waiting room with the rest of the team as the doctors operated. The sinking of his gut as the doctors relayed their prognosis.

A fractured skull. Multiple blunt force traumas. Irreparable damage to the occipital lobe, the visual processing center of the brain.

Permanent blindness.

And then, before Gibbs even had a chance to go back to visit her, Fornell had informed him that her actions had saved the lives of multiple FBI agents, even as the same actions endangered her own. By dawn the next day the story was all over the Beltway, the biggest news since Caitlin Todd's murder six years ago.

The sound of Ducky offering a word of greeting alerted Gibbs to the arrival of Fornell in the flesh, the FBI agent's slumped shoulders looking dapper in a crisp tux, his expression every inch as miserable as Gibbs felt. The two team leaders exchanged nods of acknowledgement as the FBI agent came to stop beside them, his hands jammed unceremoniously in his pockets. By this time the hall was becoming crowded, and for a moment they watched the guests began to mingle.

"I see you got roped into this too," Fornell commented dourly. Gibbs hummed an affirmation. "Where's your better half?" Ducky chuckled as Gibbs rolled his eyes before shooting a pointed look at Fornell, his eyebrow arched speculatively. Fornell blinked. "What?" Gibbs gave a wry grin.

"On the way—"

"Gibbs!!"

The excited cry from behind them prompted all three men to turn to watch Abby scurrying towards them. She was alone, Gibbs' quick scan of the room yielding no sight of Ziva. Concern flooded him, but he stamped it down as he stepped forward to meet her. His hand came up to brush her upper arm with warm familiarity as he leaned in close.

"Where is she?" he asked in a low voice. Abby looked at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, she's with McGee," she responded animatedly. "There was a line for the valet and she decided to come in with him."

"Is she okay?" Abby's dark brow furrowed as she registered Gibbs' concerned tone.

"Mmm, yeah, about that," she said, wringing her hands worriedly. "That's why I came in early." When she noticed the worry in Gibbs' eyes, she scrambled to reassure him. "Oh, no! Physically she's fine. Better than fine, even. I mean, she tried to threaten McGee with bodily harm into driving her back home. It's actually a good thing I was there, because McGee was really close to caving, but don't worry, they're here, I promise—"

"Abs…"

"Oh, right," she said, getting back on track. "The thing is, she's really really nervous about being here. And I mean really nervous." Abby looked him in the eye, conveying to him the seriousness of the situation. "I think not being able to see what she looks like tonight is really freaking her out." She paused. "Well, that, and the fact there's going to be over a hundred people here… I'm not really sure which one is bothering her more." She grimaced. "I'm using the word really a lot." Gibbs tilted his head at her, catching her eye once more. "Sorry," she apologized again.

"Don't apologize, Abs," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Thanks for letting me know." Now that his immediate concern had been assuaged, he was able to notice the scientist's attire.

She was clad in a black halter dress that sported a plunging neckline and a hemline that came down to her knees, displaying wide expanses of alabaster skin and long legs. Stripes of black beading followed the shape of the dress, matching the thin shimmering wrap that was draped over her arms. In place of her customary platform boots, a pair of strappy black stilettos with heels that were easily three inches adorned her slender feet.

"You look beautiful," Gibbs whispered in her ear as he led her to where Fornell and Ducky were waiting. She beamed.

"Aw, thank you, Gibbs!" she exclaimed. "You're so sweet!" Her beaming smile shifted to a grin. "But if you think I look nice, just wait until you see Ziva."

"Abigail," Ducky greeted as soon as the pair had returned, "you look stunning this evening."

"And you, Ducky," she replied, "look absolutely dashing." Gibbs saw a mischievous glint in her eye. "I especially like the medals." She peered at them for a moment before pointing at one in particular. "Especially that one."

"Really?" the doctor responded. "That medal is actually the least interesting of them all! You see, it is one earned simply by serving in a time of war, but by the time I had completed my training, the war had already ended! But if you look closely at the one next to it—"

"Does he always do that?" Fornell interrupted, looking at Gibbs in amiable condescension.

"Well, yeah, Tobias," the Marine responded. "You should know that by now."

"Sorry, it's difficult keeping up with all of your team's neuroses…" Gibbs pegged him with a hard stare, but the FBI agent failed to notice as his attention was captured by something over Gibbs' shoulder.

"Oh, my," he heard Ducky exclaim in a soft voice. A quick glance told Gibbs the older man's gaze was similarly occupied. It was then that his keen ears detected the slight reduction in chatter from the crowded room. It wasn't overly noticeable, but enough to spark Gibbs' curiosity. He turned to follow the two men's gaze, only to feel the breath leave his body as his eyes quickly found the focus of their stares.

Looking to the grand staircase he himself had descended upon his arrival earlier that evening, Gibbs' keen blue eyes were immediately drawn to the slim figure poised on the top step. McGee stood next Ziva, her arm draped elegantly through his as he escorted her into the hall. Her free hand reached out to brush against the marble handrail that lined the staircase. To the unwitting eye, her posture was natural, but Gibbs knew that she was subtly establishing a frame of reference, using her sense of touch to acquaint herself with her surroundings.

After a moment, McGee guided her to the edge of the first stair. Gibbs watched the younger agent murmur something to her, and he knew from experience that the novelist was telling her the depth of the step in front of them. Her first step down was still hesitant, but McGee was patient, and by the third step her movements were more natural.

As she slowly descended the staircase, Gibbs was presented with an unhindered view of the Israeli. Her floor-length dress was made of red satin, simple with wide straps that were partially hidden by the long dark curls that had been left to fall softly against her shoulders. Her neckline was modest compared to Abby's, drawing to an end mid-sternum, but the line of small rhinestones at its point tastefully flattered her natural figure. The fabric of the dress was gathered back across her torso, but then hung naturally from the waist down, further accentuating the fluid lines of her hour-glass shape.

A number of thin gold bangles adorned Ziva's left wrist, brushing against marble as her fingers trailed lightly along the smooth surface of the rail as she descended. Gibbs was able to catch glimpses of delicate silver heels each time she took a step down, but the length of the skirt kept Gibbs from getting a closer look. Finally drawing his gaze back to her face, Gibbs found himself unable to look away.

Where Abby's make-up had been dark and dramatic, the scientist had been much more conservative with Ziva. Her golden complexion needed little help to glow in the warm lighting of the hall. The rich but seemingly natural color of her lips drew attention away from her eyes, which sported only the barest of black liner. Gibbs gave kudos to Abby for the trick… the last thing Ziva would have wanted was a heavy, smokey eye color, which would have only drawn even more attention to the Israeli's unnerving gaze.

Because her lack of sight was due to a brain injury, her brown eyes had remained clear and uncloudy. But they no longer focused, instead remaining lax, regardless of where a sound may draw her gaze. During the summer months, she wore sunglasses when outdoors, which had been a small mercy in her first few months of learning to adapt, but refused to wear them when indoors. Gibbs approved of her personal rule, feeling absolutely no qualms about her unresponsive orbs. He still loved looking into her eyes; he had found that, despite her being unable to see, they continued to serve as windows into her soul.

"Told you!" came a sultry voice in Gibbs' ear. A quick glance to his left revealed a very smug Abby. She looked at him expectantly. "What? Did you think I was going to let her come here looking anything less than stunning? That right there is a masterpiece, my friend." She grinned. "Now go get her before somebody else swoops in."

Gibbs obeyed without a word, his focus once again on the beauty coming towards him. As he went, Ducky stepped forward to take his place next the forensic scientist.

"You outdone yourself tonight, Abigail," the elder man commented. "Our friend looks absolutely ravishing."

"Yeah," Abby agreed, wistfully gazing after her silver-haired fox. "She deserves it."

"Yes," Ducky said. "I do believe she does."

*****

Gibbs strode forward with purpose as he navigated the crowded hall, intent on joining his beautiful date. He reached the base of the staircase just before they did; with a small grin, McGee brought Ziva to a stop a few steps from the bottom. The younger man leaned in close to her ear, whispering softly. Gibbs grinned when he saw her cheeks flush as she dipped her head bashfully.

"Ziva," he said warmly in way of greeting. He knew the dull roar of a banquet hall full of chattering men and women would have made it impossible for her to hear his approach; hearing his voice alerted her to his location, and her head lifted imperceptibly as she regained some of her confidence.

McGee relinquished his hold on the Israeli when Gibbs offered her his arm, and guided her hand to where the Marine's waited patiently. The young agent's touch was gentle and polite, but also protective as his freed hand came up to rest against the middle of her back to reassure her of his continued presence until her fingers met Gibbs'.

When her fingers recognized the calluses of Gibbs' rough palm she smiled, whispering a soft thank-you to her escort. With a nod to Gibbs, McGee took his leave, moving to join Abby, his own date for the evening. Gibbs returned the nod before focusing once more on Ziva, taking in her uncharacteristically nervous expression. With a gentle pull he guided her down the final two steps until she had joined him, their bodies inches from one another.

"Jethro." Her smooth, lilting voice cut through the din, capturing his attention. A wry smirk curled her lips. "You look handsome." Gibbs grinned at her attempt to break past her insecurities, running his hand up her bare arm as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"And you are stunning." Her hand tightened around his in silent appreciation before her expression became serious.

"How many?" she asked. This was familiar practice—since her injury she had been rendered unable to take stock of her surroundings as she was accustomed to. Now, instead of visually sweeping the rooms she entered, Gibbs gave her a verbal report. Occupants, exits, stairs, and prominent features were all factored in, not only for safety but for her to help navigate the room should she need to do so herself.

"Over a hundred people so far," Gibbs replied casually, beginning to lead her to where the others were waiting. A gentle hand in the small of her back acting as the only guidance she needed. "Three exits to your right spaced thirty feet from each other, two directly ahead and one in left corner behind us. Wall to the left is all sheet glass. Stage set up behind us about waist high and six feet from the door. Food table is along the windows, with a bar twenty yards ahead. About thirty tables between us and the bar."

"How many chairs are at each table?"

"Eight." Gibbs knew she was silently mapping out the room in her mind. It wasn't precise, but it would be enough for her to have some idea of where she was. "No pattern to their spacing." His brow furrowed as he noticed how incongruous the tables now seemed. He would have thought it would be more aesthetically pleasing if they had bothered to make the room symmetrical—but then he realized most of the crowd wouldn't even notice. Hell, he hadn't even noticed until just now.

"I suppose you are thinking I should have brought the tappy stick, yes?" Gibbs grinned at her name for the white cane her doctors had issued her—but rarely ever used. Though she initially investigated its potential use as a weapon, she had eventually deemed it useless. The continuous tapping that would be necessary to utilize it properly had gotten on her nerves, and so she had thrown it into her hall closet and had rarely pulled it out again since. And if Gibbs were totally honest, she didn't need it.

The weeks following her release from the hospital had been difficult. Ziva had been bitter and angry, frustrated at her sudden handicap. She'd had incessant migraines as a result from the head trauma she had sustained, which only added to her agitation. Gibbs had taken an extended leave from work so that he could stay with her as she adjusted to her new life, a decision she had only resented. She'd been sullen, and curt when she did deign to speak to him. She'd hated having to rely on others to function on a daily basis, and had only grown more disheartened each time she bumped into a chair, wall, or table; each time she tripped, or couldn't find something she needed, she would withdraw. Gibbs had been stuck between a rock and a hard place—she would either begrudge his help when he attempted to make life easier for him, or he would be forced to watch her struggle through tasks that were once second nature.

One day three weeks after her return home, Gibbs had been called to the Navy Yard to clear up a problem that had been found with some paperwork from a past case. It had only taken a few hours, but by the time he started his return drive, his mind could focus on nothing but his concern for the woman waiting for him in Silver Springs. He had made sure Ziva had tucked her cell phone into her pocket before he left, as his number had been programmed into the speed dial, but he could think of a thousand and one ways something could have happened and she had been unable call him.

But he had been surprised to rush back to the apartment only to find her pacing the apartment, over and over. She would stop periodically, then continue on her way. She had barely stopped to acknowledge his return, absorbed in her task. It wasn't until later that evening that he had discovered she had been counting, her steps creating a map in her mind that she could refer to when moving about. She counted again and again, to each and every piece of furniture in the place, from every conceivable direction. Gibbs understood the concept in a vague sense, but to this day still remained intrigued as to her process. But whatever she had done, it worked—by the end of the week she was maneuvering around her apartment as easily as she had before the botched op.

But both of them still had to adjust; furniture had to remain in exactly the same spot, as well as the appliances and items she used on a daily basis. If something was used, it was put back in the exact same spot, so that Ziva could locate it the next time it was needed. Most of the cooking fell to Gibbs, as she had yet to find a way to measure ingredients, particularly liquids, without her sight. He had been nervous about letting her use the stove or sharp knives, worried that she would unwittingly harm herself, but as time went on, his over-protectiveness eased, and she regained even more of her independence.

With her rediscovered independence came a greater ability to accept help, especially when journeying out of her apartment. Gibbs was always with her, guiding her and giving reassurances. Initially the loud chaos of the world around her had confused and disoriented her, but as time passed she was able to identify the sounds and smells that assaulted her remaining senses. Their daily walks through the neighborhood became less about reconnaissance and more about simply enjoying the warm sun and fresh air.

By the time Gibbs finally returned to NCIS, he was confident that Ziva would all right on her own. Not only could she navigate her apartment like a pro, she was also familiar with the streets near it. She was able to go down the street to the privately owned market she used to frequent, and was able to cross the busy streets safely, even without the use of the white cane she was currently referring to.

Gibbs grinned.

"Naw," he said smugly. "I was thinking that I now have legitimate excuse to be at your side all night." His revelation was rewarded with a warm laugh from the slender woman at his side.

"We share a bed, Jethro," she pointed out, her smile audible. "I think that is perfectly legitimate excuse to be my escort this evening, yes?" Gibbs chuckled his agreement. "Have you seen Abby yet?" Ziva asked. Her head tilted slightly towards him, but her unseeing gaze did not quite find him.

"Mhmm," he responded. "Told us you were helping McGee park the car." He felt no need to relay the scientist's concerns about Ziva's insecurities.

"How does she look?" Her voice was curious. "I tried to ask her as she was helping me get ready, but she refused to talk about herself."

"She looks beautiful," he replied honestly. "Black dress, kind of sparkly. Wearing spiked heels I would not want to be on the business end of, and McGee is having difficulty keeping his eyes to himself." He glanced down at Ziva, only to see her trying to hide a broad grin. "What?"

"You said sparkly," she said, nearly choking on a laugh that threatened to spill out. Gibbs rolled his eyes as a smirk tickled his own lips.

"Yeah, well how else would you describe it?" His fingers casually tapped a gentle tattoo against the skin of her back. "I had an eight year daughter," he reminded her. "I know sparkly."

"Ah, yes," she responded warmly, her broad smile now unhindered. Gibbs' first family was no longer a sigma between them; Ziva had accepted them as part of their life together, just as Gibbs had accepted Ari as a pivotal figure in Ziva's childhood, a separate entity from the man the Marine had battled with.

"Sparkly is not usually something you associate with Abby," Ziva continued. She paused. "I can imagine it, though." She nodded. "Actually, black sparkles would suit Abby quite well."

Before Gibbs had a chance to respond, they met with the rest of their friends.

"Ziva, my dear, so glad you joined us," Ducky said. He gingerly took her hand, brushing his fingers along her forearm, alerting her to his location. He stepped forward to greet her, and slender, sensitive fingers tickled his jaw as she leaned in to receive the polite peck he bestowed on her cheek.

"It should not come as a surprise, Ducky," she replied with a smile. "You know of the Director's orders. Apparently I am subjected to the same trials as Gibbs, regardless of my special agent status." In the months that had followed Ziva's injury, she had heard nothing about her employment status, but as she knew she would be unable to be useful as a Special Agent without being able to use her firearm, she had assumed that her badge had been revoked.

"Well, it wouldn't have been the same without you," the medical examiner informed her. Gibbs watched her lips purse as she recognized the blatant flattery, but she did not question its honesty.

"Certainly made this blowout more interesting."

Ziva's head turned towards the newest voice, brows raised.

"Special Agent Fornell," she said, her tone one of surprise. The corner of her mouth lifted minutely. "You were also coerced into attending?"

"You think NCIS is the only agency with a pain-in-the-ass Director?" the coarse FBI agent scoffed.

"That question had better be rhetorical," came a deep voice from behind Abby and McGee, to Gibbs' and Ziva's right. Gibbs felt Ziva tense slightly. Her spine straightened imperceptibly as her shoulders squared, her head turning towards the newest arrival.

"Director," she acknowledged respectfully. Gibbs nodded in Vance's direction, only to be returned with pointed stare.

"Agent David," Vance greeted, "a pleasure. It's been a long time." The director said nothing else, but also made no move to leave. His gaze never left Gibbs'. Ziva sensed the standoff, and her blind stare flicked towards Gibbs' general direction.

"You need something, Leon?" Gibbs' tone was less than respectful, and he usually avoided first names when they were anywhere but the Director's office, but Vance's expression irked him.

"Just wanted to be sure you were aware that your presence is expected for the entire function," the Director supplied. "Your typical perfunctory visit is not going to cut it." Gibbs rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. "As long as we're clear." He gave a brief nod to the rest of the group. "Enjoy your evening." And then he was moving on, quickly finding some unidentifiable bureaucratic to converse with.

"That seems unlikely," Ziva murmured to Gibbs. He looked at her.

"How did you know he was outta earshot?" he asked. She smirked at him.

"I am already blind, Jethro. What was he going to do if he did hear me?" Gibbs grinned, but his response was preempted by Tony's entrance.

"Aw, man! That was going to my excuse!"

"Tony!" Abby exclaimed happily, throwing her arms around the senior field agent's neck. Tony returned the embrace heartily.

"Hey, Abs," he said. The Goth released him, and he took the opportunity to reach a hand out to McGee. "Tim," he offered, his tone uncharacteristically polite. McGee hesitated, thrown by the change in behavior, but then accepted the handshake.

"Tony," the younger man greeted as a tall brunette came up to the group, her slender hand reaching up to palm Tony's designer-clad shoulder.

"Ah, hey," Tony said, his expression brightening as he turned to wrap an arm around the girl's waist. He presented her to the rest of the group. "You guys know my date…" A chorus of responses followed.

"Oh, yeah, sure…"

"Of course we do!"

"Ah, yes, I do believe we've already met…"

Gibbs saw Ziva's brow furrow slightly in consternation, as Tony had yet to provide a name, but before the Marine had a chance to help her out, the date herself spoke up.

"It's so good to see you again, Ziva!" the brunette gushed. "Your dress is stunning!" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You look really nice tonight," she added.

Ziva's eyes narrowed at the naggingly familiar voice. She was aware that she knew the voice's owner, but she could not place her. Her mind raced through her memories from before her vision had darkened, running through the many possibilities of who it could be. Gibbs was at a loss to lend her aid, as he himself did not recognize the woman, but a moment later, Ziva's eyes widened with recognition.

"Hannah?"

"You remember me!" Hannah exclaimed happily, a wide smile brightening her features. Ziva's brow furrowed, but an amused smirk remained firmly planted on her lips.

"You are Tony's date?" Her tone was dripping with mirthful skepticism.

"I know, crazy, right?" Hannah responded animatedly. "I was going to turn him down, but there was a rumor that the Major Case Response Team were all going to be attending, so I accepted." The girl's green eyes softened bashfully. "Now I'm really glad I did come," she added, her eyes passing over Ziva's frame appreciatively, an act not missed by Gibbs.

He suddenly began to chuckle—he now remembered where he knew Hannah's name from. He had overheard one of Tony and Ziva's conversations, where Tony had been attempting to prove his prowess with women, only to be shut down by Ziva's superior observational skills. It had been the morning McGee had gotten trapped in the women's prison, if he was not mistaken.

His laugh was soundless, and barely perceptible, but Ziva felt them, thanks to their close proximity. Her hand subtly drifted between them, only suddenly lash out and catch the sensitive skin of his buttock in a sharp pinch. He merely grinned in response, which Ziva also seemed to sense.

"Behave," she muttered, keeping a polite smile on her lips as Tony took charge of the situation once more, pulling his date towards the bar for something to drink. Gibbs leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Come on," he said softly, "it's not every day I get to see you hit on… by a girl."

This time, the offending hand swatted his thigh.

"Enough, Jethro." But her tone was mirthful; she was just as amused as he was. Just then, Ziva's brow crinkled. "Why is everyone coming in this direction?" she asked.

Gibbs looked around, his sharp gaze surveying the crowd. Indeed, many of the guests were heading their way. He looked at his watch.

"Dinner's about to be served," he answered.

"Quite so," Ducky agreed. "We should go find our seats. I believe we are table 13."

"I love that number!" Abby remarked as the group began to drift towards their table. Ziva's hand brushed against the chairs they passed, silently counting. "It's the best number out there! I don't know why it's been stigmatized as an unlucky number. I mean, I was born on a thirteen! So, obviously, it has to be a lucky number…"

****

After the meal had been served, the guests began to mingle once more. Another visit from the Director had prompted Gibbs to make the rounds, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with those he had worked with in the past. Ziva had declined to join him as he did so, instead preferring to remain with Ducky at their table.

By this time, the live music on the stage had shifted from soft, soothing strains to a more upbeat tempo that Abby and McGee had taken advantage of, joining the other couples who had begun to dance in the center of the music hall. Soon after their departure, Tony and Hannah had followed, the senior agent dusting off his dancing skills to impress the young brunette. Fornell also took his leave, moving to speak with some of his fellow agents, leaving Ducky and Ziva alone at the table.

Neither friend minded, and were soon conversing easily with one another. After a while, at Ziva's hesitant request, Ducky began to describe the hall in great detail. His natural verbosity came in handy and he was able to relate the dinner, the guests, and the decorations, all with great interest. The two friends sat close to one another so that the medical examiner did not have to shout to be heard, and his wizened hand soon came to cover hers as it rested on her silk-clad thigh. The touch was warm and intimate, but not at all lewd or suggestive. Ziva found herself relaxing slightly, taking comfort from the familiar contact. She was able to lose herself in the older man's words, absorbed by the picture he was so skillfully painting in her mind.

The sensation of a warm presence taking up residence in the chair next to hers—Gibbs'—pulled her out of her thoughts. She tensed slightly, realizing it was unlikely it was one of her teammates, as they knew she preferred them to announce their presence by saying something as they approached, or, if that failed, a light touch. This unidentified brush of air did none of that.

"Special Agent David," a male voice said, "it's an honor to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

Ziva suddenly got a whiff of strong cologne and cigarette smoke, and deduced that the man was extending his hand for an introductory shake. Instead of blindly searching for the hand being offered, her hands remained motionless as responded.

"And you are?" she asked, her voice aloof. He did not seem to expect such a reaction, as she heard his breath stutter the slightest bit.

"Special Agent Danny Fuller," the presence responded, "Federal Bureau of Investigation. At your service."

"And which is at my service?" Ziva asked, bristling slightly. "The agent or the bureau?" She paused. "It does not really matter; I have no need for either." She felt Ducky's hand shift, gripping hers in reassurance. A slight squeeze in return told him she could handle the stranger.

"Then I guess it's a good thing it's neither," Fuller replied. "I'm just man, hoping to share a conversation with a beautiful woman."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Actually, I've found the opposite is more often true." The agent shifted closer. "Did anyone ever tell you that it's rude to ignore a handshake when it's offered?" Ziva rolled her eyes as she bit back a scoff, and began to turn back to Ducky, losing what little interest the stranger had held. She was familiar with his type— he thought calling out one's flaws in so direct a manner would be found by their owner refreshing, and sets him apart from the pack. Ziva had no tolerance for his tactics. "And, do I have something in my teeth? You haven't even looked at me for more than a second since I sat down."

Ziva's expression hardened at the man's words—he was worse even than Tony. Where her partner was charming, though a tad chauvinistic, this man was self-absorbed and possessed an over-inflated ego. He thought himself a smooth-talking ladies' man, but was in fact nothing more than a slimeball.

"You obviously have not heard as much about me as you claim, Agent Fuller," she with a sharp voice, "as the first thing people usually gossip about these days is the fact that I am six months blind. Which means that if I looked at you at all in the time you have been here it was purely on accident and without my knowledge. And it also excuses me from having to shake hands with people I do not know." Ziva felt Ducky lift his brandy glass to his lips, and knew he was hiding his smile.

"Oh," Fuller said, not missing a beat. "Wow. I didn't even notice. I apologize." He reached out and took her free hand. "I was just so taken by your beauty, I was simply… swept away." Ziva resisted the urge to head-slap herself. Of course he had already known her handicap—he'd said what he did to get a rise out of her, and she had played right into it. "Agent David, would you give me the honor of a dance?"

"No," came her curt reply, pulling her hand from his grasp as she turned back to face Ducky's direction. Fuller simply scooted his chair closer to hers.

"Why not?" he inquired, obviously trying to hook her back into conversation.

"No." She repeated, beginning to lose her patience. When the man made no move to leave, she stood, intent on putting some physical distance between herself and him. "Excuse me, Ducky," she said politely. She carefully slipped between their two chairs, but was intercepted on the other side by Agent Fuller, who gripped her arm with a firm grip.

"Just one dance," the agent implored.

"I said I was not interested, Special Agent Fuller," she said, her tone becoming razor-sharp. His proximity was nauseating; Ziva made a mental note to make certain Gibbs never took up smoking in the future.

"How badly would just one dance hurt?"

"It would hurt you much more than it would me," she replied. "How badly would a hand full of broken fingers hurt?" She clenched her fists in an attempt to resist lashing out at the man. "You will find out for yourself if you do not remove your hand from my arm."

"That's no way to treat someone who's trying to do you a favor," Fuller said, not heeding her warning. Ziva froze—favor? She felt indignant fury flare within her as she realized what Fuller was doing. He thought that she was sitting alone with an old man because everyone else was avoiding her, was too put off by her blindness to spend too much time around her. Her anger was two-fold; he was assuming her blindness stigmatized her, and also insinuating that her friends, her family, were actually that shallow.

Ziva was moments from breaking Fuller's nose when a warm familiar hand grasped her free arm, keeping it fixed by her side as he injected himself into the altercation.

"Ziva, would you care to join me for a drink?" Tony asked, his tone deceptively civil. Ziva could hear the undercurrent of content in her partner's voice, but knew it was not directed at her. He shifted closer to her, simultaneously offering his support and protection.

"I was here first, buddy," Fuller snarled, but was nearly cut off by Tony's quick reply.

"And the lady said she wasn't interested." There was a momentary battle of wills that made the air around Ziva sizzle. Finally, Fuller's offending hand released its hold on her arm. "Now get lost," the NCIS agent ordered.

The brusqueness of Tony's voice did not translate into his interaction with her as he gently guided her through the maze of tables over to the bar.

"I can take care of myself, Tony," she said, trying to be angry with him for his interference, but finding her ire was bleeding away at his respectful touch.

"Yeah, I know," he conceded impishly, "but I figured a bloodbath would definitely ruin the mood of the party, not to mention irk the Toothpick to no end, so I decided to step in. Put some of my effervescent charm and good looks to some use tonight." Ziva found herself smiling involuntarily.

"Your hot date not working out so well?" she needled gently. "I told you she was not smiling at you that day."

"Laugh it up, David," Tony returned good-naturedly. "Hannah does seem a little too content to talk about you all night… Not that I have any problem talking about you, when you are the one talking about you. Especially when you are talking about what you like in bed…" A Cheshire grin grew on his lips as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You do realize now that when I talk about what I do in bed, I am also talking about what Gibbs does in bed, yes?"

Their secret had come out while Ziva was in the hospital, and Gibbs let slip to the nurses caring for her that they were dating. The team had overheard, but the circumstances had erased any misgivings they might have felt about being left out of the loop. Their relationship was now common knowledge, though it appeared Tony had momentarily forgotten, as Ziva heard him pause and felt the full-body twitch that ran under her fingers.

"Oh God," Tony said finally. "Oh man, that just… bad mental image. I need to wash my mind out with lye and an SOS pad." Ziva laughed lightly at his reaction.

"You know, I think I could talk Jethro into trying something new," she said slyly. She lowered her voice to a seductive pitch. "Do you know if Hannah will be free later on tonight?"

"What? Of course..." His innocent voice trailed off before he could assure her that Hannah would most certainly not be available. Ziva could almost hear the wheels in his mind working overtime. "Wait, you're interested in Hannah? You just—" He cut himself off again, this time making the connection as his tone turned to one of horrific shock. "Ziva! Don't say stuff like that! It's ludic— It's just plain—" Tony once again trailed off, and Ziva knew he was picturing it in his head.

"Actually," her partner mused, "the boss could probably hold his own. All right," he conceded, "we'll ask her before we leave. But only if you tell me all the good girl-on-girl stuff."

Ziva laughed heartily, her agitation from her interaction with Fuller vanishing. Her time away from the Navy Yard had allowed her to forget just how smooth a talker her partner was. The Italian was definitely on a much higher level than Fuller.

They reached the bar without any further incident, though Tony had had to glare away a few guys who had let their eyes linger too long. The senior field agent had been slightly disappointed to discover that his partner had been sleeping with the boss, and for several reasons. Ziva had not trusted him enough to share her secret, Gibbs had broken his own rule twelve, and to be honest, he had always hoped he would one day have a chance with the beautiful Israeli. But when he had seen Gibbs interact with her with tender patience and care, the hurt had bled away. Now, he played guard dog not only to help out Gibbs, but also out of respect for his partner and best friend.

"What're you drinking," he asked as Ziva reached out to brush her fingers along the polished counter of the bar.

"Ginger ale," she replied. Her nose picked up the scent of a familiar perfume as the person next to Tony shifted.

"Really?" Hannah asked, nursing a glass of white wine herself. "You don't seem like the kind of person who avoids alcohol."

"I am tonight," Ziva said. "I am the designated driver." A silent moment passed before Hannah started giggling as she recognized the joke. Ziva resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn't that funny… of course she was not the designated driver. She simply no longer enjoyed the way alcohol affected her remaining senses. Without her sight, the slightest buzz from a beer or a glass of wine made her feel like she was trying to walk through water. It was disorienting and nauseating, and she had lost her taste for it.

"You are too funny!" Hannah remarked. "But you know, you probably have the right idea. Alcohol seems to cause more harm than good these days. Like in my senior year of college, my sorority took a trip down to Cabo…"

Ziva half-listened to the drunken, half-naked girls story, which she imagined had Tony drooling like an animal. Perhaps he was recalling his own notorious experiences. Ziva simply relaxed, listening to the room around her and cataloguing all of the things she noticed about the people in it. She heard the rasp of a life-long smoker at the far end of the bar, and a short distance away a woman was apparently having a hushed but heated argument about the way her husband was looking at… Oh.

Perhaps she should tell Abby to not pick out red dresses for her in the future.

*****

Back at the table, Fornell had rejoined Ducky, nursing a glass of bourbon as he scowled at the scene around him. Ducky was also observing the partygoers, but with a much lighter impression of the event. It was in crowds like this that he was able to practice his skills as a profiler, observing behavior and noticing subtle quirks that individualized each person from all others. He was so absorbed in his self-imposed task that he did not hear Gibbs approach from behind.

"Where's Ziva?" the Marine asked, startling the medical examiner from his thoughts. Ducky glanced up to find the stoic expression of his old friend looking down at him.

"Young Anthony escorted her to the bar," he responded amicably. "She was being hounded by another young man, an FBI Agent—"

"What?" Ducky was interrupted by the low exclamation of both of the men in his immediate proximity. Gibbs' expression had darkened, belying his fierce protectiveness of Ziva, while Fornell's expression bordered on surprise and anger.

"Yes, one Special Agent Andrew Fuller," Ducky clarified. "He offered himself a seat next to Ziva and proceeded to attempt buttering her up. Thought he was quite the showman, but Ziva was able to see right through his posturing." Ducky paused. "No pun intended, of course. The man was quite reluctant to heed her declination of his offer to dance, and was close to losing his fingers when Anthony stepped in."

Gibbs eyes narrowed, and Ducky knew he was seriously contemplating seeking out the hapless FBI agent to teach him a lesson after the fact. Fornell must have realized this too, as he quickly chimed in.

"Jethro, Fuller is just a cocky, wet-behind-the-ears rookie who hasn't had the pleasure of being cut down to size," Fornell said. "There's no need to kill him. He might actually prove to be decent in the field in a couple years." Gibbs glared at him, which Fornell met with an understanding gaze of his own. "I'll take care of it," he assured his friend.

After a long moment, Gibbs nodded with a muttered 'you'd better', before turning and making his way through the crowd to where Ziva was standing at the bar. Both men watched him go.

Ducky noticed Ziva's posture, her expression, and deduced that though she was not overly uncomfortable with her surroundings, she was not really enjoying herself either. Her body language was somewhat stiff, and her lax expression was neutral, an expression Ducky had learned to attribute to either thoughtfulness or analysis. The old Scotsman felt for the young woman, but was honest enough to realize that he knew very little about what she had been experiencing the past few months.

Ducky watched as Gibbs approached Ziva from behind, expecting the Marine to pause, or to see his lips move as he voiced his arrival. Instead, he was surprised when, while Gibbs was still in transit some six feet away, the Israeli's features creased into a smile, her posture relaxing in recognition. Her smile only grew as Gibbs slipped his hands casually onto her hips, only stopping his approach when his front was flush against her back.

Under Ducky's keen eyes, Ziva melted into his touch, leaning her back to rest against his shoulder as he leaned over her to order himself a drink. His arms wrapped around her in a hug, his hands remaining splayed on her abdomen. Her delicate hands covered his, gently keeping them in place. As Gibbs pulled his head back, he paused and whispered something through the curls shrouding Ziva's ears, his hushed words making her respond with a laugh. Gibbs displayed an unhindered grin of his own, his features crinkled with uncharacteristic delight.

They were instantly at ease with one another, the tension leaving both their frames upon sharing a touch, a whispered word. Though their relationship was, and had always been, unconventional, neither of them seemed to mind. They were two of the most jaded, wounded, isolated creatures Ducky had ever met, and yet they had found peace and solace in one another. Each knew sordid secrets of the other's past, and were aware that each still kept some hidden from the other, but both accepted that realization with an ease that astounded the medical examiner. He supposed birds of a feather would be an appropriate way to describe the unlikely duo, but even that barely seemed to skim the surface of what they shared.

It was now difficult to recall the friction that had existed between them when they had first met, when Ziva had been trying to protect her half-brother Ari. Anthony had once related to him that the beautiful Israeli had matched Gibbs fire for fire within minutes of being introduced, having slammed her hand onto Gibbs' desk with as much ferocity the Marine had often done. He wondered now what had changed between them during those short weeks as they hunted Caitlin's killer down. Why Gibbs had suddenly decided to trust her, despite the fact she was loyal Mossad operative who was also the handler of the man he was looking to kill.

It had also seemed incongruous for the Israeli to be the one to aid the return of Gibbs' memories. What actually transpired that night still remained a mystery to all but the two of them, but looking at them both now, it made perfect sense. They shared something: a bond that they themselves were barely able to comprehend, and the rest of the world could only hope to experience.

"He's one lucky son of a bitch," Fornell commented, his gruff voice unusually soft. Ducky did not need to ask of whom he was talking about. He took another moment to observe the happy couple. "He deserves it though," the FBI agent conceded.

"I do believe they both deserve it, Special Agent Fornell," Ducky told him. "They both deserve nothing less."

****

Back at the bar, Gibbs was tiring of the mindless chatter being exchanged between Tony and his date. He could tell Ziva was as well, as her fingers tapped idly against his hands. His eyes scanned the room briefly, but lingered on the couples who were moving to the beat of the music in the center of the hall. Gibbs pulled away, an idea quickly taking form in his mind as he gripped her hand as he slowly walked away from the bar. She turned at the loss of contact, but did not immediately follow his lead. Gibbs saw her brow furrow in silent question, and returned to her. She allowed him back into the buffer zone she usually maintained, and came so close that her nose brushed his chest. He ducked his head slightly to whisper in her ear.

"Come dance with me," Gibbs murmured softly. At this, Ziva drew back, her expression suddenly hurt and confused. Her unfocused eyes were worried, and Gibbs realized that he was walking a very thin line.

"What?" she asked, her voice breathless. She took a step back, and Gibbs saw her walls start to go up. "No…"

"Why not?" he asked huskily. "You love dancing, Ziver."

"Jethro." She could barely speak past the lump in her throat. "I can't—"

"Come with me," he said. He touched her cheek in a warm caress. When she didn't protest, Gibbs once again began to lead her towards the dance floor. He was met with a moment of resistance, but then she followed, reluctantly trailing behind him.

He cleared the way for her as he went, ensuring her steps were unhindered. They reached the dance floor just as the band finished their latest song. Gibbs slipped among the dancers as they milled about, and positioned himself in front of Ziva just as the band started the first strains of their next song. The music was soft and easy, light-hearted and smooth. One calloused hand cupped her slender hand while the other came to rest in the middle of her back. He stepped in close, but he could feel the barriers she had put up.

Her movements were stiff, a far cry from her usual graceful self. Her sightless eyes were darting about nervously, her jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Gibbs knew this was a risk, but one he would not back away from. He began to move with the music, guiding Ziva along with him as he took small, simple steps across the dance floor. She was clearly reluctant, her steps faltering as she struggled to move past her inhibitions. It was a matter of moments before she tread on his toes.

She murmured an apology, only to have Gibbs whisper a reassurance in return. A few moments later and the instance repeated itself. With each stumble her confidence waned, which only further made her missteps more frequent. But it wasn't until she tripped over her own feet and was saved from a vicious fall only by Gibbs' strong arms that she slowed to a stop.

Gibbs stood stationary with her among the other couples, patient and calm as she stood silently, her head bowed.

"Why are you doing this?"

Her voice was small and fragile, but cut through the murmur of the crowd around them. Her arms fell to her sides, but Gibbs refused to relinquish his grip on her hand. He gazed down at her, taking in her shoulders, slumped in defeat, and the shame she was unable to completely mask. He brushed a thumb over her cheek.

"Because I know you can," he told her.

Not only that, it was true what he had said before—she loved to dance. It was a passion she had hidden from the rest of the team, not because she didn't trust them, but because it had been the one thing in her life she had kept for herself. Everything else she had done had been for her father, for Mossad, for the mission; dance had been for herself. When she had finally let him in on her secret, he had turned around and surprised her by taking her out dancing at a local salsa club.

He had been more sore the next morning than he had felt in years, but it had been worth it to see her move and sway with the music. She had transformed into a different creature that night, beautiful and seductive in a way that had nothing to do with her prowess with a gun or her ability to wield a knife. She was pure woman, with none of the straight-backed dutiful Mossad officer persona she assumed on the job.

"Jethro, you saw what just happened," she said. "It is obvious…"

"You're nervous," Gibbs interrupted. "You're doubting yourself. You shouldn't be." He paused, brushing his thumb across her chin tenderly. "Let's try one more time, okay?"

She didn't protest, and Gibbs stepped in once more, assuming the traditional posture. Ziva mimicked his motions, but he could tell her heart still wasn't in it. She followed the sway of his body, but it wasn't long before her body locked up and she stumbled again. A curse in coarse Hebrew passed her lips, her voice wavering as tears of frustration threatened to spill over. She tried to pull away from him, intent on leaving as the instinct to isolate herself until the emotional maelstrom passed took over, but he did not release her.

"Jethro," she muttered softly. "Let me go."

"No," Gibbs said bluntly.

"No?" Her voice was incredulous. "Jethro—"

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes," he repeated. He watched confusion overcome her, mixed with embarrassment and self-consciousness.

"Of all the things—Jethro, I seriously doubt that will make any difference," she scoffed.

"Do you trust me?"

His question took her by surprise, he knew. He could tell by her momentary lack of response, and then her soft exhale as she took the time to think. When she spoke, her tone was soft, but sure.

"Always."

Gibbs smiled at her response.

"Then close your eyes."

He watched her hesitate, seeing the familiar twitch of her mouth as she chewed the inside of her bottom lip for a moment. But then, her eyes closed, and she stepped into him until their bodies were flush. Slowly, he rocked them both, easing into gentle and simple steps. Just back and forth, left and right, always returning to their starting point. Gibbs was hoping the repetitive motion would help put her at ease, but was disappointed when she remained stiff and uncertain in his arms. He glanced down at her, pleased to see her eyes were still closed, but didn't miss the furrow of her brow.

"Relax," Gibbs murmured softly, just loud enough for her to hear over the music. He grinned slightly when he saw her jaw jut out stubbornly as she prepared to let loose a biting retort. He beat her to the punch. "Don't fight it," he said. "Stop thinking. You know the steps. Let your instincts take over."

"Jethro…"

"Trust me to guide you, Ziver."

She didn't respond, and he left it at that. He never stopped the movement of their rocking dance, and never relaxed his hold on her. A few moments later, he was rewarded with the sensation of Ziva beginning to relax. Little by little she let go, allowing his warmth and the music ease the tension in her limbs.

Little by little, she gained the confidence he had fallen in love with. He smiled as he felt her find her footing, no longer simply mimicking his own steps. She never once opened her eyes, instead allowing Gibbs' firm grip guide her. When he felt her hips begin to sway in time to the music, Gibbs upped the stakes.

He spun them to the left, smooth and slow. Ziva let him take the lead, her movements only a little hesitant as he altered their steps. When they returned to their steady pacing, the muscles under Gibbs' touch had not reclaimed any of their earlier tension, instead loosening further as she followed him without a single misstep. She pulled away from him a little, but he didn't mind; he quickly realized she was giving herself room to maneuver, no longer feeling the need to hang onto him for support.

Gibbs responded to her newly rediscovered confidence, allowing himself to improvise. Strong arms guided Ziva's slender frame across the dance floor, shifting them into a gentle waltz as the band continued to play the smooth melody. Their steps became seamless, and as Ziva began to relax even more into the dance, Gibbs shifted his hands.

Ziva's dancer instincts took over, and she responded to his silent prompting with ease, allowing him to spin her out. Her feet followed the well-practiced movements easily, and her arm extended fluidly to follow the flow of the energy of the turn. Then he was pulling her back, and she came without hesitation. He grinned when he saw her smile, her delight evident in her sightless gaze.

Gibbs felt Ziva's slender hand trail up from his shoulder, coming to rest against the skin of his neck, the touch of her delicate fingers sending shivers down his spine. Glancing down at the woman in his arms, Gibbs wondered how he could be so lucky to have had the chance to have loved not only one, but two strong women.

He had loved Jenny, it was true, but what he had shared with her paled in comparison to the love he had held for Shannon, and now for Ziva. And now, he couldn't help but notice the similarities between Ziva and his first wife. The two women were worlds apart in both heritage and appearance, but what lay below the surface were eerily similar.

Both shared a fierce loyalty to the ones they loved. Gibbs remembered how, even as an active Marine, he couldn't hold a candle to Shannon when she felt her daughter was threatened. In his mind's eye, he could see the night they had returned home from a night out on the town to find the baby sitter smoking in the backyard while a three year old Kelly was seconds away from sticking a paperclip into an electrical socket. Shannon had let loose, burning the hapless teen's ears with a flood of scathing disparagements.

But for all that, Shannon had one of the kindest hearts he had ever before met, a trait that he had discovered lay beneath the cool shell of Ziva's personal defenses. She was an assassin, a trained Mossad operative who had seen and experienced so much tragedy that it had first seemed she had little humanity left within her. And when he had heard she was at NCIS to keep him from killing Ari, he had thought her as much a monster as the rogue spy. But then he had mentioned Mossad's botched retribution after the massacre at Munich, and he had been treated to a fiery surge of Ziva's ire as she slammed her hand onto his desk and stared him down with impenetrable conviction. And little by little more of that passionate personality emerged over the months she worked with them, allowing them little glances of her softer side.

She was surprisingly good with children, and as time passed she was able to give comfort to victims and their families. Her personality was violent, but the violence was never mindless. She used her talents only when the situation called for it, and those instances had always carried his approval. The one time the instance had not, the resulting damage had been accidental, exacerbated by a pre-existing medical condition that no one had been aware of. Ziva had not quite felt remorse for the man's death, but it had affected her more than she realized. She had realized the repercussions of her actions, and had known those actions to be wrong, and even went so far as to hand over her badge. Her goodness remained intact even with the troubled past she'd had, and sometimes Gibbs thought it made her goodness all the more remarkable. She had not gone down the same road her brother had, and he knew it would be all too easy to throw away morals, and to simply cease to care. But she hadn't lost that part of her humanity, even through the worst experiences a person could ever go through.

Ziva was strong. Just like Shannon had been. Shannon had been a rock, weathering whatever life had thrown her way. When her mother had died of a stroke when Kelly was five, Gibbs had thought he might lose his wife to the grief. She had spent much of the weeks that followed at her parents' house with the rest of her family, and when she finally came home at night she had broken down into tears that only faded when she succumbed to her exhaustion and slept. It wasn't until he had gone to drop off something that Shannon had forgotten one afternoon that he discovered that his wife was caring for her father, and brothers, and sisters as they grieved together; she was their lifeline in those dark weeks, and she had put their needs before her own. Her moments in the privacy of Gibbs' presence were the only time she had to deal with her own loss. It had been just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the strength of Shannon's character. She may not have been able to incapacitate a man three times her size, but she had put up with seemingly endless deployments and frequent moving.

Even to the last, Shannon had been strong. She had been alone with a young daughter while her husband was away at war, and had seen a horrific crime that would have sent anyone else into a tailspin. But Shannon had agreed to testify against the bastard, knowing what the possible outcome may be. She had been faced with two equally dark choices—not testify, and hope that no one noticed she had been at the scene of the crime, or to testify against the cartel and draw attention to herself and her daughter. She had ultimately chose in favor of the greater good, and worked with NCIS to bring the cartel down. Gibbs blamed himself every day for not being there to help her make the decision, and not being there to protect her and Kelly. But once he had gotten past the initial flood of grief and guilt, once he had exacted his retribution, he had also been proud of her for trying to do the right thing.

And now he had an equally strong person in his arms, another woman he loved without reserve. Ziva could take down a man three times her size, but had lived a life filled with pain and disappointment. Even now, when she was a permanent addition to the NCIS MCRT, when she should have been relatively safe from her previous dangers, she had been dealt such a crippling blow that, had it been anyone else, Gibbs would have worried for their sanity. Her entire life, Ziva had been trained to rely on her acute and precise senses, relying on sight more than anything to keep herself and her colleagues safe.

She could spot a fake ID a mile away, she had once bragged, and could distinguish diamond from cubic zirconia with a mere glance. She had a near photographic memory, and could disarm a wide range of explosive devices in the space of a minute. But all of her talents, all of her "ninja-skills" as Tony had called them, relied on her eyes. Her eyes were what informed her of any near and present danger, and indentified body language and minute tics in a person's behavior. It was her sight, her powers of observation, that made her so valuable in the field, whether it be at a crime scene or during an undercover operation. And her sight had been cruelly ripped from her during what was supposed to have been a routine sting, leaving her blind and vulnerable.

But she had pushed through, adapted her way of life to become as confident as she was before. Her other senses were amplified, especially her sense of touch and her hearing, making her nearly as sharp as she had been before her injury. But each day, each new environment, was a constant challenge, as she was always counting steps, always trying to catalogue the different sounds and scents associated with certain places or people. She never complained, never fell victim to self-pity. There was plenty of frustration, yes, when she had her off days, but she met each challenge head-on, just as she had every other aspect of her life.

Gibbs closed his eyes, allowing himself to simply feel the warmth her touch was generating within him. Almost instantly he was struck with the sensation that he was going to trip over his own feet, which only drove his previous thoughts home. It gave him a taste of how she had felt when he had pulled her onto the dance floor, though looking at her now, he would never have recognized her as the same woman who had balked at the thought of trying to dance. He opened his eyes once more, and a glance down at the peaceful features of his date immediately told him that she had yet to open her own eyes. She had been telling him the truth—she trusted him, was still trusting him, without reservation. She had entrusted herself to his care, and the realization sparked a flare of pride within his chest. He wasn't exactly sure what made him so worthy, but it was an honor he was not going to muck up.

Not now, not never.

****

The two agents were unaware of the audience they had garnered back at the table. Abby and McGee had returned from their own romp on the dance floor, and Tony had brought Hannah back to the table so that she could have a chance to rest her feet from the viciously high heels she had chosen to wear for the evening.

"They are so beautiful," Abby said, her voice soft, but undeniably happy. "I don't think either of them realize how good a match they are for each other."

"I think you'd be surprised, my dear Abigail," Ducky replied. "I think they understand that they have been incredibly lucky to have found each other."

"I wonder why it took so long for them to get together," McGee piped up. "I mean, they seemed to click the first moment they met." His observation was met with skeptical glances from the rest of the team, and even Fornell. The younger agent quickly began to explain himself. "Well, besides the fact that Gibbs was gunning for Ari. But I don't think I 'm the only one who noticed that he seemed pleasantly surprised when she didn't simply roll over and beg for mercy when he snapped at her. I think he found it refreshing."

"You're right," Tony agreed. "At the time I thought it was directed more towards the Director, which later made sense when we found out they had worked together, but thinking about it now, it does seem like it was a result of Ziva going head to head with him."

"The FBI goes head to head with him all the time," Fornell brought up. "He doesn't seem to appreciate me not rolling over for him." This time, the FBI agent was on the receiving end of skeptical stares. "What?" the agent asked.

"The FBI doesn't go head to head with Gibbs," Abby informed the older man with an amused grin.

"Yeah, more like Gibbs plays you like a fiddle until he gets what he wants and then spins it to make it sound like you're getting something out of it too," Tony said, a laugh threatening to spill over what little self-restraint he had.

"He doesn't—" Fornell's protestations were cut off by a round of knowing nods. Even Ducky joined in—he had often admired Jethro's ability to twist a situation to his benefit. It was a trait that had come in handy on more than one occasion. The FBI agent sighed in defeat. "Yeah, he does."

"Don't feel bad Fornell," Tony said, leaning back in his chair. "He's even done it to us once or twice."

"Not me!" Abby said perkily.

"That's because you are the well-known favorite, Abs."

"Yep!" Suddenly Abby's attention returned to the dancing couple, surprise spreading across her features. "Oh my goodness, guys!" she breathed excitedly. "Look at Ziva!"

The team turned and looked, and found that Ziva's jerky, uncertain steps had morphed into a smooth elegance that put the rest of the dancers to shame. As they watched, Ziva seemed to melt into Gibbs' touch, and they moved as if they were simply extensions of one another. The dance was simple, but the effortlessness with which they moved struck them all speechless. To anyone who did not know the circumstances behind this seemingly normal couple, their movements would not seem anything spectacular, but to the team who knew them as well as anyone possibly could… the scene was breathtaking.

"For some reason, they really do seem right for each other," Hannah commented, breaking the awed silence.

"Does that mean you're gonna give up on her?" Tony asked, a smirk on his lips.

"Are you?" Hannah shot right back, eliciting a laugh from the rest of the table. Even Tony laughed good-naturedly.

"Eh," he uttered noncommittally. "I can't compete with the boss. She's too fun stop flirting with, but I know it won't get any farther than that." He sighed theatrically. "At least I'll always have Jean-Paul and Sophie."

"Yeah, just don't let Gibbs find out you fantasize about his girlfriend, okay Tony?" McGee ribbed gently. "It'd definitely send Gibbs on a rampage, and I happen to like my head where it is."

"Ummm, guys?" Abby's voice cut through the banter, recapturing the attention of the table.

"Yeah, Abs?"

"What is Gibbs doing?"

****

Gibbs heard the music start to slow as it slid into its ending bars, but was instantly struck with the realization that the last thing in the world he wanted to do was to let her go. The woman he held in his arms was smiling and content, confident herself and her abilities, almost as surely as if she had her sight back. In a flash he recalled the paralyzing fear he had felt when he had rushed into that condemned building to see her crumpled body, limp and lifeless on the cold cement. And then the wash of relief when he felt the pulse jumping beneath his fingertips, realizing that he had not lost her too. He remembered the other close calls they had both had—his run-in with Pin Pin Pula, losing his memories, being poisoned by Sharif, getting trapped in the car with Maddie as the vehicle sank into the water, and most recently the battle between himself and Lee's blackmailer.

Ziva had had her own share of close encounters with death. The closest by far had been her scuffle with Andy Hoffman, the serial killer who had preyed on cheating Marine wives. Gibbs' keen eyes could barely discern the thin scar on her left temple that acted as the only physical reminder of how close he had come to losing her. Her right eyebrow sported a similar scar; only this one had resulted from an explosion in Morocco, of which he had only learned about through spur of the moment search through ZNN footage as he searched for a seemingly unrelated person of interest. And then there had been the months when he had fully believed her to be dead, a victim of a tropical storm that had supposedly sunk the Jordanian freighter she had been on. The following weeks had been dark, darker even than the months after Shannon and Kelly. The hurt had been all the greater because unlike with his first wife and daughter, Gibbs had had a chance to prevent Ziva's death. He could have fought for her to return to America with the team; he could have called out the fact that her father was a Class A bastard with the history of manipulation and bullshit to prove it. But he had instead let her make her decision, protecting the team from the strife that was certain to follow the questionable death of Michael Rivkin—and in doing so had signed her death warrant as certainly as her father had done.

But once again fate had smiled on them, and he had felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders as a weak and battered Ziva had limped around the corner in that desert prison. And right then and there hehad sworn to which ever god had been listening that he would never again let harm come to her.

But life had had a different plan, and barely more than a year later he had sent her into that abandoned building. He had been unable to protect her effectively enough to keep her from losing her vision. Just another incident in a long line of close calls that had proven once again that tragedy could strike either one of them at any moment. And Gibbs couldn't help but acknowledge the possibility that next time, they may not be so lucky. On any given day, one of them may not come home.

All of a sudden, the small trinket tucked into the pocket of his trousers got twenty times heavier. He had forgotten that he had even brought it with him—he had first purchased it when Ziva was still acclimating to her disability, and her nimble fingers had catalogued the items in each and every drawer and cabinet in both the house and her apartment; he had kept it with him to ensure that her curious hands did not come across it. And then it had become second nature to have it on his person at all times. Most of the time he didn't think about it, but whenever there as a particularly difficult case, or her absence in the squad room was unusually evident, he would run his fingers over its familiar shape, and take comfort from it.

He had thought about giving it to her on multiple occasions, but he had never found the right moment. It wasn't the memory of Shannon that caused him to hesitate, nor did he fear that he would inevitably drive her away as he had his ex-wives. No, he just hadn't found the perfect moment. But he could feel it burning against his leg as he danced, and inexplicably knew that he had to give it to her now. He had no idea if it was the "right" time or place, but he knew with unwavering certainty that he could no longer wait. His decision was only reinforced when he heard Ziva's voice drift softly to his ears as she rested her head against his chest.

"Thank you," she sighed contentedly, her tone conveying her unspoken gratitude for helping her regain the gift she had thought was lost. Gibbs wanted to tell her that she shouldn't be thanking him; it had been her strength that had given her wings. He had simply given her a little push. But instead he slowed them to a stop, one hand slipping into his pocket to grasp the familiar object he had been carrying for months.

The music faded as the musicians ended their set, and the rest of the couple began to vacate the floor. But rather than following their lead, Gibbs took Ziva's hand in his as he gently got down on one knee.

He watched as Ziva's brow furrowed as she felt his movement, but couldn't quite interpret their meaning. Out of the corner of his eye he saw some bystanders catch sight of him in the clichéd posture and nudged their closest neighbors to call their attention to the momentous occasion unfolding right under their noses. But then his focus was once more on Ziva as a tiny smirk appeared on her lips.

"Did you drop something?"

Gibbs coughed out a laugh, quickly assuring he didn't.

"No, Ziva. I didn't drop anything." Before he had a chance to elaborate, her eyes grew worried.

"Then what are you doing on the floor?" She tugged slightly on his hand. "Jethro, I can feel people staring. Why are they looking at us?"

"Ziver—" Gibbs interrupted.

"What?"

Instead of answering, he drew her hand closer to him, guided her fingers towards his other hand, which now offered the object that had moments ago been burning a hole in his pocket. Her slender fingers fluttered over his hand, and then froze when they came into contact with the smooth metal of the ring he gripped in his fingers.

Gibbs watched her take a quick, short breath of surprise as her body stiffened, and then it seemed as if she had forgotten how to breathe, as all movement on her part ceased. Then, ever so gingerly, her fingers followed the delicate curves of the ring.

The focus of the ring was the prominent princess-cut stone rotated into a star setting, which sat on two tiers of smaller diamonds. The lower level was a single band of similarly oriented stones, while the surface level consisted of four bands of round cut diamonds that also acted as the prongs that held the center diamond in place.

It was a little more extravagant than Ziva herself would have chosen, but the moment Gibbs had seen it he had known it was perfect for her. He hadn't been able to put his finger on it at the time, but as the weeks passed he'd come to realize that the ring reflected her in many ways. It was beautiful, elegant, but that wasn't what had caught his eye. The ring had a single large diamond that initially caught one's attention, much like Ziva's confident, cool exterior. But beneath that diamond, there were smaller stones, past moments of Ziva's life that acted as a foundation for the strong woman she was today. And then there were the four bands that kept the diamond fixed in place, grounded against the wayward forces that acted to push her off-kilter. These bands were the people in her life that reminded her that she was right where she should be. He liked to think himself one of them, or maybe all of them, but that wasn't what mattered to him.

Her fingers stilled again after a moment, and then she was motionless once more, frozen in what Gibbs could only describe as shock. Her eyes were wide, her brows raised slightly as she waited for something—anything—from him to break her out of her daze.

"Jethro," she breathed, her voice barely audible, even in the growing silence as the event's attendees hushed to witness the exchange.

"Ziver," he responded, his voice unwavering despite the fluttering of his gut, "six years ago you came to NCIS to try to find a place where you felt you could trust the people you worked with. I was lucky enough to have earned that trust."

He didn't have to look at her to know that his words had taken her by surprise—he had never before told her how he had felt when he realized that she had trusted him enough to leave her entire life behind. It had come light years later that her father had intended her to be a plant all along, but Gibbs knew in his heart that Ziva's relocation and assimilation into the team had been genuine and heartfelt.

"And every day since, you have shown that you are strong and independent and beautiful. You're sharp, and quick, and more observant than anyone else I know. I wish I were half as good as you are, because then it wouldn't have taken me three years to realize what I was missing out on. And maybe I would've done this a lot sooner.

"These past few years have been better than I ever hoped I would ever get the chance to experience again. But at the same time, they've been the most difficult, because I have almost lost you more times than I care to remember. I come close to losing you, and then by some miracle I have another chance to get it right."

Gibbs watched her unfocused eyes stare at him for a split moment before they began to flit nervously away. She grasped his free hand in a vice-like grip, and after several false starts, she managed to speak.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Her voice was soft, so soft that he was certain only he could hear her. Gibbs instinctively knew exactly what she was really asking him. She had always been reverent of the place that Shannon and Kelly held in his heart. He had married thrice after their deaths, and each one had ended in divorce because they could never quite measure up to the gaping hole in his life they had left behind. And now she was giving him an out, a chance for him to make sure that she wouldn't be treading on their memory like his other wives had.

"I have never been more sure of anything before in my life, Ziva."

The stark honesty in his voice surprised even him. His tone was even and calm, evoking a solid countenance that didn't even hint at the nervousness he felt. All of a sudden, he was glad that she had lost her sight, that she could not see his eyes wide with open candidness. But even then, he knew that he was making the right move. She had entrusted herself to him when he had asked her to mere moments ago, and now he was entrusting his heart to her, if she would have it.

But his own nerves were tossed aside as concern flooded his consciousness as he saw her bow her head. Her long curls hid her features from most of the onlookers, but still afforded him a clear view of her face. Her jaw had set stubbornly, her lips pressed firmly together, but what worried Gibbs the most was the furrow of her brow as she began to blink rapidly, her eyes squeezing shut as she fought to keep her emotions at bay.

"Ziva—" he started, but halted when she shook her head. A moment later she took a shaky breath, fighting to get air into her contracting lungs.

"This wasn't supposed to—" Her whisper cut off abruptly as her tears threatened to spill over. She took a short breath, then picked up again. "Not like this." Gibbs felt a jolt of pain wash through him, automatically jumping to the conclusion that she didn't want what he was offering. But then his rational side kicked in, and he realized that if that were the case, Ziva would have told him outright—she was never one to beat around the bush.

"Ziva…" Once again, she cut him off.

"I want to see you, Jethro." Her voice was thick with emotion, and her tears finally escaped her sightless eyes, trailing slowly down her cheeks. "I want to see this."

Gibbs sighed helplessly in silent heartbreak for his lover. She had never once complained about her blindness, never once dwelled upon what should have been. And now, to hear her finally verbalize her wish for something that can no longer be, it was for the ability to witness this moment, this once-in-a-lifetime moment, first-hand with her own eyes. And he could do nothing to make it better for her.

Gibbs briefly searched for something, anything, to say that would give her some kind of comfort. But when he came up empty, he instead worked his hand out of the death-grip she had on it, and then guided it to his cheek. He drew her fingers over his brow, tracing the curve of his eye before returning to trail along the edge of his nose.

Ziva coughed out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh, and Gibbs knew she was remembering the Sunday morning they had shared nearly three months ago. Gibbs had woken up with Ziva curled into side, sleeping softly and peacefully, with not a trace of the stress or worry that had seemed to take up permanent residence in her features. She had woken slowly, and they had spent a long morning simply laying in bed, talking about everything and nothing. As they spoke Ziva had begun to trace the lines of his palm with sensitive fingers, following every crease and callus before moving up his arm and over his shoulder until she reached the strong angle of his jaw. It was there that she had paused, as though asking for permission to continue. He had fallen silent then, but hadn't voiced any protest, and she had then tentatively begun to peruse the contours of his forehead, his cheeks. She had memorized every scar, every anomaly, every line and curve and angle and bump.

She had told him that morning that it was the closest she could come to actually being able to see him again.

And now she let her fingers glide over his features once more, though not as intimately as she had that first time. She let the back of her fingers brush against his cheek tenderly before bringing them back to rest against the corner of his mouth. It was then that Gibbs spoke once more.

"Ziva David, will you marry me?"

Time seemed to stand still as the entire hall watched with bated breath, but Gibbs only had eyes for the woman who currently held his future in her hands. He froze, barely daring to breathe as he awaited her answer. Finally, ever so slowly, he saw the tiniest of smiles appear at the corner of her mouth, then grew until she was beaming with certain delight, even through the tears that still trickled from her eyes.

"Yes," she said, her voice thick. "Yes, Jethro, I will." If her smile could grow any bigger, it did as she simultaneously felt his mouth curve into a grin of his own while he slipped the ring onto her left hand. Then, before she had a chance to say anything else, Gibbs surged to his feet, engulfing Ziva in a tight embrace that threatened to take her off her feet. But she managed to remain on tip toe as she returned the hug just as fiercely. Her arms cinched tight around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel her laugh happily against him, and he giddily felt the urge to do the same, but the sound of applause reached his ears, reminding him that they were not alone. He managed to keep his bearing, but couldn't wipe the smile from his lips.

When they parted a long moment later, Gibbs gently brushed Ziva's long curls from her face, taking in her tear-streaked cheeks and sparkling eyes. They were wide and unfocused, but Gibbs would have had to be the blind one to miss the joy they held, shining back at him. Unable to resist, he allowed himself to succumb to his impulses once more as he leaned down and captured her lips with his. The contact was soft and intimate, but Gibbs' awareness of their audience kept him from deepening the kiss.

They pulled apart after a moment, and immediately pulled her close once more. This time the embrace was tender and reverent as Gibbs buried his nose in her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple as he went.

"Thank you," he whispered softly in her ear, his voice gentle and brimming with emotion. Her only response was to give him a firm squeeze as she slipped her arms under his to wrap around his chest. Gibbs closed his eyes and cherished the contact, until the sound of Abby's excited squeals greeted his ears.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" The Goth tottered over to them, her hands waving emphatically. Gibbs pulled away as Ziva turned to face their friends, but refused to relinquish his grip on her right hand. "Gibbs! Ziva! Oh, this is so exciting!" Abby wrapped her arms around Ziva, who was stiff for a moment before relaxing as she recognized Abby's touch. "Congratulations!" she cooed into the Israeli's ear. Then she pulled away excitedly. "Lemme see the ring!"

Ziva held her hand out obligingly, and pale fingers gripped it tightly as the forensic scientist peered intensely at the arrangement of yellow gold and brilliant diamonds perched on her finger. Gibbs let the two women converse as he turned to greet Ducky as the medical examiner approached.

"Congratulations, Jethro," the Scotsman exclaimed happily. Gibbs shook his offered hand, gripping it firmly.

"Thanks, Duck," he responded warmly, as Fornell paced slowly up to him.

"Jesus, Jethro," the FBI agent growled. "You still know how to liven up a party." He regarded Gibbs with a sharp eye. "And look at you grinning like a damn fool." Gibbs shifted slightly on his feet, unable to respond with anything more than an eye-roll. He couldn't deny it, but he wasn't going to be able to let go of his smile any time soon.

"You know, Tobias, I happen to remember you having a similar dumbass grin when you managed to get Diane to say yes," Gibbs replied glibly.

"Yeah, right up until I realized your warnings about her mood swings were right on the money," Fornell conceded, breaking into a smile of his own. He extended his hand. "Congratulations." As Gibbs grasped his hand, Fornell leaned in close. "Hey, think I can have a shot at this wife too?"

"I heard that, Agent Fornell," Ziva called over her shoulder. "And I assure you, you would not be able to handle me." Gibbs guffawed as he saw Fornell's stunned expression.

"Damn, she really does have ears like a bat," the agent muttered under his breath.

"I heard that too," came the reply, Ziva's lilting voice not losing its mirth. Gibbs squeezed her hand before shifting his grip to her waist possessively.

"You heard the lady, Tobias," he said. He looked tenderly at Ziva. "And there won't be a divorce, I can tell you that right now." He hugged her hips with a smooth confidence that conveyed his certainty in the matter.

"Oh my gosh, you guys, I am so happy for you!" Abby said, unable to contain her glee. She gave Gibbs a tight hug. "I can't believe you didn't tell me you were planning this! This is huge! So romantic! Oh my goodness!"

"Abby," Ziva said, her voice smooth and gentle, "calm down. You are going to hyperventilate."

"But this is so exciting! My two best friends are going to get married—"

"And you would not want to ruin this evening by forcing us to call an ambulance when you pass out, no?"

"Of course not!"

"Then, please, Abby, deep breath." Finally, Abby acquiesced, taking in a slow breath that immediately calmed her down. Slightly.

"Ziva," the Goth continued, "your ring is so gorgeous. It even matches your dress!" She paused. "Maybe I'm psychic! I mean, I already knew I am amazing at helping you get ready for these stupid events, but knowing what color would match your engagement ring I didn't even know about? That's way beyond the normal scope of my abilities!" She suddenly reached out and clutched Ziva's arm. "I have to choose your wedding dress now!"

Her words caught Gibbs like a kick to the gut. He hadn't even thought about planning for the wedding. He knew from experience that future brides were notorious for poring over bridal magazines, searching for the perfect dresses, the perfect flower arrangements, the perfect place settings and color schemes. They relied on their sight to find the elements of their dream weddings; Ziva would not be able to do that. He pulled Ziva closer, reassuring her of his presence.

"We'll have time to talk about all that later, Abby," Ziva said, her voice strong. Before the Goth could respond, an earsplitting screech carried over the speakers. The team's attention shifted to the sound stage, where the big brass from each of the agencies were filing into sight. Gibbs' gut churned in apprehension—the sight of all those overstuffed suits in such close proximity threatened to give him a nosebleed. It only epitomized the ridiculousness of this whole evening, trying to create new relations between agencies that were naturally inclined to rub each other the wrong way; any agent or operative at the field level could have told them it would be a waste of a night.

Though, Gibbs thought as he pulled Ziva closer as they looked to the stage, he did get something out of it after all.

"If I could have your attention please," a young woman murmured into a mic, sending his voice reverberating throughout the banquet hall. The chatter among the attendees died off as they shifted their focus to the brunette clutching the microphone. Some guests moved to sit at their tables, but a fairly large group still crowded the dance floor.

"If I could have your attention, please," the woman repeated. When she had relative silence, she continued. "Thank you," she said. "I hope all of you are having an pleasant evening…"

"Pleasant as getting a root canal," Fornell muttered.

"And now comes the highlight of this evening—"

"It would have to be pretty amazing to top our highlight," Ziva whispered softly. Gibbs chuckled in response.

"Please give a round of applause for the Director of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service—"

"For those of us who still have yet to hear of NCIS," Fornell poked fun with a grumble.

"Leon Vance!" The brunette on stage led the applause as she handed the microphone to Vance, and the crowd picked up the motion with polite respect. The Director waved the applause away, recognizing the less than genuine effort for what it was.

"As you all know," the Director said, launching right into his speech, "this little get-together was intended to boost inter-agency cooperation. Now, most us, the FBI, CIA, NSA, NCIS… we all have a history of butting heads, especially when it comes to turf and credit." This earned a few chuckles from the audience. "But this evening is also to honor those who have already succeeded in looking past agency party lines. And one of these people is here among us tonight."

Gibbs looked around to see several other guests begin to murmur amongst themselves. It seemed he was not the only one who hadn't realized this was an awards ceremony.

"Earlier this year, NCIS and the FBI collaborated to bring down a drug ring that had not only worked its way into the Navy, but spanned several states on the east coast. Through the careful planning of our best agents, we organized a sting operation that would have incapacitated this ring at its core. Unfortunately, not all of our agents came out of it unscathed."

Gibbs felt Ziva stiffen beside him, and he knew without a doubt who Vance was referring to. He hugged her reassuringly, as he returned his attention to the stage, feeling a scowl grow in his brow. Vance was treading a thin line; the director had better have a good reason for trying to parade Ziva around as his very own mascot.

"But through this one agent's bravery and quick-thinking, the lives of fifteen FBI and NCIS agents were saved, and the cartel was taken down. It wasn't until months later that it was discovered that the cartel was also part of the largest up and coming drug smuggling operations in the world. The CIA and NSA had been working to bring the ring down for years, but it was the actions of a single agent that ultimately did the job. This agent risked her life for her country and her fellow agents, and those of you who know this agent will agree that she is a cut above the rest. Tonight, we would like to honor this very special NCIS agent." Vance scanned the crowd.

"Special Agent Ziva David."

The banquet hall exploded into thunderous applause as Vance turned in Ziva's direction. Fornell and the rest of the team perhaps clapped the loudest of them all, but Gibbs remained silent, sensing Ziva's distress. She turned into him slightly, surprised by the sudden racket echoing throughout the banquet hall. He knew the noise was disorienting her, grating in her sensitive ears.

"Agent David, if you would join me…" Vance motioned for Gibbs to escort Ziva up onto the stage. A quick whisper in her ear asked her if she wanted to go, and though she did not say yes, she didn't say no either. When he gently moved towards the stage, she came with him without hesitation. He kept an arm around her waist until they reached the stairs that led up to the stage.

"Five six inch steps," he murmured in her ear as he allowed her to climb up the steps first. She gave his hand a squeeze of gratitude as she passed, tentatively seeking the first step. Gibbs kept a hand at the small of her back, ready to catch her if she stumbled, but she reached the stage without incident. At the top she waited for him to join her, not willing to risk running into something on the stage in front of hundreds of people. The audience was still clapping, their fervor yet to diminish.

Gibbs guided her to where Vance was waiting. He brought them to a stop when they were within arm's reach of the Director, and Ziva extended her hand, which Vance clasped in a firm handshake. Finally, the audience fell silent once more.

"Agent David, your sacrifice for your country has not gone unnoticed, and will not be forgotten. We thank you for your service in defense of the United States, and the countless lives you have saved." Ziva nodded in response, seemingly unable to voice any words.

"And I know that there's nothing I can say that could make your evening any better," the Director continued, thumbing her new engagement ring gently as he gave Gibbs a knowing glance, "but I received word early this morning that SecNav has backed my recommendation, and you have been selected to become the newest recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom."

A chorus of awed gasps flitted throughout the room, but Gibbs felt no shift in Ziva's posture—she had no idea what the Presidential Medal meant. He leaned in close, running a warm hand over her bare arm.

"It's the highest civilian award in the United States, Ziver," he whispered softly in her ear. She stiffened in his arms. "It's given by the President."

He saw her eyes widen slightly, as her free hand subtly slipped to the fabric of his trousers, which she gripped tightly as the weight of the honor hit her. Gibbs doubted anyone else noticed the movement, as any other outward sign of shock was carefully hidden behind a mask calm professionalism.

"Thank you, Director," Ziva said. Her voice was soft, but was still picked up over the microphone, feeding it through the loudspeakers.

"No, Agent David, thank you," Vance returned. He tucked the microphone under his arm, and then began to clap, his hands echoing over the crowd. Then the thunder returned as the spectators picked up the applause, this time a few even adding their raucous cheers to the mix. Vance stepped back, and the other directors approached, offering Ziva their praise and gratitude for her work. Gibbs identified each man as he stepped forward, and she shook each hand that respectfully touched hers.

When they were finished, Vance returned, but no longer had the microphone in his hand. He grasped Ziva's hand once more, but this time leaned in close so that his words were heard only by her and Gibbs.

"Agent David, your position at NCIS is waiting for you whenever you feel you are ready to return."

Ziva froze.

"What?"

"Of course, your time in the field will be limited, but NCIS would be honored if you continued to offer your skills in service to agency." Ziva's brow furrowed.

"Director, please, enough with the political talk," she said, her voice sharp. Gibbs knew her nerves were starting to fray. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that the loss of your vision pre-empts you from working in the field, as you can no longer fire a weapon without putting others in danger," Vance explained, "but your investigative skills are damn fine and not related to your sight whatsoever. Accommodations will made so that you can function easily at the Navy Yard. Computers, printers, and other appliances will be modified so that you can use them. How're you with Braille?"

Ziva blinked.

"Getting better," she revealed, her voice blunt with surprise.

"And how'd you get the bigwigs to agree to that?" Gibbs asked, somewhat skeptical of the whole plan. The idea of working with Ziva again thrilled him, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate a false gift.

"Oh, someone may have thrown around some potent phrasing," the Director said. "Equal opportunity, discrimination in the hiring process, disability acts that the bureaucracy claims to follow—in the end I just needed to list her personal qualifications, and the higher-ups were willing to bend over backwards to keep her. Apparently having a decade of experience in international intelligence and espionage makes you indispensible." Vance gave the barest of grins, which Gibbs returned with a nod of gratitude.

"Congratulations, you two," the Director added on a personal note. "I don't think I have to remind you to keep it out of the workplace…"

"You haven't in the four years we've been together, Leon," Gibbs said, reminding his superior that they had managed to hide their relationship for years with none being the wiser. "You won't have to worry about that."

"Good," Vance said. His attention shifted back to Ziva. He took her hand in a gentle grip. He drew her hand to his lips, bestowing a friendly kiss to her knuckles. "You treat the old guy right, now, you hear, Ziva?" The woman in question grinned. "He's not as young as he used to be."

"You would know, Leon," Gibbs retorted.

"You need not worry, Director," Ziva said. "He is not as old as he looks."

"Hey!" Gibbs said sharply. "Whose side are you on?"

"Mine," she replied simply. Vance chuckled as the couple started to drift away, Gibbs leading his new fiancée to the steps that led back down into the crowd.

"Yeah," the Director said to himself, "this is going to be interesting." He watched the couple a moment more before turning the mic back on.

"Special Agent David, everybody," he said into the mic, indicating the departing couple. "Please enjoy the rest of the evening."

*****

Gibbs and Ziva returned to where the team was waiting, their faces aglow with pride for their friend. Abby immediately launched herself into Ziva's arms, who managed to catch the Goth but staggered dangerously under the taller woman's weight. Only Gibbs' support kept both women upright.

"Congratulations!" the scientist squealed. Abby pulled away, and framed Ziva's friends with her pale hands. "How are you feeling?" she demanded. "All this noise must be giving you a headache. I mean, it's really really loud in here, and everyone is clapping really hard. This is loud even for me, and that's really saying something, because you know the kind of music I listen to—"

"Whoa, let her breathe, Abs," Tony said, coming to his partner's rescue. The senior field agent perked up when he heard the band start up again. The dance floor was beginning to clear as the crowd dispersed after being dismissed by Vance.

With a confident grin, he held out his hand towards Ziva in a silent invitation to dance. Gibbs shifted behind her, and suddenly Dinozzo's expression turned sheepish.

"Ah, uhm, Boss," he sputtered. "I was just going to ask her to dance. You know, nothing serious, just between partners. That is, if she doesn't, I mean, if you don't… mind."

Ziva bit back a grin as she playfully swatted at Gibbs, whom she knew was pegging the Italian with a fierce glare.

"I do not mind, Tony," Ziva said, extending her hand for her partner to take. Tony took it, but didn't move until Gibbs gave a silent nod. The senior field agent led her towards the other dancers drifting around the dance floor. As he passed Gibbs, the Marine caught his arm in a fierce grip, giving the younger man a stern look.

"I won't let her fall, boss," Tony said, correctly reading the older man's stare.

"Or trip, or bump into anything…"

"Jethro, enough," Ziva scolded. "You know he's not as callous as he pretends to be."

"Yeah, boss."

"And he knows I can kick his ass with or without my eyesight, should he decide to try pulling one over o me."

"Aw, come on, Zee-vah…"

"I dare you, Dinozzo," she responded sharply. She jabbed a finger into his chest. "Do not test me."

A moment later she had pulled him back into motion, and they were soon lost in the crowd of swaying couples. Gibbs let them go, then turned and offered his arm to Abby, who then accompanied back towards their table. Ducky and Fornell went with them, but McGee remained on the edge of the dance floor. Gibbs guessed his intentions and gave the young agent a nod of approval as he passed.

Meanwhile, on the dance floor, Tony and Ziva were swaying slowly to the beat. Both were grinning broadly as Tony imparted his latest scheme to booby-trap McGee's computer.

"I've got an even better one cooking," Tony revealed, "but it'll be hard to pull off. It's more of a two-man op."

"Well, then" Ziva said. "Maybe you could finish cooking your plan by Monday."

"Well, I dunno, maybe—" Tony froze. "Wait, what?"

"If you want my help on Monday, your plan will have to be fine-turned, yes?"

"Fine-tuned," he corrected out of habit, "but why Monday?"

"I will be in the office that day," Ziva replied casually. "Though if it is too big a plan for you to work out by Monday, we could always wait until Tuesday… or Wednesday… or any day after that."

"Wait, you mean…?"

"Vance offered me my job back," she revealed with a grin. "Without the field work, but I will be able to chase down leads…"

"But you hate deskwork," Tony pointed out with a laugh.

"It will take some getting used to, but I look forward to being able to contribute something to the team again." She paused. "And I know we will no longer officially be partners—"

"Hey." Tony's voice was suddenly hard. Her head turned slightly in surprise. He thumbed her chin affectionately. "You're my partner," he said firmly. "Even the past six months, you've been my partner. And I'm yours. Always."

Anything else was left unsaid as they were halted by a hand tapping on Tony's shoulder. The newcomer put a finger to his lips, urging Dinozzo to remain quiet. The senior field agent hesitated, debating the boons of speaking up anyway, but the serious expression on the intruder's face made him think better of it. Instead he pressed a kiss to Ziva's cheek, whispering that he would see her back at the table.

Tony left the dance floor, but paused as he passed Gibbs, who had returned to the fringe of spectators watching the swaying bodies. The Marine looked at him expectantly as the younger man hesitated before finally speaking.

"You better not hurt her, boss," Tony said, all trace of his usual juvenile intonation gone. It was replaced with a hardness that was born out of having seen and caused too much pain in his partner, and the knowledge that he had waited too long to try to win her heart for himself. Now he had to let her find happiness in the man who had made his move, but he would not force her to go it alone. He was her partner, and he would have her back, even in this.

Gibbs saw all this in the younger man's eyes, and was proud to see the devotion evident within them. He regarded Tony for a long moment, then nodded firmly. Tony received it, then moved on, ready to rejoin his own date for the evening. Gibbs turned and watched Ziva move slowly in the arms of her new partner.

****

Ziva smiled as Tony kissed her cheek, then felt his place be filled by another warm body. The material of the newcomer's tuxedo was fine, smooth, his build softer than that of Tony. But she immediately knew the identity of her new dance partner.

"Hello, McGee," she greeted as he took her gently in his arms. She felt him chuckle softly.

"That really is amazing," Tim remarked. "How'd you know it was me this time?" She smiled.

"I like your new cologne," she said in way of explanation. "A gift from one Thom E. Gemcity?" she asked, referring to the fine quality of the fragrance. "That is not Clive Christian, is it?"

"Good nose," McGee observed, not denying the truth of her words.

"McGee!" she exclaimed. "I was right! That is something only Mr. Gemcity could afford." She smiled. "It is perfect for you though. It is very sophisticated."

"And how exactly are you familiar with men's cologne?"

"I lived in Paris for quite some time," she confessed. "You learn a great deal about men's cologne when you live there for an extended period of time."

"I believe you," McGee said. A moment of silence drifted between them, until the young agent finally spoke up once more. "So the Presidential Medal of Freedom, huh? That's a pretty big honor."

"That is what I hear." Ziva's mouth curled into a suspicious smirk. "Did you know about it? Before tonight?"

"Nope. Didn't even know the Director had recommended it. But to be honest, I'm not really all that surprised. I was hoping they would find a way to call attention to what happened."

"McGee…"

"No, I mean it," McGee said. "You probably don't remember what happened that day, but I do. I was there. I saw what happened. You saved my life and the lives of all the other agents in the building. And you almost died because of it. You're still paying for your decision to save us that day—and you will continue to pay each day for the rest of your life."

"Tim…"

"I know you don't see it that way, but I do. Everything that's happened tonight… you and Gibbs, your medal… you deserve every minute of it, Ziva. You do." He paused. "I am really happy for you," he said finally.

A small hand came up and found his smooth cheek, giving it a soft caress.

"Thank you, McGee." Her words were heartfelt, and as honest as his own had been.

"If you ever need anything, Ziva…"

"I know exactly to whom I can go for help," she finished for him. She bowed her head. "I am very lucky, you know. I have gone to having no one to turn to, to having a whole family to help me. Believe it or not, I think even Fornell would help if asked."

"Are you kidding me? You've got the old coot eating out of your—" McGee froze suddenly, sensing the familiar sudden presence. Ziva grinned.

"Gibbs is right behind you, isn't he?" she asked. She felt McGee turn to look over his shoulder.

"Old coot?" Gibbs asked drily, his brow lifting menacingly.

"Not you, boss," Tim scrambled, "Fornell… Ziva and I were just talking about Agent Forn— you already knew that." Gibbs broke into smirk.

"Think I can get a dance in with my fiancée?" he asked. McGee immediately relinquished his hold on the slender woman.

"Of course, boss." He gulped audibly. "Ziva, I'll be over by the table if you need any—" He paused as Gibbs pegged him with another stare. "I'll be over by the table," he amended hastily.

"Thank you, McGee," Ziva responded, clearly amused. As McGee left he heard her talk to Gibbs. "And you know, Jethro, you better be careful about calling me your fiancée. I might just start calling you my fiancé."

"You can call me anything you want," Tim heard Gibbs reply, amusement lacing the Marine's gruff tones.

The younger agent shook his head, feeling foolish. Quickly, the wheels in his head started turning, furiously exploring ways he could arrange for Officer Lisa and Agent Tibbs to end up together—without breaking Agent Tommy's heart in the process. The last thing he wanted to do was screw with Team Tibbs' dynamic, but you can't deny true love, right?

Back at the table, Ducky, Abby and Fornell were watching the duo interact. Abby was gushing, while the elder men could do nothing but listen quietly.

"Look at them, Ducky," she said. "They are so perfect together! They are so happy, and so beautiful! Both of them! Even Gibbs!" Suddenly, Abby fell silent. Ducky looked at her in concern.

"What's the matter my dear?"

"Ducky, they're really similar aren't they?" the Goth asked quietly.

"Well yes, Abigail, I do believe they are." The medical examiner paused. "They are both strong individuals, with ironclad principles and shady pasts…"

"And headstrong and ornery and violent and difficult… Ducky, what if they drive each other away? What if Ziva turns into his fifth ex-wife?" Ducky covered one of her hands with his.

"You forget they have been together for years, my dear Abigail. They were together before we even were aware they were dating. And quite frankly, it is my belief that if they haven't driven each other insane by now, they are in fact perfect for each other."

Together they turned and watched the smiling couple once more.

"Yes, Abigail, they are quite perfect for each other."