Conversations

This chapter follows right on the heels of Honor Code. If you haven't seen it lately, a little boy is left at an amusement park when his father is kidnapped for his secret military knowledge. The boy (who stays with Gibbs) insists his father is innocent, but for most of the episode Ziva believes his father is guilty.

I wouldn't have worked on this so quickly except your reviews were wonderful! I'd love more; also, I haven't seen season 3 recently, so if there are interesting Ziva/Gibbs moments before Hiatus, I'd appreciate suggestions of episodes to watch.

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Ziva watched the boy and his father leave the bullpen, the child's fingers wrapped in his father's hand, remembering how he'd held her hand like that earlier. He was still wearing an NIS sweatshirt, just his size.

She heard Gibbs' step beside her.

"That was Kelly's, no?" she asked softly, too quietly for the others to hear.

She could see his nod out of the corner of her eye.

"Walk with me," Gibbs said gruffly, and when he turned, she followed him, away from their desks and around the staircase.

When he stopped, Ziva shook her head. "Not here."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Fine. Come by later."

Now she gave a slight nod, and they retraced their steps to their desks.

***

She found herself at his house a few hours later, wary of the conversation but less wary of Gibbs. Ziva opened the unlocked door, and let herself in; she was relieved to find he'd made space for them to sit in the living room, instead of the basement.

Gibbs rose as she entered, extending a glass to her.

Ziva sipped. The taste was already becoming familiar.

"What was going on today?" Gibbs asked as she began to sit.

Instead she set her drink down and started pacing.

"You doubted me this whole day," he added.

"I was trying to trust the evidence!" Ziva snapped. "Isn't that what you want me to do?"

"It's not that you questioned me," he said, with calmness he'd learned from years of questioning agitated killers. "It's the doubt. You didn't want to consider my gut instincts."

"How can you trust your gut so much?" she demanded.

"Many years of trusting that I know people, and their behavior," he said simply. "Why didn't you?"

She stopped opposite him, her arms folded across her chest. "Your gut thought Ari was a killer."

"He was."

"I know." Now her posture crumpled, her arms hanging loosely at her sides.

Gibbs kept pushing, regretting a little the look on her face but too familiar with forcing his will until he got the answer.

"Haven't you had to rely on your instincts, to make snap decisions?"

"Of course," she answered readily. But the sigh that followed was despairing.

"But you don't trust yourself now." It wasn't a question.

"Not for a second." She answered as quickly as before but the tightness in her head as she shook it told Gibbs how hard the words were.

"He was your brother, Ziva," he said gently. "We are rarely rational when we're talking about--"

"He was my brother!" she retorted angrily. "I had known him my entire life, I should have noticed when things changed, I should have been able--"

"Stop it!"

Her jaw clenched with words unspoken, but she obeyed. He had forgotten how much military training she had.

"Ziva." He stood and walked around the coffee table to face her, leaving only a foot of space between them. "I wish you had noticed. I wish you had been able to stop him."

Her head turned as if she'd been slapped, her features closing off to him.

"Ziva." He demanded her attention with his tone, and she slowly met his eyes again. "Ziva, I don't blame you. I know you do, and I can't make you stop, but I don't. He made the choices he made, and you were blinded by love and attachment—none of us ever wants to believe the worst of those close to us."

She didn't answer, but she didn't look away.

"That little boy today refused to believe his father was wrong, and I trusted that. If I hadn't met Ari myself, I probably would have trusted your love for him, too."

Ziva's jaw was trembling and he knew he had gotten through to her, had pushed her as far toward acceptance as she could go on someone else's terms.

"I trusted my own love too much," she whispered.

Gibbs nodded. "There's a difference between relying on instinct and emotion, Ziva," he said, looking into her eyes to make sure she understood the nuances of language. "Your instincts are your brain processing things too fast to put them into words, and when you've seen as much of the world as we have, they're usually pretty good."

"And our emotions are the opposite," she concluded for them. Gibbs was glad to hear a wry note creep into her voice.

"Just trust me next time, okay?" he winged, stepping back from her and out of the moment.

Ziva nodded, the hint of a smile on her lips.

He waved her toward the door. "Go on, I know Tony and Tim were going drinking somewhere. We saved the day, time to celebrate."

"But--" she gestured to their untouched tumblers.

Gibbs shook his head. "Good night."

"Good night," Ziva repeated, then stepped toward him and pressed a kiss to his cheek before taking her leave.

Once the door was closed behind her, Gibbs dumped one of the tumblers into the other and carried it with him down to the basement. Working on his boat wasn't the same without a child's hands to guide, but it quieted his own emotions nevertheless.