Next two chapters are up! This is going to be longer than I thought...Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapters, and followed the story - and me! Following people's advice I have taken the rating down to a T. I have also - and I'm sorry if this disappoints anyone (!) - taken the 'father-daughter' description out. I'm still not convinced I'll end up with full blown Zibbs, but it's not platonic either...
Again, please, read, review and enjoy!
Ziva
Ziva stood under the shower, letting the warm needles of water massage away the long flight. She felt drained and empty. When the plane had landed at Ben Gurion, she had not quite known what to do. Everything looked so different. Handing over her American passport, she had felt a tiny swell of something like pride, only to feel it deflate as a random page was singled out and stamped with her entry visa. She knew it was just a formality, but that stamp now marked her as an outsider, a temporary visitor in the place she had once called home. Stepping outside the airport and onto Israeli soil had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. The hot, humid air was like a wall, and for a moment she had struggled to breathe. Only the gentle pressure of Gibbs's hand on her arm had prevented her panicking. All around she heard Hebrew, a language that she still found herself dreaming in but rarely used any more, and she struggled to separate the different conversations going on all around her. The air was heavy with the scent of…what? Jasmine? Spices? She could not tell. Her ears hummed, the noise of the cars and taxis and buses faded into the background and she felt again a gentle squeeze on her arm and Gibbs' reassuring voice telling her to breathe, David, remember to breathe. Somehow she got them a taxi, asking for malon Metropolitan, and watched the city speed past in a blur. She was vaguely aware of Gibbs sitting next to her and the heat of the sun pounding through the car window, competing with the cold blast of the car's air conditioning. She was not used to the heat any more. When the taxi turned onto Kaufmann Street she gazed at the intense blue of the Mediterranean as if it could wrap itself around her and take her away to a different shore, somewhere cool and welcoming, away from her father and all the ghosts that lay buried here. She was not ready to face this yet. She had been stupid to even try. When the taxi pulled up at the hotel on HaYarkon Street she wanted to tell the driver to take her back to the airport, to take her back home because this was not home anymore, and she could not be here. Instead she paid with a shaky hand, and walked with Gibbs into the hotel where they checked in at reception. She could tell he was worried, he had not wanted to leave her but she had insisted on going and freshening up in her own room. She would meet him in an hour, she said. She knew she had been longer than that already, but she was not ready to face the city – or him – just yet. She was furious with herself for being so…weak. But whatever she had expected to feel on her return to Israel, it was not this.
Gibbs
Gibbs stood in his hotel room, staring out of the window. Even after a shower and a change of clothes, he felt tense and on edge. Ziva worried him. When they had landed at Ben Gurion, she had seemed dazed and a little disorientated; outside the terminal building she had almost had a panic attack. He remembered turning round from the taxi rank to see her still standing by the terminal entrance, a terrified, panicked look in her eyes like a deer caught in headlights. With a couple of strides he had been back by her side and gripping her arm, partly to comfort her and partly to keep her upright. They had stayed there for ten minutes. She seemed to pull round a little in the taxi, but when they reached the hotel and she checked them in, the hand that gave him his key card was still shaking. He wondered whether he should have insisted on staying with her for a while, but knew how embarrassed and angry with herself she would be. He didn't want to make it worse. Much as he hated the thought of her struggling on her own, he also knew that habits of a lifetime were hard to break. They were very alike in that respect. He had to trust her to come to him when she was ready. And trust himself not to mess up and take things too far. Rule 12, Jethro…again.
He gave himself a mental headslap and turned away from the window. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten all day – even El Al, it seemed, couldn't manage decent in-flight food. Guessing that Ziva would not want to go out to eat tonight, he glanced at the room service menu but quickly dismissed it. He needed some air, anyway.
He turned out of the hotel, away from the direction of the sea towards Ben Yehuda Street. So much for air. The atmosphere was stifling, heavy with humidity and the heat of the day. No wonder everyone else seemed to be heading towards the beach. He walked on, looking for a decent looking take-out place, all the while aware of another pair of eyes on his back. Wonder who he's sent? He'd expected it, but it annoyed him all the same. Stopping at a café that advertised take-out sandwiches and falafel, he turned and found himself face to face with a man he had hoped never to have to see again.
'Malachi Ben-Gidon'.
'Special Agent Gibbs. I had hoped I would not have to welcome you to my country again, but it seems our superiors have other ideas'.
'What have you done to piss Eli off so badly?' asked Gibbs, the ghost of a smile on his face.
Malachi shot him a sharp look, and held out a thick brown envelope.
'Nothing, Agent Gibbs. On the contrary. I was asked to give you this.' He handed the envelope to Gibbs, who took it with raised eyebrows.
'The information Mossad has on Shalev. You may find it more revealing than what you will receive from Shin Bet at the Embassy tomorrow'.
Gibbs nodded, and turned to the menu on the board in front of him. He didn't want to think about what this sudden gesture of generosity from Eli David would cost. Malachi turned to leave.
'Oh, and Agent Gibbs? If you are ordering for Ziva too, she always liked the sabich'.
