All I'm going to say is I own the rule, but not its number, that will appear in this chapter. I am just hazarding a guess, as to which number it should be, taking into account that most of them have been confirmed, as to which numbers are which rules.

Chapter 4— Business As Usual Has Lost All Meaning

Later that night, several hours after the funeral and the dinner that followed, the team met at the bar to sit and talk and spend some time together. Though they were still not getting along and things were still tense, Ziva and Abby were being civil to each other. But the entire team wanted to get together for a few hours and pay tribute to Tony, share memories, and send him off properly.

Ducky noticed McGee was staring silently in the direction of the Fallen Agents wall. Until recently, Agent Langer had been the most recent ID badge put up. Tony's ID now joined him.

"You're awfully quiet for it being Happy Hour, Timothy," Ducky said. McGee seemed to come out of a daze, looked over at Ducky, then nodded wordlessly. "Anything you want to talk about?"

The silence lengthened for another few moments, then McGee glanced at Gibbs, who sat silently sipping his bourbon a couple stools down, before saying, "I'm not sure I can do this, Ducky."

"Do what?" Ducky asked, though he was fairly certain he knew the answer.

"Fill Tony's shoes," McGee said. "I always used to think I could do a better job than Tony. I mean, I'm smarter, I'm better at computers, and I don't goof off nearly as much. I've always taken myself much more seriously than he ever did. But now I'm afraid that I can't ever live up to the agent that he was."

"He was a very good agent," Ducky agreed, taking a sip from his McCallan. "One of the best I've seen in my many years. But you will be fine. Give yourself time."

McGee nodded and went back to staring at his Morgan and coke. "I just can imagine how hard it is hard to be Gibbs' Senior Field Agent. Tony really prided himself on it. I'm just nervous."

"The more you second-guess yourself, the harder it will be to adjust," Ducky said. "It will take time for us all to get past this and move on and resume normal life. Try not to dwell on it so much and just go with the flow and see where things go. I know Gibbs has confidence in you."

McGee nodded, glancing over at Gibbs again, knowing that even though Gibbs was not looking in their direction, the former Marine probably could hear him and was listening.

Ducky stood up and the team turned their attention on him. "Being here tonight, I feel it's fitting to propose a toast." Each nodded and he began, "To the best senior field agent this agency has seen in many years, may he watch over us and always have our six, even from above. To Tony."

"To Tony." The team raised their glasses in honor, then drank to Tony's memory. Then they spent the next few hours trading memories of Tony, making jokes, and spending time together, until eventually, the hour became late and they all left together to go their separate ways home.

Not long after leaving the bar, the Medical Examiner made an unannounced visit to Gibbs' house. He wasn't surprised when he easily entered the house; Gibbs still never locked his front door.

After the funeral, Ducky had gotten the feeling that Gibbs should not be allowed to be alone tonight, for his own good. So, following the send-off at the bar, he was going to make sure his confidante was doing alright and not at risk to himself.

Ducky took off his coat and hung it on a hook in the entryway, glancing around at the home interior. He couldn't see up into the kitchen or dining room, to see if Gibbs had eaten anything for dinner. He took an immediate left and went to the very place that felt almost instinctive: the basement.

The scene that met his eyes alarmed him. Gibbs, glassy-eyed from alcohol consumption, was semi-consciously, almost automatically, sanding a new boat frame.

"Jethro?"

Gibbs inhaled a weary breath and looked up at Ducky. "Hey, Duck."

"How much have you had to drink?" Ducky asked, taking the tools away from him. Gibbs didn't answer. "Jethro..." Ducky sighed and tried to reason with him. "This isn't going to bring him back. This is no way to send off our boy to meet his maker." Ducky pulled up a chair. "I am here if you need to talk."

"Thanks, Duck, but I'm good," Gibbs said evasively.

"Obviously not," Ducky disagreed. He noticed Tony's name painted on the side of the boat. "What are you planning on doing with this, once you finish it?"

"Awe, Duck, you ask me that every time," Gibbs groaned, rolling his eyes and turning away. Ducky didn't move. "What do you want me to say?"

"I think you need to get it all out, Jethro. Say what's all on your mind. You are a very private type of person, but even for you, sometimes bottling it all up is the worst thing you can do for yourself."

There was a long pause. Then Gibbs said, "I'm never gonna forgive myself, Duck."

"For what?" Ducky asked.

"For letting that happen to Tony," Gibbs said.

"Jethro, you know it was not your fault in any way, shape or form," Ducky said. "Don't warp the situation and make it something it's not. Ziva held the gun, not you— not that I am placing blame on her, because I don't consider her at fault, either. The bullet went through the suspect and hit Tony. The odds of that happening are astronomical. It was a freak accident."

"That's what I told her in the waiting room, before— before he..."

Gibbs couldn't finish the sentence. His throat closed up and he finally allowed two solitary tears to escape. He had once told the young son of a Marine to never be ashamed of tears. And in front of his friend, he wasn't.

"I know I have told you before that I prefer to deal with death on my own, being exposed to it so often in my daily life. But that doesn't mean you can't allow yourself to grieve, whether privately or with company. You won't feel this bad forever, Jethro. It'll take time, but it will get better, for all of us."

Gibbs nodded. "I hope so, Duck. I hate training new agents."

"You won't have to," Ducky said. "You know Timothy will fill Tony's shoes to the best of his ability. And you know Ziva, well, she has seniority in her own right."

"It won't be the same. It'll never be."

"Give him a chance."

Gibbs nodded again. "I will."

"Good," Ducky said. Now," he added, going over to a still-partially-full decanter of bourbon and pouring a shot for Gibbs and himself. "Now, despite that you've had plenty enough already, here." Gibbs accepted the shot from him. "To Tony."

"To Tony," Gibbs echoed, touching his glass lightly against Ducky's.

"I hope you don't mind me staying the night to look after you. I think you need it," Ducky said.

"Doesn't sound like I have a choice, Duck," Gibbs said reluctantly. "Take the guest bedroom."

Ducky nodded and proceeded to talk through the night with his confidante.

On Monday following the funeral, all but Ziva showed up for work on time, like normal. When 0900 rolled around, McGee, who had become increasingly worried, called both her apartment and cell phones, and when he got no answer on either, started an unauthorized trace on Ziva's cell phone. Ziva was never late. McGee worried that something was wrong.

When the trace came back with nothing, he figured the cause was one of three reasons: either Ziva's cell phone was turned off, she had disabled her GPS chip, or she was somewhere GPS signal was blocked. He guessed she had it turned off and was avoiding contact with everyone. Ziva couldn't be found when she didn't want to be.

McGee decided he'd wait another couple hours and see if she came in to work, and if not, he would resume the trace and see if anything resulted from it. He wasn't sure what he would do if a second tracing attempt came back with nothing, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

McGee closed out the trace results and sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. Resuming normal life following Tony's death was not proving to be an easy task for the team. They had never thought their senior field agent would be taken from them prematurely, and so suddenly, too. Everything was completely different without him.

Gibbs entered the bullpen, cup of Hot Fresh Coffee in hand, as usual, and walked over to McGee's desk.

"Hey, Boss," McGee said conversationally.

"Hey, Tim," Gibbs said quietly. "Ziva hasn't shown up yet?"

"Nope, which is totally unlike her. I called her apartment and her cell and got no answer. So I traced her cell, but it came up with nothing. Means her phone is turned off or she's disabled her GPS chip or she's somewhere GPS signal is blocked." Gibbs gave him a look. "The trace won't work until it is back on or reactivated or unblocked," McGee said. He didn't voice how strange it was to hear Gibbs call him 'Tim'. "But as Ziva's never late, I figured I'd give it a try."

Gibbs nodded. "You're a good man, Tim," he said, before taking a swig from his coffee cup.

"Thanks, Boss," McGee said. "You are, too. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

Gibbs nodded, placing a consoling hand on his new senior field agent's shoulder. McGee smiled half-heartedly in appreciation.

"Tim," Gibbs said, "what happened to your hands?"

McGee blushed and looked down at his hands, wrapped in gauze pads and Ace bandages.

"I, um, I was at Abby's the day of the funeral, and... well, I got angry..." McGee explained. "But, uh, I had a moment of... weakness. I slammed my hands into the wall pretty hard and broke the skin and sprained them. Abby wrapped them for me, but, uh, they're gonna take a couple weeks to heal, she thinks... She's pretty good at that stuff, you know."

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed. "They hurt?" McGee nodded hesitantly. "You should take some time off."

McGee's head snapped up. "Boss?" he asked, unsure if he had heard correctly.

"It wasn't a request, McGee." His voice wasn't quite as gruff as usual.

McGee nodded. "Understood," he said. "Sorry, Boss. I guess I'm turning more into Tony than I thought."

Gibbs nodded, understanding. "It's OK, Tim."

McGee nodded again. "How are you doing, Boss?" he asked. "You haven't said much."

Gibbs shrugged. "I've been worse."

McGee nodded and looked away awkwardly.

"Boss, I was wondering," McGee began. Gibbs looked at him over his coffee cup. "Can we maybe go check Ziva's apartment? I'm not sure if I should be worried or not. I'm a little nervous she may do something drastic."

Gibbs nodded. "Do it. I'll come with you."

McGee nodded. The two men stood up, holstered their guns and badges, just in case, and left the strangely empty, quiet bullpen together.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at Ziva's apartment. Her car was parked on the street. Her apartment window was dark. They entered the complex and went upstairs to her apartment. Drawing their guns, they knocked on the door, then waited several seconds for her to answer. When she did not, they knocked again.

"Ziva, it's McGee," McGee called. "If you're in there, please open up and let's talk."

They waited, but several seconds later, there was still no answer.

"Do we go in, Boss?" McGee asked, preparing to kick in the door.

To McGee's surprise, Gibbs holstered his gun.

"Boss?" McGee asked, confused.

"Even if she is home, she clearly doesn't want to be bothered," Gibbs said. "Let's leave her be. Go back to headquarters, gather your stuff and go home, Tim. Take the day off."

McGee nodded. "Sure, Boss."

Gibbs nodded. They both holstered their guns, then went back to headquarters, packed up their things and left.

The next day, Ziva showed up for work at 0700, like nothing unusual had happened the day before. She looked terrible. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, her makeup was completely ruined and run down her face, and her hair was unwashed, tangled, and barely contained in a ponytail holder.

"Morning," McGee said casually to her, sipping his coffee.

"Morning," Ziva said.

"How's your tea?" McGee asked awkwardly.

"Excellent. And your coffee?" Ziva asked evasively.

"Good. Good coffee," McGee said, taking another sip. After another uncomfortably long pause, he said, "Ziva." Ziva looked up at him and he hesitated. "I... I'm here if you need to talk."

"Thank you, McGee," Ziva said, nodding, "but I am fine. And it is not fair to you to be so concerned about all of us, but not yourself."

McGee nodded. "You miss him, don't you?" he asked.

"McGee," Ziva said, holding up a warning finger, "stop pushing."

McGee opened his mouth, changed his mind, then closed it again. The silence between the two coworkers was unnerving. McGee fidgeted nervously, then Gibbs entered the bullpen.

"Ziva, conference room."

McGee watched curiously as Ziva got up and followed Gibbs to the elevator. After the doors closed, Gibbs flipped the emergency switch and shut it down, then turned to face her.

"Anything you want to talk about?" he asked quietly.

"No."

"That was a quick answer."

"Simple question," Ziva said rigidly.

"Ziva, you know rule number 7—"

"Always be specific when you lie," Ziva answered.

Gibbs nodded. "I know you and Abby had a fight," Gibbs began.

"Of course you do," Ziva said.

"Then you were distant at the funeral."

"We were all distant at the funeral, Gibbs," Ziva pointed out. She forced herself not to roll her eyes; of course Gibbs knew about the fight she and Abby had had. Just like she had told Ducky, Gibbs always knew or found out, one way or another.

"And then you didn't show up for work yesterday," Gibbs said suspiciously. "McGee called, but got no answer at your apartment or on your cell. He traced your cell and came up with nothing. Rule number three: never be unreachable. I know you won't be found when you don't want to be, Ziva, but if there's something going on, I need to know."

There was a very long pause, then Ziva said, "I am debating resigning." Gibbs said nothing, his expression indicating that she should go on. "I am no longer comfortable working for N.C.I.S., after what happened. I know it was an accident, but still, I held the gun. I will never forgive myself for what happened to Tony. I feel like I don't belong here anymore, Gibbs."

Gibbs paused for a long moment, then said, "Well... I won't deny that I think that'd be one of the worst mistakes you'd ever make. Rule number 49: Once is a mistake, twice is stupidity. The team needs you, Ziva."

"The team needed Tony, too, Gibbs, and look where we are now," Ziva said.

"There won't be a team if you leave, Ziva," Gibbs pointed out.

"You are only saying that because you hate training new agents," Ziva said. "It was once just you and Tony. You and McGee will do fine."

"May I remind you, you were a new agent at one time, not too long ago? You came to us from Mossad with your own specialties and skills, yes, but I still had to teach you some things— mainly my rules," Gibbs said. "All I can do is to tell you that you are a very important asset to this team. It won't be the same without you, especially after losing Tony. This isn't easy for any of us and it will be even more difficult if you leave. So I hope you stay. Take some time off, as much time as you need to, and talk to a psychologist and work on moving forward, but do come back to us eventually."

Ziva nodded. "You will have your answer by end of business tomorrow," she said.

"Alright," Gibbs said, then he flipped the emergency switch back on.

The apartment was quiet, later that night, as Ziva packed as much as she could fit into her suitcase and a carry-on bag, in order to catch a flight in the early morning hours. It wasn't much, but she didn't know how long she was going to be gone, or if she was ever coming back. She could buy whatever else she needed once she got to Israel. She was exhausted, but figured she could sleep on the plane. She had called Gibbs a few hours ago and told him of her decision. As she folded her socks and undergarments, the conversation replayed in her mind. Gibbs had asked if he could accompany her, but she had declined; this was something she wanted to do alone.

A small, bittersweet smile briefly crossed her face, as she remembered the last thing he had said to her.

"Take care of yourself. I'm here if you need me."

She appreciated the statement; it told her he still cared.

Finally, at about two a.m., Ziva got ready for bed. She would be up in three hours' time to finish packing before she left to arrive at the airport early. Ziva zipped her suitcase closed, then changed into her pajamas and, after making sure her gun rested safely under her pillow, fell asleep. She roused three hours later, finished packing, then caught a cab to the airport.

As always, please review to tell me what you thought. Thanks. I'll do my best to update again in a week, barring being busy and ever-possible writer's block. You guys have been patient with me so far. Thank you. Especially thanks to my WONDERFUL beta, tiffaroolou, for helping me out with some things within the chapter. I owe you. This chapter is for you. :)

Renthead07