Jethro sat on the stool in his basement and leaned heavily back against the concrete wall. He raised the nail jar that held a finger's worth of bourbon to his lips and took a healthy swallow.

God, he missed her.

Kept thinking of things he should have told her …

Like how he didn't want the night she left to be goodbye.

He looked down at the envelope he held in his other hand. He didn't recognize the return address except for the name: Z. David.

For reasons he couldn't put into words, Jethro was waffling between tearing open the envelope and drawing out the process as long as possible.

She'd been gone for two weeks and it still felt as raw as if she'd left yesterday.

Had they really only known each other for a month before that? Only been together for just over three of those weeks? In the best way possible, it seemed much longer than that.

Not for the first time, he let himself wander through that time in his mind.

Flashback

They spent most of that first weekend enjoying each other … talking … kissing … making love. They clicked in a way that was almost scary to accept, so, in tacit agreement, they didn't talk about that.

After having to scrounge for breakfast after they finally left his bed Saturday morning, Ziva announced they were going to the grocery store so that she could cook. With her along, the boring task that he normally avoided as much as possible wasn't so bad.

And he'd had no clue just how erotic a trip through the produce section could be until he got hot and bothered watching as she handled, smelled, squeezed various fruits and vegetables … the cucumber being the last straw. She caught his hiss of need at that point and playfully tapped her chin with the item in question as her eyes teased him unmercifully.

She laughed delightedly as he tossed the cucumber into their basket and grabbed her hand to haul her to the checkout.

He had no idea how he got them home without wrecking his truck considering most of his attention and at least one of his hands were on her the entire ride.

And both of hers were on him.

They were barely in the door at home before jumping each other.

"Wall sex," he decreed, referring to their options from the night before.

"Definitely wall sex," she answered breathlessly, practically crawling up the front of him.

One last thought tried to make it through the haze of desire.

"The milk?" she mumbled against his mouth, not really caring if she had to go out and buy more at that point.

"Trust me – this isn't going to take that long."

He'd been right.

And he hadn't been back to the market without her.

The gray morning they'd woken up to that first day gave way to a rainy Saturday that begged for working on his boat in the basement together followed by snuggling in front of a fire, which is exactly what they did – neither of them admitting out loud that such a thing was not the norm for them.

The weather outside increased their feeling of seclusion from the rest of the world, further cocooning them in a sense of intimacy that went beyond the physical. They pulled his couch over in front of the fireplace and sat there well into the night … talking … eating … drinking a bottle of wine … making love.

She shared that her mother had left her father when she was fourteen when he'd stepped outside his marriage with a young, attractive, determined Mossad officer … and then her mother had died suddenly, traumatically two years later, leaving Ziva and Tali to live with their father once again.

He learned of the loss of her sister, Tali, in a suicide bombing and Ziva's relentless pursuit of revenge against every member of the terrorist cell responsible. They refrained from acknowledging their similarity in that, but it all but reverberated silently between them, further connecting them.

Ziva wordlessly held Gibbs close as he spoke out loud for only the second time in his life about losing his mother when he was sixteen, as well, when she'd taken her own life rather than wait for her illness to turn her into someone she couldn't bear for her husband and son to see, to have to take care of. Again, their common ground was deeply felt, but remained unvoiced.

She asked curiously, but not judgmentally about his marriages, and he asked if she'd ever been married. She shook her head.

I think you have been married enough for both of us and thank you for taking care of that. I cannot imagine ever getting married myself.

He moved his memory forward and flashes of her face, visions of her spread beneath him, heartfelt words, bits of conversations tumbled through his mind, some that made him so hard in an instant he thought he might explode … like waking up that first Saturday morning to the feeling of her mouth all over him, the erotic words she'd breathed into his ear after she'd pleasured him.

I want to swallow so much of your cum that I will never forget the taste of you.

The sight of the hickey he'd left on her neck that had filled him with a sense of satisfaction so intense that it shocked him.

Being at home in bed three nights later, after he'd thanked her for saving his life that day. She'd cupped his jaw in her hand, her thumb smoothing over his cheek bone, as she gazed into his eyes.

Your life is very important to me. I will always save you whenever it is in my power to do so.

Since she'd been gone, he slept on the couch and kept putting off washing his sheets because now and then he would lie on his bed thinking of her and catch a whiff of her scent, letting it wash over him. One night, he pushed a hand under his pillow and found the red shirt she'd worn that first night she'd come home with him. It smelled even more like her than his sheets and the only thing that stopped him from tucking it inside the pillow case he was using on the couch was the feeling that he was acting like a love-struck teenager.

Finally, he remembered the day she had to leave …

Flashback

Gibbs looked up as the elevator dinged. He was expecting Ziva to come get him for lunch once she was finished with a meeting involving Homeland Security, the FBI, the CIA and the White House following the successful anniversary celebration at The Holocaust Museum the day before.

Sure enough, it was she that walked around the edge of the cubicle next to his. His welcoming smile that automatically pulled at him as he laid eyes on her dimmed at the look in her eyes, at the slight smile that didn't quite reach those brown depths.

He stood and met her halfway.

"What's wrong?"

She just shook her head slightly. With a surreptitious squeeze of his fingers as she said a quick hello to Tim and Tony, she sent a silent message that she'd tell him privately.

Within minutes, Gibbs had her in his office with the stop switch thrown. He looked down at her, his hand under her chin to raise her eyes to his.

"My fa-, director called," she husked haltingly, revealingly. "I have to leave."

His stomach clenched.

He put his arms around her and hugged her close. She laid her head against his chest and held him in return.

"When?" he managed.

"Midnight," she whispered.

The bottom fell out of his world.

"Tonight?"

She nodded, fighting to hold back the tide of emotion that was threatening to pull her under now that she was with him and he was holding her.

This wasn't supposed to have happened.

Being with Jethro was supposed to have stayed just incredibly satisfying sex with a handsome, intriguing man that she genuinely liked on so many levels. Not so much a relationship as two consenting adults enjoying each other.

It had turned out to be … so much more.

And her heart was certainly not supposed to have gotten involved at all.

But it had.

Her father would undoubtedly be disgusted at her show of weakness as she held tightly to the man in her arms, seeking to absorb some of Jethro's strength for herself, but she couldn't bring herself to care just then. She was struggling to find her usual sense of balance in the face of feeling like her world had unexpectedly been yanked out from beneath her.

Gibbs breathed out a sigh of shock and frustration. He rubbed one hand gently up and down her spine in an unconscious attempt to soothe them both.

"We knew," she whispered.

But she hadn't known just how much she would feel like she was about to leave the best part of her life on this side of the planet.

She tilted her head back and looked up at him with sad eyes and an attempt at a smile.

Cupping his jaw in her hand, she urged his head down until she could lean her forehead against his.

"We knew," she repeated softly.

But he hadn't known just how necessary she would come to feel to him in an obscenely short period of time.

"Yeah," he sighed, resting his cheek on her hair.

"Do you think …" Ziva stopped herself and shook her head slightly. "Never mind – you have to work."

"What?" he asked.

She opened her mouth, then closed it without a word.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against the shell of her ear.

Ziva looked into his eyes, her soul laid bare.

"You," she husked. "I want you … until I have to …" She stopped, then forced the last word past the lump in her throat. "Go."

"Me, too," he agreed with feeling.

Reaching out, he flipped the switch to start the elevator again and punched the floor that would take them to the parking garage. Walking to his truck, he called Leon and took the rest of the day off.

They spent the next several hours wrapped around each other in his bed … making love … whispering … remembering … sharing.

They both swallowed promises they weren't sure could be kept – and the words that didn't come easily to either of them.

As the time drew near for them to shower and dress for the ride to the Navy Yard landing strip where a Mossad plane waited, Gibbs shared some of what was on his heart as he lay with his head cradled against her chest.

"Knew you'd have to leave," he said quietly. He tilted his head back and looked into her eyes. "Didn't know how much I wouldn't want you to."

"I did not either," she whispered hoarsely, tracing her eyes and fingers over his handsome features as though memorizing every line, every facet.

In fact, she was.

At ten before midnight, they stood on the tarmac as Malachi oversaw the confinement of the prisoners on the plane. All the Hamas operatives that had been captured stateside and the additional Mossad agents who'd first been to Miami and New York were making the return trip, as well.

Once his task was finished, Malachi descended the steps of the aircraft and walked up to Ziva and Jethro as they stood side by side.

"We are set," he told Ziva, then turned his attention to Gibbs. He held out his hand and shook the older man's hand. "Thank you for your assistance, Agent Gibbs." With a faint smile, he added, "And for not holding it against me when I stepped out of line."

While he occasionally entertained the idea of more, Ziva was, above all, his partner and his friend – and even he could see that this man was good for her. He couldn't help but feel that it was too bad they were about to live an ocean apart again … this time in full knowledge that the other was out there.

Wanting.

Jethro managed a ghost of a smile and a nod.

Malachi looked at Ziva. "We will leave whenever you are ready."

He held out his hand for her backpack, which she surrendered with a murmured, "Toda."

Ben-Gidon walked back up the steps of the plane, leaving them alone together.

Ziva stepped into Jethro's arms and just held on to him for a moment, attempting to soak one last memory of him into her very being. Then she slid one hand behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss that was soft and warm and tender and clinging … and said the goodbye she couldn't force past her lips.

She released his mouth, then came back once, twice more before holding his face in her hands.

"Take care of yourself, Special Agent Gibbs," she directed him emotionally, her eyes on his. "The world is a better place with you in it."

"You, too," he managed.

With another soft, brief kiss, Ziva turned away and started toward the plane. A few steps away, she stopped.

His heart stuttered.

She whirled around and flew back into the arms he held open for her. They shared a kiss that was frantic and full of all they couldn't say.

One of the tears sparkling in her brown eyes spilled over and trailed down her cheek as she kissed him long and hard and desperately.

After endless minutes, she pulled away, swiping at her cheek as she wordlessly walked swiftly away with the squared-shoulders stride of a soldier.

Tucking her hands into the pockets of the long cloth coat she wore, Ziva kept her focus on the plane in front of her, afraid if she turned back again, she wouldn't leave.

He hadn't heard from her since.

Until he found this letter in his mail today after arriving home from work, where he'd been finding excuses to stay even later than usual to avoid coming home to a house that felt empty without her.

Felt emptier, not less so, as time went on.

Unable to hold off any longer, he pried open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Her handwriting was as neat and attractive as the rest of her.

Dear Jethro,

Since you do not have e-mail at home and I do not want to send this to your work, I decided to write an "old-fashioned" letter. This feels more like you, anyway.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

I have been - how do you say it? off the radar? under the grid? something like that - nearly since I have been back, as work took me out of the country again … just not to yours this time.

I wish it had – taken me to yours, that is.

I hope you are well. I keep thinking of things that perhaps I should have said to you. I find myself wondering if you are doing that, too.

He was.

Was glad to know she was, too.

I also cannot help but wonder … have you been back to that place where we danced our first night together? And, if so, did that red head with her eye on you succeed in capturing your attention this time? (While you deserve to be happy, yes, I am glaring in her direction just thinking about it.)

He could just picture that. Picture her. Couldn't help but grin.

And I wonder … do you think about me … as often as I think of you?

If she thought of him nearly every hour of every day, then yeah, he did.

And he had no idea just how long she'd wavered indecisively about how to sign the letter, eventually settling for just Ziva.

He glanced at his watch and realized it was 5:00 a.m. the next day in Tel Aviv. From living with her he knew that, if she was home, she'd be about ready to go for a run. Impulsively, he took out his phone, found her in his contacts and called her.

Half a world away, Ziva paused in the act of tying her athletic shoes and looked at her phone in surprise. When she saw Gibbs on her display, her heart thumped in her chest as a slow smile brightened her face.

She picked up her phone and wandered over to stare out the window toward the west, as though she could see him if she just looked hard enough.

"Good morning," she said warmly, her smile coming through her voice. "Although, it is still night for you, yes?"

"Yeah, but morning to you," he returned with a smile of his own.

There was a brief pause as they both wondered what to say, where to start.

"Got your letter," he shared.

"Good," she said softly. Then she caught herself up short, hating the slight awkwardness between them as they tried to find each other again, the uncertainty that reared its ugly head once more that perhaps he felt it was best to just move on. She asked carefully, "It is good, yes?"

"Yeah," he assured her. "And, no; wouldn't matter even if that answer was yes, no; yes; and not sure – how often do you think about me?"

Her brow had wrinkled in confusion as he started seemingly answering questions out of the blue, then she realized he was addressing the end of her letter.

Her smile grew.

And her heart melted.

In her mind, she went back over what she had written … she'd read it enough to have memorized it while deliberating over whether to send it. When she realized he hadn't gone back to that bar without her – and that he wouldn't have been interested in the red head even if he had – her pulse rate kicked up in a happy dance.

And he thought about her … sigh.

She was very happy to hear that.

Then she realized he was waiting expectantly. What had he asked her?

Oh. Yes.

"I think about you every day," she revealed quietly. "Far too many times to count."

"Then, yeah, I do think about you as often as you think about me."

Now her heart cheered. Soared.

"That is very good to hear," she husked, her brilliant smile reflected in her voice.

And with that, they found their groove again, the one that had come so naturally to them from the moment they'd met.

Uncharacteristically for both of them except with each other, they talked for nearly an hour about everything and nothing, until she reluctantly had to get ready for work.

Sensing their conversation was drawing to a close, Jethro 'fessed up about having her shirt.

"If I admit I found one of your shirts under my pillow, will you make me send it back?"

On the other side of the world, her lips twitched before she made a provocative confession of her own.

"Will you feel like you were back in high school if I admit I left it there for you to find?"

She pictured his characteristic grin as his slight chuckle drew one from her, and that sense of emotional intimacy that had flared between them almost from the first closed all but the physical distance between them.

Their conversation rested for a moment in companionable silence.

"I am glad you called," she told him softly. She hesitated for just a breath before adding, "I miss you."

"Glad you wrote," he returned. "Miss you, too."

"Perhaps we can talk again soon?" she wondered almost hesitantly.

"Count on it," he responded firmly.

"Goodbye, Jethro."

And while he normally hung up without saying goodbye, he found he couldn't do that to her.

"Bye, Ziva."

After he closed his phone, he sat there leaning against the wall, the Ziva-shaped hole in his heart both smaller and bigger for having talked to her.

He had no idea how he was going to manage missing her so much, but one thing was for sure: he wasn't ready to let go of her.