Chapter Ten

"Only the guy who isn't rowing has time to rock the boat." – John-Paul Sartre

Gibbs listened. Watched. He heard G's attempts to get Ziva to open her eyes. To look past her assumptions about Tony, about teamwork, about what it means to watch your partner's back.

Assumptions. You'd think by Gibbs' age he would have learned how to do it. How to knock it into junior agents' heads that making assumptions could kill you. Assuming that the cowering suspect was beaten. Assuming a rape victim was so far gone in shock that she wouldn't react to her attacker. Assuming every military recruit was a loyal patriot and could not possibly be hiding a terrorist agenda.

Hell, Gibbs was as guilty as any of them. He'd screwed up with Jenny, underestimating the depth of her obsession, and the expert way she'd preyed on DiNozzo's wavering confidence after Gibbs' ringing two-word endorsement. "You'll do." Assumed that a hiatus on a Mexican beach would knit up all the cobwebs in his head and shuffle the memories back into place. More than that, Gibbs had assumed that he could walk back into the bullpen, into his job, as if no one had changed. As if DiNozzo wouldn't grow into his leadership role. As if McGee wouldn't come to like being an SFA. As if the world would have stopped turning and the sun stopped rising just because Leroy Jethro Gibbs had called a time-out.

He'd screwed up with Vance, too. Hadn't trusted the man's motives for a second, but he'd trusted his position – his expertise. Trusted that the Intel Vance held about the mole would be complete. And that the mole-hunt was truly a joint mission between them. Why? Because Vance had, supposedly, laid all of his money down on Gibbs and his gut. It was a heady thing, that trust. Blew up your ego like a hot air balloon. Until lying to his team seemed like the reasonable thing to do.

Never assume. Always verify. The list of times Gibbs had ignored his own rules, especially this one, was long. Should have verified Vance's power to immediately transfer McGee and DiNozzo without their approval. Should have verified Ziva's mental readiness to come back to work behind a desk at NCIS. And, by God, he should have checked Langer's guilt – and Lee's innocence – beyond a keycard, tears, and a pool of blood.

Even after he'd been kicked in the ass by both Ducky and by Callen, Gibbs had done it again. He'd assumed that, in a moment of stress, a member of his team would follow his direct order to stand down instead of lashing out, following her own agenda. Not the first time. Not by a long shot. And, damn it, if he was being honest with himself he knew it would not be the last. And now he was standing in a hospital room, catching on to the danger a hell of a lot too late. His agent concussed, one prison guard injured, and Ziva still couldn't see the light. Gibbs shook his head and let the door slowly close behind him.

Gibbs tried to see Ziva through Callen's eyes. A foreign agent. A weapon with a hair-trigger. A loner – unable and unwilling to fit into a team. Someone who still, even after three years at NCIS, considered herself superior to the foolish rules and mandates of this agency and this country.

When the dark, vulnerable gaze turned to him, all Gibbs saw was Ziva's attack on the angry crowd of inmates in the women's prison. Her cold, narrowed eyes as her hands struck out. And he heard, again, the sickening thud as her head was slammed into the concrete floor when the mob of violent women overwhelmed her so superior skills by sheer weight.

"Gibbs."

And now, in her voice, he didn't hear regret. Or apology. Or the slightest recognition of her mistake – of her arrogance – that had taken a bad situation and turned it into a prison riot.

Now, all Gibbs heard was manipulation.

"Came here to clear some things up," he said, moving up beside Callen's position. He squeezed the agent's shoulder, hoping to communicate the passing of the baton. This was Gibbs' problem. Gibbs' team. It was about time he handled it. "Looks like Agent Callen started without me."

Callen grinned at him, unrepentant. "Hope you don't mind, Gibbs. Just keeping the seat warm."

"Nope. Not surprised." G was a good friend. Good agent. Gibbs felt a half-smile twitch against his lip. Reminded him a lot of DiNozzo. Stepping in where angels feared to tread.

"You are not surprised that this man has come to torment me? To try to 'teach' me about Tony? About a man I've worked with for years?"

Ziva's posture, her deliberately whining tone, sent the hairs on the back of Gibbs' neck to attention. He barely noticed when Callen shifted away, drifting off on the rolling stool to the edge of the room, beyond the confrontation. Gibbs' focus was here. Now. On the problem staring him in the face and daring him to blame her. To change. To step out of the father/daughter roles that she'd set him up for. The dynamic that set her apart from McGee and DiNozzo.

He speared her with his glare. "It's about time someone did."

She flinched as if Gibbs had slapped her. No head-slaps for Ziva. For Kate. Jenny. Hitting a woman – his hands weren't built for that. His head couldn't fathom it. Callen would call him a dinosaur, jab at his old-fashioned, stubborn chauvinism. DiNozzo would smile and remind him of some women who could clean his clock. Old dog, old tricks, isn't that what he'd told Stan just a few days ago?

'And just what has that gotten you, Gunny?'

What did Gibbs have? Old tricks, old habits. Ruts. Assumptions. His precious gut. Yeah, he huffed, that had worked out so well lately. Michelle Lee. Another young, vulnerable woman. Bankston had picked the right agent to use to infiltrate the MCRT, to steal secrets, and to get so far under Gibbs' skin he didn't know if he was coming or going. Poor, little Michelle, shaking and crying, had to kill Langer to defend herself. And he'd fallen for it.

Ziva leaned back, widening the space between them. Obviously giving herself a few seconds to adjust to Gibbs' harsh tone. "You both pretend that Tony is the most important thing in the world. As if giving in to his tantrums is vital to the continuation of this agency or to this team." She flung her hands in the air. "It is ridiculous."

Gibbs nodded once. "You're right. DiNozzo is not the center of the universe." He waited, letting the relief flood her eyes and a smile make its way across her face. Then he struck. "But he is my Senior Field Agent. And he, at least, knows how to follow orders." He tossed the empty coffee cup in the trash can, making sure it hit the side with a loud bang. "Why is it that I can't expect the same from you?"

"Gibbs," Ziva sighed. "I am sorry. You know my training – you better than any other." She tried a knowing smile. "It is hard for those of us trained to action, knowing that one's reflexes can – and have – been the only thing standing between life and death, to stand down."

Gibbs wasn't a teacher. Had always known that about himself. In the Corps, he'd never put in for Drill Instructor Training. Making Marines - he didn't have the temperament for it. He did his job. Followed orders. Worked well in his unit. Words didn't work for him – never had. Marines watched. Listened. Learned. Practiced. And then did it over and over again until it was ingrained. Driven deep. Didn't have to think about it. That kind of teaching made for successful snipers. Soldiers.

"Gibbs doesn't teach. You learn."

He'd heard Tony say it. To Blackadder. To Kate. To McGee. He'd tried with Ziva, too. But Ziva didn't think she had a thing to learn. Not from a Marine. Not from a cop. Not from anyone. For every one of Gibbs' rules DiNozzo had quoted to her, Ziva had an Israeli expression. Or a story. Some scenario where she came out looking like a worldly-wise veteran assassin and the rest of them paled in comparison.

Listening to McGee and DiNozzo, watching them work together today to get Gibbs and Ziva from the women's prison, Gibbs didn't have to wonder who had done the real teaching. Who had stepped in and stepped up, delivered more than head slaps and monosyllabic rules to his junior agent. McGee had done a damn fine job and Gibbs couldn't take much of the credit. Tony had taken the role of Senior Field Agent and filled it with all of the things Gibbs himself was missing. A buddy. A friend. A cheerleader. Someone who could – and would – push and prod his fellow agents without threats, without stares; someone who taught them to anticipate, to think, and, by his own example, to watch out for each other.

Gibbs didn't teach. And, to compound the problem, Ziva wouldn't learn.

"Tell me, Ziva. If it hadn't been you. If that had been, say, DiNozzo in that prison with me. Do you think he would have followed my orders?" Gibbs hitched up his pants and rested one foot on the low rail of her bed. He bent forward to lean one elbow on his knee. "Or would he have kept fighting. Like you did on the Domino mission."

Gibbs had told them not to fight. Not to respond. The guards in the secure facility had live weapons and he at least made sure that his team would not get hurt. But they had. DiNozzo took a gun butt to the face. Ziva, worse.

Ziva pursed her lips. "Of course Tony would have followed your orders. It is his nature. He requires someone to lead him, to tell him what to do." She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. "We do not have that 'follower' mindset."

Looking at the woman in the hospital bed, her hands slowly smoothing the blanket over her lap, confidence – inarguable certainty – bright behind her narrowed eyes, Gibbs' 'watching and waiting' finally paid off. For the first time, he saw it. Saw her. Not as a daughter. Not as a frail, vulnerable woman, alone in a strange land. Brotherless. Sisterless. Having given up home and family for him – for Gibbs. Now he saw her as she saw herself. As she had always seen herself. Hand-picked by Eli David and Jenny Sheppard. Reminded again and again of her superiority, of her training. 'The sharp point of the spear.' Seamlessly taking over the desk of an agent who had fallen to her own brother's gun.

Ziva believed she and Gibbs had a special bond. A connection deeper and stronger than any other. An unspoken oath. Blood brothers, like they used to do as kids. 'Pinky promise swear,' Abby would say.

Ziva believed that she was Gibbs' equal.

Gibbs turned his head away, muscles trembling as he clenched his teeth, biting back a shout. He was caught by Callen's steady stare, the air between them all but rippling with mutual understanding. He watched as the other agent nodded, G's emotions held securely behind a bland mask of professionalism. Then Callen rose, dusted off his trousers, and stood, waiting, offering, without any words, anything that Gibbs needed. He'd stay. He'd leave. He'd go for coffee – or bourbon. For an instant Gibbs saw DiNozzo there, broadcasting the exact same promises. Just as he had done so many times before.

That was a connection. An understanding. A bond. Gibbs closed his eyes for just a moment and then nodded back at Callen. Releasing him. This was Gibbs' problem. His own behavior had caused this. And, by damned, he was going to make it right.

A muscle beside Callen's mouth twitched before he turned away, and Gibbs knew who would be waiting for him in the hospital parking lot when he was finished. Good. Time to fix this. Past time.

Before the door drifted closed Gibbs had moved to stand beside Ziva's bed, his feet planted wide, hands loose at his sides. He used the emptiness of his expression and the antiseptic quiet of the room to reach her. To show her that he wasn't smiling, that something had changed – that, starting now, everything would change.

He watched as the silence drained away her confidence. Her arrogance. Watched the darkness replace the light behind her eyes. Saw her backtrack through their words, replaying Gibbs' conversation, Callen's arrival, and her mistakes at the prison. And he knew the moment she realized she had said something wrong. Done something wrong. This time, it was Gibbs who used the silence like a weapon, who drew the battle lines, and set up the combatants. This time, there were words that had to be said. Plain and clear. Unlike Palmer, Gibbs didn't have a choice. And precious little hope that these words would make a bit of difference.

"I'm going to talk now, Ziva. And you're going to listen."

She nodded, outwardly contrite. Shoulders straight. Ready to absorb one of Gibbs' short, to the point lectures. Not this time. This time that wasn't good enough.

"You are going to listen, Officer David. Listen hard. You will hear every word I'm going to say, not waste my time by thinking up responses or counter-arguments. I don't want to hear them. Not now. Not later. Not tomorrow or next week. I don't want to walk into my bullpen to hear you using these words as accusations. I do not want to find you repeating what I'm going to say to Abby, or Ducky, or McGee, trying to get their sympathy. Do you understand?"

Her eyes had widened as he'd begun to talk before narrowing down to slits. She tried to hide it – the anger, the haughty, sneering rage that filled her. Tried to hide behind that childlike trust. But the finger-paints were smeared, changing her mask of 'beloved daughter' into 'worldly assassin' and back again before Gibbs' eyes. No way she could be both and she seemed unwilling – unable – to choose just one.

Enough. Time to be heard. "Answer me!" he shouted.

"Gibbs!" The word snapped out of her almost against her will. "I am listening!"

"Then hear this. You're missing a vital piece of information, Officer David. You've overlooked or ignored something that is screwing up your ability to work on my team. To follow orders. To even hear orders when a superior officer voices them. Me." He pointed to his chest. "DiNozzo. Both higher than you in the chain of command. Not your friends. Not your subordinates. Not even your partners. No. Tony and I outrank you, David. Do you hear that?"

"Technically, of course-" her smile was starting to bloom again.

"No." Gibbs took a step forward, forcing her to look up at him. "Not technically. Not on paper. Here and now in real life. And every damn day you take a breath on my team. You get that?"

"Gibbs, you cannot mean that. We know better, you and I."

Leaning in, Gibbs smiled. "I'm beginning to believe you don't know shit, David."

He stepped back again, letting the fear flush her arrogance down the toilet. And to get himself back under control. Calm. Restrained. Gibbs stared down at her. "What does Abby call me?"

"Wh – what?" Ziva was reeling, hit from too many directions at once.

"What does Abby call me, Officer David?"

She swallowed, frowning. "Gibbs. She calls you Gibbs."

"And Ducky?"

"Also Gibbs. Or Jethro." Ziva's head was shaking back and forth, confusion forcing her answers.

"What about McGee?"

"I do not underst-"

"Answer me!"

"Boss. He calls you Boss. As does Tony."

"So did Stan. And Blackadder. Reynolds and Farmer before them. Lee, Keating, and Langer."

"Yes." She nodded, hands clenched together in her lap.

Gibbs' voice came out in a hissing whisper. "And why do you think that is?"

He watched her struggle to bite back some nasty remarks about lapdogs or men who were built to be followers rather than leaders. She met his eyes. "It is about respect. You do not like people to call you 'sir.' They acknowledge your superiority instead with 'boss.' Yes?"

He nodded, slow and steady. "And Abby and Ducky? Do they not respect me?"

"Of course they do. But Abby is … Abby is not a field agent. She does not regard you as a Marine. A commander. But a protector. A fa- a mentor," she hastily corrected, eyebrows dipping. "And Doctor Mallard is both older and a vaunted professional. You have known each other for years. He considers you a friend, an equal. Someone with past life experience similar to his own."

"Yeah." Gibbs felt some of the tension dissipate. Surely she could see it now. He'd all but forced her face into the truth. "And what do you call me, Ziva?"

"I – I call you Gibbs."

"And just why is that?" Gibbs tilted his head, encouraging her to think. To process. To get it. "You aren't my friend. We don't share 'past life experience.' And I'm sure as hell not your father."

"But we do. We are. Similar," she stammered. "We share-"

"No, Ziva, we don't." His voice was softer. Less strident. "Listen, Ziva. We don't share some dark secret that binds us together in some mysterious way. Plenty of people know you shot Ari in my basement. Vance. Eli. Ducky. DiNozzo. They all know. It doesn't make us buddies. And it sure as hell doesn't make you my equal."

Her face was pale, her eyes desperately seeking something behind Gibbs', something that just wasn't there.

Time to cut to the chase. "Do you even respect me a little, Ziva?"

"Gibbs! How can you ask me that?" There was a woundedness in her voice. A little girl's pain. A woman's insecurity.

Gibbs couldn't heal those injuries. Not right now. Maybe not ever. But he could maybe put her on a path that wouldn't re-open them again and again. Help her live long enough to find her own solutions.

"You disobeyed a direct order today. And it sure as hell wasn't the first time."

"I am sorry. It – " she swallowed what might have been another excuse or a promise to never do it again. She straightened, looking him steadily in the eye. "I will do better."

Good. "Good," he echoed out loud. "Because, if you don't do better, if you don't start putting yourself in your place as a subordinate member of my team, I'll be doing it for you."

She raised her eyebrows. "Like this."

It wasn't a question, but Gibbs was damn well going to answer it. "No. Not like this. You get one personal talk outside the team. From now on, I'll be ripping you a new one in public. In front of anyone who happens to be in earshot. And," he made sure she was still listening, still watching, "I'll be giving DiNozzo permission to do the same."

She chewed on the reprimand, on his threats – his promises – and Gibbs wondered if she'd spit it back at him or have the strength to swallow it down.

"So this really has been all about DiNozzo after all."

Gibbs snorted, shaking his head. It was probably as good a reaction as he could have expected. He headed towards the door and turned to speak over his shoulder. "No, Ziva. This is about getting another chance to do things right. DiNozzo just happens to be the one who got the snowball rolling."