Gibbs kicked the front door shut with a sigh. He briefly wondered exactly why he had decided to go back to work so soon. Granted, Ziva no longer needed him to get around the house, so he couldn't use that as an excuse anymore, but being at the Navy Yard all day without Ziva sitting at the desk next to his was more taxing than he had thought it would be.
"Welcome home," Ziva called from the living room. Gibbs made his way towards her voice, finding her curled up on the sofa, book in hand. She glanced up at his entrance, gracing him with a welcoming smile. Closing the book over her finger to keep her place, she tilted her head up to receive the kiss he gave her as he leaned over the back of the couch.
She had left her hair curly, and she was without make-up, but she was still the most beautiful person he had seen all day. He propped his forearms up along the back of the sofa, resting on them as he leaned down to put his head on her level.
"How was work?" she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. His eyebrow arched as a smirk crossed his lips. Ziva looked quizzical at his expression, before realization took over and she closed her eyes with a pained smile. "I sound like a housewife," she observed in mild disgust. Gibbs nodded. She pegged him with a look that clearly said 'I told you so'. "I have to get back to work soon, Jethro." He didn't respond, knowing she remembered as well as he that the doctor had strictly forbidden work for at least another half-month. She rolled her eyes. "The question still stands," she reminded him.
"The usual," he responded, not wanting to go into detail. Disappointment flashed across her features, but she recognized his desire to not elaborate, and did not pursue the subject. A brief, yet comfortable silence fell as Ziva waited for him to make the next move. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked finally, steering them towards a less heady topic.
"I think we still have leftovers," she responded. Then her eyes widened, and Gibbs' grin grew. "I am warning you, Jethro, if you keep me in this house much longer, and I will become a Stepford." Gibbs stared at her in surprise.
"You've read The Stepford Wives?" he asked. She nodded.
"Twice," she replied. "It was on your bookshelf. I have read everything on your bookshelf. Twice. I am on the third go-around." Gibbs' surprised expression persisted. "I told you I needed to start working again. You did not believe me." She looked at him hopefully, but he shook his head, eliminating any chance that she'd be able to persuade him to allow her back to NCIS against doctor's orders. Her shoulders slumped for an instant before she squared them again, coming to a decision. "We are having Chinese," she declared. Gibbs smiled.
"I'll go call it in," he said, straightening and making his way to the kitchen. "What do you want?"
"Surprise me," she called back. From his position just inside the kitchen, Gibbs was able to see her get up from her spot on the couch to come join him. "Hey, what do you say we—" her words were interrupted by an anguished cry of pain. Gibbs' eyes shot to her, and he watched her left leg give out under her as she tried to put weight on it. She dropped to one knee with a muffled moan of pain. He was at her side in a flash, gently helping her back onto the sofa. His hands gingerly massaged her leg, careful to not press too hard on the scar that alerted him to the presence of her metal plate.
"Ziva," he said comfortingly. She glanced at him, and he saw her brow furrowed in pain. "How long were you on the sofa?" he asked, thinking her muscles had seized from being in one position too long.
"Not long," she said. Her voice held an undistinguishable quality that made his gut twinge. He glanced at her again, and this time, found the faintest hint of guilt in her eyes.
"Ziva?" he asked in question, his tone urging her to come clean. "What--?" Then the epiphany hit him. "You went for a run, didn't you?" he said, his tone more accusatory than questioning. "Dammit, Ziva you know the doctor said you weren't cleared yet."
"I think I know my abilities better than she does," Ziva said defensively. "And it was only up and down the street, and not very quickly." Her voice turned bitter. "I could barely go faster than a tortoise."
"That's not the point, Ziva," Gibbs said. "What if something had happened? No one would have known where you were, and no one could call 911 if you collapsed."
"Gibbs, you live on a street with two dozen families. Someone would have called 911." Gibbs sighed, trying to keep his temper in check. "I took appropriate precautions prior to and during the run, Jethro. I warmed up the muscle, stretched, and I did not push myself too far. I stopped when I felt the muscle becoming fatigued." She gave him a pointed look. "I did not want to, but I did." He looked up at her once more, and couldn't help but grin in return when he saw her smiling at him. He sighed, shaking his head in defeat.
"Fine," he conceded. "But wait until I get home next time, and then we can run together."
"No," she said firmly with shake of her head. Her quick response left Gibbs mildly surprised. "This is something I need to do on my own, Jethro," she continued. "I know my limits. Besides, I need something to do beside read when you are away during the day." This last bit was laced with resentment and bitterness, but she continued quickly before he could speak. "Do you trust me?" she asked.
"Yes." His answer was immediate, without reservation. She smiled.
"Then it is settled." She stood, and pulled him to his feet. "I am hungry for Chinese."
Later that night, Gibbs insisted that Ziva rest while he cleaned the remnants of their simple take-out meal. Indignation had flared in her eyes, but a stern glance of his own silenced any protests she had. Without a word she left the kitchen, and Gibbs knew that she would let her displeasure be known before the night was through.
When he went looking for her some ten minutes later, he found her sitting next to the window, looking out into the night. In her hand, he saw the picture of Shmuel that Bashan had given her. Her free hand was fingering the Star of David around her neck, which he had returned to her the first night she had spent at home. He could see her reflection in the window, and he noticed that her eyes were unfocused, unseeing. She was deep in thought, in memory, and he knew that she was thinking of her past, the one she had shared with the man in the photo. Instead of calling her attention to his presence, he left her where she was and made his way to the basement. He would give her the time she needed, he decided as he picked up a sanding bar and began to pull it back and forth across the unfinished wood of his boat. But a part of him wondered if she knew how to overcome this. He hadn't. He was still getting over Shannon's and Kelly's deaths. Loving Ziva had helped him incalculably, but he had an inkling that Ziva needed something more, especially with the events and developments of the past months. But she would not accept or appreciate any overture of help from him, that much was certain. And he understood and respected that.
When he finally abandoned his boat in favor of getting some sleep, he returned to the living room, where she had not moved from her position by the window. He crossed to her and pressed a kiss to her hair. She was surprisingly unresponsive to his touch. Gibbs was mildly disconcerted, but shoved the feeling away.
"I'm going to bed," he said.
"I will be up in little while," she replied, not looking at him.
"Ziva—" he started, hating how condescending his voice sounded, even to his ears. Her sharp voice cut him off.
"I said I will up later." Her head turned slightly so she could fix him an angry glare for a brief moment before turning her back on him once more. Gibbs hesitated for a moment, and then silently turned on his heel and quietly made his way upstairs.
As he lay in bed a few minutes later, his mind began to wander. He couldn't pretend that her biting words hadn't bothered him. They had, but on the other hand, he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't have responded the same way had their positions been reversed. And he could recall several times in which he had snapped at her during a case. Of course, that had been before the two of them had become personally involved, but did that really hold any sway on the matter?
He then pondered how to proceed. Would it be better to allow her to run her course? How long should he let her short temper continue unchecked and unchallenged? He caught himself. He was thinking like a father, probably in response to the subtle vulnerability that her injuries forced her to display. But the last thing she needed, and the last thing he wanted to be to her, was a father. He needed to look at the situation from the perspective of a lover, which meant letting her take her time. He wouldn't be doing her, or himself, any favors if he did otherwise.
It was almost an hour and half later when Ziva finally joined him. His eyes were closed, though he was still very much awake, and felt the bed dip as she crawled onto it. Her scent washed over him, that familiar fragrance of flowers and spice tickling his senses as she smoothly climbed ever closer. Her warm presence settled on the bed next to him as she settled against the length of his body. Then soft lips brushed his skin as she kissed the corner of his mouth.
"I love you," she whispered. His spirits lifted at her words. He opened his eyes then, only to find that she had already laid her head down on the pillow. He leaned over and gave her a kiss of his own.
"I love you too," he said simply. He gently pulled her closer, and she willingly obeyed, moving towards him until his arms encircled her entirely and her head rested on his shoulder. She seemed to crave the physical contact, as she melted against him, and her breathing quickly evened out as she fell asleep. Gibbs' last thought before joining her in slumber was the knowledge that the worst was yet to come.