A/N: Today brings a calmer chapter, but it explains some things, and has a couple of great scenes that I really like.
Thank you to everyone for the incredible reviews and alerts and everything—I'm astounded, and I think you're all really amazing. Thank you again.
Also, thanks to livingandthriving, who has been so brilliant and encouraging and supportive, and also to everyone at the CBS forums—you guys are fabulous.
Autumn
"For we pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won." -- Lucy Maud Montgomery
"Explain it to me, Duck," Gibbs said, walking into autopsy. He sounded a little confused, and were he anyone else, he might have been described as "lost."
"Explain what, exactly?" Ducky leaned against an autopsy table as he spoke with Palmer, who sat at his mentor's chair.
"Abdi. Why. Why'd he do it?"
Ducky sighed and set down his pen, nodding to Palmer to give them some privacy—some things never changed. "When Ziva said he was 'looking for a way out,' she was correct."
"Well yeah, I get the suicide bombing part."
"No, that's not what I mean, Jethro. Ziva described to me the events of the day before she left yesterday, and I read the report this morning. I have been thinking about it, and each time I come back to the ordeal, it sounds more and more like Battered Woman Syndrome."
"This guy was a victim, Duck?"
"In a manner of speaking. He said he was tortured as a child because of racial issues—Iran and Israel have never been known for their particularly blissful relationship, and Abdi felt persecuted, well into his adulthood. He likely relived every day of torment, even in his nightmares, and from Ziva's description, he indeed sounds mentally ill—that could have only worsened his condition."
"Doesn't excuse him from what he did," Gibbs said.
"No, of course not… How is Ziva doing?"
Gibbs shrugged. "She's strong but… takin' the blame on this one."
Ducky sighed. "She has done enough of that already."
"Always has," Gibbs agreed. "Vance offered her the open spot on my team."
"Do you want her back?"
"Of course I want her back, Duck."
"But this is her decision," Ducky finished.
"It's gotta be. That girl's had more decisions made for her than most make in a lifetime."
"Do you think she knows what she'll do?"
Gibbs shook his head. "It's up to her now. I won't be disappointed in her either way."
"Does she know that?" Ducky asked, and Gibbs looked at him. "Have you told her?"
"Not in so many words…"
"Yes, well, you never one for verbal communication… But you should tell her. She trusts you more than anyone."
"You think, Duck?"
"I do."
Ziva typed away at her old computer, finishing her reports. She exhaled, stretching out her sore arms. She had been working at this for a few hours now, Tony and McGee across from her doing the same. She smiled a little and looked around. NCIS had always been home, always been the place she knew she could come and… and not be afraid.
Tony looked up then, catching her eye. Neither had mentioned the previous night, but they didn't need to. He smiled, seeming to know exactly what she was thinking. Instead of addressing it, he decided to wait for another time, and instead attempted small talk. "You finished?"
Ziva nodded. "About to print it now. You?"
"Yeah, should be done in a couple minutes here. Wanna grab some coffee after?"
She smiled gratefully. "Sure. McGee, would you and Abby like to join us?"
"Sorry guys, we've got plans," he grinned.
"Alright," she consented.
A few minutes later, they left in search of a coffee shop. When they finally settled in at one with a window table, Ziva let her forehead rest against the window as she stared out absentmindedly.
"You okay?" he asked. Ziva nodded, but didn't speak. "Still tryin' figure out what you're gonna do?"
"NCIS was my home," she said simply. "I should come back, I know that. Technically, I am still an agent. It is the right thing to do."
"Ziva," he said, and she looked at him. "If you have to convince yourself that you should come back, maybe it isn't. People evolve, you said so yourself. Maybe you've evolved too." He took a sip of his coffee, and for a moment, he looked exactly like Gibbs.
"I worked so hard to get to NCIS. But when I left, I promised, I swore to myself I would never see you again. And then all of a sudden, there you were, and you were real, and all this was real, and it seemed like every day before for the last five years… wasn't."
"I get it. I had the same thing with my dad after college. When I blew out my knee, basketball wasn't much of an option anymore. Didn't really know what to do. Dad thought I should join the family business, try and help him start it up again. Thought with a trophy like me, we'd make more deals or somethin', I dunno." He shrugged.
"What made you decide to join law enforcement?"
He cocked his head a little. "At the time, it was just a way to make some money. But after a while, seemed like it was more than that. For the first time ever I was doing something with myself, for other people. Felt good, knowing I wasn't entirely useless in the world." He chuckled and pointed at her with the bagel he had bought earlier. "Your problem is that you're too useful to way too many people."
"You're not kidding," she smiled.
Tony put his hand over hers. "Listen, if you decide to come back to NCIS, those kids are gonna find another great teacher. If you don't, crime will still be stopped and the world won't end."
"So I am replaceable?"
He looked at her for a moment, his eyes dancing. "Might be a little easier to find a new drummer for Spinal Tap."
"Hm?"
"You're not replaceable," he grinned at her.
And she smiled right back.
The rest of the week slipped by peacefully. Technically still an agent, Ziva came in each day to go through cold cases—busy work given by Vance until she made her decision. Most days she went out with the team for drinks, and it went by oh-so-calmly. There had seemed to be a silent agreement between herself and Tony to hold off on anything until she made her final decision—she wasn't sure why, or what the exact purpose was, but it didn't matter. They just smiled a lot—something Abby had commented on happily to McGee.
But inside, Ziva felt conflicted. Torn between two worlds, she wasn't sure which to choose.
In the past, all her choices had either been made for her, or hadn't been difficult to make at all. She chose to come to NCIS after the ordeal with Ari. She chose to leave NCIS after Michael's death. She chose to come back to NCIS for good, leaving Mossad behind.
Those choices were so simple. Though each came with its own aches and pains and difficulties, the choice she faced now burned inside her. It was… complicated. Oh, how she hated that word.
The night before her decision was due, Ziva found herself crawling out of bed and into her car. Before she knew it, she stood in front of Gibbs' house. After a while, Gibbs came out.
"You comin' inside? It's cold out here."
Ziva hadn't realized how long she had stood at his gate, or that he had even seen her standing there. She nodded and followed him inside and into the basement.
"Not much has changed," she commented. Ten years after the first day she stepped into the basement of the old house, it seemed as if it had all been left still, waiting for her return.
"Don't need it to."
Ziva walked around aimlessly. She picked up a chisel off of his workspace. "I got you this," she remembered.
"One of my favorites," he commented, sitting on his stool.
She leaned against the workbench, fingering the chisel in her hands. "It was a long time ago," Ziva said wistfully.
Gibbs nodded, turning to pour a cup of bourbon for himself. He offered her some, but she shook her head. She needed to have as clear a mind as she could.
"Do you think we are all meant for something? That perhaps we were made for one thing, and one thing only, where we could do the most good, be the happiest?" she asked quietly, her words echoing a little in the basement.
Gibbs shrugged and took a sip from his old coffee cup—same one he had years ago, Ziva remembered. "I think that when you find you've got somethin', you shouldn't lose it. 'Specially when you're passionate about it."
"But what if I'm passionate about two entirely separate things? What if I can't have both?"
"Ziva, I can't make this decision for you."
She nodded. "I know."
"But what whatever you do pick, I know it's 'cause you're supposed to be doing it." His blue eyes were so sincere. I'll love you either way.
Ziva smiled through the sting of tears in her eyes. He set his cup down and drew her into a comforting embrace.
This was home.
On the night before her decision was due, she lay in bed quietly, remembering every day with the team and every day she spent without them. She thought about her students. She thought about Tony. She thought about everything that had happened.
And as she drifted to sleep, she thought about the pride she felt when she was doing what she was meant for.
Ziva stood outside Vance's office patiently, her heart settled and her mind calm as she waited.
"Director Vance is ready to see you now, Agent David," Vance's secretary said after speaking with him briefly. Ziva nodded a thanks and walked in.
Vance eyed her, and he knew. "You've made your decision," Vance said. "That wasn't a question."
"Yes, I have."
I loved Tony's repetition of the "Spinal Tap" line, if I do say so myself.
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