A/N: And so marks the last chapter for Something More until I finish watching the finale in July. I will not be able to watch it until then, so please, NO SPOILERS! There should be another update when I see the second part, unless I absolutely cannot stand what TPTB have done to our favorite TV show. But keep an eye out for updates anyway.

Enjoy!


When Gibbs was ushered into the back room of the ballistics lab, he wasn't exactly sure what he expected.

He figured that Abby didn't really have evidence to show him back there, as she'd claimed. At most, he figured she was trying to trap him again, to force him into talking. But when the door closed behind him, with the Goth on the other side with the remote, he couldn't keep his consternation hidden.

"Abby, open the door," he ordered sternly, glaring at her through the bulletproof viewing window in the door. She waggled her fingers at him smugly, but made no move to do as he asked. "Abby, now!"

"No can do, Bossman!" she told him enthusiastically. "See yah!"

Shocked, Gibbs stared after her as she turned on her heel and left him alone. Images of being left there for God knew how long ran through his head, and he was suddenly struck by the idea that he should have talked to her when she'd asked him to.

"Dammit, Abby!" he shouted angrily. "Get back here!"

"Do not be angry with her," a soft voice from behind him said.

He whirled to find Ziva leaning casually against the adjacent wall. He hadn't noticed her when he'd entered, and he was acutely aware how off his game he was. Not surprisingly, the self-discovery only angered him more. Of all times to be off his game, this was not it.

He needed to be focused, and being blind-sided by his employees was not helping.

"I asked her to give us a few minutes," Ziva continued softly. Her eyes were dark, and dangerously vulnerable.

"We got a case to work, Ziva," Gibbs said bluntly, ignoring her desire to have a serious conversation.

She pushed away from the wall, and if he'd been any less exhausted, any less rattled by the identity of their victim and her possible connection to the past, he would have seen how tense Ziva's frame was.

But he wasn't, and he didn't.

"I know that, Jethro," she said, her tone hardening. "And I also know that this case is growing more personal by the second. It is affecting you, and it is affecting the team."

"Now's not the time for this—"

"Then when is it the time for this, Jethro? When it you are the one who turns up dead?"

Gibbs froze.

"Yes," she continued bitterly, "I know of Special Agent Macy's connection to you. I know that she was not killed because of a witness who refused to testify against her rapists. I know that someone with extreme skill killed her—assassinated her." She gave him a hard look laden with skepticism. "You think you are the only one who can put the pieces together?"

She stalked towards him, never once breaking eye contact with him. It unnerved him, the steel of her gaze. For so long now, her brown eyes had held nothing but tenderness for him. But now they were on the verge of distrust. He was walking a thin line, and he knew it, but the need to protect her overrode every better sense he had.

"It doesn't concern you—"

In a flash, she was on him. An arm pressed against his chest, slamming him into the door, and her right hand came up to slam against the metal inches beside his head.

"ENOUGH!" she shouted, her eyes flashing dangerously.

He froze, as much in instinctive self-preservation as in a conscious heeding of her command. She dug her elbow into his pectoral, emphasizing her words. "Do not say that this does not concern me." Her voice dropped to a threatening pitch. "Because it does. It concerns you, and so concerns me."

"Ziver—"

"What do you think will happen, Gibbs?" she cut him off before he could phrase a protest. "If this is Bell that we're dealing with, do you think he is going to stop with Macy and Franks?" She paused for a moment, then took a breath to steady herself. "I know your connection to Pedro Hernandez."

Her revelation came blunt and heavy, nearly taking the breath from his chest. He'd always suspected she might've figured out what happened in Mexico, since she had discovered on her own reconnaissance what had happened to his family. But hearing the affirmation fall so easily from her lips made his gut clench in apprehension.

"You are concerned about Franks because he was in on the cover up. Because he knows, just as Macy did, how far you went in the name of vengeance. Well, I know now, as does Abby. And Ducky just came to me, and he has discovered the truth as well.

"There is a good chance that we are all in the crosshairs now, Jethro. Bell does not want to put you in jail. He wants to destroy you, and just like Ari wanted to. And like Ari, he knows the best way to do that is to go through those around you. Which means my life might be on the line now as well, so do not dare tell me that this does not concern me."

She pushed away from him, her eyes full of reproach. "Because it does," she added finally.

"Ziver…"

She waved away his words with a shake of her finger, turning away from him even as she continued to speak. "Did you not think I would understand why you did what you did? It was years ago, and you had just lost your family. You think I would not understand your thirst for retribution?" She turned back to face him. "Did you think I had never taken my own vengeance in the past?"

He stayed silent, unable to find words that seemed adequate. He merely watched as she began to pace.

"Do you think you are the only one who has lost family to senseless violence, violence they had no business being a part of?" Her eyes darted to him briefly before looking away once more. "We are more alike than you realize."

"How?" He hated how petulant his voice sounded, but Ziva seemed not to notice, too wrapped up in whatever memories were being dragged to the surface.

There was only a moment of hesitation before she responded.

"When my sister was caught in a suicide bombing, I was overcome with grief. And that grief turned to hate. I tracked down the cell responsible for the attack, captured all those not killed in the immediate firefight, and then interrogated each of them for information I knew they did not have."

Her voice was cold, emotionless. For a moment, he was allowed to glimpse the person her father had wanted her to be—dark, vengeful, and merciless. And with his own past so close within reach, such emotions were all too familiar.

"I tortured them for the pain they had caused my sister, and for the pain they had caused me. And when I was done I let them be dumped in the desert to rot, but not before I'd cut off their heads and sent them to where their central cell was based."

She finally looked away from him.

"That was the closest my father had ever come to being proud of me," she admitted softly. "But I didn't do it for him. I did it for me, and even though I know Tali would have hated to know that I caused such suffering in her name, I avenged her. Those responsible for her death paid in kind."

For a moment, her expression remained strikingly dark. Then, her features softened, and she stepped closer to him, her voice becoming even more tenuous.

"I do not want to have to seek the same outcome for you, Jethro. I do not want to be forced to seek vengeance for you as well. I do not want this man to cause you harm. But if you do not trust us, if you do not trust me, to help you with this burden…"

She let it hang open ended, and he looked away in shame.

"What is it you want me to say?"

"I do not care what you say. What you say means nothing. What I want you do is let us help. You cannot deal with this on your own."

"The hell I can't—"

"Enough with the rough act!" she exclaimed, turning on him in anger. Her eyes zeroed in on him, rooting him to the spot. It didn't even occur to him to correct her.

"You do not have to pretend with me, Jethro. I know that all of this has you scared. It is scaring me too. I am scared the Bell might already have found Franks, and that Leyla and the child might have been caught in the crossfire, like they had the last time."

At the mention of the young mother, Ziva's features softened abruptly. "Have you been able to reach him yet?" she asked quietly.

Gibbs sighed, running a tired hand over his eyes. "No. Only Camila. Last I talked to her, the Federales were at Franks' place."

"The Federales?" Confusion furrowed her brow. "What do they want with Franks?"

"Well, obviously, they have something to do with Bell…"

"No," Ziva countered. "No, they arrested him, and he got out of prison due to international strings being pulled courtesy of your resident tramp lawyer." She began to pace again, only this time her expression was thoughtful. "They wouldn't be on his paycheck. Not all of them, anyways. And Franks stays mostly off the grid."

"Well, he wasn't there when Camila was," Gibbs supplied, grateful to have changed the subject somewhat. "Which means that he's probably ahead of whoever is behind it."

"But you know that will not last for long," she accused, her eyes narrowing at him. She paused in her pacing, and regarded him with a cool eye. "You are going back to Mexico."

He gave a short, but hesitant nod.

"Good," she returned bluntly. "So am I."

"No you're not," he answered quickly, the words almost running together. He really should have seen that one coming. And yet, he was surprised anyway.

Her eyes narrowed even further, only this time in challenge. "Yes, I am. I am not letting you go down there, possibly into a trap, by yourself. I am the person most qualified to accompany you."

"You're also days away from taking your exam. I'm not willing to jeopardize that."

"It is not yours to jeopardize, Jethro." Her voice was hard and unyielding. Then, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You still do not get it, do you?"

"Oh, I get it. You're willing to risk everything. Well, I'm not."

"And now you sound like DiNozzo. Just shut up for a moment, all right?" Obediently, Gibbs shut his mouth, though his eyes bore into hers expectantly. She hesitated, suddenly wary. "Am I an idiot?" she asked finally.

His brow furrowed in confusion, and almost opened his mouth to respond. But at the last moment, he remembered her instruction, and shut his mouth once more. It turned out to be the right answer, it seemed, as she continued on her own.

"Am I an idiot for believing you?"

At this, Gibbs was unable to keep silent. "Believing me…?"

"When you promised you would wait for me, that you would be there when I was ready to commit to something other than my recovery… Was I an idiot to believe you?"

"No." His answer came quick and blunt. "No, you weren't—"

"Because you made a promise to me. You did not have to accept my proposal. You could have said no, and been done with it. But you did accept, and you promised—"

"I intend to keep that promise, Ziva," he assured her, his tone not leaving room for protest. "What do you think I'm trying to do here?"

"I know what you think you are trying to do," she responded, her arms folding crossly over her chest. "But you are being too thick-headed to realize that you are simply making it easier for them to kill you."

He rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ziver."

"I would have utilized more tact, but it would have been lost on you," she retorted. "Think about it, Jethro. He wants to get to you. In order to do so, he has to isolate you. That means keeping secrets, shutting people out, and going off on your own without a word to anyone. Right now, you are on track to hit the trifecta."

"Trifecta? Really?"

"I have been watching CSI reruns when I cannot sleep," she explained offhandedly. "But that is not the point. The point is that if you do not include me, or the rest of your team, you will die. And they will get away with it."

"Ziva…"

"I understand that you want to keep this secret. But your secret is out. And while I am not saying you should out yourself to the entire agency, you should at least take advantage of those who have already figured it out. That means Abby, and Ducky, and myself. Between us, you would be infinitely safer than if you continued to do this alone."

This time, Gibbs was the one who stepped closer to her, forcing her to fall silent as she met his hard gaze with one of her own.

"We've had this conversation before," he told her stiffly. "I am not going to risk your life for mine. No matter what you say, my life isn't worth yours."

He expected her to protest as violently as she had a few minutes ago, or with some snarky comment designed to make him feel like a child. But when she spoke, the tender vulnerability in her voice made him feel like a monster.

"So you're willing to let me live alone?" Her arms wrapped around herself, as warding off a chill only she could feel.

"You want me to lose the last person in the world who can find it in their heart to love me, despite everything that makes me undesirable? To stand aside as a sorry excuse of a man and his tramp of a lawyer destroys the one person who understands me better than anyone else in the world?"

For the first time, he found his resolve starting to break, when he saw the tears gathering in her eyes.

"You would truly ask that of me?"

Silence reigned, for several long, agonizing moments. Gibbs was at a loss as to what to tell her. Hearing her concerns, and hearing what she feared she would be forced to face if Bell were successful… He found it impossible to tell her that alive and heartbroken was better than dead.

Alive and heartbroken would give her a chance to find someone else. She was young, around the age he had been when Shannon and Kelly had died—when all of this first started. And though it hadn't seemed possible at the time, he'd found someone else.

He'd found Ziva.

And now he had the chance to ensure that she had the same chance, should something happen to him.

"And you speak of concern for my citizenship exam," Ziva continued, "but you do not realize that being a citizen means nothing to me. Not without you." Her voice was hardening with each word, growing tense as she realized just how much she was capable of losing.

"The only reason I am taking this test is so that I can stay here with you and not have to hide. So that I can legally have the might of the United States government at my back should my father try to force my hand. I love this country, yes, but I love the people in it more. And as much as I love this team, if it were not for you, I would rather run and keep them safe than stay and risk their safety."

Angry tears pooled in her eyes, but Gibbs refused to let himself be affected by the sight of them. He shuffled his feet slightly, let his gaze drift around the room.

"So you know where I'm coming from here—"

"Yes! I know where you are coming from, I have always known where you are coming from! But the difference between you and me is that I have chosen to stay. Here. With you. I am letting you help me, and I am putting us before all of the instincts that are telling me to take one of my many, still-viable covers and running to where I could never be found, and keep running until my father dies, or I die. I am trusting you."

Her tears finally grew too numerous to contain, and they spilled over onto her cheeks. Gibbs was almost startled to see them, even though he'd seen them building, and the farther they trailed down her skin, the more his gut twisted painfully. He forced himself to look away, lest his will break completely.

He was doing this for her, to protect her. The last thing she needed was to be dragged into a mess that he'd created.

She wouldn't believe it, wouldn't accept it, but that was the way it was.

Finally, she cleared her throat loudly and wiped her tears away with a vicious swipe of her hand. Her features hardened, and when she spoke, her voice had grown cold.

"But I should not have to beg for your trust," she declared with a brief shake of her head. She signaled to the camera, and he heard the door unlocked behind him. She stalked towards the exit, but when she came abreast of him she paused, then turned and faced up head on with a look that threatened to burn him alive.

"But know this, Jethro…" she imparted apathetically.

There was absolutely no hint of the anguish she'd let show a moment ago. Her face was a mask of cool, steely strength, her eyes hard as flint.

"If you run, I run. Either I run with you, to Mexico, to keep you alive—or I run as far and as fast as I can. No citizenship, no special agent status. I just run from everything that ever led me to you."

And then she was gone, brushing through the door beside him without another look.

He was on a precipice, and on either side he had two impossible choices.

Either path he chose, he could lose her.

Looking around the home that was supposed to be theirs, Gibbs thought of everything that had led to this. Had one single part of his past been different, he wouldn't even be facing such a dilemma.

If he'd never lost Shannon, if he'd never joined NCIS, if he'd killed Ari in Autopsy that first day, if he'd been the one to die on that rooftop instead of Kate, if Ziva had never listened to his reasoning, if she'd never overheard what Ari had said in his basement before she'd put a bullet in his head…

Ziva would never have joined his team, and in all likelihood she would have died before turning thirty.

If he hadn't lost his memories in the explosion, if she hadn't been framed for that witness' murder in Georgetown, if he hadn't come back to help her, their bond would have been limited to what had happened with Ari.

And that trust would have been obliterated when Vance had revealed that she'd done it on Mossad's orders, the hell with what Ziva claimed about her intentions.

And if Michael hadn't been a drunken fool, if she hadn't survived her last mission for Mossad, if she had let Ben-Gidon's version of events go uncontested, then she wouldn't be here to tear his convictions in two.

He wouldn't be trying to decide what meant more to him—her love or her life.

Gibbs shook his head. He was being ridiculous. The choice was simple. There was really only one choice he could make. He could live with her distrust. But he couldn't live with her death.

He'd lost Shannon. He'd lost Kelly. He'd lost Jenny.

He wouldn't lose Ziva too.

Abby hummed to herself as she worked with the final touches of the report she was to file. She'd done all she could with the evidence left behind by Agent Macy's killer, and while her death was tragic, Abby hadn't really known her. And she was certain that Gibbs would be bringing the killer in any day now. He always did after all.

It didn't matter that he had been out of sorts lately. Who wouldn't be? One hell of a skeleton had just been ripped from his closet, courtesy of Abby's own curiosity, and everything was on the verge of being revealed to not only the United States government and the Mexican authorities, but also to a ruthless drug cartel that even Ziva seemed wary of. And thinking back to her own run-in with the Renosa matriarch, Abby knew such wariness was more than likely deserved.

But everything would be okay.

Because Gibbs wasn't alone anymore. He had the team to help him, this time. He didn't have to rely on just himself anymore. He had a life-long friend in Ducky, who would bend over backwards for him. He had one kick-ass forensic scientist whose reputation was more than enough to withstand the blow a couple pieces of lost evidence would deliver.

And, most importantly perhaps, he had Ziva.

Given the conversation Abby had watched, but not listened to, over the security monitors—which were not hooked up to the main system—Ziva wasn't about to let him get away with any of that typical thick-headed Gibbs stuff. She'd keep him line, and make sure he didn't get himself thrown in a Mexican prison, or worse. Because Ziva was the best of the best. She was the cream of the crop with the secret stuff.

If anyone could keep Gibbs safe, Ziva could.

And so when the phone rang, she was smiling as she turned up her music, just for the heck of it.

"Welcome to Abby's Lab of Wonder!" she answered brightly, tapping away at her keyboard. She was so busy multi-tasking—talking, typing, musicking, heck, even thinking, and all made possible by the two Caf-Pows she'd already had that morning—that she could barely hear the voice that emanated from the speaker on the phone.

"Abby?"

In a vague sort of awareness that only really struck her as odd because of the unusual timbre of the familiar voice, Abby realized that it was Ziva who was calling her.

"Abby, he's gone."