A/N: Wow, I have no idea if people are actually reading this. I promise the story gets better as it continues.

Chapter Three

McGee had guided Ziva inside his apartment, going out to retrieve her luggage from the hallway before returning to her. She was standing in the middle of his living room, looking lost. McGee had managed to guide her to his writing desk, making her sit and then squatting in front of her, prepared to find out what had happened. She remained quiet even after he had squatted down, so he took her hands in his, which seemed to break the spell. She began to speak.

"He was alive when I left. I had went to talk to him about something we'd discussed this summer. It was a wonderful visit, and he helped me make a decision I had been trying to make for months now." She looked down at their joined hands. "That is why I came here rather than going home. I had something I wanted to tell you."

McGee gulped. He was curious about what Ziva was going to tell him, but her brother outweighed that by a mile. "That can wait, Ziva." She looked slightly disappointed, so he assured her, "I really want to know, but right now, I want to help you. What happened?"

She nodded. "I received a phone call right before I got to your door. It was . . ." She shook her head. "There was an explosion. Michael was . . . at work." A few tears ran down her face, and McGee's hold on her hands tightened. "I thought he would be okay, would not get hurt . . . He's not Mossad. He is not anything dangerous." She stopped talking, sniffing back some tears.

"Sometimes it doesn't matter what you do for a living, Ziva," McGee said softly, rubbing the backs of her hands.

Suddenly, Ziva stood, causing McGee to look at her in alarm. "I should not have come here. I need to . . ." She brushed away her tears. "I should go home. I am sorry for bothering you, McGee. You are sweet to listen." She attempted a wobbly smile at him.

He stood and watched as she walked to her bags, then attempted to stop her before she could leave. "Ziva, you don't . . ." She turned to face him and he sighed. "Stay. You're not intruding. I promise."

She shook her head sadly. "I will be fine. I did not drive, so you cannot be worried about that." She turned towards the door again.

McGee rushed after her, grabbing her hand before she could leave. She slowly turned her head to look at him, waiting for him to speak. "You shouldn't be alone. Not . . . not now."

Ziva looked down at the floor, thinking for a moment before speaking. "This is not quite what I had planned."

"Yeah, I know," McGee said softly. "I'm sorry things have to be this way."

She looked up and met his eyes. "There is a reason I came here tonight, you know."

McGee swallowed. "Ziva, I don't want to take advantage of you . . ."

Ziva let out a sad laugh. "I do not think you could even if you tried, McGee."

He nodded. "You're right. And I . . . Don't think this is just about your stepbrother, Ziva. I . . ." He trailed off and looked at the floor, unsure of what to say next.

"I know, McGee," Ziva said, and he looked up at her again. "I did not want things to happen this way." The full force of what had happened to her brother seemed to hit her then, and she began crying again, this time letting the tears overcome her as she started sobbing aloud.

McGee quickly dropped her hand and put his arms around her, an automatic reaction to soothe her pain. Ziva's arms found their way around him, as well, clutching his shirt as she sobbed into his chest and he shushed her, rubbing one hand over her hair and the other over her back.

He closed his eyes and held her, not even sure of what to do to help her. He'd never seen her quite so vulnerable before. Yes, he knew she wasn't made of stone and had emotions like everyone else . . . It was what made him really care about her, as a friend, as something more than that. But he felt unsure of his role now. Of course he would be a friend and give her a shoulder to lean on, but should be offer more? He knew she wanted more, but the question was whether this was the right time or not.

He looked down, noticing that Ziva's sobs had lessened and she was now simply sniffling, her face still buried in his shirt. "Ziva?" he asked cautiously. She looked up at him, her face damp, eyes red and puffy . . . and he still thought she was gorgeous.

Ziva seemed to be able to read his thoughts, because she looked down again, saying, "I cannot be alone," then looked back up at him.

He nodded. "I know. And you won't be." He held her close to him again. "I'll take care of you."

Ziva looked off to the side, her face pressed into McGee's shirt, and knew. He was telling the truth. She then looked up at him, asking the question they were both thinking: "What now?"