Chapter Four
McGee let out a sigh, running a hand down her arm. "Now . . . we let you grieve. I don't know how you do that, but . . ." He was cut off by Ziva pressing a fierce kiss to his lips. Shocked, he gave in at first, then pushed her away. She looked hurt by the action. He sighed and shook his head. "Is this really what you want?"
She gave him a confused look. "Isn't it what you want, McGee?"
He frowned and swallowed. "I don't want a one-night stand." Ziva looked shocked, and he realized just how harsh his words sounded. "No, that's not what I . . ." He sighed. "You just found out about your brother, Ziva. You're not . . ."
"I'm not what?" Ziva asked, eyes blazing. "I suppose you think I am not thinking clearly, yes?" McGee opened his mouth to answer, but Ziva continued before he could. "Perhaps I was not, if I thought you wanted the same thing I did." She turned and started walking to the door.
"Ziva, what are you doing?" McGee asked, following her. "Where are you going? You can't leave."
"You said . . ." She trailed off, sighing. "Forget it." She opened the door, but McGee put a hand on it, closing it again.
"No, Ziva," he said softly. "I said I would take care of you and I meant it. I don't want to fight with you. Please, Ziva."
She kept her hand on the doorknob, and soon felt McGee's hand over hers. He slowly removed her hand from the knob, and waited for her to face him. She did after a moment, looking him in the eye, her expression begging for forgiveness.
"I am sorry, McGee," she said, her tone now calm. He let out a breath. This was the Ziva he wanted to see. "I am not . . . good with this."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you mean?" Was she talking about crying, showing her vulnerability, or was she talking about them? Had she changed her mind about them already?
She shrugged lightly. "I do not . . . know how to grieve properly. I always had to . . ." She sighed. "I had to hold things in. I got so used to it, from being around death constantly, from seeing co-workers and friends and family die . . ." She met his eyes. "I thought it would be different with Michael. I did. And maybe that is why . . ." She wiped at her face again. "I am sorry I . . . kissed you. It was the wrong thing to do."
There was a lull, a moment of quiet thought, before McGee said, "It wasn't."
Ziva gave him a surprised look. "But you pushed me away . . . No, McGee, you did the right thing. I care for you, but it should not happen that way. We should not rush into anything." She nodded, as if to assure herself that she believed what she was saying.
He stepped towards her, so they were only inches apart, and told her, "I know. But . . . I want to help you, Ziva. And we can go slow, but if it helps you . . ." He shrugged. "It's not like I didn't enjoy the kiss, if that was what you were thinking."
Ziva smiled, suddenly bashful. "No, I did not think so." She raised her eyes to his, attempting to regain some bravado. "I have been told I am a rather good kisser, actually."
He smiled softly at her, then after a few moments, asked, "Want to talk about him?"
Ziva automatically shook her head and at McGee's frown, said, "But I would like to talk about some other people."
His smile returned, brighter yet somehow more subdued than before. "I'd like that." He took her hands, sharing that gentle smile with her, then after a minute, said, "Uh, sorry I don't really have a couch or anything . . . I'm not really much of an entertainer. We could always go to your place. Unless, um, you wanted to stay here. Or had something different in mind." He grimaced. "Sorry. Um, your choice."
Ziva smiled at his nervousness, then looked around his apartment. "You have a very nice home, McGee. It is a little . . . geeky, but I do not mind." She met his eyes again, then answered the question he was silently asking. "I do not want to go home quite yet."
McGee nodded. "Well, um, like I said, I don't really have a sitting area . . ."
"I know, McGee," Ziva interrupted softly. He seemed to take notice of that, realize what she meant. "I have always imagined you would be a good cuddler."
He smiled at her words. "I never would have guessed you were a cuddler, Ziva."
She gave him a bittersweet smile. "I am not, usually. But right now . . ." She trailed off, shrugging and suddenly avoiding his gaze, instead staring at the floor.
McGee sucked in a breath. She was counting on him, and while he wasn't a very demonstrative person, he did care a lot about Ziva and was willing to do nearly anything for her. Cuddling with her was certainly not too much to ask.
He broke away from his thoughts and looked to Ziva, finding her looking deep in thought, her face a map of concern. He stepped closer to her and waited for her to look up at him. She did after a few moments and he saw the faintest glimmer of hope behind the grief in her eyes. His heart fluttered. This was it.
He spoke, his voice soft and warm. "Then what are we waiting for?" He held his hand out to her and she took it, allowing him to lead her to his bedroom.
As she took off her shoes and sat down on McGee's bed, Ziva let out a deep breath. She was ready to talk, and she was going to start at the beginning. She waited for McGee to settle in next to her, pulling the covers over them and placing an arm around her, then spoke.
"I am who I am because of my father . . ."
