I sit in Gibbs' basement, first taking a sip of bourbon then going through my thoughts about what to say. He doesn't drink he continues working on the wood project in front of him. He has nothing to say to me but I have words for him. That's why I'm here. Right now, I'm squeezing my hand together so I don't lose my cool. I've only taken two sips when Gibbs' got called away by Abby. She must have something pretty important if she is making her way down the list of her special call-tree.

Gibbs' hands my phone back, gets up, and dusts himself off. He doesn't say another word. I can tell he didn't want to follow him. So I just sit here, looking at the amber liquid as I swig it down. I replace my glass on the work bench and drink his too. Never waste a good bourbon. Any bourbon really. That should be a rule but that's another discussion.

So, I got distracted. Boss Man doesn't like it when he asks a question and you don't have an answer. Especially, when you're not paying attention. I took my eye off the ball. I can't help glancing at EJ. curious about her movements, her cases. Her. I know we have our own work to do. Funny, I waited for head slap and didn't get one. That's a signal right there. It was Ziva who punched my arm bringing me back to reality. Fuck. I'm in trouble.

I depend on you.

I don't think it's a good idea if I am here when he comes back. So, I just sit here contemplating my next move. My first thought is to call Ziva; to tell her to order some food and we'll watch a movie, the thought of letting her pick makes me apprehensive. Then my thought is EJ – the reason I'm in this mess to begin with. Interestingly enough I told her not to mess with the Great White. She'll be eaten. Looks like Gibbs' may swallow us both. Can't call Abby – she's with the Boss Man now. And the McGeek, well, I just let him be.

I think tonight, I just need to be alone. Figure all this shit out. I knew going into this Gibbs' would find out. I stand up and look around Gibbs' basement. The sawdust, his workbench filled with tools, the bottles of bourbon and the TV. He spends most of his time down here. Hiding? If so, from what? His ghosts? . . . has he risked anything since Shannon? Those other marriages were parachutes. The pack on his back when he was in danger - just waiting for him to pull the cord. Does he have regrets? Rule Number 12 isn't there for the hell of it, right? It has to be there because of Jenny? Does he regret not making himself or her happy? Every relationship is treated differently. Was he afraid? Is he still? I think he may need this more that I do. Fuck! I leave to bottle of bourbon on his workbench (he may want a drink later) and head back to my apartment. But I really don't want to be alone. I should be but I don't want to be.

I hesitate. I've made it this far. Knock on the fucking door, Tony.

You've been here plenty of times before. I raise my hand and my knuckles make the tap, tap, tap rattle against the door. Five seconds later it opens. There she is wearing a tank top and yoga pants, her hair slightly curly across her shoulders, looking like I woke her up.

She mutters, "It is late." as she leaves to door open and walks back to the couch.

I hold up the DVD case of Dances with Wolves and a bottle of red wine. "Not too late."

As I close the door and make my way to the couch, I glance at the TV screen. I laugh, I don't believe it – she's already watching it. Of course, she is. It's her feel good movie. What does she have to feel good about?

She comes back from the kitchen with two wine glasses. "Great brains think the same. . . Do you want to start at the beginning?"

"Great minds, Ziva. Great minds think alike. And no, I don't want to talk about anything."

"The movie, Tony. I can go back to the beginning."

I smirk yet I bite my tongue. I sigh. Oops. "I think I can catch up from where you are." I've seen this movie a lot over the years, thanks to the mighty ninja.

I try to make myself comfortable on the couch as she impatiently holds me wine glass until I'm just right. "Ok, wine me." She chuckles and sits right next to me. Personal space means nothing to Ziva David. She looks over at me and smiles – she knew I was going to talk to Gibbs' tonight but she also knows I'll tell her when I ready. Maybe she'll ask me why I'm here instead of EJ's. Maybe she already knows the answer. Maybe. . .

I depend on you.

Here it comes . . . the scene where John Dunbar spots a woman kneeling near a tree. He dismounts from his horse and calls to the woman. She doesn't answer. She is sobbing, her hands covered in blood. Neither understanding what is happening, she tries to get away. He goes after her. He is baffled yet intrigued. That's the moment, right there. . . He's made his decision. You can see by the look in his eyes. It's her. A woman he doesn't yet fully know. A woman foreign to everything he's ever known. A woman he will spend the rest of life learning from, living with and most importantly, loving.

"Stands With A Fist." I say.

"Dances With Wolves." Ziva retorts back. "Quite a pair, they are."

I was just thinking that of all the trails in this life, there are some that matter most. It is the trail of a true human being. I think you are on this trail, and it is good to see.

It's up to me to figure out what matters most. What if I already know, but I have to make someone realize it too. Not going to lie. When EJ told me in the elevator, she thought D.C. was a place worth sticking around for me. That was huge. My track record with serious relationships is not great. How do you tell someone that you really like spending time with – ehh, there's nothing here to stay for. Maybe Gibbs' is right, sleeping with Barrett is a bad idea. The thing is there are no real expectations. Nothing tying me down – she has her own team, her own leads, and her own work. I owe her no explanations if I don't call.

Ziva's right.

I have some choices to make.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think. . .