Chapter Five: Grieving

There were many things in his life that Jethro Gibbs regretted, but the events of that day most certainly topped the list. Sure, he had a right to grieve—even he could admit that to himself—but he'd left his team, something he'd promised himself long ago that he would never do.

'Well, it's kinda late to go back now,' he thought to himself wryly, glancing at the clock and seeing that it was close to midnight. Slowly, he stood up from where he was kneeling beside his boat, stretching his aching back tentatively. The soothing rhythm of sandpaper against wood had calmed him a bit, but, even now, days after he'd accepted the fact that she was gone, it still hurt. It still hurt to think of the things he hadn't said, and the things he had.

Sighing, he made his way over to the workbench propped up against the wall and sat down. He'd known she was going to die eventually; he'd seen that report and, even though neither she nor Ducky would give him any details, he knew. She would have been gone soon anyway. But, at least then he would have known ahead of time. At least then he would have had the chance to say something, anything, to make up for what they'd lost.

In the back of his mind, he could dimly recall thinking at some point or another that something like this would happen. It was just too Jenny to go down guns blazing rather than simply sit and shrivel from boredom and a fatal disease. Slamming his fist against the table he harshly reprimanded himself. He should have been there, damnit!

He knew that him being in that diner probably wouldn't have changed the fact that she was dead. If she'd wanted to die, she would have found some way to. Hell, ninety-nine to one, he would have ended up six feet under too, but at least it would have prevented him from feeling so damn guilty.

Guilty about Jen, guilty about that uncompleted mission ten years ago, and, most importantly, guilty about his team. In a little over twelve minutes they would no longer officially be his and he'd thrown away the last chance to spend time with them to wallow in his own grief.

As suddenly as the anger that accompanied the thought struck him, it faded away. He was filled with a horrible sense of lethargy, a depression so deep that his shoulders literally sagged from the weight of it.

Silently asking whatever deity might be listening to help him, Gibbs did something he hadn't done for a very long time. He prayed. He prayed that his team would be all right. He prayed that they wouldn't give up on him.

He prayed that he could somehow find the strength that had deserted him earlier today, the strength that he would need to pull them all back together again.

oOo

Sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor, Ziva groaned and flopped back. Done. Finally. She raised her head wearily and looked around at what she'd come to think of as her home; everything packed up in boxes and ready to be shipped. Pulling her tired body up, she stretched then dragged the last of her packaged possessions to the living room. Running through her list carefully, she mentally ticked off the things she'd done.

'Toiletries, clothing, weapons, carry-on bag: check. Closets boxed, food thrown out, rooms cleared: check.'

Ziva sighed and plopped down on her couch. Everything was neatly labeled and stacked against the walls of the room and an email had already been sent to Abby. Now she could sleep. Glancing at the clock and noting the small hand was already past the twelve, she headed for her bedroom for one last night in her bed before she would strip the sheets in the morning, wash, and package them for transport.

As she passed the door, she heard the bell ring.

Instantly, she was on guard, her head snapping in the direction of the noise and her hand almost unconsciously reaching for the knife at her ankle. Moving cautiously to the door, she peeked through the eyehole.

She let out a breath of relief when she saw Tony's face. Turning the doorknob as she slipped her knife back into its sheath, she stepped out into the hallway.

"Hiya Zee-vah," Tony grinned.

"Tony," she replied tiredly, "What are you doing here?" Then, noticing the faint smell of alcohol that surrounded him, asked, "Have you been drinking?"

"Nah," Tony said, moving to lean against the doorjamb, "Tried. Couldn't. So I came here instead."

Ziva eyed him suspiciously. He didn't look drunk. He just looked…lonely. His eyes were begging her silently not to throw him out and the soft spot she'd gained for him over the past three years wouldn't let her even as the rational part of her brain argued that she should just close the door now.

"Come in," she sighed, gesturing him inside with a wave of her hand.

"Thanks Ziva," he said quietly and she smiled softly at him.

"No problem Tony."

Stepping into her apartment, Tony looked around, surprised. It wasn't at all like he'd expected of her. It was almost…homey. Even without knickknacks or personal items, which he figured were probably all packed away, there was a lived-in feeling to the set of rooms that immediately put him at ease. Turning, he found Ziva staring at him intently.

"Uh, nice place," he muttered, suddenly wishing he'd stayed at home.

"Thank you," she said simply and moved past him into the kitchen. "Do you want something? There is not much left to eat because I threw most of it out, but there is enough to make a sandwich."

"No, no, that's ok," Tony said, following her and feeling his palms dampen. Damn. Why did he feel so awkward? It was just Ziva.

She spun around and faced him, leaning her hip against the sink and crossing her arms over her chest. Tony swallowed hard and met her stare directly, trying to fight the urge to lower his head. Ziva could be extremely intimidating when she wanted to be.

Breaking eye contact first, Ziva sighed. "Tony, please, what are you doing here?"

"I just—" Honestly, he didn't know what to say. How could he explain to her that driving urge that made him want to see her one last time? He couldn't even explain it to himself.

"I'm sorry. I'll go." He moved toward the door, but before he could open it, her voice stopped him.

"Tony, wait."

He turned back to find her face inches from his.

"I…" She couldn't think of anything to say. Slapping herself mentally for even calling him back in the first place, she opened her mouth again to tell him to leave.

She never got a chance to.

Within seconds, Tony's lips were on hers. At first, she froze, unsure of what to do, but slowly, she relaxed and began to respond. She opened her mouth to him and let her tongue duel with his. Without breaking contact with her skin, he slowly moved away from her mouth to trail kisses down her throat and collarbone, biting gently every once and a while. Ziva moaned and, at the sound, he let his lips wander back up to her mouth and proceeded to kiss her breathless. After a minute or so, when both pulled back and gulped down much-needed air, Tony smiled down at her.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while."

Ziva couldn't stop herself from giggling. She felt dizzy and clear-headed at the same time. She knew what would happen if she encouraged him and what the consequences of that would be come morning but, for once in her life, she couldn't make herself listen to reason.

'I must be going insane,' a small voice in her head mumbled. She could feel herself answer back. 'If this is insane, then sign me up at the nearest mental clinic!'

Smiling coyly, she replied, "Well, what is stopping you now?" Grabbing his hand, she started to drag him down the hall, when he stopped.

Wrinkling his brow he asked worriedly, "Ziva, are you sure? I mean, are you absolutely sure? Because I don't want to wake up to a crazy screaming barbarian ready to chop my head off tomorrow." His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.

Ziva sighed. "I do not know Tony," she said, toying with the hand that she held in her own. "All I know is that that made me forget about everything that has happened lately and I think that is what I need tonight—to forget. I will probably regret it in the morning, but for now, I just need to get through the night. Please Tony."

Her eyes pleaded with him and he understood what she was saying. It was what he'd been unconsciously looking for himself. Not just a one-night stand with a meaningless face, but a one-night stand with someone who knew what he was going through and who needed the comfort just as badly as he did. And so, he silently nodded and let her pull him toward her bedroom.

His last thought before he lost all coherent brain function was that he wished this could have taken place under different circumstances.