Part 3: Signature

And I'm gonna make it work
Because I'm losing my mind and it's driving me up the wall
And this time, it will be different,
This time, it will be different

Kate Nash, "Navy Taxi"

He was breathing in and looked aside before he put the biro away.

"Take a seat", he invited. He didn't waste time by saying 'please'; they have been beyond the amenities. To Gibbs, polite words were hypocrisy and a waste of time. Besides, she knew what to think of the things he said. This was an attitude worth of a Mr. Rochester.

Ziva's facial expressions did not give away what she thought about this whole situation when she went to get her chair but she had to admit she was a little surprised. Usually one wasn't able to make him say more than five words and now he wanted to talk – to palaver – of his own accord? She felt a twitch in her stomach, because there could only be one reason for the older one's behaviour. He wouldn't sign this recommendation. He would tell her politely and cautious all the reasons why he refused to do so, just because he might feel that he owned her an explanation.

Gibbs knew that she could ask Tony for his signature, his recommendation would do as well, but she had told him – Gibbs – that she had decided not to work for NCIS without his appreciation. And that meant that Gibbs' decision was final.

'Well, at least he has the manners to feel guilty for doing so', the Israeli thought as she sat down but at the same time she felt uneasy to have these thoughts. Being angry with him was unfair. It was his team after all and when he had the feeling that he couldn't trust her… She didn't finish the thought, because if she did, she risked crying again. And this was not the right place to cry.

She was sitting vis-à-vis; his desk just another barrier between them, but not the most insuperable by far. She rested her hands – the left one clenched, the right one cupping the left one, so that both of her thumbs were laying parallel to each other, both of them directed at Gibbs – on the edge of the desk and stared at her fingernails. Maybe it would be easier for him to fire her. No, not firing. He refused her.

The sight of her well manicured fingernails was blocked as he laid his hand on hers.

"How do you sleep?"

Ziva looked up. That was a question she didn't see coming. "With my head on the pillow."

"And you weapon underneath you pillow, I guess. Don't try to be funny, you know what I mean, Ziva. How many hours do you sleep at night?"

"Surely more than you do.", he replied in a demonstratively sharp tone.

Gibbs laughed but the sound was dry and humourless. "Yeah, but I'm not a standard."

"You are wrong. Ask Tony and McGee. This team is only working by your standards. You didn't demand that but… they try to follow you principles because they hope to earn you respect this way. We. We try that." Ziva knew she could handle words very well and hoped this had been unmistakeable: She still regarded herself as a part of the team although she might not have the right to do so. But no matter if she had or had not; it couldn't change her feelings, could it? She would continue feeling this way unless Gibbs sent her away. And then she could only hope that she had enough ice cream at home to get over it.

If Gibbs had recognized the praising in her words, he didn't show it. Of course not. Praising had no value to him because he had no idea how to deal with it, how to reply on it. The grip of his hand tightened. An admonishment to stay on the subject? Or a plea for attention?

"Do you get sleep? Are you having nightmares? Do you weak up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat? These are the things I want to know. Because I won't let you be a member of this team if you are a risk for yourself or the others."

She withdrew her hands. And whispered.

"I would never do something that could harm Tony or McGee. Or you."

You want to now why she mentioned Gibbs last? Because he was not the kind of person who would let anyone harm him.

„Gibbs, I'm fine."

He scanned her critically, until she gave in. "Well, considering the circumstances. I can't deny that I could use somebody to hold my hand at night and who makes me believe that nothing can go wrong but how many people have someone like that? I'm not doing worse than others do. There is no need to protect me. I know what I'm doing."

Ziva almost couldn't grasp how quickly he had the biro in his hand again. The inked roller ball rushed over the paper, leaving a black trace behind. Gibbs did it businesslike, like removing a plaster, pretending his previous questions were somehow his idea of a psychological survey.

"But thank you for doing it, nevertheless", Ziva added.

"What, signing?"

"Protecting me. You... I missed you."

"We all missed you", Gibbs murmured while putting the document on top of a pile of dossiers that would make its way to Director Vance' desk the next morning. And Ziva smiled, watching him. She had not got the answer she wanted to hear, but she had accepted the fact that she would never get it. „See you tomorrow, Gibbs."

"This is just the beginning of a quite complicated -"

"I know", she cut him off and stood up. "But there are visitor's ID cards for a reason."

"And then what? Are you going to sit there, watching our work with puppy eyes?"

"That's better than sitting at home watching soap arias all day. "

Gibbs wondered if he should correct that phrase and chose not to do so.

He had the feeling that he was going to have plenty of time for that.

In the meantime, Ziva wondered if she should rub into his face that she knew the correct term was „soap opera."

~The END~

Well, that's supposed to stand here but actually this story is a start. A new beginning for Ziva and Gibbs, that's why I found it hard to find some words that make it sound like the end of a chapter.

Anyway... I hoe you believe me that I believe that things could have happened this way, Mr. Bellisarius just failed to show them to us. That's the most important part of writing – that you believe.

I know, I kept you waiting. I would want to apologize, but dolphinsiren reminded me there's a Gibbs' rule on that, so I'm not saying sorry. ^^

If you liked this short story, keep an eye out for my name, I will translate some more next. The name of the story? Archangel.

Greets, Leia