"Gibbs," Ziva said, sticking her head back into the office. "They've Gathered."
Gibbs nodded in acknowledgement, pushing himself away from the desk he had been leaning against. He left the office, with the rest of the Council trailing dutifully behind. The Gathering was immediately visible upon exiting the room, and as soon as Gibbs came into view, the idle chatter died off, leaving the Warehouse in respectful silence. The Residents had all gathered in the traditional semicircle, leaving room for the entire Council to stand between the Gathering and the warehouse bulkhead.
Gibbs stopped in the center of the horseshoe and faced the Gathering. The others fell into their places behind him; the placement of each Council member had been carefully determined months ago. Ziva was nearest to Gibbs, half a step behind and a foot to his left. In the weeks following the Incident, Ziva's training and knowledge had proven invaluable, and Gibbs had often gone to her for advice. This had inevitably cast Ziva in the role of second in command. His trust in her had bolstered the trust the Residents had in her, despite her sometimes cold-hearted demeanor. She was quick on her feet, and made sound decisions even when under pressure. More than that, she was confident in herself and her abilities, a confidence that the Residents came to share. She was honest, almost brutally so, and many Residents appreciated her candor. They had all been through too much to appreciate any kind of sugar-coated sit-reps. So Ziva had become the frontline of the command. If information needed to be passed on to Gibbs, it was often given to Ziva first, who would then either handle the situation herself or pass the news on to the Voice. She was respected and liked by the majority of the Residents, solidifying her status among the ranks.
Tony stood three paces back to Gibbs' right. As head of security, it was important for Dinozzo to be trusted as well. His position in relation to Gibbs reinforced his position as a major figure in keeping the warehouse safe. Tony was well-liked in his own right, but his slight immaturity—which even the Incident and its aftermath had been unable to completely eradicate—put him at a slight disadvantage, particularly among some of the male Residents, and left him somewhat less respected than Ziva's militaristic practicality. But his input played a large role in Warehouse policy, and he had a great deal of responsibility as a result. He handled his duties with stolid determination, and though he often utilized a wry tone, he was tough on his men when it was necessary.
Farther behind Gibbs, and to either side, the others fanned out. Mark stood between Gibbs and Tony, but about three feet behind them. Because of Mark's responsibility of delegating the less-enjoyable chores among the Residents, his location in relation to Gibbs subtly communicated the Voice's support of Mark's decisions. Gibbs' silent reinforcement dissuaded petty insubordination for the most part, making the labor aspect of Warehouse life more harmonious. The Residents accepted their tasks without complaint, knowing it would only be a week or so until another rotation gave the chore to the next Resident in line.
Tim, Abby, Ducky, and Palmer were all on equal footing in the formation in terms of tasks. Abby and McGee were more removed from the Residents, as they tended to work more with machines than with people. Though their role was crucial, and improved their quality of life, only a few Residents were able to keep up with the chiefs of technology intellectually. Many times they could be found chattering about how to create a device that would ease Warehouse life, or design a better way of doing something. They worked on their own frequency, and it was difficult for others to quite understand what they were discussing. On a personal level, however, they each had their own well-liked characteristics.
Abby, though much changed since the Incident, still possessed a captivating personality. Though some people didn't know what to make of the feisty scientist, they found it impossible to not enjoy her company. She retained the slightest bubbling aspect of her life as a forensic scientist, and it was enough to take other Residents aback when they first met her. They were inexplicably drawn to her, and as a result, Abby was never found wanting for company.
On the other hand, McGee, while not disliked, was not quite so popular. He was respectful and even chivalrous towards the ladies, which endeared him to them, but the other men failed to take him seriously. It had bothered him a great deal in the first few instances, but had since grown accustomed to it. His hurt was also eased by his popularity with the Residents' younger demographic.
The children living in the Warehouse adored McGee. Not only was he willing to take the time to join them for the occasional game, he also had a seemingly depthless well of creative stories within him. His gift for writing crime novels made him the single most popular Resident come bedtime, when the children would clamor for him to tell them a story. Unless asked for a retelling of a favorite, each night warranted a new story. One night could be a classic tale of a knight rescuing a princess from the clutches of a dragon, the next night a modern story where the damsel in distress was revealed to be a villainess. The possibilities were endless, and the children loved him for it.
Ducky was also respected in his own right, but did not experience the devotion that Gibbs and Ziva both earned. No, the medical examiner-turned-primary care physician was respected for his wealth of trivial knowledge and insightful advice. While relatively hopeless in the field of security, he had the uncanny knack for knowing what people wanted, and needed, to hear. In a time where personal relationships were strained to the point of fracture and human behavior was often reduced to its most primitive, Ducky's soothing insight into the human psyche was invaluable. His expertise in the field of medicine was icing on the cake—his care and treatment of minor injuries saved lives in a world where infection ran rampant and the body was weakened by fatigue and hunger. The doctor's warm touch was much appreciated in the Warehouse, and a polite respect was given to the Scotsman.
Of the entire Council, Palmer was the least powerful of the leaders. While he proved helpful to Ducky, the former med-student still lacked proficient social skills. Improper jokes at inopportune moments caused people to keep their distance, and Palmer did not bother to try curbing his comments. His apathy had come about after the Incident, after many weeks of depression. Gibbs and the others knew the source of his pain, and let him be for the most part, continuing to behave as normally as possible around him.
Gibbs and Ziva both understood Palmer particularly well—they too had experienced the death of a loved one. And the entire team felt the loss of Michelle Lee, especially since they had all witnessed her murder. Ziva had helped pull Palmer out of a severe depression, at least to the point where he could function without needing constant prodding from Ducky and Abby. Now he pulled his own weight, becoming Ducky's right hand, and treating patients on his own if Ducky was busy or otherwise engaged. He had proven himself highly capable, and more than proficient. But he stood the farthest from Gibbs, along the peripheral. It was appropriate, as Palmer held the least amount of power within the Council, and within the Warehouse.
Gibbs himself was centered in front of the Gathering. As more and more people had begun to join their roving band, it was impossible for the newcomers to mistake Gibbs as anything other than the Group's leader. His calm collectedness in the aftermath of the Incident had become the team's rock, and all who came across their band of travelers picked up on it. He was respected for his professional demeanor, though at times it made the Residents find it difficult to relate to him. However, it was his blatant concern for each and every Resident that earned their undying loyalty. He was honest and fair, remaining objective and logical in even the most trying of times. His military experience bolstered their confidence in his ability to keep them safe, and it was a responsibility he took very seriously. In return, they honored his judgment, choosing to follow him, knowing that they could leave at any time if they so chose.
As Gibbs stood before them now, there was no doubt in his mind how he would go about telling them about the latest development. In the past, he had only ever treated them as other Survivors. There was never any beating around the bush, as doing so could potentially be the difference between life and death. There was also no sugar-coating; in the post-Incident world, such frosting of facts was considered insulting, as every Survivor knew exactly how dire nearly every situation they found themselves in was.
"Evidence has been found that indicates that Bloods have come as close as the far edge of Vector 9," Gibbs said, not bothering to waste time on pleasantries. His declaration was met with several fearful gasps, and absolute stillness as even the children froze in shock. After a few seemingly endless moments, a man in front finally spoke up.
"What the hell do you mean, you found evidence?" he shouted. His voice was laden with anger, but Gibbs could hear the undercurrent of fear lacing his words. But the panic was contagious, and almost immediately the Gathering dissolved into a mess of angry and fearful shouting. Gibbs took a deep breath in an attempt to reinforce his patience. Every so often he had to remind himself that not everyone responded to danger as calmly as his team did.
He sent a sidelong glance towards Ziva, who was watching the escalating chaos with keen eyes. Her entire body was on edge, made tense by the thunderous echoing and sharp movements of the Residents. After a long night of Patrolling, it was no wonder that her hand was gripping the hilt of the knife sheathed at her belt. When she finally made eye contact with Gibbs, his pointed glare was more than enough of a cue for her to act. Without hesitation, her eyes still burning with irritation, she put her thumb and forefinger between her lips and gave a shrill, ear-splitting whistle. The chaos immediately fell silent.
"Sheket Bevakasha!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the newly created silence. Her words were foreign, but her intent was unmistakable by even the newest of Residents. Her sharp eyes scanned the Gathering, daring them to disobey her. When no one did, she continued. "Perhaps if you all remained calm, instead of acting like ducks with your heads cut off, you would be able to have your questions answered!" When the majority of the Gathering acted sheepish, Ziva stepped back, clearing the floor for the Voice to speak.
"What I mean by evidence," Gibbs continued, "is that they have tagged part of the far boundary of Vector 9. We have not actually seen any, and we don't know if they are still in the area."
"But they could be!" a woman called out. Her name was Julie, Gibbs was called, and a mother of two whose husband had died before Julie had begun to travel with Gibbs and his team.
"Yeah," Gibbs agreed. "They could be. Hell, they probably are." He paused, carefully surveying the Gathering. A murmur of fear and dread greeted him, and he knew that his next announcement was going to turn the congregation of Residents into another cluster. "And we're staying here," he declared.
Almost immediately, the uproar began again. However, this time Ziva simply took a step forward, coming even with Gibbs. Just as quickly as the furor had started it died away as the Residents noticed her movements and recognized the menace behind the silent movement. Gibbs kept the grin tickling his lips at bay: they might like Ziva, but they had the common sense to know that it was detrimental to your health to cross her.
"We don't know for sure that they are in the area," Gibbs repeated, taking advantage of the resulting quiet. "We have more people with us than we ever did in the past. We have stable Shelter here, as well as Resources. To move now would be dangerous, possibly more dangerous than staying put. We need more information before we can justify moving the entire Group again." He took a quick breath, but continued on before the crowd could protest. "This is not an order to anyone," he said. "No one is being forced to stay here. You can leave if you want to, but if you do so now, you will be doing it on your own. We can send you with some rations and help you find a preliminary route away from the docks, but that's it. After that, you're on your own." He scanned the Gathering. "You don't have to decide now. We have a few days before we will know more. Take some time. Think it over."
"What happens if we do stay, and the Bloods come closer?" a girl in her early twenties asked. Her question was the most logical one yet, and lacked the hint of panic everyone else seemed to possess. Gibbs took note of her calm demeanor and filed the knowledge away for later use; she would prove useful in the future.
"If it comes to that," Gibbs replied, "we will re-evaluate." With that, Gibbs turned and moved to leave the Circle. Murmurs of concern and confusion followed his steps, but Gibbs could not stay to listen to them. If he did, then his authority would be undermined, questioned. He didn't want to prevent the dissention, as they had every reason to disagree with him, but he could not be a part of it while maintaining his credibility as a leader. Instead, Ziva stepped in yet again.
"We know that this is a huge development," she called above the crowd, "and we know that you have many questions. But you have all the information we have at this time. You must make your decisions on your own, but know that the Council will continue to reside in the Warehouse until further notice." And then she too was leaving the Gathering. As soon as she had departed, the rest of the Council also dispersed. No one tried to stop them—all of the Residents were instead debating softly amongst themselves.
Gibbs paused at the door to the Office, allowing Ziva to catch up with him. Neither intended to enter the Office, but the door was removed enough from the Gathering area for the two to share a few words without any of the Residents overhearing. However, Ducky also joined them before either had a chance to speak.
"What do you need, Duck?" Gibbs asked. Ziva rested languidly against the doorframe, one foot propped against the metal as she too listened intently to what the Doctor had to say.
"Well," the Scotsman said, "I was wondering if this latest development will be a problem in regards to our current medicinal shortage."
"Well, yeah, Duck," Gibbs said. "Going to Mercy Hospital will take us past Vector 9, and, if our assumptions our accurate, right into Blood territory. That's exactly what we're trying to avoid."
"I disagree," Ziva chimed in. After a skeptical glance from Gibbs, she continued. "Not with the threat of danger, that much is true. But it does not change the fact that we need medicinal supplies, especially if there is a risk of Encountering Bloods. We will need more than a few aspirin and band-aids." She straightened gracefully, pushing away from the wall. "I will go," she declared.
"No," Gibbs said forcefully. "Absolutely not."
"Why not?" she asked. "I know the area as well as anyone else, and you know that I am the best Forager in the Warehouse. Plus, if a deviation from plans is necessary, I am the one best to handle it."
"The answer is no, Ziva," came the firm reply, leaving no room for argument. The Voice was speaking now. "It is too dangerous, and no one goes near Vector 9 until I say so. Understood?" Ziva eyed him, as if debating whether or not to challenge him again.
"Perfectly," the Shadow said finally. Her sharp gaze told Gibbs that she fully intended to debate the matter more thoroughly later, despite her verbal acquiescence.
"We can re-evaluate when we know more," he ceded. He shifted his gaze to Ducky. "Anything else?" he asked his old friend.
"No," Ducky said, giving a resigned sigh. "Nothing else." Gibbs nodded in acknowledgement before motioning to Tony, who had also joined the growing group.
"You know what to do," Gibbs said to his former senior field agent. And Tony did know; it was common routine for Patrollers to get some sleep upon their return in the morning. Until Gibbs and Ziva woke later in the day, Tony would assume control of the Warehouse and the Residents.
"Of course Boss," Tony replied. "No need to worry about a thing." Gibbs turned back to Ziva.
"You ready?" he asked, holding out his hand to her. As a response, she stepped closer to him, bypassing his hand to press against his side. His arm lowered behind her, his hand coming to a rest on her hip. The touch was familiar, a casual intimacy that was only shared within the Perimeter—outside the Perimeter, it was all business between the Voice and the Shadow. As it was, the gentle touches they shared in the Warehouse were such a stark contrast to the tough personas they exuded that each and every Resident who came into contact with them had done a double-take when they first catch sight of the personal contact between the two.
Together, Ziva and Gibbs began to make their way back into the stacks. After a full night of Patrol, they always returned ready to get some rest. While there had been times when they had been forced to remain awake until the following sunset, they were not too proud to admit they preferred not to. Patrol was demanding both physically and emotionally, as a state of constant situational awareness was necessary to ensure both the safety of the Patrol and the success of the mission. But with the Residents being familiar with what needed to be done, both Ziva and Gibbs were comfortable with leaving the Warehouse in Tony's hands while they got some sleep.
They were almost to their apartment when a Resident called out to Gibbs. With a permissive nod from Ziva, Gibbs left her side to go and speak quietly with the man in question. Ziva remained where she was, not caring that their Apartment was only 20 feet away and was easily accessible on her own. Until they got back to their Apartment, she was still his second-in-command, and it would not sit well with her if she got to rest while the Voice was still tending to the Residents. When Ziva felt her eyelids grow heavy, she let them drift shut. Standing as she was, she knew she wouldn't fall asleep, and she trusted her instincts to send her into an alert wakefulness at the slightest potential threat. It was a unique ability, the result of her Mossad training. It was important to rest whenever possible, even when it was not a proper sleep. Her skills were tested almost immediately when the sound of someone's approach sent her hand to the hilt of her belt-knife and her eyes flying open.
"Ziva!" McGee called from a good ten feet away. He waited for his voice to register before he stepped closer. When she recognized his voice, Ziva removed her grip from the knife.
"Yes McGee?" she asked, her voice strong despite her obvious exhaustion.
"Uhm," McGee said, stepping close enough for her to hear the hushed tone he used. He swallowed self-consciously, licking his lips as he struggled to find the proper words. "Look," he continued, taking the plunge, "about the Council meeting—"
"McGee," Ziva interrupted, "I hate that I had to raise my voice at you, but I could not allow you to waste time with that computer, not when there are so many other things we need."
"No, no," McGee said, "you were right." He shifted nervously, but his voice was clear, honest. "I should have realized it myself, but I thought—I just thought—"
"I understand, Tim," Ziva told him. He looked at her in surprise. "You have always found answers in computers. It is difficult to let go of what we are familiar with. But we have to look at the bigger picture."
"I know that," came the reply. "I just wish I had remembered that on my own." Ziva gave him a tired smile.
"Stop beating yourself up about it. Just apply the same enthusiasm you had for the computer to Abby's new project, and we will call it even, ok?" McGee responded with a half-hearted grin.
"Deal," he affirmed. His hands tucked themselves into his pants pockets, relaxing his posture slightly. "You know, I really think the electricity thing can change the way things work around here."
"I agree," Ziva replied. "And it seems she's almost finished with the prototype."
"I know. I wonder why she didn't tell me about it earlier."
"Only Abby can answer that," Gibbs interjected as he approached, having finished his conversation with the Resident. "But she always has her reasons."
"Yeah, she does, boss." A moment of silence followed as McGee waited for Gibbs or Ziva to say something more. When they looked at him expectantly, he realized that they had no intention of doing so. "Well," he said quickly, "I'm going to go see if she needs my help now." He began to back away. "Uhm, sleep well, boss, uh, Ziva…" He turned away, a slight blush creeping across his features as he departed.
"McGee!" Ziva called, trotting over to him when he paused. She stepped in close to him. "I am not upset about the Meeting," she said in a hushed tone. "Do not let it upset you." She looked him in the eye. "Put it behind you." After a moment, McGee relaxed, and nodded. A small smile quirked Ziva's lips as she reached up to pat his cheek affectionately. "Atta boy," she said. McGee returned her grin.
"Yeah, yeah," he said drolly. "Go get some sleep. Don't want to keep the Bossman waiting." Had it been any other Resident referring to Gibbs in such a manner, they would have found themselves facing the business end of a knife, but McGee was special, as was the rest of Team Gibbs. Their loyalty to Gibbs was unwavering and unquestionable. Such familiarity was their own brand of respect, whereas an ordinary Resident would have been insubordinate to use such a nickname. As it was, Ziva merely smirked as she turned away and returned to where Gibbs stood waiting.
As soon as she was within reach, Gibbs' arm was once more wrapped around her, pulling her close as they matched strides. They turned the corner, and were immediately greeted with the welcome sight of their Apartment.
It was a bottom container, situated directly on the concrete beneath three other containers. With the doors open, the interior could be clearly seen by passersby. It was plainer than most, with no murals painted on the walls and no personal pictures or books on display. There was no mattress—Abby had once tried to pamper them with large floor pillows pilfered from one exceedingly eclectic home in Vector 7, but as more Residents came to the Warehouse, the pillows had been donated to the newcomers.
Part of it had been Gibbs' Marine Corps training—the leader always made sure his men were provided for first before thinking of his own needs. Another reason for the donation of the pillows was the fact that more often than not, Gibbs woke up with stiff joints and tight muscles from the uneven support that left him miserable the entire day. Ziva too had expressed discomfort from the pillows' plush torture.
Now their bed consisted of a pile of weathered cardboard and thin, ragged blankets. They both knew they would have to make certain changes come fall, but at the moment, just at the start of summer, it worked well for them. The old cardboard provided a more even surface for Gibb's joints, and Ziva often ended up using Gibbs as a pillow, so it was comfortable enough to sleep on. And the blankets were just enough to ward off the nightly summer chill. Come winter, though, it would be too cold in the steel compartment to get by with scraps of cardboard and threadbare blankets.
They stepped into the apartment, leaving the doors open behind them, and immediately began to get ready to sleep. The process was simple, as they both slept in their clothes. The only thing they removed was their boots, which they left loosely laced, ready for a quick donning should the need arise. Habit had made them so adept at putting their boots on in the morning that it took them less than thirty seconds to pull them on and fasten the laces. Tonight, though, they took their time loosening the laces and removing their footwear.
"We are going to need those medical supplies, Jethro," Ziva started, sitting with her ankle propped on her knee as her fingers went to work on the laces of her right boot.
"Not now, Ziver," Gibbs sighed.
"Then when? We need to send a Patrol out as soon as possible, and how will we get one out this evening if I do not convince you now?" A firm tug, and her right foot was freed.
"'Did you not hear me at the Gathering?" Gibbs asked in exasperation. "I said the meds run was going to have to wait. It is too dangerous to send one out now, with the Bloods so close."
"And what happens if the Bloods come closer? We Encounter them and then what? Those who do not die in the struggle crawl back to the warehouse simply to die of their wounds? Wounds that could have been treated? To die of blood loss or infection days later?" She shook her head as she pulled at her left boot. "I am not okay with that Jethro."
"And I am not okay with sending you or anyone else outside Vector 9. What happens when the Patrol never comes back? The Residents will panic and scatter, and they'd be easy pickings for the Bloods and whatever gang happens to be in the area."
"Jethro, this could be our last chance to get to Mercy Hospital before the Bloods settle in. Even if they don't settle here, they could find the hospital before we get there and pick it clean. We would be without medical supplies indefinitely." Ziva stood and crossed to where Gibbs was leaning against the bulkhead.
"Well, that's a risk we'll have to take," Gibbs replied unwaveringly, "because you are not taking a Patrol out there."
"I am not taking a Patrol out?" Ziva asked incredulously. "Is that what this is about?"
"You did say you were the one who would be leading the Patrol."
"Of course I am! No one else is qualified to do so. This mission is too important to leave to anyone else."
"I agree. And you are too important to risk on such a mission."
"You do know I have been on worse missions, yes?"
"Maybe. Don't care."
"Apparently you do.'
"You aren't changing my mind."
"And you have not convinced me."
"Well I guess we're at a stalemate."
"Guess so."
They shared a long, tense look, each watching for the slightest sign of uncertainty in the other. When nothing presented itself, Gibbs abruptly broke the silence.
"Truce until we get some sleep?" His breath tickled her ear, his lips a fraction of an inch away. As soon as his words had been spoken he pulled away. Ziva turned her head and gracefully captured his lips with hers as the passed. She moved with him for a moment, then pulled back.
"Truce," she declared. She smirked, and Gibbs gave a cheeky grin as he pulled her towards the bed.
"It's a good thing we didn't have a full on fight," he said, reclining against the cardboard. "I don't think I have the energy to take full advantage of the make-up sex at the moment." Ziva lay down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Make up sex implies some kind of resolution has been made," she huffed. "Absolutely nothing about this issue has been resolved. This," she motioned between them, "is a temporary détente."
"Oh is it?" he asked, planting a kiss on the top of her head.
"Mmhmmm." Gibbs saw her blink heavily. His hand began to trace circle on her back, which had been left exposed as she lay on her side to face him. His own body began to relax with the familiar motions and her steady breathing.
"We'll talk about this more when we wake up," he assured her.
"Count on it," she breathed, clearly falling victim to her exhaustion. Another moment more and her eyes shut completely, and her breaths deepened.
In the moments before he too succumbed to slumber, Gibbs thought about their dilemma. Was Ziva right? How much of his decision was based on the fact that it was a risky mission, and how much of it was based on the fact that he would be risking her? After a few minutes' contemplation, he realized that it didn't matter. It was true—he wasn't going to let Ziva put herself in deliberate danger, especially when the Bloods were so close. If the events after the Incident had taught him anything, it was that it was the people around you who mattered. Survival was only important if you had someone to live for. And Ziva was his person to live for; he had come to that truth long ago.
So… no. His decision wasn't going to change. The problem with that, though, was that Ziva wasn't going to accept his decision.
As he drifted off to sleep, his last thoughts were of how he could postpone their debate until the Bloods either moved on or made a move on them. He was asleep before he had an answer.
A/N: An author's note at the end this time! Cool, right? Anywho, here's the deal. I apologize for such a long wait for the next installment of this story (even bigger one to the fans of What If, which looks like its going back on hiatus, at least until the fall breaks hit and I have no more new fodder for Something More). But on a brighter note, I have another chapter of NCIS: Apocalypse ready to be typed, and a new episode to tag in Something More (oooh, I am going to have so much fun! Perhaps not as much fun as the whole "father/daughter" bullcrap, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, right?). Between those two updates, and my homework, and my Reserve duty, I am totally swamped, in a good way. But anyways, so that's what's next up on the agenda!
Also, it is totally possible to do what Ziva does while waiting for Gibbs... falling semi-asleep while standing up. Done it. It works. Felt marginally more rested afterwards, and I was no longer crosseyed from trying to keep my eyes open. I've also fallen asleep while walking/marching, which is much more dangerous, but I doubt I will get a chance to put Ziva through that particular torture!
Hope you liked this chapter! Next chapter is a bit less gloomy, so buckle your seatbelts! It really starts to cook up now! (Can you tell I'm only marginally proud of myself right now? You picked up on it? Darn, I was trying to keep it a secret!) XD
--CSIGurlie07