Jethro Gibbs strode through his front door, threw his keys at the side table like always, flicked on a light as it had gone full dark outside and glanced at the mail he'd grabbed on his way in. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, sensing a presence in his quiet house.

Pulling his weapon, he cleared the downstairs, then descended silently to his basement, inextricably drawn in that direction. At first he saw no one, but he did pick up faint, shallow breathing.

Ziva had heard him moving around upstairs and knew without looking that he had his gun out and aimed as he searched his house.

After all, she'd have done the same.

She stayed still, faking continued sleep in order to give him time to see that she was the intruder he was looking for and to give herself time for one last grip on her courage.

He actually caught a whiff of that smell that was uniquely her first, the combination of her shampoo and whatever she used on her skin that was always an intoxicating mix of fresh and alluring, but discounted that as wishful thinking.

Then he saw her.

Raising her eyelids just enough to see his legs through her lashes, she watched him freeze and his Sig slowly lower to his side.

"Ziver."

At the sound of her nickname – that one that only he used - she slowly opened her eyes completely.

"Hello, Gibbs."

It did not escape her that their conversation was beginning exactly the same way it had days before.

She hoped that was not an omen that the rest would play out the same way, as well.

"What're you doing here?" he asked, his tone almost clipped from the shock of finding her there.

When he'd learned from McGee that she was – thank God - flying back with Tony, he'd figured the best he could hope for was that she would go back to being at the desk next to him and that she'd never darken his sanctuary again after the way he'd acted the last time she'd been here.

Or, rather, hadn't acted.

He'd been too locked in his ways – and his apprehension – to meet her halfway that night, and had stubbornly allowed himself to cling to the notion that if he ignored it, everything would go back to being the way it was once he got the team together again.

Then she'd disappeared and he was forced to examine everything more closely, to decide what he really wanted.

He wanted her, but didn't know what to do about it. He couldn't run from the fact that he'd become impossible to be in a relationship with – he had three ex-wives and a few ex-lovers who'd convinced him of that. It hadn't been hard for them to. He knew he was a different man than the one who'd fallen for Shannon and then for Jenny because losing them had changed him, in different ways, but both significantly.

When Ziva had fallen off the face of the earth right after he'd suggested she go – though he'd really only meant out of his basement that night until he could be sure he wouldn't allow himself to grab the chance she seemed to be offering him - he could only believe that he'd ruined any chance of her being near him again at all, especially just the two of them here, in his basement.

He'd sent Tony after her as he'd figured he was the last person she'd want to see – and because he still didn't really know what to say.

Ziva's heart sank at the tone of his question. Since Tony made me sounded childish and wasn't really true, and because she wasn't ready to jump right in with the real answer, she busied herself with coming out of her cocoon rather than respond immediately.

Moving slowly, she lightly stretched limbs that had gone stiff while sleeping on the concrete floor and then slid out from under his project to rise gracefully to her feet. She had the urge to put his work area between them, so she forced herself to do the opposite and stand on the same side he was, reflexively refusing to give in to the fear.

Not of him.

She could never be afraid of him.

But the strength of her feelings for him? Oh, yes, that scared her.

That and the fact that it seemed he was about to break her heart again as no one else could, no matter what Tony said.

Ziva opened her mouth to answer him, then closed it again without a sound, unsure of what to say, where to start.

Finally, she settled for, "Tony dropped me off."

He looked at her, showing none of his surprise and confusion and longing. Inside, he was fighting to find his emotional footing at this unexpected turn of events, but she couldn't tell because she was too consumed with the same.

Because ingrained habits are not easy to overcome even when you want to, Gibbs stayed protected behind his emotional fortress.

"Explains how you got here," he pointed out with a slight emphasis on the how, "but not why you're here."

He seemed so remote … why had she allowed herself to believe for even one second that he'd be anything less?

She closed her eyes and released a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself enough to do what she must.

"Apparently making the same mistake twice," she offered sadly, wearily. "I will just get out of your way."

She started to move toward her bag, praying she could slip by him on her way to the stairs without touching him.

"Leaving again, huh? That your new MO?"

There was something in his voice that made her still, a razor-sharp edge of hurt cutting through all the rest.

Had leaving become her new way of operating, she wondered? Given that she was about to do just that again, she guessed she didn't really know the answer, so she said nothing.

Caught between his maelstrom of emotions and the urge to hold her tight, Gibbs flicked the safety on his weapon, laid it out of the way and opted for the one feeling that always felt safer than many others: fury.

"What the hell were you thinking," he bit out, "disappearing like that? Rule 3, Ziva. 'Never –'"

"'Be unreachable,'" she finished softly. In the face of his outright anger, she found her backbone. "So the rules still apply, even when you tell me to go? Even when I no longer work for you?"

Given what she'd all but admitted to him the last time they'd seen each other, Including Rule 12? practically reverberated in the air between them, but went unacknowledged.

"DiNozzo took you your badge," he retorted, his heart pounding against his chest to stop yelling at her and just kiss her before he ruined everything again.

"Which I have not taken back," she informed him curtly, feeling a stab of satisfaction that she'd managed to shock him with that, if the look on his face was any indication.

"But since you are so concerned about your rules, what about Rule 11: 'When the job is done, walk away?'" she went on with an almost cocky poise she did not actually feel, but desperate to do something that would hopefully keep her heart from bleeding out all over his floor.

Being snarky helped staunch the flow.

"So that's all we are - I am - to you, a job?" he nearly yelled, his words smarting like a whip.

Because she knew him well, the pain she sensed under his accusation slid under her guard and put another chink in her armor … and took the snark out of her sails.

"You have never been a 'job' to me," she swore quietly, a wealth of meaning in her tone. "You have always been more."

Putting some steel in that backbone, she allowed her guarded gaze to meet his stormy blue one.

This time she would say what she came to say, the consequences be damned. It couldn't be any worse than last time and at least she wouldn't be left wondering What if?

"You have always been everything."

"But you left!" He banged the work table in his pain and frustration, hit it hard enough to make his hand throb. He rounded on her again, emotion blazing in his mesmerizing blue eyes – accusation and self-recrimination being only part of the mix. "You left the team." Then, almost as if the weight of what came next was more than he could bear, he paced to the work bench against the wall and braced his hands against it. "Left me."

Ziva felt suddenly thrown off balance. His anger was one thing, but now it was clear that he was hurting, too, and she loved him too much not to be drawn to ease his pain, even in the face of his fury and even though she wasn't convinced she could.

Consigning herself to very likely bleeding out after all, she slowly approached him from behind, stopping near enough to feel the heat emanating from his body. She raised a hand to lay it on his back, but dropped it before touching him as though afraid of what might be unleashed within her – within them both - if she did.

"I thought that was what you wanted. You told me to go."

Her words were offered quietly in a voice that got smaller as she reminded him of his directive.

"Not to Israel," he returned bleakly.

"I believed there was nothing to hold me here any longer," she admitted, still in that low, quiet voice.

"What about me?" he asked in a voice she had to strain to hear.

"Gibbs?" she whispered in confusion, that tiny spark of hope igniting into a tiny, but sturdy flame with those three words.

"Wanted to hold you," he admitted in a husky voice, extending one hand outside his fortress. "Thought I had to let you go."

"Why?" she breathed achingly.

Part of him wanted to find the words for her, he really did, but damned if he could. However, the slight shrug that held more than a little uncertainty, that telegraphed he was lost here, spoke volumes and cracked the rest of her armor completely in half.

Risking what felt like everything, she allowed it to fall away.

She slowly rested her hand against his back, not moving quickly, intuitively understanding that he was riding a very fine edge of control that could slip at any moment.

"Ziva," he warned thickly.

She ignored the urge for caution in his voice and slowly allowed her hand to slide up and down his back over his jacket as she'd dreamed of doing too many times to count.

Her palm absorbed the incredible feel of him and her fingertips flexed into his muscles. His body pressed back into her hand, unable to stop from doing so. The pressure was subtle, but she sensed it.

Welcomed it.

"I wanted you to hold me," she revealed in a voice breaking with emotion. "I still do."

He went completely still under her hand, not even breathing, as though he were afraid even that slight movement would break whatever spell they were under.

Could it really be true that he hadn't blown whatever snowball's chance in hell he had at being with her?

"I want to hold you, too," she shared emotionally, a weight lifting off her heart as she said that out loud at last, despite not knowing how this was going to end.

After a moment, she braved sliding her arms around him completely, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder blade, closing her eyes as a tidal wave of relief and pleasure rolled through her at finally having him in her arms for more than a friendly or familial-like embrace.

She soaked in every nuance of it, in case this was the only memory of really holding him she would ever have.

For the space of a few heartbeats, he still couldn't move, afraid that if he did she would let go.

He wanted her to hold on.

Needed her to.

Pushed himself to take a step beyond his knee-jerk reaction to stay behind his walls and acknowledged that he needed to do the same.

Moving cautiously, he chanced turning within the circle of her arms, beyond grateful that she didn't let her arms fall away.

Raising his hands, fingers uncharacteristically trembling, he cupped her face and traced her beautiful features with his gaze. A small, nervous smile flirted with her lips and her body softened instinctively against his.

"Ziva, I -" he breathed before every coherent thought left his head.

"Yes, Jethro?" she whispered when he didn't continue, her eyes on his mouth as it drew inexorably closer to hers.

She'd used his first name before, but this time it sent shivers down his spine and lower. His eyes darkened with the need to kiss her.

There was something he'd intended to say, but words failed him.

Gibbs shook his head at himself as he floundered.

"Can't think when you're this close to me," he finally confessed in husky voice.

Feminine strength as old as time curled through her, warming her from the inside out.

"Then do not try," she suggested in a sultry tone. Smoothing her hands over his back and bringing her face close enough that her breath feathered his lips as she spoke, she delivered a command with a voice that was both velvet and steel as it slid over him, into him. "Just … feel."

Knowing they sometimes communicated even better without talking, Ziva slowly tilted her face toward his, offering him her mouth.

Carefully, as though she were something delicate and precious to him, he took it.

Their first kiss started out soft as a butterfly's wing, brushing lightly, gently … gradually firming until their lips were slanting across each other's, sliding in between, reveling in the moist velvety touch.

Parting slowly, lips clinging, they looked at each other once more for what felt like a lifetime ...

But was really only the time it took for the last few planks of a bridge to fall into place.

Something inside him mended and he started to feel like himself again – a more complete version of the self he'd been.

"Maybe feeling's not so bad," he husked revealingly, his blue eyes warming with wonder as they roamed over her face. "With you."

Her slow, sparkling, loving, relieved smile melted the last of his tension. Then her eyes took on a decidedly provocative glint.

"'Not so bad' - ?" she all but purred. "Oh, I think we can do better than that."

His characteristic grin tugged up one corner of his mouth and he relaxed into her as she slid one hand around from his back, up his chest to the nape of his neck and pulled his mouth to hers once more.

And rocked him to his toes with her kiss.

She was oh-so-slow about releasing his lips, capturing them once, twice more before removing her tongue from his mouth with one last swirl that went straight to his groin, giving them both a chance to take in some much-needed air.

"Well?" she husked, lifting her eyelids just enough to see him through her lashes.

"If I pretend I'm not sure, will you do it again?" he wondered in a sexy murmur with a devilish glint in his eye, quite proud of himself that he'd managed a full sentence even though his head was still spinning.

Her delighted light laugh danced between them causing him to grin like a fool, so grateful she was back and determined to hold on to her this time.

"I will kiss you as often as you like, even without the pretending," she pledged warmly, provocatively. "It has instantly become my new favorite thing."

"Huh. Mine, too," he observed, the roguish twinkle in his blue eyes further charming her.

After a few more kisses that gradually deepened, he took her hand and they moved her blankets to her usual spot by the wall. He sat first and tugged her down to sit beside him. They curled into each other as though they were two halves of a whole.

It was time for words, even if they came hesitantly or in fits and starts.

And time for breaking a few rules.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down at her. "About before."

"Jethro –"

"No, Ziva," he interrupted her. It was his turn to kick a hole in his walls. She'd done more than her part to weaken them. "I'm sorry."

He smoothed a hand down her hair, glad she'd left it loose.

"I did not say everything I came to say that night," Ziva admitted, trying to shoulder some of the blame. "Perhaps if I had –"

"Didn't give you the chance," he pointed out, cutting her off. What had happened that night was on him. "I was a coward. And a liar."

She looked up at him with her eyes lowered a bit in confusion.

"Didn't want you to go even when I said you should," he explained quietly.

He raised a hand and cupped her chin, smoothing a thumb over her soft lips as he tipped her face up to his.

"You were strong," he admired her. "Brave."

A shadow crossed his eyes as he remembered his response when she'd tried to shift their relationship into something more.

"I was –"

"Worried," she broke in softly, raising her own hand to sift her fingers soothingly through his hair, thrilled that she could. "And careful."

"Like I said, coward," he agreed with her, refusing to let her sugar-coat it. "Froze up on ya … and wished I hadn't as soon as you left, but didn't know what to do about it."

He paused a moment to just look at her.

"And almost did the same thing tonight," he pointed out ruthlessly refusing to let himself off the hook yet. Regret dimmed the blue eyes she adored. "'m sorry about that, too."

Her gaze searched his for a long moment, reassured even more by what she found there.

"Well," she observed in a sexy drawl, melting into him and smoothing her hand down over his cheek, his throat, his chest. "You do not feel frozen now."

Desire pulled at him and he allowed her to bring him to the here and now, rather than stay focused on what he should have done before.

He kissed her again because he just couldn't help himself and she was right: nothing frozen about that.

At all.

Slowly, but surely, they continued to talk through the night, their halting, revealing exchange often interrupted for kisses and touches that were heartfelt and deeply meaningful.

Gradually, they shared everything that needed to be said, including the worry she'd had about revealing her feelings, but she hadn't been able to keep holding back as soon as they were living in a world without Rule 12 …

His concern that he was too old, too set in his ways of going it alone to be what she needed and deserved, which had driven his response …

The pain and regret he'd lived with over sending her away that night, especially when he couldn't find her …

The sadness she felt at the hurt she'd caused them both by leaving, though she'd only been doing what she thought he'd wanted.

They talked about the past.

The present.

The future.

Their future.

For now, Ziva decided she would not return to the team. Gibbs had misgivings about that, not the least of which was that he'd miss her at work - not just for her skills, though that was a factor.

She was a damn good agent.

However, Ziva did not want Rule 12 getting in the way of figuring this out, especially while the admission of their feelings was so new and vulnerable. He'd lived a long time with that rule – and for good reason in his book – and she didn't kid herself that it would just poof and be gone.

He'd need time.

Maybe they both would.

Besides, she trusted no one to watch his back overtly or covertly the way she could, and she announced in no uncertain terms that she would be doing just that during whatever mission had been planned for him, after which his slate would be wiped clean of real or imagined bending-of-the-law-when-it-suited-him, as Parsons had wanted to charge him with.

He'd already been set up once and nearly shot in Iran, and the "mission" hadn't even officially begun as far as anyone knew. Somehow Parsons had saved the day, but she wasn't about to rely on that weasel who'd done everything in his power to get to Gibbs and put him in jail.

At first, Jethro objected to that part of her plan for more reasons than one, not the least of which was keeping her safe and far away from whatever cluster-fuck the alphabet soup of agencies was sure to cook up for him.

However, after pointing out that she was in the best position of anyone to have his back and to collect corroborating or contradictory intel that might be useful along the way - and then distracting him with a slow, warm, deep kiss that trumped his ability to remember why he thought she should just come back to work as one of his agents - he began to cave.

"Need you safe," he managed, burying his face against her throat when she allowed him up for air. "And need you with me. Not sure those things go together in this."

"I need you safe and with me, as well," she husked, holding him to her with as much soothing affection as love. "And I know that 'together' is the best way to accomplish that."

Ziva shifted to straddle his lap and took his face in her hands.

"After your mission, we can talk about work again. But, Jethro, no matter what we decide about that, for as long as you want me, I will be wherever you are even if I am not at the desk next to yours."

"No more disappearing?" he asked quietly, not hiding his vulnerability as he waited for her answer.

"No more disappearing," she promised with a smile that melted his heart as she ran her fingertips over his cheek and into that sexy silver hair of his.

"Even when I say something I don't mean?" he made himself ask, certain that he would.

"Even then, though you might have to help me figure out that you do not mean it, at least at first … until I can really trust that you do not want me to go," she answered honestly.

"Always gonna want you with me, Ziver," he swore, not a shred of doubt in his eyes.

The happiness that lit up her expression sparked his own.

"Then you will always have me," she vowed before capturing his mouth again in a kiss that turned his brain to mush and reduced his world to simply the woman in his arms.

"Glad you came back," he sighed when he could speak again.

"So am I – now," she smiled, rubbing her nose against his adorably before adding truthfully, but not unkindly, "At first, it was a little …"

She tilted her head, searching for the right phrase.

"Something about going and touching," she mused out loud, looking to him for the answer.

"Touch and go," he supplied with a slight smile.

"That is it," she nodded. "It was a little 'touch and go' at first."

But she smiled at him with understanding in her eyes as she rubbed his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

"That's on me, too," he frowned. "I'm –"

"I know," she interrupted him warmly. "You do not have to keep saying it."

"Not weakness to apologize when I'm wrong, Ziver," he told her quietly, his eyes on her. "Not telling you how I feel, that is."

"About that …" Her voice trailed off.

There were still so many questions, but perhaps only one answer really mattered.

Hiding nothing of what she felt, Ziva rose up on her knees and held his face with open hands on either side of it.

"Jethro, do you think someday you could love me?" she asked wistfully in a voice gone husky with emotion. "Not just care about me, but really love me?"

"Ziva, I already love you like that," he husked, feeling like he'd just jumped into fast, deep rapids without a raft, but knowing she'd put herself out there not once, but twice for him already and it was his turn to take a risk.

She had to close her eyes for a moment to catch her equilibrium as he told her what she'd longed to hear and had been so certain she never would, not from this man.

Her eyes opened again and she had all she wanted right in front of her.

"Then, somehow, everything will be all right," she predicted in a clear, but emotional voice that had no room for doubt, caressing his face with her hands, thrilled to be able to say at last what she'd thought he would never want to hear, not from her. "Because I love you, too."

He gazed into her eyes in the dim light and saw nothing but truth there, along with a bright, tantalizing vision of his future.

And he discovered he didn't need a raft in these previously-treacherous emotional waters because he had her to hold onto.

To steady him.

To save him.

Even from himself.