When Tony stormed into the bullpen, Gibbs knew something had happened, and his gut said it had something to do with Ziva. It hadn't escaped his notice that that his senior field agent had been avoiding him and Ziva both outside of the office, but they had discussed and agreed on what they would so when he eventually came knocking. Gibbs was pissed that he'd chosen a work to finally visit Ziva, when he knew she would be home alone, but more concerning was that Ziva hadn't been herself since the sonogram. Gibbs was prepared to give her time to work through whatever she needed to, but of all the weeks to finally break the ice, Tony had chosen this one. Still, it seemed as though she had handled it on her own. Tony's thunderous expression confirmed that Ziva had done as they each agreed—she'd told Tony the truth.

"Dinozzo!" he barked, drawing every eye in the bullpen. It didn't bother him. Tony's entrance had already drawn attention. "My office, now."

He half-expected Tony would refuse. It was clear that respect for his team leader wasn't high among his priorities. But come he did, and Tony was the one who slammed the elevator into a halt once they were alone inside.

"Say it," Gibbs ordered.

Tony sneered. "Say what?"

"You clearly got something on your mind, Dinozzo. Spit it out."

The elevator shook around them as Tony's fist slammed into the metal wall. "Fine. Let's talk about the fact your rules are a joke—and you know it."

Gibbs stepped in, skewering Tony with a hard glare. "Is that what you really think?"

"Don't play games with me, Gibbs," Dinozzo warned. "It's not just what I think, it's fact. You're a walking, talking hypocrite. You've been preaching your precious rules since the day I started, acting like they were the end-all be-all of a good team." He scoffed. "And like a chump I believed you."

"The rules are important," Gibbs said deliberately.

"Yeah so important you decided to break Rule 12." Tony's expression soured. "For years. With my partner."

They regarded each other, the elevator creaking in the silence. Rage crackled at Dinozzo's edges. He griped about rules, but Gibbs suspected that it wasn't the broken rules he minded so much, but rather who Gibbs had broken them with.

Tony sneered at Gibbs' silence. "You both must have had a good long laugh at my expense."

"We weren't thinking about you, Dinozzo."

"No, just yourselves. Did you even stop to consider what this would do to the team?"

Gibbs shifted. "It wasn't easy," he said honestly. The implications of their working relationship notwithstanding, it often felt like nothing about them was easy. His past, hers; they both had enough baggage to sink a tugboat, but it was simple once they let that go. If it was just them, with the extra noise outside their door, it was a no-brainer. The world didn't seem to stay out for long, but since Ziva had come home, it had yet to rear its ugly head. Not even an outburst from Dinozzo could beckon it in. "We had to work at it. And we did think about the team. That's why we kept it out of the office. We did a good job."

"You did a goo—" Tony's words were strangled in his throat. He swallowed, then tried to cover it with a laugh. It emerged as a cough. "A good job? That's what you've got to say?"

Gibbs shrugged. "What else do you want me to say? I'm not gonna apologize."

"Well maybe you should!" Tony roared. "I listened to you! I respected you! You and your rules, and everything else about this damn team. Damn it!" He slammed his hand against the elevator again, turning his back on Gibbs. "If it weren't for those damn rules…"

"What?" Gibbs challenged. Tony's eyes flew to his, and in that moment, the man's bitterness was tangible, affirmed by the guilt that followed an instant later. "Then you would have made your move and it'd be you with Ziva, is that it?" Tony didn't answer. "Let's get one thing straight—I didn't make you do a damn thing. If it was worth the risk, you would've made that move a long time ago. Ziva did."

Dinozzo's eyes skittered away, chastised. As well he should be. Ziva wasn't a game piece in this, moved here and there by other hands. She was the master of her own life, and the baby, her home—they were her choice. Gibbs turned to restart the elevator, but paused when Dinozzo said his name, voice raw with emotion. "I just want to know why."

"There is always a time and place rules need to be broken," Gibbs said finally. He flipped the switch to put the elevator back in motion. "This was mine."

The elevator hummed, bearing them down towards the lobby. Tony shook his head, his mouth twisted into an unpleasant grimace. "So what now? I'm just supposed to follow your orders like nothing happened?"

"That's how it works, Dinozzo."

"And what if I have a problem with that?"

The doors opened with a ding. "Get a new team."

Gibbs left the elevator with Tony standing alone inside, and bore left towards the stairs. Within seconds he had his phone in his hand, dialing home. The knot in his gut didn't begin to unwind until Ziva's voice came over the line. Even though he knew she could handle herself even while pregnant, even though she assured him she was fine, Gibbs couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Gibbs' concern was validated when he stepped into a dark house later that night. He found Ziva downstairs, sitting on the ground with her back up against the stairs, her eyes unfocused and staring at the stain that could no longer be seen by the naked eye, but could never be forgotten by either of them. "What are you doing down here, Ziva?" he asked softly, sitting to join her on the hard concrete.

"Thinking," she replied roughly. Her eyes were swollen, evidence that she'd been crying recently, though they were dry now. "Why else would anyone come down here?"

Gibbs sighed. "You can't let whatever Dinozzo said get to you, Ziver. He's hurt, but he'll come around."

A bitter scoff of a laugh escaped here. "I stopped caring about what Tony thinks a long time ago."

Gibbs watched. He hadn't noticed their partnership weakening before she left NCIS, and from what Dinozzo said in the elevator it seemed as though the senior field agent hadn't noticed either. But Gibbs supposed there might not have been much left to weaken after Rivkin, and Somalia.

"Then what's really going on?" he asked finally. Thikning or no, Ziva had avoided the basement like the plague since she'd come home, and for good reason. This was where it had started, the beginning of the end for her tenure at Mossad, and where their trust had first been born.

Ziva sighed, hanging her head in defeat. "The baby kicked today."

Gibbs started in surprise, a rush of elation bubbling up. "Ziva, that's great-!" Except the tears that sprang to her eyes assured him that is wasn't great. Far from it. "Not so great."

"We were shouting, Jethro," she confessed. "I was angry and Tony refused to listen. I just wanted to—" She caught herself from saying too much, but Gibbs understood. Tony had a history of selective myopia, especially where Ziva was concerned. "It was the worst I've felt in almost a year—and our baby chooses that moment to kick for the first time." Her head bowed again, her hair hiding her tears. He reached out to take her hand.

"It doesn't mean anything," he said, only for her to jerk her fingers from his.

"I think it does."

"It this really about the kick? Or is it about the sonogram?" Ziva's head rose, her shock at his insight nearly immediately eclipsed by the consequent shame the flooded her expression. "You haven't been yourself since the appointment. What's wrong?"

Ziva's eyes closed. When she opened them, he was still there, as was his question. A tear trailed down her cheek and Gibbs resisted the urge to brush it away. He instead retook her hand, which she let him have without a fuss. "I looked at you during the sonogram, Jethro. You… you had tears in your eyes. And I knew, right then I knew that already loved this child. You looked so happy."

Gibbs nodded slowly. "And you…?"

"I don't love this baby, Jethro," she confessed. "I know, I hope, in my head I know that once the baby is born I will love it as much as you did in that moment. I can't understand why I don't feel it as you already do. I want to believe that as soon as I see this baby and hold it in my arms that I will be head over heels in love with it, but..." She sniffed, wiping her eyes. "What if I'm not? What if that love never comes, and- what if I become my father?"

Gibbs couldn't say anything. He doubted there was anything he could say. There was no miracle moment when a baby was born where he, or anyone, could guarantee she would feel that bond. For some families it could take days, weeks, months after the baby was born to feel a connection. Some mothers never did, but that wasn't something he would voice, and risk compounding her fear. Besides, he doubted that would be the case for Ziva. She doubted herself, that much was clear, but Gibbs knew she would find her bond. He saw the softness in her eyes when they worked with kids, and saw the way she slipped past their walls and befriended them. She talked to them as people, not children to be talked down to. She bonded with them; this child would be no different.

"What can I do?" he asked simply.

She shrugged, sagging markedly. Her secret was out, off her shoulders now that her perceived shame was in the open, and he hadn't pulled away. "I don't know." A small smile curled her lips. "I think you're already doing it."

"Doing what?"

That got her to laugh, just a little. "Just… being here. Listening. Keep doing that?"

"Of course." He paused, then smirked. "It'll be hard. You're such a talker yourself."

That earned another laugh. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to talk about all of this. I cannot even tell whether what I'm feeling is real, or just hormones, or…" Ziva looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and smiled at finding him ready to speak. "I know, I know—it's valid, whether it is the hormones or not."

"Damn right." He leaned into her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Now some of her unease was creeping away, and she was starting to slump, losing the stiffness in her spine. The worst was over, for now at least. "We'll be okay," he said. "That I can promise. We'll find our way."

She nodded sleepily. "I hope so."