Gibbs could only give Ziva so much privacy, before concern won out over his need to give her space. So eventually he made his way downstairs with two mugs of hot, black coffee. He found her sitting by the frame of his boat, looking fixedly at the blood stain. The body was gone now, people had been and gone, questions had battered at him and her and she had stayed numbly silent while he had taken the questions upstairs and then, away from Ziva, told them that he was the one who had shot her half-brother.

He was cobbling together thoughts. First, that he had defended Ziva; he hardly knew her, so why was he so quick to earn the ire of Mossad? Even if Ari had been a wildcard, he was still a blood relative. Second, that Ziva had killed her half-brother for him, and hadn’t even told him about their connection until now. Third, that Ari was dead. It was finally, finally over. Kate was avenged, and he could sleep as peacefully as he ever did knowing that Abby was okay in her lab again, that McGee and Tony could continue to bicker without being sniped from a distance.

He placed the coffee down on the bench and stood in the corner, in the shadows, watching Ziva as she watched the stain. He knew that the emotions she was feeling were schooled to not be present on her face, instead all he saw was tiredness.

‘What happens now?’ He said then, taking a sip of his coffee. Ziva blinked once, but didn’t look away from the blood on the floor.

‘I shall go back to Israel, report to my father, tell him what Ari was; though he already knows by now.’

Gibbs had nothing to say to that, and drank some more of his coffee. Ziva turned her head to look at him, the movement was stiff and the gaze she directed at him black. It was a dead expression, one that he had seen before in colleagues, had experienced himself.

‘You loved him.’ He said suddenly.

‘Not enough. I killed him.’ Ziva laughed, and it was a broken and brittle sound. Her eyes narrowed and she stood, fluidly, and then took a step forward. ‘Would you have still asked me to have killed him, if you had known? Would you have killed him instead?’

‘Ziva…he wanted war. To kill my people. To destroy me. He wanted…’

‘What?! What could he have possibly wanted that made this okay?’ She gestured around his basement with a jerky movement. Gibbs put his mug of coffee down, and opened his mouth, but she was stalking towards him. Her mood had flipped around. He stayed as passive as possible, she had different rules to him, bonds of blood and family that he had lost a long time ago. And he knew from the respect he had for her, that he shouldn’t interfere with her while she was like this.

‘You ask me to kill him, and do you have anything to say for yourself?’ She hissed.

‘No.’ Gibbs said softly. She was close now, invading his personal space on purpose. Her hand was on her gun, her body tense with grief, anger, and the betrayal of learning that Ari wasn’t trustworthy.

The kiss took him by surprise. Her lips slammed up against his, knocked his teeth, and her body weight pressed him hard against the wall. His arms came up automatically, then stayed in the air, awkward as she bit at him, her breath hot and quick with her anger. She couldn’t shoot him, so it was this that she was taking from him instead.

He grunted when she drew blood from his lip, and as his arm finally moved to stop her, a small hand grabbed his wrist and pushed it forcefully back against the wall. He knew he could overpower her, but in that moment he was still shocked, overwhelmed at feeling a woman’s body pushing so aggressively against him. And as he tasted the metallic flavours of his own blood in his mouth, he found himself responding. Not angrily, as she probably wanted, but gently. His mouth opened to hers and her tongue thrust deep, her fingers ground into his wrist where she held it back against the wall.

His own tongue gently stroked hers, his fingers curled down to caress the back of her hand. It was awkward, but he could feel the soft skin under his fingertips, and kept touching. It kept him grounded, and it destabilised her anger. She faltered, and then tore her mouth away and abruptly let go of his wrist. She was breathing deeply.

‘Ziva…’ Gibbs said, quietly. Ziva looked at him, and her eyes were wet with tears again. He grimaced. ‘Ziva,’ he whispered, and leaned forwards, capturing her chin with one finger and then capturing her lips with his own. He kissed her tenderly, trying to give her something other than anger, something other than bitterness or hurt. His finger under her chin became a hand cradling her cheek, and he kissed her until he felt hot tears running down his thumb.

They withdrew from each other at the same time, Ziva reaching a hand up to remove her tears in an oddly childlike gesture. Gibbs watched her, fascinated. He hadn’t met someone whom he had come to trust so quickly, in a long, long time.

‘I do not hate you.’ Ziva said then, sighing on a shudder.

‘You could. I’d expect it.’

‘I am sorry for hurting you.’ Ziva was looking at his lip, and Gibbs touched it and then looked at the blood on his finger.

‘So what happens now? You go back to Israel?’

Ziva took a deep breath, and then released it slowly. She looked defeated, her shoulders slumped.

‘You do not know what I am going back home to.’ Ziva said, her voice breaking.

‘Well, I don’t think you should tell them you killed him, Ziva.’

‘Even so.’ Ziva acknowledged. ‘You still do not know…everything has changed now.’ Ziva turned and looked at him, and a small, bittersweet smile tugged on the corners of her mouth. ‘I am both sorry and glad to have met you; my life will not be the same after this.’

She took one last look at the blood-stain of her brother, as though fixing it in her mind, and then walked up the staircase slowly and left him. Gibbs looked at the blood-stain himself, and then finally finished the dregs of his coffee as he listened to the front door open and then close.

‘Neither will mine.’ He said softly.