Gibbs sat down on the barstool next to her. Unlike most of the other men who haunted this bar, she smelt no waft of cheap aftershave, or worse, no heavy acrid scent of sweat and alcohol. If he hadn’t been her boss, she would have given him a second glance. But he was her boss, and she was angry that he was here.
‘You have been following me?’
‘I watch surveillance tapes too, Ziva.’
Ziva laughed, one too many mojitos for her own good.
‘Gibbs, I have never seen you watch a surveillance tape. I have seen you watch Tony to make sure that he watches them, but you?’
There was a pause, Gibbs signalled to the waitress and ordered a drink, and then he turned to her again.
‘I watched them because I’m concerned.’
Ziva opened her mouth, but Gibbs gave her a look.
‘Don’t tell me you’re fine.’
Ziva scowled at him, an expression she was beginning to master, particularly over the last few days. She had another sip of her mojito and wondered how best to negotiate her way out of this so that, even if he didn’t believe she was fine, he believed she wasn’t going to compromise the team. Frankly, she didn’t know how. Were her reflexes up to par? She hadn’t reacted quickly enough. In a cold flash, the sensation of concrete under her palms and knees rolled over her, she was back crawling and panting across the floor, reaching for the gun and missing.
‘Hey.’
She startled, the noise of the bar washed back in, music that she hated, smells that reminded her that this tacky place was nothing like her clean, sterile work environment; or like that dusty, claustrophobic building she had been cornered in.
A hand moved up to her face and she flinched away from it. The hand stopped, unexpectedly, her vision cleared, and Gibbs was there. A concerned look was there.
‘Gibbs,’ Ziva clipped out, angry now, ‘you are not my father, and I am not your daughter. Do not coddle me. You will not like the results.’
Gibbs’ eyes narrowed, his hand dropped and he downed his scotch in one gulp.
‘You’re right,’ he said, as he pushed his stool out, ‘you’re not my daughter.’
Ziva’s eyes widened as he walked away from her, she turned and watched him slip through the crowd easily. He was disappearing, but what had caused it? Her refusal to be coddled? No, Ziva frowned suddenly and stood up, dropping some money on the bar, of course it wasn’t that. She had reminded him of that father, daughter dynamic. He’d only had one daughter. That daughter wasn’t alive anymore.
The second door on the way out was heavy on her hands as she flung it open. She ran into the parking lot, and saw his car already moving with the headlights on. Without thinking, she ran in front of it, and the car halted. She was already running to the side of the car and pulling open the passenger door before he could do anything else. She slid into the car, closed the door behind her, and took a moment to catch her breath.
‘Look, Gibbs, I am sorry. I did not mean to imply anything. I am not thinking straight. Maybe,’ she paused and did not look at him, shivering a little at what she was about to voice, ‘maybe I have post-traumatic stress, or something. I have seen it happen to colleagues. Family. But never me. And I never thought it would be here.’
There was silence, and then the distant sound of tyres as Gibbs reversed back into his parking spot and then turned the engine off. They sat in relative darkness, only a single streetlight and one neon sign illuminating the dashboard and their shapes in the car.
She felt safer in the darkness.
‘I am angry at myself, because I have been in worse situations than this, and reacted with more professionalism. I am angry that I could not think of something to do sooner, that my reflexes are slower. I am…’ Ziva trailed off when she saw his hand come to rest upon her knee. She stared at it in shock. The palm was warm, it radiated heat through her trousers. She still did not look at him.
‘You think your time with us has made you soft, don’t you?’
Ziva pursed her lips and looked out of the window, she had been avoiding asking herself this very same question. The hand on her knee squeezed and she exhaled and turned to look at it.
‘Yes.’ She admitted, shakily.
‘I know you’ve been in worse situations. But have you ever been up against a serial killer?’
‘Mass murderers. Suicide bombers. People who-‘
‘But a serial killer? They’re different, Ziva. He wouldn’t have killed you for his country, or his culture, or even because he thought you were evil. He would have killed you for the extra kick of seeing your finger in a plastic container whenever he wanted.’
Ziva swallowed, once, and then more images and sensations were rolling in. The sound of the gun firing, the click of the safety behind her head, the steel bars before her, the feel of him behind her. And earlier, the kiss against his mouth, his smile, his already knowing that he was going to kill her. She was more aware of the bruises on her ribs than ever, the feel of Hoffman’s weight on top of her, the gasping breaths she made as she rolled him off. The pressure at her knee shocked her and she reached down and grabbed the wrist, twisting it reflexively. There was a hissing sound. Had there been a hissing sound when she’d been in the warehouse?
Abruptly she came back to herself and was looking down at the hand that she had imprisoned in a paralysing grip. She turned to look at Gibbs and then let go of his hand like it was contagious. In the dark, his eyes looked more like twin pinpricks of light, and nothing seemed real. He just looked at her, and she looked back, then ran a shaking hand through her hair.
‘My prognosis is good. If it is PTS, this will not last long, yes? A few nightmares, a few reflexive reactions, and then I will be fine.’
‘A few reflexive reactions is not that far away from pulling a gun on a team-mate because you’re not in your own head.’
Ziva swallowed. She had feared this all along. That all those recommended days off were simply leading up to this point. Where he would suggest that she take an extended holiday, that she was too dangerous for the team, that she was �" as Michael had reminded her �" merely thought of as an assassin who could be dumped at any time.
‘Do you know what the funny thing is?’ Ziva laughed, she had nothing to lose. ‘I keep remembering the kiss; the stupid, meaningless kiss that he gave me in the car. He kissed me, and he already knew that he wanted to kill me, and I cannot stop thinking about it. Even when I was with Michael…’ Ziva trailed off, blushing, embarrassed. She had not openly admitted to Gibbs that she had slept with him.
She looked at those twin pinpricks of light that were his eyes, and she watched as he reached out with his hand and cradled her chin as he had done in the warehouse, barely touching her, ghosting through her hair at the same time. Goosebumps followed, along her neck and arms, and her breathing stilled and became shallow as the hand became fingers moving into her hair, and he leaned forward.
His lips found the side of her mouth first, gently stroking against hers. They were dry, he smelt clean, she felt overwhelmed but curious. She was too shocked to respond or withdraw and his hand moved to the back of her head and gently drew her forward. His mouth moved more certainly, tongue against her top lip, and then her bottom, and then questing between as though asking permission. Ziva opened her mouth a little and he still coaxed her, with teeth and lips, and fingers massaging the back of her head.
Desire pooled slowly, it did not spark off like a fire, but seemed to flow slowly within. Her breathing deepened, and she leaned forward and began to participate as hesitant as he seemed sure. She grazed her teeth against his lower lip, touched his tongue with her own, pressed her lips into his. The darkness enveloped them and one of her hands moved up and rested on his chest.
He withdrew and she followed, mouth open, breathing slowly. Her lips were already starting to cool when she looked up, just realising that he had stopped.
‘Gibbs…’
‘Or Jethro.’ He said, his voice was huskier.
‘Or Jethro,’ she agreed. ‘Are you feeling sorry for me?’
‘No. Just helping you to forget the feel of Hoffman against your lips. And Michael. That was,’ he was leaning in again, ‘a big mistake.’
‘Michael?’ Ziva whispered, and then his lips were firmly moving against hers, and she was kissing him back. The hand on his chest moved up to his shoulder, and then to his neck, where her fingers caressed him until he shuddered against her and drew her even closer. His tongue moved confidently within her mouth, duelling with her own, slowly stroking the roof of her mouth. Ziva moaned and moved back once more, gasping for breath. Her fingers curled against his neck again, and then up to trace his ear.
‘Oh god. This, I was not expecting tonight.’
‘Yeah,’ Gibbs laughed suddenly, ‘because I was.’
‘So what did you expect? That you would meet me at the bar, rescue me from whatever goes on in my own head, and emerge victorious against my inner demons? Because Gibbs,’ Ziva paused and her hand dropped, ‘I do not think you have even mastered yours.’
Gibbs caught her hand and threaded his fingers between hers.
‘How many personal demons do you have, Ziva? Do you ever dream about shooting your brother, Ari? Or the circumstances that drove you to run to NCIS in the first place?’ Ziva tried to jerk her hand out of his, but his grip was tight. His other hand came up to cradle her chin once more, until her eyes flickered up and found his, angry and unhappy. ‘Do you think I’d insult you by assuming I could conquer any of them? I don’t presume to know what sort of things haunt you at night. I do presume to check up on my agents when it’s clear that they’re not fine.’
‘Kissing them part of the package then? Jethro?’
‘No.’
Ziva sighed, relaxed a little, and looked out of the car up at the streetlight.
‘Do you know what would happen if my father ever found out about how Ari really died?’
‘I have an idea.’
‘As do I.’ Ziva said shortly. ‘I am constantly aware that he may find out. He has put surveillance on me before, while I have been in America, working for NCIS.’
‘He has?’
‘Are you really surprised? Look how my brother turned out,’ a cynical laugh erupted, ‘I think he is wise to keep an eye on me.’
‘What are your plans for the rest of this evening?’
Ziva looked at him, and between them something passed, silent and primal. Ziva’s mouth dropped open, she exhaled slowly.
‘I was going to drive home.’
‘Do you need someone to make sure you get there safely?’
They both knew that she did not need any help getting home. They both knew that Ziva’s reflexes, more than ever before, were quick enough that she could disarm anyone who even looked at her sideways. And they both knew what would happen once they arrived at her place. This was the moment to back out and do the safe, logical thing. She knew it.
But instead she said, ‘Sure.’
Story Notes:
(part one! part two will be coming later, it's finished, just needs a bit more editing)
Author's Chapter Notes:
Ziva's headspace is still locked into her encounter with Hoffman, and Gibbs attempts to draw her out of it.
Chapter End Notes:
(part one! part two will be coming later, it's finished, just needs a bit more editing - and is NC-17)