AN: OK, it was supposed to be finished, but one or two people asked about what Gibbs would do next – where would Ziva wish to go – I didn't know so I thought about it. So... short second chapter. Postscript if you like.

Let It Out Slowly

Chapter 2

Tim pushed his plate back with a sigh, and leaned back in his chair. "Oh...that was really good, Aydie. My grandma used to make stew with dumplings, I used to love going to her house. I haven't had them in years – that was great."

Aydie gave him a pleased smile, as he began to get up to take his plate to the dishwasher, but she whisked it away. "Sit. Relax. Well, try, anyway. Coffee cake?"

Tony grinned as she went into the kitchen. "She has this thing about coffee cake..." He thought for a moment. "Wait a minute – Penny made stew and dumplings?"

Now it was Tim's turn to smile. "My other gran. Penny was a disaster in the kitchen. She'd start to prepare a meal, then notice something in the New York Times political section. Two hours later she'd still be phoning round discussing it with her friends, while the salad went limp, or the chicken was carbonised. Penny wasn't made for the mundane, no matter how much the rest of us thought starving us to death wasn't a valid political or philosophical statement. In the end, we fed ourselves. Sarah's a mean cook."

Tony nodded his agreement. "I did a lot of that too; cooks came and went – I think now it was probably in accordance with Senior's ability to pay them; mostly they'd feed me, but if there wasn't one around, I just did it myself. I'd raid the fridge for chilli dip and chocolate ice cream."

"Strewth, you're weird," his wife said, coming back in with three plates of coffee cake balanced on one arm, and the jug with the real stuff in the other hand. "He doesn't like mushrooms, Tim."

Tim screwed his nose up slightly. "I don't much, either," he said truthfully.

Aydie made a noise of resounding disgust, and set the pot down on the table. After a few minutes she suggested they take their cake and coffee, and go sit in the lounge. "We might lounge a bit," she said pointedly. "Like, relax?"

Nobody did though. They sat in the comfortable chairs, and talked about this and that, but eyes would stray to the clock, or the phone. Tim dug out his cell, but Tony shook his head. "He doesn't text," he reminded him. "You know that."

"Mmm... d'you think he'll call?"

"He'll know we want him to... but..." Tony frowned. "Three hours to DC, the way Gibbs drives. Three hours back. Whatever Ziva wants to do in between." He glanced at his watch. "If he's not back here by midnight, I'll call him."

"You think he'll come back here?" Aydie asked curiously.

"Oh yeah," from both men.

Tim called Marchetti, and that most accommodating of bosses told him to email his report, and to be back in DC by ten in the morning unless they got a case and needed him earlier – "And I want to hear the whole story when you get here."

Tim did that right away, being a conscientious guy; they watched a couple of comic movies; when Aydie saw her husband was a bit less on edge, she stood up and stretched. "I'm turning in, DiNo." He raised an eyebrow, but she smiled easily. "This is between you guys," she said. "You don't need me. I'm going to try to be asleep by the time Gibbs arrives, or I'll be wanting to stick my nose in. There's stew and dumplings in a pot for the microwave – feed the man. Call me if you do need me." Her glance took in Tim as well, taking it for granted that he was staying. "Futon in the office, Tim. G'night."

Tony stood up and kissed her, but took her at her word and didn't argue.

There was silence for a while. Both men with tumbling thoughts but no clear idea how to voice them. But the atmosphere between them was easy, so it was probably best to go with that, rather than say something the wrong way. Tony asked for an update on the orange folder case – the financial ramifications were far-reaching and tangled. During a pause in the long narrative, Tony said thoughtfully, "I'll put a fresh pot of coffee on." As he came back into the living room, saying "There," they heard the staccato roar that could only be Gibbs' car approaching.

Tim tried not to gawp at Tony. "How did you –"

"Well, when you've got it... er, I didn't. I was wrong – it's twenty after midnight."

By the time Gibbs'polite rap on the door was heard, there was a mug of coffee on the table, and the stew was chugging round happily on its little glass carousel. Everything totally normal and ordinary, in a situation that none of the three men, the three former team-mates, would ever have described as normal.

Gibbs followed Tony and the smell of coffee out into the kitchen, and sat heavily down at the table. Tim joined them quietly. The Marine took a long draught of his coffee, and the ping of the microwave went unheeded in the silence that followed.

"I took her to the Israeli Embassy," he said finally. "They'll see her resignation from the CIA is hand delivered, and give her an escort to her apartment tomorrow, just in case, although I don't expect trouble. She'll take what she needs, and they'll get her safely on a plane. She's going to stay with Aunt Nettie for a while. Settle herself, she said."

"Did she say anything else?" Tony asked.

"She said 'Goodbye'," Gibbs said, wryly. He sighed. "I asked her if she'd keep her apartment; she said no; the Embassy said they'd take care of all that. Kinda glad she didn't ask me to."

"She may not come back to DC then," Tim said. "She didn't say anything about that?"

"No, other than that she'd be all right... not to worry about her."

"But you're going to anyway." This time, Tim's remark was a statement, not a question.

Gibbs shrugged. "Hard not to. She was with us a while... won't be able to be there for her."

At that moment the microwave chose to ping irritably, as it was being ignored. Tony was relieved at the chance to get up, and hoped he hadn't done it too abruptly, to see to the meal. His face twisted involuntarily as he heard 'you'll do' in his mind, and was jerked back to a time when Gibbs had comprehensively not been there for him –and all the other times since. He forced himself to get a grip; there was no point in being jealous of the fact that Gibbs felt protective about the women in his life, and no point at all in rehashing the past –

Gibbs of course had seen the tightened jaw-line, and was at his elbow. The Marine didn't speak, just looked at him questioningly. And if Tony knew anything at all about reading Gibbs, there was an edge of anxiety too.

"Nothing," the Italian said levelly, as he carried his former boss's plate to the table. Reheating doesn't do much for a meal, but it still smelled marvellous.

"You're thinking I could have done the same for you."

"Well, OK... not nothing. " He sat down, and spread his hands out on the dark wood. Don't hedge. Don't whine. Just tell it like it is.

"Ack... I was wishing just this afternoon that you could relax, stop being on the defensive, and accept that the past's behind us. Enough already with the guilt, move on. Now I'm doing the same thing. Thinking about what's done, with all the mistakes, and resentments, and trying to evade instead of telling the truth. We're rebuilding, not tearing down. If I want you to do that, I've got to do it myself. So I don't have to get snarky that you still want to look out for Ziva."

Of all things, Gibbs smiled. "Move on. Rebuild." He waved his fork at Tim before using it to spear a chunk of dumpling. "You two are doing it."

Tim had been wisely silent, but now his smile was almost shy as he said, "It feels good, Gibbs."

The Marine chewed thoughtfully, swallowed and said, "That's good."

Tony leaned back in his chair. "Sorted, then."

"Sorted," the other two agreed.

AN: Rewritten this last conversation at least three times. Losing the will to live...