Chapter Seven: Divergence

(After this point there will be two separate stories—one for each ending. In one story she gets with Gibbs, and that story is posted in the NCIS section. In another story, she gets with Hotch, which is posted in the CM section. The NCIS story is titled Agent Gibbs and the BAU Agent. Enjoy!)

CHAPTERSEVENCHAPTERSEVEN

Gibbs hurried back to the waiting room, seeing that no one had left in his absence. Apparently, they were all waiting for an update—he'd be glad to oblige, and then it was back to work.

"Boss?" Tony was the first to speak, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently. "Ziva?"

"Ducky, you're needed in the exam room. Ziva and needles, you know." Gibbs began, smiling at the doctor. At his expression, an audible sound of relief escaped most of the people in the room. "As for Agent Prentiss—you people know what pain medications do to your agent?"

"What?" Rossi asked, puzzled.

"Apparently she's got the giggles. I think she's going to be fine, but she's a little high right now. Come on, we have work to do! Let's move." Gibbs motioned to his team members and they jumped to their feet, followed shortly by Hotch's team.

After they left Gibbs settled into the hard plastic chair, waiting for Ducky to return with Ziva. The two women from the BAU chatted softly, laughing occasionally—though he could sense it was forced laughter. Another hour passed before he heard the two accents mingling. Ziva was complaining loudly about the needles, while Ducky commiserated softly.

Sometimes Ziva exhibited such a vulnerable state that he couldn't help but soften towards her. It reminded him of the night she'd killed her brother—just to protect him. He gave a rare prayer of thanks that he'd not had to kneel over her dead body the way he had Cait's.

Hers or Emily's. Emily reminded him so much of Cait, that he'd almost called her that on several occasions. He'd told her about Cait, over their first cup of coffee. Told her how she reminded him of her.

She'd understood. Pinpointing the guilt he'd never shake. She'd told him that, too.

"You are not responsible for her death, but you naturally feel, that as her superior and as her friend, that you should have—could have—done something differently. It's understandable, and you won't get over it. But you owe it to her to not let it control you." She'd sounded so earnest, so sincere, and the soft brown of her eyes had made it seem as if Cait herself was saying the words.

For the first time since Cait's death two years earlier, Gibbs actually felt the bands of guilt loosening around his heart.

He'd grasped her hand, then, and thanked her. She'd smiled, and he was once again reminded that she wasn't Cait, but an interesting and attractive woman in her own right.

So he'd asked her about herself, and she'd been reluctant to talk, at first.

By the time they'd made it back to the hotel room she'd been sharing with her colleagues it had been three in the morning. He'd laughed and promised her a cup of coffee to get her started the next morning.

So he'd brought her a cup, and then less than an hour later, watched her and Ziva walk up a long drive way. Then they'd heard the shots, and it was like Cait all over again. Two dark-eyed women, and shotgun shells. When they'd found the women under the porch, he didn't know who to grab first.

Supervisory Agent Hotchner had made the decision for him, grabbing Emily and holding her tightly. If he Gibbs had any doubts about the other man's feelings they'd been erased in those few tense moments while Emily's blood had been coating Hotchner's hands.

Gibbs' first responsibility was to his own agent, and he was only half a second behind the younger Hotchner. He'd pulled Ziva from the ground, eyes roving over her delicate features, cataloguing the wind shards imbedded in her arms and forehead. Minor wounds, but bloody. She'd wrapped her arms around his neck in what he knew she'd later view as a temporary moment of weakness.

She'd felt so warm against him as he'd carried her to the waiting ambulance. So warm and alive.

He'd loaded her into the waiting vehicle, strangely reluctant to loosen his hold. He cared for Ziva, equally as much as he had Cait, or Jenny. Seeing her vulnerable was always a blow to his system.

She looked even more vulnerable with the white bandage covering a portion of her forehead. That must have been where the biggest wood shard had embedded. Her hair was loose, blood, dirt, and splinters tangled within. Her eyes were large in her pale face, and she leaned heavily on the older man beside her. She looked nothing like the trained killer he knew her to be.