A/N: Sorry about the long delay! I lost inspiration, had a ton of other stuff going on, etc. I can't guarantee another update anytime soon, unfortunately, but rest assured that I will finish this story.

Chapter Fourteen

He left. She had told him how she felt, her real feelings, and he had still walked out of the room. Ziva finally tore her gaze from the door and climbed up onto the bed, not allowing herself to cry, but just lying there, listening to the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears, the sound as loud as the roar of ocean waves.

Was this it? Had she just destroyed the one thing she was seeking to protect? As she lied there, nearly motionless, the comforter twisted in her fingers, her knuckles white, Ziva hoped not.

…

When McGee left the room, he headed for the elevator. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew he needed to get away. After traveling a few feet, he reached for the control box, intending to pull a Gibbs and switch off the car, but he drew his hand back before he could. This wasn't NCIS. Shutting the elevator down would just cause havoc, and he definitely wasn't in the mood for that right now.

So he decided to just keep riding, at least until he decided he was ready to face Ziva again. He was upset, sure, but he had never had any intention of not forgiving her. And when she said she loved him . . . walking out of that room was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. But he was hurt and did need some time to think about what she had told him -- she slept with Tony! It didn't matter that it had happened before they were together; it was still a betrayal of his trust as her partner at NCIS. And while she assured him she didn't have romantic feelings for Tony, there was no telling how Tony felt. If he had feelings for Ziva . . . it would explain why he was so upset about her turning to him for comfort.

McGee leaned against the back wall of the elevator, his shoulders slumped. This entire situation had just gotten a lot more complicated.

…

"I just can't believe all this with Officer David and Agent McGee," Palmer said, pausing in his work to make the statement to Ducky.

Ducky, however, continued his work as he responded. "What is so unbelievable about it, Mr. Palmer?" he asked, poking around in a cadaver's chest cavity. "Ziva and Timothy are more alike than you realize. They are both good-hearted people, my boy."

Palmer gave a confused smile. "But Ziva's an assassin."

This time, Ducky did stop his work to respond, resting his hands on the edge of the autopsy table. "And why do you imagine she became one, Mr. Palmer?"

Palmer continued to look bewildered. "To kill people?" he posited.

"To protect good," Ducky corrected, his tone firm, yet not angry, but simply informative, "and to abolish evil." He lifted the hand holding his scalpel and pointed it at Palmer, who hopped back a step. "There is often more to a person than meets the eye." He returned to the cadaver.

"Well, yes, I know that, Doctor," Palmer responded, smiling. "It just surprised me, that's all. I never saw it coming."

"I don't imagine any of us did, Mr. Palmer," Ducky muttered, having traded his scalpel for a pair of tweezers and now holding up and examining a chunk of metal he had plucked from the victim's chest. "Evidence jar, please."

"Of course, Doctor," Palmer replied, walking to get a jar just as the doors to autopsy slid open.

Ducky let out a frustrated sigh at the sound. "Mr. Palmer, did you fail to turn on the sign?"

"No, Doctor."

"Then who . . ." Ducky started as he looked up, then trailed off as he saw who it was. "Oh. Anthony. Pardon me." He looked back at the corpse on the table, then up at Palmer. "Mr. Palmer!"

Palmer jumped. "Sorry, Doctor." He rushed over to the medical examiner, holding the evidence jar out to him.

Ducky placed the found item in the jar and Palmer capped it, then Ducky ordered, "To Abby, please." Palmer nodded and rushed from the room, leaving Tony and Ducky alone, aside from the corpse.

"So, what may I do for you?" Ducky asked, puttering around the room, stopping at the sink to wash his hands.

"Well, you can start by putting your dead guy away," Tony said, making a face.

Ducky chuckled, walking back to the body. "Of course. Where are my manners?" he hummed to himself as he returned to the body, closing it up at least temporarily, then covering it with a sheet. He stopped humming and looked to Tony. "Your assistance, if I may?" Tony looked slightly disconcerted, but walked over and grabbed one edge of the tray, helping the ME carry the body back to the drawer from where it had come. Once it was settled and the door shut behind it, Ducky turned back to Tony. "Now, how may I be of assistance?"

Tony looked down at the floor, jingling his keys in his pocket. He looked up when Ducky cleared his throat, and spoke. "Does it get any easier?"

Ducky sighed and gave Tony a comforting pat on the shoulder, before walking to the opposite side of the room. Tony didn't need to elaborate; Ducky knew just what he referred to. "That, my dear boy, is up to you." He motioned for Tony to take a seat on one of the other tables and after he did, continued speaking. "You cannot allow what has happened to create a rift between you and Timothy and Ziva. Jethro would not stand for it, for one. And they need support right now, not anger or resentment. If you care for Ziva at all, you will allow her to be happy."

"But with my best friend?" he asked, then as soon as he said it, held up a threatening finger. "Don't you dare tell him I said that."

Ducky chuckled and gave him another pat. "You wish for Timothy to be happy as well, yes?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess," he muttered, but at Ducky's raised eyebrow, admitted, "Of course, Ducky! The kid's like the little brother I never had."

"Yes, I can tell that from the amount of harassing you do to him," Ducky muttered, and Tony gave him a dazzling smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, but did a satisfactory job of hiding his pain.

"Hey, you can't superglue just anyone to his keyboard," he quipped, then his smile faltered only the slightly bit as he said, "Thanks, Ducky."

Ducky gave him a warm smile in return. "Anytime, my boy. Just remember," he walked to Tony and placed his hands on his shoulders, "the healing begins with you."

Tony nodded quickly and turned for the door, walking from the room before Ducky could see how much he had been affected.

But Ducky knew. Ducky always knew.

…

McGee stepped back into the elevator, preparing to return to the hotel room, to return to Ziva. He still felt angry, betrayed, sad, nervous . . . But above all else, he knew he loved Ziva, and he hoped she loved him just as much. Her sleeping with Tony was more than a minor indiscretion, but she'd insisted it didn't mean anything . . . and she said she loved him. He was inclined to believe her. She'd never lied to him before, at least not outright. He considered this situation more of a willful omission of facts than Ziva lying to him.

And if he was being honest and fair to her, he didn't blame her for not saying anything; they may have only recently revealed deeper feelings for each other, but they had a close friendship, too. Revealing something of that nature, of that sheer magnitude, held the possibility of ruining the trust between them, and affecting the dynamics of the team. Of course, his new relationship with Ziva didn't help team solidarity, either.

The elevator gave a ding and the doors slid open, waiting for McGee to step out. He held back for a minute, only moving forward and out of the elevator when the doors threatened to close again. The hallway felt a hundred miles long as he started down it, his mind cycling through all the possibilities of what could happen once he reached his destination. He hoped she wasn't crying. And he hoped he could still fix things. It was all up to him now.

He just hoped she wasn't lying when she had told him she loved him, and if she was telling the truth, she hadn't changed her mind.

McGee stopped in front of the door to his and Ziva's room. It was time to find out.

…

The whole time McGee had been gone, Ziva laid on the queen-sized bed, thinking about what would happen when he got back. Well, more like she laid there, then rolled onto her back, then her other side. She sat up and stared out the window, got up and walked over to the window, went into the bathroom to stare in the mirror. Nothing slowed her racing thoughts. All she could think about was what would happen when McGee got back.

Some of those possibilities were happy, -- no, wonderful, joyous, everything she could hope for -- full of hearts and flowers and kisses and declarations of love. But more often in her thoughts, things resulted in screaming or crying, blank stares and coldness. And in some versions, he didn't come back at all. That was the one that scared her most.

She was standing by the window when she heard the telltale click of the door opening. She stiffened, her heart speeding up in anxiety. It had to be McGee, and there were so many things she wanted to say to him, but she knew she had to wait for him to make the first move.

McGee let the door fall shut behind him, his gaze on Ziva. He watched her react to his return, but she didn't make any further moves. He waited a few moments until the silence finally became too much to take, then spoke.

"Ziva?"

She flinched slightly, but still didn't turn to face him.

McGee sighed and began walking toward her. He knew she was scared of what he was about to say, and the sound of his own heartbeat was drowning out any rational thoughts in his own head. He was terrified, but he knew it was something that needed to be said, and needed to be said now.

As he reached Ziva, he placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. She looked up into his eyes, her expression trying hard not to be hopeful but failing. He gave her the most serious look he could muster and said . . .

"Ziva . . . I love you, too."