Making Exceptions

So, this piece arose from a chapter of my long-running series Conversations, about Ziva and Gibbs. The first half of this chapter is taken directly from that piece, so if it seems familiar, keep reading! There's more at the end. Also, about the quote--I searched Bartlett's online for the word "rule" and it was perfect! And thus I got a title.

No rule is so general, which admits not some exception.

Robert Burton (1577-1640)

Anatomy of Melancholy. Part i. Sect. 2, Memb. 2, Subsect. 3.

"No, with the grain," Gibbs insisted.

Ziva turned to him with a glare. "You can always just wait until your shoulder heals to get this done."

Gibbs huffed and crossed the basement to take a swallow from his mug while Ziva kept working. He watched her back for a moment. "Paris is a romantic city," he said thoughtfully. Sure enough there was a telltale stiffening in Ziva's spine.

"So I've heard," she answered dryly, throwing the unspoken question back at him.

He took another swallow, pushing down a memory of Jenny writhing beneath him. They still sprang up against his will once in a while. He didn't take Ziva's bait. "So what did you and DiNozzo get up to?"

Ziva sighed with impatience and refused to dance around the issue further. "We got in late, and Tony was loopy from the sleeping pill he took for the plane. And we were tired enough that when we saw the one bed, Tony said it would be fine if we shared it. So we did."

"That's all there was to it?"

Ziva shrugged.

"Ziva?" His eyes narrowed.

She spun in place, facing him defensively, her tone insistent. "I slept with him, Gibbs. Sleeping." She looked away, forced to admit a secret. "I have not been sleeping well. I still have nightmares of last summer. And when I woke up with Tony, I had slept the whole night in peace. I felt awake for the first time in a long time." Her eyes darted back to Gibbs' in defiance. "We did nothing wrong, I will not apologize."

He smiled back in the face of her temerity. "Wouldn't let you if you tried," he answered lightly, taking another sip.

Ziva chuckled in spite of herself.

"Awkward morning after?" Gibbs added casually. His expression grew concerned when Ziva didn't joke back.

Instead she looked away. This was the incriminating part of the story, the part where she dodged out of the hotel room before Tony woke because laying there in his arms, every sense saturated with him, was more tempting than she had anticipated.

"Or not so awkward?" Gibbs asked, his tone deeper.

She looked up again, glared. "He didn't touch me. Nor I him."

"Did you want him to?" Gibbs returned at once.

Ziva's mouth fell open in shock. "Gibbs!"

He nodded, taking her failure to deny it for the admission it was. "You know," Gibbs said, setting down his bourbon pulling off his sling before reaching out to take the sander from her, "Paris changed my relationship with Jenny forever." He began to slide the sander along the wood, slowly enough that his shoulder was just dully aching. "I made a whole set of rules to be sure I never got hurt like that again."

Ziva watched him warily. "I know."

Gibbs glanced at her. "DiNozzo was over here, last summer." He watched as her entire posture changed, adrenaline making her fidget at the reminder. He straightened, spoke calmly. "He thought you were dead. Yelled at me for rules he didn't like."

Her eyes searched his face, trying to find meaning in what he was saying.

"Made me admit some of them had done you both more harm than good."

Ziva went from agitated to frozen in a moment, transfixed as she processed what Gibbs was saying.

Gibbs went back to sanding. "We all have regrets, Ziva. Once in a while you get to avoid them. To say what you want to say before you lose the chance to say it."

"What do you think I should do?" she whispered, uncertain.

He shrugged and pointed to the workbench. "Grab another one of these, there's a whole section on the other side that still has to be done."

Ziva wordlessly complied. She didn't focus on what her hands were doing, let the little bit of muscle memory she'd built up carry her through the task. Instead she was caught up in a moment from the plane. She'd cited rule twelve, explained it to Nora. Tony had said nothing. Was he thinking of this the whole time? Wondering whether it still held? Her heart raced.

After twenty minutes, Ziva set her sander down. "It is getting late," she said nonchalantly to Gibbs as she crossed the basement to pick up her coat.

He watched her pull it on, his gaze faintly patronizing. "Ready for bed?"

Ziva shrugged, deflecting. "Jet lag always takes some adjusting to." She headed out into the night, hoping he wouldn't call her back for more questions. She wasn't ready to explain herself further to Gibbs. The prospect of trying with Tony was daunting enough.

*

Tony was getting ready for bed when a knock sounded at his door. He turned, frowning, and peered through the peephole. His face slackened in surprise as he glimpsed Ziva, and he pulled the door wide open.

She looked up at him, startled, as if she had not just knocked.

"Hey," Tony said slowly, "what's up?"

Ziva stared at the ground as she pushed in past him through the open door. Tony closed it behind her and turned, watching her as she clasped her hands together and looked up, bracing herself to speak.

"I wanted to explain," Ziva said slowly.

Tony's brow quirked. "Explain what?"

Ziva pursed her lips. She had yet to find the words to express this to him. "I woke up this morning and...I left you sleeping because I was not sure how to respond to the situation."

Now Tony looked worried. "Situation? Did I...I was asleep, but if--"

"No." Ziva waved a hand, dismissing his concern that he had invaded her space. She took a seat on the couch and a deep breath. Tony sat down opposite her. Ziva looked up, determined to be open. "I have not slept well in a long time, Tony. But I slept well with you."

He smiled slowly, with a hint of cockiness at first that quickly faded to tenderness. "I'm glad," Tony said softly.

Ziva wrung her hands in her lap. She actually hadn't imagined the conversation beyond this point.

Tony reached out slowly and took her hands. "Why did you come here?" he asked, intent on her face. "Why tonight?"

She shrugged helplessly. "To be honest, I am not sure, Tony." She was hardly about to admit it had been at Gibbs' instigation, and at any rate she was still not entirely sure Gibbs had even meant for her to come.

He nodded, then stood, tugging on one of her hands. "Well, I'm headed to bed, but you're welcome to join me if you'd like a second helping of human body pillow." He grinned at her, the slightly leering impervious-to-rejection grin Ziva knew well. She also knew how vulnerable he was underneath it. But as she let herself be pulled to her feet, Ziva smiled her answer not because Tony needed it but because her own heart leapt at the opportunity to feel this comfort again.

"Well, it's hardly Paris," Tony muttered as he led Ziva into his bedroom, letting her hand go at last so he could dig out an old t-shirt and boxers from his dresser.

"Nowhere in DC is," Ziva answered lightly, taking the clothes from him and disappearing into the bathroom.

When she returned, Tony was already under the covers, and Ziva hesitantly took the other side of the bed, then reached out and turned off the light.

Laying the dark, Ziva shivered, a reaction to sudden darkness she hadn't been able to shake in the last six months. She stiffened at the feeling of Tony's hand on her arm, but just as he began to withdraw it, she leaned into his touch, let him find her fingers and entangle them with his own.

She smiled as she fell asleep.