A/N: OK, so I was completely ambushed by a plot bunny a couple of days ago and this is the result. This story details Ziva and Gibbs' actual decision to reveal their relationship to the team and falls between "Unwelcome Visitors" and "Revelations." It is rather like a missing scene, though it is not tied to an actual episode. For those of you following "Revelations,"Ch. 12 is in the works, but this just wouldn't leave me alone until it was written. I hope you enjoy it.

As always, I own nothing related to these characters *sigh* and reviews are greatly appreciated. Happy reading!

Gibbs started to stalk silently past Ziva's desk on his way to the parking garage. Suddenly, he reversed course and stepped behind her chair. Leaning down, he spoke softly into her ear.

"See you at home."

What might have been an inquiry or a quest for reassurance came out almost as a directive.

Ziva's brow wrinkled in slight confusion, and she looked up at him as he straightened. There was no one else nearby, but still…this was the first time in two years he'd made that kind of personal remark in the bullpen. They had perfected the art of communicating with wordless looks or finding each other in out-of-the-way places away from any prying eyes or ears.

As she found his gaze with hers, intensity flared in his before it was quickly doused by the carefully blank expression he'd worn since they had returned from a crime scene that morning. Something had been off with him since, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out the cause.

With a faint smile, she nodded, her thoughts remaining unvoiced. A hint of satisfaction appeared on his face, then he was in the elevator and gone.

Ziva turned off her computer and gathered her things, taking the stairs toward the parking garage. She replayed the day in her mind as she got into her car and drove home.

The team had gotten a call early this morning and headed out. A missing woman had been found strangled to death in Chapel Point State Park in Charles County, Maryland, and all early signs pointed to her recent ex-boyfriend as the perpetrator, a Marine who was found nearby with a bullet wound to the stomach, barely alive. A gun was falling from his hand.

The woman, Darcy Bowen, had been abducted several days before while walking to her car after work in her hometown of Norfolk, Virginia. A bystander happened to see her get shoved into an unmarked van, arms held behind her and a hand over mouth, but the vehicle peeled away quickly. The witness shouted for help, but it all happened so fast there was nothing to do except call the police. The search to find her had been on since, her picture flooding the police stations and media in the tri-state area. Two fishermen had stumbled across the bodies this morning and called the local sheriff. The law enforcement officers recognized the woman from her photo and called in the FBI given that she had been kidnapped and transported across state lines. Once the man was identified as a Marine through his dog tags, NCIS had been given a courtesy call.

Initially, it had been a real cluster as to who would lead the investigation. The FBI won out in the end since the dead woman wasn't military and the Marine, Chad Dillon, was their current main suspect.

Gibbs' team had hung around for a while, assisting with evidence collection, taking their own photos, and gathering whatever information they could. Gibbs sent McGee to Bethesda with an FBI agent to check for gunshot residue on Dillon's hands and clothes, as he had been transported to the medical center as quickly as possible.

A senior FBI agent, Jeremy Levine, had given Ziva his card and asked her to keep in touch about the investigation. He was charming, yet professional; he was also clearly interested in Ziva. She just let that last part slide.

Gibbs had been surly and peeled off in his car shortly after, leaving Tony and Ziva to ride back in the evidence truck. The rest of the day he'd been even more silent and gruff than usual, and she'd lost count of the number of times he'd gone for coffee. His mood had gotten so bad that Tony and McGee had escaped to Abby's lab to work from there. Ziva had stayed at her desk, but was largely silent.

When the GSR test had come back negative on the Marine, the FBI widened their suspect search and effectively put NCIS on the backburner. However, Gibbs had a Marine in the hospital who appeared to have been shot by the same person or persons who'd kidnapped and murdered Darcy Bowen, so he still had his team put together the picture of how Dillon had ended up at that park about one hundred sixty miles from where he'd been stationed at Camp Allen in Norfolk. Their research indicated that the man had suddenly requested leave three days before, apparently to conduct his own search for Darcy. The two had recently separated, but had dated for more than a year before that.

Gibbs received a call near the end of the day from Special Agent Levine saying they had a man in custody. They'd caught a break and arrested him at a traffic checkpoint. He turned out to be the same perpetrator they'd been searching for related to a string of abduction-murders. Levine had interrogated him and presented him with their evidence; the man had caved and confessed. He also revealed that Dillon had found him with the woman, who was already dead. Dillon had come after the perp and been shot for his efforts; the gun had been planted on him to throw suspicion his way. NCIS would remain in the loop related to the charge that would be brought against the suspect for the attempted murder of a Marine, but the abduction-murder charges trumped that. And, with his confession, there wouldn't be a drawn-out investigation or trial.

Gibbs' mood should have improved with that call, Ziva reflected, but, if anything, it had worsened. He'd slammed his phone down and shoved back from his desk so hard that his chair hit the wall behind his desk. He'd tersely related the information about the case, then announced he was leaving. Gathering his things, he'd headed out, which brought her back to the point where he'd stopped by her desk.

As she drove, Ziva decided to fix the steak they had in the freezer for dinner. Maybe after softening him up with his favorite meal and a shot or two of bourbon, she could get to the bottom of what was bothering him.

In the meantime…

Gibbs drove straight home like a man possessed, his mind fixated on the interaction between Ziva and Special Agent Levine that morning and the suggestion from the man this afternoon that maybe Ziva could call him. You know – about the case.

He was unable to stop his brain from thinking back to the morning. He'd just finished finalizing the details with the FBI team leader of how the shared investigation would work when DiNozzo had wandered up.

"Looks like our little ninja assassin has caught someone's eye," he'd commented to Gibbs after the FBI man walked away. "He hasn't left her side all morning."

Gibbs' piercing blue eyes unerringly located Ziva, noting Agent Levine's close proximity to her. He had been trying unsuccessfully to ignore the fact that the guy had been following Ziva around like a lost puppy since she'd arrived. DiNozzo's comment raised his level of irritation about it. As he watched, she laughed at something Levine said, seemingly unaware of her lover's gaze. The FBI agent had handed her his card, and, after he'd obviously requested it, she handed him one from her jacket pocket.

She had then walked over to Gibbs and Tony to relate the information she had received from Agent Levine. Tony had made a comment about the man's interest in her, which Ziva brushed off. Gibbs had all but bitten both their heads off, then practically stomped to his car – and uncharacteristically proceeded to let the whole thing fester the entire afternoon.

Levine was young, sharp, handsome, Jewish, young … a voice in Jethro's head had pointed out that the man was perfect for Ziva in a lot of ways. She had never given him any reason to be jealous – today included – but that didn't mean he wasn't. And for some reason this particular situation had him all twisted up. Hell, he hadn't been like this over Damon Werth.

He got home, threw his jacket over a chair in the kitchen, and started making coffee on autopilot. He was too frustrated to really concentrate, so he abandoned the task in favoring of pacing the living room floor while he waited for Ziva. Where the hell was she, anyway?

The front door opened and Ziva walked in, placing her backpack on the floor near the door as she usually did. He was in front of her in a heartbeat, crowding her against the door, cupping her face in both hands, and taking her mouth in an intense, mind-blowing kiss. Mine was all he could think. Mine. And he needed to know that she knew it, too.

Ziva was unsure of what was going on here, but something was obviously driving him that was more than physical.

"Jethro?" she mumbled against his lips before she lost the power of thought.

He didn't answer, just slid his mouth to her neck as his hands wandered lower. He was a little rougher than usual, biting and sucking hard enough on her neck to leave a mark, but he wasn't hurting her and she couldn't help but respond to him. She fumbled with the door lock since his mind was plainly someplace else and was relieved when it finally clicked into place. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled his mouth back to hers.

He was tugging at her clothes, pulling her plum-colored shirt from where it was tucked in at her waist and trying to get his hands under it. When the fitted blouse frustrated him, he grasped both ends of the shirt and pulled, popping the buttons off. They scattered everywhere, allowing her shirt to open, revealing her to his gaze, his hands, his mouth.

His action was unexpected, but excited her even more. No one had ever wanted her like this. His hands covered her breasts, closely followed by his mouth. He shoved her bra aside to feast on the lovely mounds.

One of his hands reached for the fastening of her pants, tugging insistently. After he finally got them opened, he knelt in front of her to shove them down and off in one fell swoop.

He couldn't resist putting his mouth against her silky underwear, pressing, licking, sucking … sweeping his tongue under the edge of the waistband before getting distracted again by the smooth skin of her belly and her breasts.

He stood and stared into her eyes, passion and something indecipherable in his.

"Need you," he breathed raggedly.

She still didn't understand what was going on, but she understood that he was desperate for something that she could give him.

Cupping his face in both her hands, she brushed a soft kiss across his mouth, then pulled back to look at him with nothing but openness and acceptance and love in her gaze.

"Then take me," she granted quietly.

Her words short-circuited his brain further, if that were even possible. She wrapped her arms around his neck and slanted her lips over his. He clawed at her panties and ripped them off, needing to find her center. He pulled her legs up and around him, and fought to get his pants undone as she covered his face and neck with open-mouthed kisses, her breath coming faster.

As soon as he had his hard shaft freed from his pants, he guided it to her entrance. He grabbed for enough control to test her gently first; she meant too much to him to hurt her. To his relief, he found her moist and welcoming, and in one stroke he was inside her to the hilt.

Their mouths met again, pressing hard, tongues tangling, before parting to gasp for air. He drove inside her faster and faster, unable to slow down. In the far reaches of his consciousness, he realized she had a little catching up to do. He raised one hand to her mouth. She sucked his fingertips in, running her tongue over them. He withdrew his moistened fingers and placed his hand between their bodies, finding her swollen clit. He rubbed against her firmly, instantly fueling her desire and causing her to gasp his name.

She came quickly, pulling him over the edge right behind her.

They stood like that – her trapped between him and the door, his face buried in that spot where her neck met her shoulder, her legs wrapped around his waist – until he was sure his legs would hold him. Cupping her bottom in his hands, he kept her pressed firmly against him as he kicked free of his shoes and pants, then he made it to the couch with her. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, he slipped out of her as he moved.

Sitting down, he squeezed her tightly to him, her knees now straddling his hips. He rested his head against the back of the couch, allowing his heart rate to gradually slow. She pressed her face into his neck and brought one open hand up to caress and press against the side of his head, offering comfort. An errant thought moved through her brain recognizing it was a good thing she'd added a curtain to that door shortly after she'd moved in.

"Are you all right?" she asked him when she could form a coherent sentence.

"Think that's my line, Ziver," he said wryly.

"I am fine," she assured him, rubbing her cheek against him. "Better than fine."

He didn't speak, content to hold her and run his hands slowly over her, though he couldn't have said which one of them he was trying to soothe more. Pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, he opened it behind her and covered their legs, wrapping it around her hips.

"Something has been bothering you today," she observed gently.

He let out a sigh.

"Tell me," she urged, pressing a kiss to his throat.

"Special Agent Jeremy Levine," he finally shared.

She looked up in confusion. "What about him?"

"He's … interested in you."

Ah.

"You may be correct," she responded carefully, "but I am not interested in him."

"He's young, handsome, Jewish, seems smart enough," Jethro felt compelled to point out.

"He is all those things," she agreed. Things were becoming rapidly clearer, but she wanted to make sure she had the full picture.

"He asked me this afternoon to have you call him," he ground out. "Why did he even call me, anyway? He had your number; you gave him one of your cards." His emotional response to that last part was completely irrational and he knew it.

She was likely the only person on the planet who could sense the vulnerability behind his words.

"I gave him one of yours," she informed him softly, emphasis on the last word.

His brows gathered in confusion. He lifted his head from the back of the couch and pulled back far enough to see her whole face.

"Mine?" he questioned.

With a tiny smile, she nodded.

His mouth opened twice, words dying on his tongue, before he finally settled on, "Why?"

"Because anything he had to say about the case, he could say to you," she explained, "and there was no other reason for him to call me."

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

"It just so happens I am completely in love with someone else," she continued. "I will give you one guess as to who that is."

His characteristic half-smile popped out in response to her teasing, as the last of his tension dissolved. "Think I have a pretty good idea," he admitted, pulling her hair loose from its tail and sliding his fingers through the long locks.

"What was your first clue?" she bantered. "The fact that I am sitting on your lap mostly naked?"

He smirked.

She leaned in close to him. "Or the amazing sex we just had against the front door?" she asked in a sexy murmur, her lips brushing his ear as she spoke. She caught his earlobe in her teeth, then released his ear to move her lips down his neck.

"Actually, my first clue was that night you showed up in my basement two years ago," he divulged, smoothing his hand over her hair, his patented smile on his face.

"That was a good night," she responded with a smile of her own, laying her head on his shoulder.

"One of the best," he agreed.

They held each other without a sound, just enjoying their closeness. Something she had said was niggling at him…

"How did you happen to have one of my cards in your pocket?" he asked, finally crystallizing his stray thought.

She'd been waiting for him to circle back to that.

"I never leave home or NCIS without at least one of your cards somewhere on my person," she revealed in a voice almost too quiet to hear.

"Why?" he asked, resting his cheek on her hair.

She didn't answer right off, but he waited her out.

"It allows me to have a small part of you with me at all times that would not arouse too much suspicion if someone noticed," she began. After a slight pause, she added, "And it increases the likelihood that someone would call you if something happened to me and you were not there."

Her words hung in the air. As they sunk in, he pulled her in even more tightly. Undoubtedly a remnant of her former life, she'd felt the need to have some plan in place so that he would be notified if the worst happened or she was too injured to call him herself. In yet another drawback of keeping their relationship under wraps, there was no outward connection between them other than the fact that they worked together. She had listed him as her emergency contact person on her NCIS paperwork ever since Jenny died; he'd changed his to her without fanfare the last time he'd updated that information, though of course he had listed her as a "friend." However, there were a lot of scenarios in which those forms would not be readily available. Sure, if DiNozzo or McGee was with her, they would call him. But what if they weren't?

Something else clicked into place.

"Explains why I keep finding one of your cards in my jackets," he realized.

She nodded wordlessly.

And in a moment of clarity not unlike the one she'd had two years ago that had driven her to his basement on a stormy night, he knew he was finished with hiding. Was he the man who wanted her with him for the rest of his life? Absolutely. Was he also the man who had done nothing overt in the last two years to make that a reality? Yep, that was him, too. But now, without a doubt, he wanted to move forward.

"Let's tell them," he said suddenly into the silence.

She froze, then slowly lifted her head to look at him. Her initial shock quickly gave way to dawning realization, mingled with hope.

"Tell who?" she asked faintly, needing to hear him say the words.

"The team. Vance. The whole damn world," he clarified clearly.

"Jethro…" she whispered, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he answered firmly. "It's been building. I want us to be able to just live our lives without pretending we're not together." He cupped her jaw in his hand and brushed his thumb over her cheek.

"What if-" she started, then stopped, unable to voice her deepest fears about the team's reaction.

"We'll deal with whatever happens," he said firmly. "Hell, I'll even retire if I have to, but I don't want to live like we're undercover anymore."

He looked down into her face again. "Say yes," he requested softly.

Tears of happiness rolled down both of her cheeks. She was nervous about the change, but she wanted so badly to live openly with him.

Rising up on her knees, she cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips softly to his. Pulling back just enough to look into those blue eyes she adored, she whispered, "Yes."

Slow identical grins spread across their faces. Suddenly she was laughing and crying at the same time. "Yes, yes, yes," she said, punctuating each word with a kiss. Her lips roamed his face pressing kisses and murmuring words in what sounded like Hebrew to him.

When she finally rested her forehead against his, bottom lip caught in her teeth, he asked, "Run that by me in English? Or at least Spanish?"

She chuckled a little as she tried to remember what words had rolled off her tongue.

"I was still saying yes," she said, "and that I love you…" She paused for a kiss. Something moved across her eyes as she remembered something else, but he couldn't define it. "That is all."

"Sounded like a lot of words; sure there wasn't something else?" He was watchful, knowing there was something more.

She dropped her eyes to where her fingers were fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

"Talk to me, Ziver," he said gently, his tone her undoing.

"I also said 'you really do want me,'" she admitted softly without looking at him. He tried to lift her chin so he could see her eyes, but she was having none of that.

"That was in question?" he asked quietly.

"No," she started to deny with a shake of her head. Then she stopped and closed her eyes against the tears that threatened. Using her hands for emphasis, she clarified, "Not usually." Sometimes reverberated unsaid into the silence.

"Go on," he nudged her.

She was silent for so long, he didn't think she was going to continue. Alternately blinking and raising her eyes to the ceiling in an effort to control the urge to cry, she tried to explain.

"It does not seem possible to go on forever without telling anyone," she began in a low voice he had to strain to hear, "so every now and then this voice inside my head has wondered if what we have can possibly be … permanent."

With her words, the insidious nature of secrets was laid bare. Subterfuge undermined the certainty of what one could trust, sometimes in ways that were not immediately obvious.

As living proof that old wounds heal slowly, she visibly braced herself for his reaction to the airing of her normally-deeply-buried uncertainty. It made his heart hurt to see it.

"Please do not be mad," she breathed raggedly, closing her eyes again.

He brought his hands up to gently hold her face, fingers tunneling into her hair. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, then to each eye. "Does it feel like I'm mad?" he asked warmly.

She shook her head, as he continued to brush his lips over her face.

Camouflaging his gratitude that both of their insecurities had been brought to light so they could be dealt with, he observed, "Sounds like the voice in your head and the voice in mine need to get together and take a hike." Just as he'd hoped, she choked out a light laugh through her tears as she nodded.

Pulling back slightly, he softly requested, "Open your eyes."

She shook her head no.

"Please?" he asked.

She shook her head no again, but this time explained in a breaking voice, "They are watery."

She could feel his lips curve against her cheek and the little chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

"That's OK," he guaranteed her. "Let me see your eyes, Ziva."

She did, slowly finding his gaze with hers. The look on his face was so loving and so understanding that her tears silently spilled over and flowed down her cheeks. He caught them with his lips and kissed them away.

Then, looking deeply into her eyes, he declared, "What we have is permanent." There was nothing but certainty in his eyes and voice. "And that's why we're going to tell everyone."

She studied his face looking for any sign that he was unsure, but she didn't find even a hint. Feeling like a great weight had been lifted off her, she chaffed, "Not just so Agent Levine understands that I am not available?"

"Nah," he denied. "That's just an added bonus."

Slowly she smiled, pulling an answering one from him as her fingertips lightly touched his face. She leaned down to give him a kiss that was sweet, heartfelt…and reassured. Gradually a sexy heat built between them again, but this time it was slow and languorous, the polar opposite of earlier.

She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, tugging, pulling. His hands came up from her waist to her chest to her shoulders, his touch barely there. Bit by bit, ever so slowly, he pushed her ruined shirt off her shoulders, scraping her lightly with his nails as he moved down her arms. Her nerve endings jumped at his light touch.

Once her shirt was on the floor, his hands unhurriedly swept up her back to unhook her bra, smoothing the straps down and off. When she sat completely naked across his lap, he stared at her, his hands gently roaming all over her body. She was so lovely, she took his breath away.

She pulled his mouth back to hers for a series of brief, clinging kisses, wrapping her arms around his neck. As her chest rubbed against his, she realized one of them still had too many clothes on. Wordlessly, she enlisted his help to tug his polo and t-shirt over his head. She leaned back far enough to run her hands over him wondrously, as though discovering him for the first time.

With smiles that spoke volumes without a word, their mouths came together again, pressing, sucking, licking…the heat kept building at that almost leisurely pace until their pulse points were forcibly beating against their veins and their breath was coming faster. But still, there was no hurry.

She pressed a line of deliberate, gentle kisses along his left shoulder, then switched unhurriedly to his right. His skin tasted slightly salty, mixed with something indescribable. Whatever ever it was, it was certainly addicting.

He found himself wondering if he'd ever really noticed how soft her skin was in contrast to the firm muscle underneath. And had he paid proper attention in the past to that mole near her hairline, just below her right ear? Or to that sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder? If not, he made up for that now.

Moving to the other side of her neck, Jethro gently kissed, then tongued the mark he'd left there earlier. He guessed she'd be wearing scarves or high-necked shirts for a couple of days, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to feel badly about it.

His hand dropped to where their laps met. He ran his fingers lightly through the tight curls between her legs then played gently there, delighted with the sounds she made as her desire soared at his intimate touch.

Moving as though she were deliciously suspended in warm water, she rose up so he could guide himself inside her. Sliding down excruciatingly slowly, she began to move on him, reveling in the feeling of him inside her…so connected…so complete.

Their love-making this time was no less intense, but it was worshipful, unhurried, and all about promises instead of hard and fast and desperate for reassurance.

Completely in tune with each other, they reached their climax together. It broke like a wave over them, stealing their breath. Feeling as though she were floating, Ziva rested her head on Jethro's shoulder and idly wondered if she'd ever be able to stand again on her shaky legs. Actually, in that moment, she didn't really care if she could.

After they'd snuggled together for a while just for the simple pleasure of it, she ran her hand appreciatively over his chest and murmured almost sleepily, "I thought I would make you a steak dinner in hopes of coaxing you into telling me what was wrong, but I guess this worked, too." He could hear the satisfied smile in her voice, which mirrored his own.

"Guess so," he agreed.

"I did not expect that I would also be sharing," she reflected somewhat ruefully.

"Glad you did," he said simply, pressing a kiss to her temple and tucking the blanket back around them.

"Me, too," she admitted on a sigh.

Tomorrow they would begin making concrete decisions for coming out of the shadows. For now, though, they were content to simply hold each other, fortified with the knowledge that they had taken a firm step toward their future tonight, and it stretched out brightly and gloriously in front of them.