Title: Not Alone, Tonight
Rating: PG-13
Category: Het
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: McGee/Ziva
Warnings: None.
Summary: They are both alone. And then, suddenly, they find each other.
Spoilers: 5x18 - JUDGMENT DAY, MAJORLY.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Another Judgment Day-inspired fic. Of course.

McGee stood from his desk, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. He wasn't sure when he had fell asleep, just that waking up at his desk was another reminder of what had happened. His shoulders slumped as the words passed through his brain: Director Shepard was dead.

He shook his head free of the thought and headed for the bathroom. He just needed to throw himself back into his work; that was his coping mechanism. He wouldn't be allowed to fall apart if he were working. But first, he needed to relieve himself – nature didn't stop calling in the face of tragedy.

He entered the bathroom and did his business, then washed up, thinking how weird it was to be at NCIS when virtually no one else was there. The rest of the team had left hours ago, leaving him to work in silence. Abby and Ziva had both asked if he needed company, but he had declined. Now he was wishing he hadn't.

He turned off the faucet and grabbed a few paper towels to dry his hands. Just as he was throwing them in the trash, he heard something. He paused, listening closer. Yep, definitely something there. It sounded like it was coming from the other side of the wall, from the women's bathroom. He wasn't sure, but it sounded to him like crying.

He frowned. It could really be anyone, especially if it was a woman. He grimaced, then relaxed, remembering that he had only thought it, not said it aloud. But the point was, he didn't know who it was. Any of the women at NCIS could have been in there.

He decided to wait outside the door, only after momentary hesitation that standing outside the ladies' room when the building was pretty much empty was kinda creepy. If it was who he thought it was, she wouldn't care.

After standing next to the door for a few minutes, the crying sounds subsided and he soon heard the clack of heels approaching the door. He straightened and waited for the door to open.

It did, and the woman jolted to a halt, closing her eyes. "McGee. What are you doing here?" She brushed past him, walking towards her desk.

"You know what I'm doing here. What are you doing here, Ziva?" She ignored him, continuing the walk. He followed her, talking to her back. "I heard you in the bathroom and . . . and I wanted to check on you, make sure you were okay."

She flipped to face him. "Oh, so now you've taken to listening to women as they urinate?" She gave him a pointed look.

McGee shook his head. "No, no, I just happened to be in . . . Look, Ziva, I heard you crying. Are you okay?"

Ziva echoed his action of shaking his head, moving the rest of the way to her desk and sitting, yanking open a drawer. "McGee, why is it that whenever a woman cries, some . . . man thinks he needs to step in and make everything better?"

"Well, um," he paused to scratch his head, "it's just that you never cry. At least, I've never seen you cry," he quickly amended at the look she gave him. She remained silent, so he closed the distance between them, hovering over her desk. "Why are you here, Ziva?"

"Can I not just come to work? Do I need a reason to come here now?" She fixed him with another glare.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, so you're a big, bad killer. I get it." He squatted down in front of her desk. "As far as I know, we're the only two people here right now. You don't have to pretend anymore."

"Who says I am pretending?" she asked, but her voice threatened to crack on the last word, and he could see tears reforming in her eyes.

He didn't say anything, just held his arms open. She looked at him with hesitation, and after seeing he was really willing to give her a hug, comfort her, held out her own arms, which were trembling slightly.

He took her hands and brought himself to a standing position, then pulled her up to his level, staring into her eyes. He drew her into him, bringing his arms around her shoulders, gently rubbing her back and letting her know through his actions that he was there, she would not be alone.

Ziva snuggled into him, burying her face in his shirt, inhaling the clean scent of his cologne. She felt the tears running down her face, but didn't make a sound, just clenched his shirt in her fists. He smelled good. And he was warm. That was something she appreciated about men – how they seemed to exude body heat, no matter the temperature.

"Ziva, you okay?" The words brushed across her cheek and entered her ear.

She lifted her head. Studied his face. He was genuinely concerned about her. Jenny was his boss, too, but he was thinking about her. She hid a smile, lowering her head again. "You should not be spending your time worrying about me, McGee. You have yourself to think about."

He gulped. She was right. But still . . . part of him – a really big part of him – wanted to take Ziva home with him, lay in bed with her, hold her close and forget about the events of the past few days. But he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud, have her stutter a response of how she was flattered, but she just didn't see him that way.

"McGee?"

Ziva's soft voice broke into his thoughts. He looked to her and found tears forming in his own eyes as he spoke. "Ziva, I . . . I'm so sorry."

She allowed the tiniest hint of a smile as she reached over and picked up his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "So am I."

McGee wasn't sure what to say in response to that. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself still speechless, as Ziva raised herself on tiptoe, placing her free hand on his cheek, letting her thumb wander to brush over his lips. As just as soon as her hand was there, it was gone. They both were, returned to Ziva as she sat at her desk, gathering her things together.

McGee frowned. It depressed him to think that she was probably leaving and would end up on Tony's doorstep, seeking his comfort. But there was nothing he could do about it. She was a grown woman and she wanted what she wanted.

The sound of her standing brought McGee's attention back to her. He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice as he spoke. "So . . . you're leaving?"

Ziva didn't answer aloud, but nodded.

McGee swallowed the lump in his throat. "Well, uh, goodnight, I guess." He started to turn back to his desk, until he felt Ziva's hand on his back. He slowly turned to her again and as he did so, her hand never left his body. It ended up over his heart when he had fully turned.

"Do you not understand that I do not want to be alone tonight?" Her eyes pleaded with him to take her home with him, allow her to feel some semblance of safety in his embrace.

His face remained stolid as he placed his own hand over the one she had on his heart. "I do now." He lowered their hands, leaving them loosely tangled together as they headed for the elevator.

Later, it was their bodies tangled together as they lay in McGee's bed, his arm protectively over her waist, her leg wedged between his, their breath mingling on the pillow. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and she sighed, knowing she had made the right decision in coming back to NCIS that night.

She was not alone and now, she never would be again.

THE END