She always smelled like gunpowder. Even after a long shower there remained a faint scent of gunpowder which clung to her skin and hair. In a strange way, Jenny found the smell comforting, especially as they lay together, their bodies pressed against each other. It reminded her of just how adept Ziva was with a gun, an important thought when your quarters might be under attack at any moment.

"Tomorrow we will go to the local base for supplies," she told Jenny as she sat on her sleeping bag, brushing out her hair. Things were tight and, seeing as they were the only women present, they had been given the smallest of the tents to share. Their sleeping bags were practically atop each other. "I do not know how many rations they will have, so we must be meticulous with the food and water we still have."

"I agree completely," Jenny told her, trying to hide the small smile which played on her face. When she had first met Ziva, it had surprised her just how young the woman was. In the U.S., a girl Ziva's age would probably just be finishing her college education. She would be attending frat parties, playing beer pong, and staying up to all hours of the night finishing term papers. She would not be taking part in an anti-terrorist mission to take out a renegade group who was suspected of orchestrating bombings several Israeli synagogues. Jenny had a good ten years on the young Mossad officer, yet she felt that she was the student and Ziva was the teacher.

"How are you on ammunition?"

"I've got a sufficient amount," she replied.

"Good, then we can focus on rations," Ziva said as she put away her things. She set an alarm and placed it at the head of her sleeping bag. "We will rise at 4:00am."

"Why so early?"

Ziva gave her a sly grin. "Because our male cohorts will not be up until 5:00am and we want to beat them to the better rations."

Jenny slipped into her own sleeping bag, pulling it up to her chin. The Cairo days were swelteringly hot, but the nights were frigidly cold. They were the kinds of nights in which one wanted another body beside them to snuggle against for warmth.

As her Israeli partner followed suit, slipping down into the other sleeping bag, Jenny was treated to a whiff of the delicious scent of gunpowder. It was woven into Ziva's hair and clothing. "Gunpowder," she said softly.

"What did you say?"

Jenny grinned sheepishly at being caught. "You always smell like gunpowder."

"Does that surprise you, considering we have spent the last ten days with firearms?"

"Not surprising, no. It's just a scent that is always there. It's relaxing…comforting."

Ziva lay back. "You have a strange idea of comfort, Agent Shepherd."

"I suppose I do. It's difficult to spend nights with another person and not notice their quirks."

"Do you often spend nights with co-workers?"

Thoughts of Paris and Gibbs flashed in her mind before she answered. "It depends on what op I'm working at the time."

"I am not the first co-worker with whom you have bunkered."

"Am I the first for you?"

Ziva smiled, obviously recalling her own private memory, though she didn't speak it aloud. "No."

"It's an interesting feeling, sleeping beside someone when you know each of you hold the others' life in your hands. We could be ambushed at any moment."

"And if we are, do you trust that I will provide adequate protection for you?"

Jenny's eyes twinkled. "How could I not trust someone who smells like gunpowder?"

"Then we are in agreement," Ziva commented, though neither was sure what said agreement entailed. "And now, we should get to sleep. The early bird catches the germ."

She didn't bother to correct the Israeli girl's English. Hearing Ziva misquote idioms had become – much like gunpowder – a sort of comfort to Jenny. If softened Ziva; it humanized her.

Jenny slipped back down into her sleeping bag, smiling as she felt Ziva's body lay down beside her. The aroma of gunpowder surrounded her, lulling her into a restful sleep.