She decided it was safe enough to rest for a few minutes.
The text lights the screen; blinking once, twice - fading black.
She passes by the mattress, ignoring the phone momentarily to grab the half finished bottle of water resting by the lone duffle bag on the floor.
Another reminder chirps from the cot.
A cool breeze filters through the room from the open window; she wipes at her sweaty brow, finishing off the water.
She collapses on the mattress, grabbing the burner and typing a quick message on its cheap keys.
Close.
She wonders idly if her supplies will last her until…
Stay safe.
She closes her eyes. Drifts off to his voice echoing in her head.
She'll heed his words.
But gives no response.
She makes it a habit not to give him half-hearted promises.
The sheer numbers don't surprise her.
The blast does.
Sit rep?
Are you okay?
She wakes dazed, dehydrated, and outnumbered five to one.
She's been here before.
He only gets one hit in before she catches him off guard.
It's a rule that's saved her life, many times over, in many different lifetimes.
He doesn't see the knife her thigh conceals.
I need a favor.
She's on the outskirts of a market in what the dialect tells her could be Morocco. It's there she manages to pickpocket a cheap, throw away phone that's seen better days.
His call comes in almost immediately, just as she's ripping apart an Ace bandage with her teeth.
Ziva, are you all right? Where are you? Tony's -
She cuts him off. She can imagine what it's been like since she went off grid.
I'm going to send you some coordinates. Send him. Alone.
He pauses over the line; it crackles with static in one ear as desert wind whips in the other.
Her side protests as blood begins to seep through the bandage; blooming faster as she stretches to pull her shirt back on.
It's done.
She nods even though he can't see.
Dropping the phone to the ground, it takes one stomp to dismantle the device. She grinds it into the filthy ground with the heel of her boot.
She retreats further into the alleyway, disappearing in the shadows.
The pain wakes her once. Twice.
The heat engulfs her.
The memories haunt her.
She wishes he'd hurry.
He was the only one who ever chased the nightmares of that summer away.
It's dark still when she wakes once more.
Her side burns. A fire stronger than the blast.
For a moment, she wonders if this night will ever end and day will come.
Then a distant clock strikes.
She realizes then that she's slept through another day.
It's when her shirt starts to bloom with the stain of blood that she finally begins to worry.
Shh, it's me.
Strong, solid hands hold her as she thrashes awake.
Her eyes are wild, seeing without truly seeing, as an all too vivid nightmare consumes her.
He knows that look.
It's a look he's only seen a mere handful of times.
It's one that haunts his own deepest, darkest nightmares.
Hushed, intimate whispers are murmured softly against her ear.
She calms at the brush of his lips against her cheek, her nose, her forehead.
He leaves, a promise to be back.
She sleeps.
Hold on tight.
Her hand searches his forearm, grasping tightly, blindly.
Why won't he just let her sleep?
I'm sorry. Hold on.
She cries out as a blinding pain engulfs her.
Everything goes dark.
There's sunlight behind her eyelids.
Her eyes flutter open. There's water beside her. Her side aches dully.
Her gaze travels down her body.
She doesn't recognize the shirt.
But the scent that clings to the cotton is engrained in her memory.
Hey, baby.
Her eyes flutter once more, and a faint smile lights her face at him hovering over her.
Hold still, let's take a look.
His hand pulls his shirt up her chest, careful fingers brushing along the skin of her ribcage.
Goosebumps follow the trail they make.
She intakes sharply as they probe across her hip and rib, the sensation temporarily alleviating the throb of her side.
If he notices, he doesn't breathe a word.
But his small smile is telling.
I am fine, Tony.
She brushes past him, slowly, but stronger than her gait has been since the prior days. His searching gaze regards her carefully from his perch on an abandoned crate, his face darkening at her tired mantra.
Their makeshift accommodations have served them well, but they need to move on.
I found you half together less than four days ago.
He tries to reign in the irritation, but his tone is hard and rough.
Her hand drifts unconsciously to her side, but she remains firm.
We need to move.
A sigh. A shuffle.
She feels him behind her before he reaches for her.
Okay.
He murmurs into her neck, lips brushing across her skin.
Okay.
They make their next destination by nightfall.
An abandon shack, one cot. No running water.
She tells him Tunisia.
He tells her Hell.
In the glowing candle light, he redresses her bandage; cleans the healing infection and wound.
Her shirt disappears over her head, and she turns her back toward him to bend over her bag.
The faded scars are menacing in this light.
They aren't new to him, but they'll never stop twisting his stomach in the sickest of ways.
Move over.
Stop tossing.
A nightmare interrupts her dreams, and interrupts his peace.
He calms her easier tonight; she returns from the vision at the first sounds of his hushed declarations, his soothing words.
She turns in his grasp, and his arms tighten instinctively around her.
Stay.
Her lips wake him.
His still hers.
He's careful, moving slowly over her body. Every mark, faded and new, he presses a kiss to with a gentle brush and a murmured prayer.
He's so very grateful she's still here.
He's mindful of her side, but it's hard to to split his concentration when he's with her like this.
She's in every breath he takes; every sigh, every touch she makes distracts him and disarms him.
She tries to roll free from his grasp later, anxiety threatening to overwhelm her as he sleeps on, soundless and peaceful.
His arm tightens around her bare stomach; pulls her back, and she tenses.
His half murmured command calms her, centers her.
She relaxes.
Stay.
His burner buzzes harshly from his bag.
He takes the call outside. Hushed mumbling, gruff commands. Their boss promises a tactical team to be sent out to retrieve them. He smiles at the thought of the familiar, steely gaze greeting him in a day's time.
She's still asleep when he returns.
Curly haired, bared, tangled in sheets that tease, revealing golden skin. A few bruises here and there.
She's a beautiful disaster.
And he's never felt so blessed.