AN: I wanted to do a fic based on Somalia, but since I knew there had been so many good ones already, I decided to add a twist. I tried to be realistic, but we'll call anything that's unlikely to happen in real life 'artistic licence'.

When I first started this it wasn't even meant to turn into a fic. It was just a flight of fancy that I needed to get out of my head, never intending to post it anywhere. I started typing, and suddenly I couldn't stop. It began to take shape in my mind, and all at once it was as though it had a life of it's own. So I'm letting it run it's course. I hope you enjoy it.

By the way, The Wind in the Willows is a real book by Kenneth Grahame. It was a wonderful part of my childhood, and I recommend that anyone who hasn't read it should definitly do so, especially if you have children to read it with. If you don't have children it is still a winderful read, and enjoyable for all age groups.

Disclaimer (hate these things): I do not own NCIS or The Wind in the Willows. No copyright infringment intended.

"So," Tony said lightly, resting against his desk, at which Ziva sat, "where did she come from?"

He watched his bedraggled partner as she gazed at the child who currently played at her old desk.

It had taken some time for the hubbub over their return from Somalia to die down, and they all felt like they'd run several marathons. It had been a harrowing several hours, almost as tiring as the journey itself. No one had ever seen Abby look so serious as she had at the moment when she'd greeted Ziva. The Mossad officer could still see the haunted look in the scientist's eye as she'd touched her face with trembling hands and pulled her into a hug so soft and gentle it did not feel like Abby. There had been endless greetings and congratulations once the applause had died down, until at last Vance had offered them a reprieve and ordered everyone back to work. Throughout it all Ziva had been fighting the instincts that were screaming at her to run. One face blurred into another until she couldn't identify the people who'd worked for so many years in the same building as her. Each and every time she felt arms around her she had to fight not to tense up or lash out, even though the rational part of her knew they were meant to be kind gestures. They did not know that they squeezed too tight, held her too roughly, that she did not trust any of them enough to want them so close to her. She felt Abby squeeze her hand every time she was too slow to smile at the owners of the too-loud voices all around her. After so long in quiet isolation it was all far too much. Her head throbbed; the harsh lights overhead like daggers in her brain. All the time she forced her weary body to remain standing unaided, resisting the dizzy sensation that made it hard not to sway. She couldn't faint. She had to keep her eyes on the little one.

Ducky had leant in close to Ziva to whisper in her ear that, after she'd taken a moment to rest and get her bearings, she might like to join him in autopsy for a cup of tea and a 'chat'. Ziva knew that this was code for a health check. She knew, because she'd quietly begged Gibbs not to force her to go to hospital, and this was the only other option he'd allow her. Abby, who had refused to let go of Ziva's hand for well over an hour, had finally fallen asleep at Gibbs' desk, unable to bring herself to return to her lab. Only Gibbs had been able to convince her to allow Ziva to get as far away as the other side of the bullpen.

Now all was quiet. Gibbs was with Vance in the Director's office. McGee was fast asleep at his own desk. Everyone else had drifted off home, one by one, leaving theirs the only part of the bullpen still dimly lit. Ziva was slumped in Tony's chair with a blanket around her shoulders, and they were both watching the child, unable to sleep. The calm silence was a gift.

"Ziva?" Tony said, gently prompting her out of her reverie. The assassin blinked, exhausted, and wearily forced herself to sit a little straighter. He offered her a chip, but she once again declined, as she had with every offer of food he'd presented her with since the escape. The one time she'd tried to eat had resulted in her vomiting and almost passing out. It seemed all she could manage at the moment was sips of water and the occasional cracker.

"She came to me on my third day there," Ziva sighed, resigning herself to finally telling the story, "to this day I still have no idea how she found her way in and out of my cell. She was like a little mouse. There was nowhere that she could not sneak into. It was the first time since I had been there that I had not been bound to a chair. She came out of nowhere, just appearing before me like a ghost. I thought perhaps I had dreamed her. I could barely see her because my eyes were swollen almost shut. She helped me drink a little water and asked my name. But then I heard Saleem coming, and she disappeared again. She came back the next day, with a small amount of bread. She told me her name was Lilly, and then she was gone again." Ziva paused to take a few steadying breaths, flinching when Tony's hand came down softly on her shoulder. He gave her a gentle squeeze, and after a moment she raised her own hand to cover his. Little Lilly, completely swamped in a blanket similar to Ziva's, had wandered over to the nearest window and was standing on tip toe with her nose pressed against the glass. Tony's expression grew strained as he remembered the truck ride out of the camp.

They rode in the back of the open topped truck, in a tense silence, with Ziva passed out on one bench. All eyes gazed alternately at Ziva and the little girl that no one had expected to find. Back in the camp, Tony and McGee had thought Ziva was confused or hallucinating when she began to beg them to stop and find a child. They'd panicked when she began shouting in a hoarse voice, afraid of attracting attention to their position, but were stopped in their tracks when a tiny figure stumbled out of the chaos of gunfire. Seeing her, Ziva had struggled out of her comrade's arms and collapsed to the ground, pulling the child into her protective embrace. The child wailed as a burst of gunfire sent a body crashing into the wall at the end of the corridor, and the adults watched in awe as Gibbs, clad in camouflage, rounded the corner. Ziva had continued to call out in Hebrew to the child even as they were wrenched apart, Tony and McGee heaving Ziva to her feet and Gibbs tucking the child under his arm. The next few minutes seemed to last for hours before they were safely on the truck, the sound of gunfire having come to a halt behind them. The little girl, who'd huddled close to Ziva the moment Gibbs had let her down, was tugging at the unconscious woman, trying to wake her.

"Don't do that, sweetie," Gibbs said quietly, breaking the silence "Ziva needs to rest."

The child's wide eyes turned to him, her voice coming out in a nervous whisper. "But she's missing it,"

"Missing what?" Tony joined in, immediately regretting it as he grave eyes landed on him.

"The sky. I can see the sky,"

Coming back into himself and noticing Ziva's curious expression, Tony relayed the short exchange to her. Her breath came out in a sudden whoosh, and she looked momentarily winded.

"It had been many months since she had seen the sky, I think. She came to me nearly every day, although sometimes I did not fully believe she was real. How could she be? Sometimes she would bring food or water, other times she just sat with me. As the days went by she would stay longer and longer, and we started talking. I found out that she had been with the terrorists for a long time, but she was not sure how long. From what I could understand she was allowed to wander around the camp as she pleased, so long as she stayed unnoticed. It was as if they had forgotten all about her. She told me she sometimes stole or begged from some of the less mean of the men, and that was where the food and water came from. She said she knew secret ways to get to all the places in the camp, but I was too weak and outnumbered to make an escape attempt. She always knew when Saleem was coming, and got out of the way before he got there. I never saw how she got out, but I suspect there were some loose bricks between my cell and the next. She always had a book with her. It was this grubby little thing, torn and stained with blood, but she seemed quite attached to it. I think she must have held onto it when she was taken from wherever she came from, and has managed to keep it all that time. Sometimes, when I was not too tired and I could see well enough, I would read it to her. She could not read, she told me."

Ziva paused, watching Lilly breathe onto the window and draw shapes on the glass with her finger.

"What was the book?" Tony asked, trying to prompt her gently. Ziva frowned.

"A child's story about talking animals. A mole, a rat, a badger and a toad,"

"The Wind in the Willows?" Tony asked, smiling.

"Yes," she said, sounding faintly surprised, "I did not see the sense in it, but Lilly would ask me to read it over and over again. I think that it comforted her. Other times I would teach her simple phrases in Hebrew. She speaks Spanish as well as English, though she spoke neither very well when I first met her. Spanish was better because the others could not understand it. I could talk to her without fear of being overheard. But she said she liked how I sounded when I spoke in Hebrew. I needed to do something to keep her occupied, and out of trouble. She helped me stay strong too. But we had to be careful, because I do not think Saleem would have allowed things to continue as they were if he had known she visited me."

"What else did you do together?" he asked, trying to steer her thoughts away from the bastard that had tortured her.

"There was not much to do, and little time to do it. Saleem never left me alone for long and I was often too weak to do anything. Sometimes she would just lie next to me on the floor, a comforting presence when I was barely conscious from the pain. Those were the times that I was sure she was a dream." She took a shuddering breath to compose herself, glancing at Tony, and soldiered on.

"Sometimes we drew things in the dust and sand. I taught her how to tie knots in a bit of rope that was lying around. When I was too tired she told me stories about somebody called Winnie the Pooh and other strange characters."

Tony chuckled, then sobered. "Sounds like she was an angel. Did McGee tell you what he found out about her?"

"No, he did not. I think he is worried of overwhelming me."

"Do you feel overwhelmed?"

"I feel . . ." she sighed in frustration, "I am troubled. This all seems so unreal. I have dreamed such things before . . . I do not know how to trust that what has happened is not my mind playing games on me."

"You mean playing tricks on you," he corrected automatically. She shot him an exasperated look and he crouched beside her chair. "Give me your hand,"

"Tony—"

"Just trust me."

Ziva cautiously took his offered hand, her eyes growing watery as he pulled her wrist gently and placed her palm against his chest. "Can you feel it?" he said softly, his heart beating a comforting rhythm against her hand.

"Yes," she breathed.

"Does it feel real?"

"Yes,"

"Does it feel nice?"

"Tony!" she said indignantly, snapping right out of her trance and smacking him on the arm.

"Ow!" he pouted, tipping backwards and landing on his ass. "Jeez, I try to be nice . . ." he grumbled in mock anger, laughter gleaming playfully in his eyes.

"Now I know this is real," Ziva said, gesturing impatiently, "You were much less annoying in the dreams!"

"But was I as good looking? You know, I find it interesting you seemed to dream about me so much . . ."

Ziva groaned, blocking out his voice and dropping her head into her hands.

"Aw, c'mon Zee-vah. You need to hear this." His voice took a serious tone and she narrowed her eyes at him through the gaps between her fingers. "Lillian Simms, age eighteen months, was taken from her bed a little over a year and a half ago, and judging from the state of her, those are the same PJs she was wearing when she went missing. She turned three a few weeks before you arrived in Somalia. Her parents were both naval intelligence, her mother born in the US to Spanish parents, explaining why Lilly speaks the language. Lilly was smuggled out of the country in a matter of hours, after which she was used in an attempt to bribe her parents into revealing naval secrets. When her parents were unable to supply the information the terrorists had them assassinated here in DC."

Ziva glared at a spot on the desk. "They must have chosen not to kill Lilly because she posed so little a threat, and she might have made a useful hostage one day. I dread to think what other uses they may have found for her. I very much doubt she was left alive because they had any trouble in killing a child," she muttered darkly.

"The point is that there isn't anyone we need to notify, other than child and family services. Her last grandparent died shortly after her parent's assassinations and her only living relative is and aunt who's currently living in a care home. Autism." He explained regretfully.

"So she is all alone in the world," Ziva whispered.

"Hey," he murmured, "she's got you, hasn't she? With everything you've been through together, I'm sure she'll want you to visit her, wherever child services places her."

Somehow this didn't seem to improve Ziva's mood. Their conversation was halted when she felt Lilly climbing into her lap. The little girl tipped her grubby face up to gaze at Ziva.

"I want to hear about Toady and the boat," she said in a voice so soft that it was clearly meant only for Ziva's ears. Tony felt a strange lump in his throat at the sight of them.

"I am sorry, little blossom, I do not have the story book anymore. We left it behind by accident."

"In Africa?" she whispered, her thumb finding its way to her mouth.

"Yes, in Africa. I cannot read to you today."

Lilly's face took on an expression of grievous loss, her eyes growing watery. She snuggled close to Ziva, closing her eyes and sucking her thumb, her other hand grasping a handful of the woman's shirt. Ziva's arms closed protectively around her, rocking her slightly as she stroked the girl's hair.

"I am sorry, little one. We were like the Toad, yes? When he escaped the nasty jail and left all of his money behind by mistake."

Lilly mumbled something, her whispery words muffled by Ziva's shirt. "What did you say?" the woman asked.

Lilly pulled back and took her thumb out of her mouth just long enough to say, "And his pocket-book and his keys and his watch and his matches and his pencil-case," in one rapid stream before hiding her face in Ziva's stomach again.

"Uh, how many times did you read that book?" Tony said incredulously.

"We like the escape chapter a lot," Ziva said simply, and Tony immediately felt bad. "Come on, little flower, we have kept Ducky waiting for far too long. See you later, Tony," Ziva said, getting up and leading Lilly away by the hand. Tony caught the little girl's reverent whisper as the pair turned the corner into the elevator and he lost sight of them.

"He's not a real duck, is he?"

"You know, Ducky, when you said 'tea and a chat', I did not think you meant it," Ziva said, humming her appreciation as she sipped the hot tea the medical examiner served her.

"Ah, my dear, one should never underestimate the medicinal powers of a good cup of tea," Ducky smiled, relaxing in his desk chair and raising his own cup to his lips. He suddenly straightened. "My dear sweet child, don't touch that!"

Across the room Lilly froze, her hand on the handle of a morgue drawer. She slowly turned, looking sheepish.

"Sorry,"

"Yes, well, it's quite alright. Why don't you join Ziva and I, and have some tea?"

Lilly trotted over obediently, the blanket that she clutched around her shoulders dragging on the floor behind her. The doctor poured her some sweet, milky tea and handed it to her, and she wrapped her hands appreciatively around the warm cup. The little girl seemed reluctant to try it though, sniffing it suspiciously and glancing at Ziva with big eyes. The woman murmured something in Hebrew, and the child took a small sip. Her face filled with wonderment, and she took another sip. Ducky looked at Ziva questioningly.

"It has been a very long time since Lilly has tasted anything other than bread and water and dried meat. I do not think she has ever tried tea." The doctor nodded understandingly.

Lilly was staring at Ducky through narrowed eyes, apparently trying to decide something.

"Did you have a question, my dear?" he said lightly.

"You're not a duck," Lilly stated accusingly.

"Lilly! We talked about this in the elevator, remember?" Ziva choked, caught between laughter and horror. Ducky laughed.

"And whatever made you think I was?" he chuckled.

"Well . . . Moley's a mole and Ratty's a rat and Mr. Badger is a badger and Toady is a toad, so why aren't you a duck?" the little girl said, all in one breath. Ducky's brow crimped.

"Lilly's favourite story book is full of talking animals. She is quite enamoured with them," Ziva explained. Ducky's expression cleared.

"Ah! The Wind in the Willows, hm?"

"How does everybody know that?" Ziva muttered, exasperated.

"A very famous book, my dear, a classic. Originated in Britain, might I add, and—"

"Ducky, it is getting late."

"Of course, of course, onward to less pleasant business," Ducky sighed, setting down his cup. "From what I can see, Lillian has no obvious injuries. To your knowledge, was she hurt at all while in Africa?"

"I do not think so, no," Ziva said.

"Good, then I don't think we have to worry about broken bones or internal haemorrhaging," He addressed Lilly. "Do you feel well, my dear? No bumps or bruises, cuts or scrapes?" Lilly shook her head slowly. "You don't have a tummy ache or a head ache? You don't feel sick?" Another shake. "Excellent. Now, let's a have a look at you, just to be sure." He hoisted Lilly up to sit on the edge of the closest autopsy table and did a short examination of her. He pronounced her to be suffering from malnutrition and vitamin deficiency, but she had no obvious signs of disease or infection. He took a blood sample for testing, which made Lilly cry a little, but she calmed down a little when Ducky kissed her on the top of her head and gave her a lollypop. When he lifted her down from the table she ran to Ziva for a comforting hug and to show her the lolly. Ziva glanced at the Ducky over the top of the child's head, coming to a silent agreement with him. Together they cleared a space on Ducky's desk and piled the folded blankets onto it. Ziva helped Lilly climb up, tucking her beneath the top layer of blankets, with Ducky's coat folded under her head for a pillow. At this point the doctor slipped away to the other side of the room, giving the two girls some privacy. Ziva perched on the edge of the desk next to the child, holding her little hand and stroking her hair. Lilly's gaze was nervous, her hand gripping Ziva's as tight as she could. Ziva smiled softly, and sang quietly in Hebrew until the little girl eventually fell asleep, her grip turning slack and her eyes fluttering shut. The Mossad agent sat with the sleeping child for a few moments before forcing herself to join Ducky at the other end of the room. She had been dreading what was to come, and broke out in a nervous sweat as she walked from the darkened part of the room where Lilly slept to the harsh lighting where the doctor waited. Understanding her uncomfortable expression, Ducky could only express his sympathy and support by silently touching her hand as she slowly sat herself on the edge of the autopsy table furthest from the door, where no one looking in could see them. He'd taken the precaution of lighting the 'biohazard' sign outside the door, so that nobody would walk in and surprise them.

They started slowly. He placed a towel around her shoulders and examined her head for injuries. He'd brought special equipment in anticipation of making this as easy as possible, and took the time to comb through her hair with a brush dipped in warm water, first with soap, then without, until her hair was clean of sweat and blood and dirt. Her expression remained stoic even when soap got in her wounds or he accidentally passed over a sore spot with the brush. She appreciated the care he was taking. He then applied antiseptic cream to all her cuts and grazes, using stitches where necessary. By this point she had begun to relax, but she tensed up again when he motioned for her to remove her shirt. He looked away while she undressed, making a point of preparing things from his medical bag, but when he turned back and saw her he was momentarily thrown off guard.

"Oh, my poor dear. I'm so sorry," he croaked.

Ziva refused to meet his eyes. "May we please get this over with?" was her whisper.

Ducky cleared his throat. "Yes, of course. I'll do what I can, and hopefully there won't be anything that requires you to go to the hospital."

Once again he cleaned and stitched her cuts and burns. Every inch of skin that he cleaned revealed new bruises beneath the caked on blood and dirt. Ziva let him work without making a sound, her tense muscles the only evidence of her discomfort. They did x-rays that revealed broken ribs, which Ducky debated with himself about for a while before deciding that they could just about get away with not going to hospital. He made sure they were all set properly before binding them with bandaged wound around her chest. There were a few more brakes in her right arm and hand, either from the torture itself or from trying to defend herself. Most were only fractures, and he strapped a brace on her wrist and put her arm in a sling. Her middle and ring fingers had been broken and left to set incorrectly, so that he was forced to re-brake them before setting them and binding them together with her fourth finger to keep them still. Even under anaesthetic Ziva had to stifle her moans in his shoulder as he did this. She confessed to the occasional ache in her shoulders where, at one time or another, they'd each been dislocated and she'd had to fix them herself by ramming into a doorframe. He pulled a face at this, and tutted. Though he didn't say it, Ducky was marvelling at how she'd been able to hide the pain of her injuries all this time. Lastly he took a blood sample as he had with Lilly, which would be given to Abby for testing early in the morning.

With the exam finally over he moved away to write down some instructions for her while she dressed in some clean medical scrubs. While he was distracted, she took the opportunity to let her composure slip for just a moment, taking a few deep breaths and wiping a single tear from her eye.

Ducky came back, crooked his finger under her chin, urging her to look at him. For the first time in hours, Ziva met his intense gaze.

"Between all the welcoming colleges and Abigail attaching herself to you like a limpet, I never got to say how relieved I am to see you, Ziva," he said softly, his voice dropping the businesslike tone it'd taken during the exam. "I am so glad you're home and you're safe."

She allowed him to pull her into a long, grandfatherly hug, almost losing control at the feel of his arms around her and his gentle hands patting her back. She had almost forgotten what a kind touch felt like, or rather what it felt like to welcome a touch from anyone but Lilly. She heard him clear his throat, and when he let her go his face had adopted a stern look.

"Now then, about my diagnosis. Here is a list of instructions, which I expect you to adhere to to the letter. Most of it is available over the counter, but the pain and sleeping pills will need a prescription. I can't write you one, but I have a friend who works nearby, who will gladly write you one in the morning. I've included multi-vitamins for Lillian, and some details about what to feed her. You both need to regain a lot of strength and weight, but the key is little and often. Eat too much all at once and you'll both probably get sick. You have to keep all your open wounds very clean and make sure you take your antibiotics. I think the most important thing for Lillian at the moment is rest . . . and a bath. Ah, Jethro! Right on time, as always."

A glance over Ziva's shoulder confirmed that her boss had indeed just strode into autopsy, the ever-present coffee cup in one hand. The other hand held a plastic bag, which he dumped in Ziva's lap. Inside, to her amazement, she found a new copy of The Wind in the Willows, the beautiful water-colour on the cover depicting a rat and a mole in a little blue boat on a river beneath a large willow tree. A large toad in a smart checked jacket stood on the landing stage near to the little boat, and among the hills in the background was a cheerful looking castle.

Ziva stared at Gibbs, feeling her eyes prickle slightly. "How . . . ? Did Tony tell you?"

"Nope. DiNozzo was long gone before I was done with Vance. All done, Duck?"

"Yes. No hospital visits necessary, I am glad to say."

"Good." Gibbs took a long swing of his coffee and tossed the empty cup in the trash. Turning away, he motioned Ziva to follow. "Let's go."

She slipped down from the table, looking confused. "Wait, go where?"

"My house," Gibbs replied without looking back. He had reached the desk where Lilly slept.

"And Lilly is coming with us?"

Gibbs paused to look round impatiently, "Well, yeah. Unless you'd rather leave her in autopsy."

Ziva almost smiled at the familiar tone, and she hurried to kiss Ducky on the cheek and whisper a thank you. Gibbs had Lilly cradled in his arms, blankets and all, and was waiting in the elevator.

The next chapter is pretty much finished, but I'm holding it hostage because of the pitiful number of reviews I've had in comparison to all the hits and favorites and subscribtions. It's all very well and good to subscribe, but if you want more you have to ask.

Thanks for reading.