"You have been very quiet tonight, McGee."

Tim glanced up at Ziva, who was sitting across the table from him. Two identical drinks sat in front of them, though Tim's was almost empty while Ziva's was still half-full.

He shrugged in response to her observation. "I guess I have been."

Ziva had invited Tim to go out for a drink following his ordeal at the prison that day. Though he had put on a confident smile after he was released, Ziva was under the impression that there was more on his mind. She'd hoped he would open up to her. But after a bit of talking – none of which was related to his being held hostage – Tim had fallen into a silent thinking. Ziva could all but see the wheels turning in his head.

"A nickel for your thoughts?"

"They aren't worth much, Ziva."

"Now I have a hard time believing that, McGee."

He shrugged and finished the remainder of his drink. "I was just thinking about today."

"I figured as much."

"Am I that obvious?"

"McGee, one does not get taken hostage and simply forget about it within a few hours." When he didn't reply, she gently placed her hand over his, asking, "Were you hurt?"

"No, Ziva. I mean, yes, getting sprayed in the eyes with mace stung like holy hell, but there are worse things that could have happened…like losing a finger." He shivered just recalling how cool the blade had felt against his skin and how, even with only a little pressure applied, he could tell just how sharp the weapon was. Had he not had the sense to take charge of the situation and offer a solution for them…well, his typing days would likely be over; at the very least, they would be hindered greatly.

Ziva leaned in, still sensing that there was something he wasn't telling her. "So then what is the trouble?"

He sighed. "I just can't help thinking about the so-called victim. I mean, he was raping a teenage girl and shooting her up with heroin! Yet I was risking my life to find his killer?"

"It is tragic, yes, but it is nothing new. We arrest rapists and drug dealers all the time."

"But he was supposed to be one of the good guys! He was supposed to be protecting people, not hurting them."

"Things are not always so black and white," Ziva told him. "It is sometimes impossible to tell who is the good guy and who is the bad guy. Sometimes good guys do bad things and bad guys do good things."

"So how can we know who to trust?"

"I do not know that I can answer that," she told him, shaking her head. "Then again, I have trouble trusting people immediately. In Mossad, you must not let your guard down, even for the most seemingly innocent person. You, though, are a very trusting person."

"So I've been told," he said wryly. "You seem to have the right idea, though. I'll bet you were never betrayed by someone you trusted."

Ziva was quiet for a moment. She was looking off to the side, her finger slowly circling the rim of her glass. "You would lose that bet, McGee."

Her response took him by surprise at first. Then he remembered how Ziva had come to them in the first place. "God, Ziva…I'm sorry. I just wasn't really thinking."

"It is okay. Ari…he had a way of making you trust him. His being family also helped. I do like to think that it hadn't all been a lie; that, at one point, he truly did want to do good. Perhaps he truly thought he was doing good. After all, aren't 'good' and 'bad' sometimes just a matter of perspective?"

Now it was Ziva who finished off her drink. "Well, I suppose we have all betrayed the trust of a loved one." She looked up at Tim, a small smile forming on her lips. "Except, perhaps, for you."

Tim couldn't help but smile back. "Don't forget about my stealing Abby's cupcake."

"Oh, and the pictures of me that you still have on your computer!"

"No…I deleted those…" he insisted, knowing as he said it that Ziva saw right through the lie. If she was angered by the lie or by the thought that pictures of her in a bikini still inhabited Tim's computer, she didn't show it.

"Come," she said. "It is getting late and neither of us should be drinking any more right now."

He stood, helping her into her coat before putting on his own trench coat. As they left the small bar, Tim asked, "Ziva? Did you mean what you said earlier…about kicking their asses if any of them hurt me?"

"Of course I did, McGee. Do you not trust me?"

He responded with a lopsided grin. "No, Ziva, I trust you. I trust you very much."

She returned the grin, replying, "And I trust you very much, McGee."

The End!