AN: Thanks for the reads and for the favorites, guys! I hate when authors beg for reviews, so I WILL NOT DO THAT. Just knowing that there are people out there who wanted to know when I posted another chapter will suffice, haha.

Somewhere in their small house, Tali was crying. She recognized the sounds—her younger sister had always tried to hide her face in her pillow when she cried, to keep from waking anyone else in the house. Every once in a while there would come a sniffle. When they were young, Ziva would often go climb into her bed with her and pull her close, singing old nursery rhymes to her until she fell asleep. Tali never asked how she heard her, and no one else in the family ever mentioned hearing anything out of the ordinary. It was something between the two of them, something that no one else in the family really understood.

Ziva sat up, first concerned about what was wrong with her sister. Then remembrance washed over her like ice water, and she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It was just past two in the morning—she had been asleep for just over two hours. Had the crying been a dream? Something left over from an unremembered nightmare?

Another sniffle broke through the darkness, and the events of the day before lit up in her mind. It was not Tali crying in a bed at home in Israel, it was Abby, crying alone in the dark on a strange couch. Ziva sighed. She was not looking forward to another argument with the woman, but she didn't want to leave her by herself. With another sigh—this one of resignation—she rose and padded through the dark to her living room.

She could make out the shape of her coworker curled up on the couch, and realized with a pang that she hadn't given the other woman sheets to put down on the couch, or anything to cover up with. She hesitated for barely a moment, before joining the other woman on the couch. Abby sat up, and Ziva wondered for a moment if she was going to try to make her go away. Instead, Ziva could feel Abby's eyes searching her own in the darkness. Ziva allowed a small smile—not that it could really be seen—and reached up to brush her thumb against Abby's pale cheek. It came away wet, as Ziva had expected, and she permitted herself to trace her fingers down, along Abby's smooth jawline.

"I am sorry," she said, awkwardly, in the silence. Abby's reply was a short, bitter laugh.

"Apologizing is a sign of weakness," she said, her voice breaking. Ziva nodded, and ran her fingers down one of Abby's braids. Bits and pieces had escaped: some were sticking out of the pigtail, while a few other strands were clinging to Abby's cheek, apparently stuck there by sweat.

"Please, come with me," Ziva said after several moments, but her voice, along with the way she'd stood up and offered her hand, made it clear that this was not a request to be denied even by Abby Sciuto herself. She seemed to agree, and allowed Ziva to lead her into the bedroom, and even nudge her lightly onto the bed. Abby immediately made herself comfortable, wriggling under the quilt and pulling a pillow into the hollow of her neck. She looked so much more exhausted now than she had been when Ziva had left her first. It was obvious that she hadn't slept—probably had even stayed awake crying the whole time.

Ziva sighed and got in on the other side of the bed, scooting closer to her coworker—then closer still. Abby was too tired, or too drained, to argue, which suited Ziva just fine. This was strange. The thought weighed heavy on Ziva's mind. This was strange, and should not be happening. But she had started this, and she would be damned if she wasn't going to finish it. She had taken it upon herself to look after Abby tonight, and part of that included making sure she slept. In the darkness, she reached out to touch Abby's neck. She felt overheated, and, now that Ziva was paying attention, she realized that Abby was shivering. Without thinking, she began to hum under her breath. At first it was nothing in particular: just meant to distract Abby enough to allow her to sleep. Gradually, though, it changed into something more familiar. Ziva's eyes stung as she realized what she was doing, but she couldn't bring herself to stop.

"That's pretty," came a groggy, sleep-slurred voice. For unknown reasons, Ziva felt her face begin to burn, and just nodded, reaching up once again to move a few errant strands of hair away from Abby's face. She didn't mention that the song was one about bitterness and sweetness, a plea for protection of the things that one loved. Abby voiced no questions about the melody, and eventually Ziva decided that she had finally gone to sleep.

These sensations were very different from curling up with a frightened younger sister in the comfortable darkness of home. Long ago she had failed that sister, and could no longer offer comfort and safety in her arms and her voice. Tonight, to a woman who outwardly hated her at worst and was most often merely lukewarm with her at best, she offered those very same things. She released Abby, to turn onto her back, and would lay there, staring at the ceiling and arguing with herself, until the sun finally began to break through her curtains.