"Do you believe in reinvention,
Do you believe that life is holding the clue?
Any way to face the silence,
Any way to face the pain that kills you.
Your smile, shine a little light, alright?
Don't hide, shine a little light,
Give up on your pride.
Give up on your pride, the moment's gone;
Give up on your smile, life is long.
So, I seen a bad dream, that you were gone:
I got bitten on the soul, my blood will run."

Syntax

"Those with the greatest awareness have the greatest nightmares."

Mahatma Gandhi


Wednesday October 28th, Washington Hospital Center, 3rd Floor Guardian Research Wing

Buffy and Ziva found Tony in the third floor waiting room outside the research wing. The Marine who had brought them up from the showers – where Buffy had stripped and scrubbed herself raw – nodded and returned to his post at the elevators. Ziva's sour expression attested to the annoyance she still felt for having to relinquish her coat and sweatshirt – Buffy's Harvard shirt – before she had been allowed in the hospital. Dr. Watts had suggested that, since Ziva had not actually been in the tunnels, it was likely that both articles of clothing would be returned undamaged. Buffy had told Dr. Watts to burn the sweats, hoodie and socks she'd worn. The underclothes, gloves, boots and armour were being decontaminated and would be returned.

Tony was unusually quiet when they entered the waiting room. He spoke long enough to convey that Abby and Mouse had joined the other techs in the lab and would not be back out again until the Plague Rat fluids were declared safe for human exposure and likely not even then as they had a limited time to work with the samples before they degraded. Buffy estimated that that she had drawn the fluids at approximately 4:30pm; they had lost an hour en route, which left 23 hours. She had no idea of what a bunch of geniuses could do in that time – it's not like they were baking cakes – but she hoped they understood the concept of making miracles.

Buffy sat down beside Ziva and yawned. When the hell had she slept last? It was bad when you couldn't remember. Her body was sinking into the small couch and her eyes were closing. There were voices and other ambient noises but her ability to isolate each sound had degraded – like her consciousness.

Slowly . . . she slipped . . . down . . .


"I'm awake!" Buffy sat up quickly. Her hand flew up to her forehead. "Ugh. Sat up too fast." She ignored the cushion on Ziva's lap and the fact that her head had just risen from it and focused on, well, focusing. Tony was sitting in the same chair. His head rested on the back of the chair and his arms were crossed. He yawned and muttered, "Dr. Preston came in; told us to skedaddle. Guess they're going to be a while."

Buffy nodded and turned to look at Ziva. Ziva moved the pillow from her lap, stood and stretched. "Yes. I think food and a proper bed are very good ideas."

Tony smirked. "You offering, Ziva?"

"Mmm . . . Nope. But I will drive Buffy."

Buffy got up as well. All of the items that had needed decontaminating had been returned and sat, in a pile, beside the bag of clothes Mouse had brought for her from NCIS. She went over to the pile and started putting on her boots. While she was lacing them up, she noticed that Ziva had removed her armour and wore the Harvard sweatshirt; her coat was in her hand. "Ziva, I can catch a cab. No point in driving all over the city."

"I don't mind. Besides, your bag in is my car."

Buffy had almost forgotten about that. Not that she would need anything in it tonight. She gnawed on the inside of her lip for a moment and nodded. "Ok. Not gonna argue. Thanks."

Ziva buttoned up her coat.. "Mm-hmm. Tony, will you be okay to drive home?"

"No problem – really. Think I managed an hour sleep; that'll get me in the front door, I can crawl from there. Call if you hear anything, otherwise, I'll talk to you in the morning."

"I will," Ziva said. "And you can do me a favour – call me when you get home."

Tony smirked playfully. "Aw, that's so . . . sweet. I'll call, if it'll make you feel better."

Ziva picked up Buffy's bag. "It will."

Buffy walked up to Tony as he was turning to leave, put her hand on his shoulder, pulled herself up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Anthony, for looking out for Mouse. She really only has me so . . . yeah, thanks."

Tony's brow was slightly creased and his subtle smile was gentle. "Yeah, any time. I've been around Abby for so long, trying to understand Mouse was a piece of cake – piece of cheese? Get some sleep."

Buffy wanted nothing more.


The air outside was chilly and Buffy kicked herself for not throwing her jacket with the bag of clothing Mouse had brought to the hospital. As they neared the parking lot, she breathed in deeply . . . and rolled her eyes. The Cruor'cats were here. She didn't mention this to Ziva; she was curious if she would detect them on her own.

Ziva dug her car keys from her pocket and frowned; looked around. Something was . . . off; there were eyes watching. She realised that something else was off as well, as they neared her car; a bottle of wine was sitting on the hood, held precariously against the windshield by one of the wipers. A small card and something else dangled from a piece of ribbon that was tied to the neck of the bottle.

"Now what," Ziva muttered, as she removed the bottle from its precarious perch. She lifted the card and read aloud the words written on it. "For the dark lady whose name is warmth, and the pretty lady. We offer your companions some of our luck. F." Baffled, Ziva looked at Buffy. "Do you know what this means?"

"I think it's, like, the Cruor'cats way of saying – I hope your friends get better. The leafy stuff, under the ribbon? They burn that during these healing rituals they do when one of them gets sick or hurt. Its legal; I mean, I'm pretty sure it is. No idea what the wine's about." Buffy chuckled. "They can drink that stuff by the gallon but instead of getting drunk, like a human, they get really hyper and affectionate. I had to run from one of their parties."

Ziva unlocked the passenger door and went around to the driver's side. "Is that who I can feel watching me?"

Buffy got in the car and closed the door. Ziva handed Buffy the bottle of wine and her bag and got in as well. She closed her door, put on her seatbelt and looked at Buffy. Buffy shrugged.

"I'm thinking they're taking their promise to keep Mouse safe pretty seriously – deadly seriously, maybe is a better way of saying it." Ziva looked like she was waiting for the rest of the story. Buffy couldn't blame her, all she'd managed to do was create more reasons to be curious. "Ok. Short version. When I was in New York, I found a Cruor'cat with its neck torn out. Two days later I found two more; these were young. Turned out that a gang of vamps had been making it their personal mission to hunt down the Cruor'cats and murder them all. There's like this ancient rivalry between them; unfortunately, the vampires have always outnumbered the cats, so they have to play smarter and be really careful. I didn't know this at the time, just knew that I saw something wrong and I wanted to fix it."

"And you did, of course."

"Yeah. I found the place the vamps called home and loaded up the basement with flammables. When it got light, I lit the match. Some of them even tried running for it; didn't get far." Buffy grinned. "Love sunny New York mornings. After that I kinda . . . well, I wasn't a nice person to be around. I was on a mission to clear out New York of all the bad and I lost touch with the human race for a while."

Ziva put the keys in the ignition and started the car. "I understand. I have become very . . . focused in the past. There wasn't time for anything but my mission and my target. Perhaps it is not such a terrible thing; but not always. Otherwise, I would not have questioned the times when the truth turned out to be very different then what I had been told."

"Yeah, I get that."


"Uh, Ziva, where are we going?"

"My apartment. You are staying with me tonight. You can use the shower and I am sure that I have something that you could wear."

Buffy considered arguing, but on what grounds? There was nothing she needed from home and no reason to be there. And she really wouldn't mind the company. "Ok. I can do that."

Buffy tucked her hands under her arms and clenched her teeth as another icy shiver rippled down her back. "L-least I can do is buy d-dinner."

Ziva turned the heat on full. "Alright. We can order something, if you like."

Buffy smiled and held her hands up to the heat vent. "I like."


Ziva David's Apartment

Ziva's apartment was small and simple: living room, kitchen, bathroom and three closets. The living room was sparsely decorated and furnished: a small couch and chair; two odd tables – one in front of the couch, the other between the end of the couch and the chair; a large throw pillow covered in coloured cloth lay on the floor at the edge of a small woven rug; a lamp; a small bookcase filled with books; a shiny black vase half filled with dead roses; and two framed photos.

Ziva took Buffy's jacket and hung it in the hall closet. "I am still replacing items from last May."

"Courtney mentioned that you went home for a while. I know this great antique-y store. I got most of the furniture for the house from there. Paul's wife, Claire, has a business restoring furniture; she restored some of the furniture for me."

Ziva led Buffy into the living room and waved at the couch. "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? I have tea, juice, water and wine." She held up the bottle that had been a gift from Faatinah. "I do have other kinds, if you would prefer."

"Whatever you're having is fine."

Ziva nodded and turned to enter the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned with a glass of red wine in each hand, a thin stack of take-out menus under one arm and a cordless phone under the other. She placed a glass of wine and the menus on the table in front of the couch and sat down next to Buffy.

Buffy glanced through the menus and selected one. "How 'bout this place . . . and thank you." She raised her glass to Ziva and then to her lips; the wine was dry, medium bodied and had a faint hint of cherries. "This is good."

Ziva smiled, opened the menu and picked up the phone. "So . . . What would you like?"


Buffy threw out the empty sandwich bags and soup containers and left the dishes beside the sink. She felt like she'd eaten a pigs worth of ham and a whole Swiss cheese – less the holes. She had surprised herself by managing to finish the soup; but it, like the sandwich, had been awesome. On the way back to the living room she grabbed the second bottle of wine and belched heartily. Ziva was curled up against the corner of the couch, legs crossed, head tilted back and eyes closed. She wasn't smiling but the hint was there – she looked more relaxed than Buffy had ever seen her. Buffy sat, opened the wine and filled her glass. "Glass, please."

Ziva blindly extended her arm, holding the glass in front of her steadily. Buffy poured the wine.

"You look relaxed. Kinda doesn't fit, you know, 'Ziva' and 'relaxed' in the same sentence?"

Ziva laughed; it was a throaty vibration Buffy thought she could feel on her skin. She wondered if Ziva knew how sexy and sensual she could be: with a smile slightly curled at the corners; a sultry look from hooded dark brown eyes; or a sound, like that laugh. The characteristics reminded Buffy of a younger Faith, before the years sobered her.

And then she noticed that Ziva was watching her introspectively.

Ziva lifted her glass to her mouth; slowly sipped her wine; licked her lips. She rested her glass on her thigh. "So do you. I believe this is the only time that I have seen you so carefree. I'm surprised you don't have an ulcer."

Buffy realised that she was staring at Ziva's lips and shook her head ruefully. "Don't get much time to relax – much being almost zero. Evil doesn't take a vacation. Right now, people are dying 'cause I'm not out there."

Ziva tilted her head and held Buffy's eyes with her own. "You are not omnipotent. Can you really know that someone will die tonight because you aren't there to save them? And how would you find them? How would you chose who to save – I don't think that even you can be in two places at once." Buffy held the stare and her tongue, though she felt the subtle and poignant recriminations in Ziva's voice. "Where I come from, people die unexpectedly and often for no purpose; war is cruel. I have wished that I could have changed the fates of some of those who have died, but one woman alone cannot end a war."

Buffy forgot sometimes – more often than not – that war was almost perpetual in this world; she had read as much during her pursuits to better understand the arts of warfare. It was kind of funny, like the authors were prophets scripting the lessons of the future – because there was always war. And, as there was always war, there would always be warriors: soldiers, cops, government agents; people who served at the risk of life and limb to protect the people who weren't equipped to do so themselves. People who willingly served without whining about their fates – like she had when she was chosen.

Which led to Ziva's subtle recrimination. Soldiers and cops and all the others who fought worked together; their survival and their successes were substantially improved by their co-operation. She wasn't unfamiliar with the concept. After she had left the Slayers and her friends, she had wrapped herself in camouflage and draped herself in shadow. She had needed to isolate herself from people. She had needed to discover if there had been anything left of Buffy in the mess inside that had been part soldier, part general and part killer. During her travels she had unwoven the fabric of her isolation only rarely and only enough to reveal a ghostly image of herself. Bishop Dumas, her friends Penelope and Harry, and Anna and Quinn in New York: they were the few she had allowed close enough to touch. Until Cassandra. The six months of physical and mental therapy she had spent with Cassandra Montague, following New York and her four month hospitalisation, had taught a few things: autonomous isolation was just another form of self destruction; and she was lonely.

Buffy took a mouthful of wine and swallowed. "My full name is Buffy Anne Summers. Born January 19th 1981. I'm a Capricorn on the cusp of Aquarius. My favourite colours . . . Actually, I'll make it easy; my least favourite colours are lime green and anything neon that isn't in a sign. I like the not so popular music – so don't expect to see any Beyonce or Lady Gaga on my MP3 player – and I like pretty much any food. I skated when I was a girl – Dorothy Hamill was my hero. I like all kinds of movies, except the depressing artsy stuff that makes you want to slash your wrists with the DVD when the movie's done. I mean – really? What's the point? If I want to watch depressing, angsty, emo crap I'll hire someone to follow me around with a camera."

A smile tugged at Ziva's lips. She wondered what would happen if she were to sit Tony and Buffy in a room to watch movies that both had selected. Buffy saw the hint of a smile and her brows narrowed briefly.

"What?"

Ziva shook her head. "Nothing. Go on."

"Oh-kay. I did a year and a half of university in Sunnydale but I dropped out in my second year; my mom died and I had to look after my sister. Mom was great. Really, how many moms could handle their seventeen year old daughters going out and killing things almost every night." Buffy grinned wryly. "Ok, she wasn't so cool with it when she found out but it wasn't exactly a Hallmark moment when I told her. I was in kind of a hurry; those pesky apocalypses don't wait for family drama.

"Fell in love when I was sixteen. Had my heart broken the day after my seventeenth birthday. Some advice – never fall in love with a two hundred and fifty year old vampire with dissociative identity disorder who decides to have a four month psychotic break."

Buffy rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers; smiled again, bittersweet. "He got better, just before I put a sword through him and sent him to hell . . ." She yawned. "Sorry."

Ziva stood and held her hand out for Buffy's wineglass; Buffy gave it to her. "Time for bed."

"'k."

Ziva took the glasses and bottle into the kitchen. When she returned, she found Buffy asleep.


"Buffy – come, it's time for bed."

Buffy blinked sleepily and yawned. "Déjà vu."

Ziva smirked. "You fell asleep."

Buffy stumbled up from the couch and stretched. "Do you have a pillow and a blanket?"

Ziva nodded. "Yes, on my bed, where you are going."

Buffy frowned and shook her head. "Ah, no. Your house, your bed. Me and the couch, we'll get along great."

Ziva smiled patiently. "It is a big bed." She placed her hand on the small of Buffy's back and guided her down the hall. They stopped in front of the bathroom. "There is something for you to sleep in, a new toothbrush and a towel on the shelf for you."

Only now did Buffy realize that Ziva had already prepared for bed. She wore a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms and a cotton tank top; her hair was loose and any remnants of make-up that had survived the long hours at NCIS were gone. It was as if, by removing the extraneous layers, Ziva had stripped away years.

Buffy grinned. "Bet you were adorable . . . when you were young." She ducked in the bathroom and closed the door before Ziva could respond.


Ziva was leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door when Buffy opened it. She studied Buffy's freshly scrubbed face; there was little change in her physical appearance but her sleepy smile and shy eyes were evidence that Buffy, too, had been young and less jaded once. She placed her fingertips on Buffy's shoulder. "This way."

Buffy shuffled along the hall trying not to trip on the cuffs of the slightly too long pyjama bottoms Ziva had loaned her; she didn't mind that they were too big for her – it was so nice to be out of jeans.

Like the rest of Ziva's apartment, her bedroom was very utilitarian; except for the bed: a queen sized covered with a rusty coloured duvet and four plump pillows at the head. Buffy stopped moving when Ziva's fingers left her shoulders.

"Ya know, I really can sleep on the couch . . ."

Ziva pulled the blankets back on the bed and climbed in. "The bed is more comfortable and this way I will not need to get up later."

"Huh?"

Ziva patted the open space on the mattress beside her. Buffy climbed on the bed and lay back. Ziva pulled the blankets over them both, turned on her side facing Buffy and propped her head up with her arm. "Do you remember what you dreamed at the hospital?"

Buffy turned to face Ziva and tucked her hands between the pillow and her cheek. "Uh, not so much." She did remember waking very briefly on two occasions: at one point, her head had been resting against Ziva's shoulder; at a later point, her head had rested on a pillow that had lain on Ziva's lap. Neither time had she retained consciousness long enough to move. "Sorry about the subconscious snuggling."

Ziva waved off the apology. "When I got up from my seat beside you at the hospital, you reacted badly; you were very agitated. When I sat beside you again, you calmed. I asked Tony to sit with you when I needed to get up and you continued to sleep."

Buffy's hands were no longer tucked beneath her cheek; now, they covered her face. She laughed. "Oh god. This just keeps getting more embarrassing."

Ziva frowned. "I know that you are very strong, but I have learned recently that what's up here," she reached over and pressed the tips of her index and middle fingers against Buffy's forehead, "where all the darkness hides, is stronger than any one of us alone."

Buffy lowered her hands revealing a smile and the subtle questing of her eyes. "Ya know, Agent David, it's not nice poking around in other people's heads. But, thank you – for today, for this . . . It's very sweet."

Ziva's eyebrow arched. "It was nothing – and I am not 'sweet'."

"Didn't say you were; said what you did was – there's a difference . . . you know . . ."

Ziva didn't bother to respond, she doubted that she would have been heard. Buffy's eyes were closed, her breaths slow. Ziva lowered her head to her pillow but didn't close her eyes. She waited, and, while she waited, she pondered Buffy Summers. She was still an enigma on the surface, but deeper inside, where the woman truly lived, in pain and memory, blood and heart, Ziva was beginning to see the history and complexities. She and Buffy were very different in many ways but there were parallels, similarities. And these were what she pondered.

Twenty minutes into her contemplation, Buffy became agitated, as badly as she had at the hospital. Ziva reached for her hand, took it and held it firmly.

"No one should face death alone . . . Chalomot tovim, Buffy."


Thursday October 29th, Ziva David's Apartment

"Good morning!"

The overly cheerful voice woke her from her doze. She took the requisite ten seconds to process: where she was; who was speaking; and why she felt so rested. Still working on the latter, she opened her eyes. Ziva was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, a mug of coffee in each hand. She was clean, dressed and smiling.

"One of those for me?" Buffy asked.

Ziva approached the bed. Buffy pushed herself up and leaned against the headboard. Ziva's good mood seemed to be contagious because, unlike most mornings, Buffy was smiling as well. She accepted the mug of coffee and wrapped the fingers of both hands around it.

"Thanks. I'd ask you how you know how I take my coffee but you'd just give me the 'I'm an investigator' line." She sipped her coffee carefully. "Since I'm not an investigator, gotta ask – what's with the smile?"

Ziva sat on the edge of the bed and rested her mug on her thigh. "Abby called. They have found a way to cure Gibbs and McGee." She shook her head. "Abby tried to explain but . . . I think that she forgets that most of us are not as gifted as she is. I will have to remember to ask her to . . . simple it up?"

Buffy laughed. "Well, at least Mouse and Abby can understand each other. So, Agent Gibbs and McGee are gonna be ok?"

"They are not out of the forest yet –" Buffy's lips pursed, prepared to speak; she sipped her coffee instead – "but Abby said that once the virus has been . . . dealt with, the doctors can repair the damage it caused."

"Are you going up to see them?"

Ziva stood. "Yes. I was waiting for you."

Buffy threw her legs over the bed and caught the dribbles of coffee that had spilled in her haste in her hand. "You should've woken me up earlier. What time is it anyway?"

Ziva glanced at her watch. "Ten passed one. And you needed the sleep."

"Yeah, I guess I did. Still should've woken me up and kicked my butt out so you could do what you needed to."

"I thought you might like to go to the hospital as well. There are clean towels in the bathroom and I'm sure I can find something that would fit you."

Buffy considered. "I do have most of a change of clothes in my bag; if I could borrow a shirt?"

"Certainly." Ziva went to one of the few pieces of furniture in the room other than the bed – a mahogany wardrobe – and opened the mirrored doors. "Let's see what we can find."


They were a minute on the road when Buffy's phone rang; she didn't get off until they reached the hospital doors and she was required to turn off her phone.

"Thank god for hospital rules. Director Hutchins is worse than I was when I was sixteen."

Ziva grinned and held the door open for Buffy. "And that is why I like working for Gibbs; he rarely says more than he absolutely needs to."

"Yeah, noticed that about him. Coffee and muffin?"

"Mmm . . . Breakfast. Maybe two muffins . . ."

"And two coffees," Buffy added.

They joined the line at the coffee counter; both had their wallet in their hand.

The moment before Ziva lifted her wallet to pay, Buffy said, "Wanna see a trick?"

Ziva turned her head to look at her; Buffy slipped her wallet from her fingers and held a twenty out to the person behind the counter. Buffy stuck Ziva's wallet back in the pocket of her coat and smirked. "Made you look."


Thursday October 29th, Washington Hospital Center, 3rd Floor Guardian Research Wing

The third floor was surprisingly alive with activity. After Buffy and Ziva had offered their ID to the two Marines standing watch at the elevator, they went to the admissions counter where Buffy again presented her ID.

"Buffy Summers. I need into the lab."

"Yes, ma'am. If you'll meet me by the door, I'll buzz you through."

Buffy didn't bother to put her wallet away; there would be another guard at the door to the lab. She motioned to Ziva to follow. As expected, another Marine awaited them. Buffy held up her ID. As Ziva did the same, the Marine frowned.

"Agent David isn't authorised for entry beyond this point, ma'am."

Buffy smiled sweetly. "I'm authorising her."

"Yes, ma'am. I will have to report this."

"I know. If it helps any, you could tell them I ordered you."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Marine stepped aside and the person at admissions released the electronic lock. Buffy opened the door, escorted Ziva inside and followed. Dr. Preston was there to greet them, though she did give Ziva a curious look.

"Buffy. I'm glad you came. Let's go to my office."

Dr. Preston led them through the lab, the first of four. This area was considered Biosafety Level 1 and was used by everyone in the research wing. Through another door were two additional labs, Biosafety Level 2, and, through another security checkpoint – and god knew how many additional electronically locked doors and Marines – was the last lab; it was here that the researchers examined and tested – and often puzzled over – everything Buffy. It had the highest Biosafety Rating – Level 3 – and included access to a private incinerator where all samples were deposited after they had been used. Wendy and the rest of the senior staff were lobbying for a Level 4 lab so they could run tests against some of the deadliest viruses and bacteria using samples from Buffy and some of the specimens she had eliminated.

Dr. Preston ushered Buffy and Ziva into her office, offered chairs and closed the door. She remained standing; her restlessness was obvious as she paced the width of the room.

"McGee, Gibbs and McDowell are on their way to recovering. We've been testing their blood every hour; as soon as they test clean, we'll clean out their systems and give them blood transfusions. We don't want to take chances." Dr. Preston stopped, clapped her hands together in front of her and exclaimed, "Do you have any idea what the fluids you extracted from the Plague Rat are capable of? They're a damned panacea; ambrosia of the gods! We ran preliminary tests on the fluid while we were working on a way to introduce it to the human physiology. Dr. Watts and Dr. Reid discovered that when it was introduced to specimens contaminated with viruses, it's DNA and RNA morphed and antibodies were created – together they destroyed the virus. We managed three more tests, one on a sample infected with H1N1, and the results were the same; and, on one subject showing physical trauma, the trauma was repaired. It's amazing, really. There was no information related to the lymphatic or thalamus systems; the T-cells seemed to contain all of the necessary protocols." Wendy looked frazzled. "Do you realise what this means?"

Buffy had a good idea. "I guess it means that you want more. Maybe, before we go there, you should figure out a way to make it last, you know? 'Cause there aren't that many Plague Rats left in the world. And one more thing, Dr. Preston," and now there was an edge to Buffy's voice, "no one knows about this outside the labs and the CGR. I don't want a bunch of eager science-y types running around in the sewers – there are things down there that would love an easy meal and, if someone gets bitten, by one of the Plague Rat's creepy crawlies, you won't know about it until it's happened – what if the next disease is something worse – like the real plague?"

Dr. Preston stared back; for a moment, Buffy thought she might be challenged. She sighed instead. "I know. And I agree. We will continue to use the data we've collected and search for a method to keep the fluids viable for a greater period." She sat at her desk. "Miss Sciuto and Mouse were very passionate in their work." She shook her head. "I would love to sit and talk to them – they see everything very differently than the vast majority."

Buffy smiled. "Yeah, tell me about it. I think Mouse would like to cure the world of sickness all by herself and Abby, well, she had two very good reasons to be passionate. You said they would need blood transfusions?" Dr. Preston nodded. "'K, vamp away."

Dr. Preston frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yep. My blood works for everyone right? And look at it this way – Agent McGee and Agent Gibbs aren't gonna be outta here for a while, and I know you've been dying to see if Slayer blood can do more than stain my clothes . . ."

Dr. Preston was on her feet again. "I'll make sure every protocol is followed. I'll ask one of my assistants to set it up in the patients ward."

Ziva spoke up, before Dr. Preston left. "I will give blood as well. I imagine that I owe some from my last visit."

Dr. Preston smiled. "Thank you, Agent David. We can always use donations and AB is in short supply."

While Wendy was arranging with one of her assistants to have their blood taken, Buffy used her office phone. It was amazing how quick Director Hutchins answered her calls when he needed something from her, not that he was normally slow to return her calls; he was one of the members of the CGR who was fairly courteous.

"Miss Summers. Am I to assume that you're calling to let me know you're on your way?"

"I'll be done here by 5:00; I'm giving blood first."

"I'll send someone to pick you up."

"Really? Um . . . Sure. It'll save me the cab. I'll be at the front doors at 5:00."

"Someone will be waiting. I'll see you in a few hours."

Buffy hung up the phone and got up from her chair. "The Director of the FBI wants me to work with these profiler people. I guess they catch serial killers and fun stuff like that. What do you wanna bet they end up profiling me?"

Ziva looked speculatively at her. "You would make a very interesting study. I imagine that they could spend weeks trying to . . . unravel you. They might even find a new disorder – they could name it after you."

Buffy pouted. "I take back everything nice I said about you."


On the way to the examination room, they stopped and spoke with Courtney and Agent Greer. They were introduced to Elsie Morgan who seemed to be handling her boyfriends near death experience with maturity and grace. She looked tired though; world weary and sleep deprived. She was grateful for the escort to the hospital and the effort everyone had provided to cure Owen and protect both of them. Buffy tried not to be detached when she responded but detachment was a reflex, had been for years.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting on chairs in the examination room, gauze taped to the insides of their forearms.

Buffy sipped her orange drink, with added iron supplements, and nodded at Ziva. "Do you get the spinnies? I do; it's kinda fun – like a cheap high."

Ziva's right eyebrow arched. "Do you have a dictionary with all of these phrases in it? It would be helpful, you know."

"And again with the 'ouch'. I'll write you a list. And, so you know, I'll be working with the FBI for three or four days and then I have to spend some time on the street. You have my phone numbers, right?"

Ziva nodded. "I do." She smiled mischievously. "Who will protect Tony and I when we need to leave NCIS?"

Buffy crossed her feet at her ankles and clasped her hands behind her head. "Don't worry, someone will be watching. And, on that note, I want you to wear the vest when you go out. Make sure Tony wears one too? Please?" She smirked. "Not that I care if you get shot or anything, but it would look bad on my record."

"I think you would miss me."

"Ok, that's called 'avoidance'. Will you wear the vest?"

"Yes," Ziva answered, "I will. And I will make sure that Tony does as well. I don't like being shot."

Buffy closed her eyes and smiled. "Cool. Oh, the info' about Osbourne's plane, that I asked the Ottawa Slayers to look into? I'll send that to Abby's e-mail, when I get it. If anything else comes up, I'll be in touch. Do the same? Anytime, really."

"I will. Good luck with the FBI. If this is a test, you will pass with flying colours. You are very strange sometimes, yes, but you are not crazy."

"Thanks. That actually makes me feel better."


Friday October 30th, NCIS

Agent Mullen, who sat in the cubicle adjacent to Ziva's, looked up and smiled when she heard Agents DiNozzo and David step off of the elevator. She waved to catch the agents' attention. "Good morning, Agent David, Agent DiNozzo. There was a delivery for you."

"For me?" DiNozzo asked with boyish enthusiasm. Then he frowned. "Who would send me anything? Pretty sure I haven't forgotten any of the dates I haven't had in the past month." He went eagerly to his desk; noticed the gift bag sitting beside his keyboard.

Ziva discovered a similar bag and a delivery from a flower shop. She stood behind her desk and examined the two packages closer, looking for a card or note.

Tony, it seemed, by his exclamation of surprise, had decided that the mystery of what was in the bag was of more importance than from whom, and had emptied the contents to his desk. The first was a leather case, smaller and squarer than a briefcase, with a hinged lid and zipper that could be locked. The second item was smaller and, while again, it was leather, it was shaped like a cup. He opened the leather case first.

Ziva finally located a small card in an envelope with her name on it and opened it. She removed the card and read the note:

'This is my way of saying – thank you. Sorry, don't take returns. Really, though – thank you. Hope you like them. Got them from the Guardians. There not quite as strong as a Damascus steel but they make up for it in suppleness? That's a word, right? They also have the best balance of any knife I've used and whoever did the metallurgy, managed to incorporate enough silver to put the hurt on anything with a silver allergy. And the flower – well, you'll figure it out.

Buffy'

She opened the paper containing the flower and removed a single tiger lily; it's aroma quickly spread and she smiled – the aroma, and the flower from which it floated, were exotic and bewitching. She set the flower aside for now and removed a flat leather case from the bag.

Tony was staring at the contents of the box he had been given; a small sheet of paper was held between thumb and index finger. "She bought me a taser? Should I be offended? I mean, it's a really good taser, even comes with a holster . . ."

Ziva glanced at Tony. "What is in the other box?"

Tony waved the paper in his hand. "Some kind of hippy herbal stuff; supposed to be really good for the heart and blood." He frowned and read the rest of the note. "Huh. Says I shouldn't be trying this on McGee – something about causing death in humans. Not that I would; I mean, that would be wrong – and kind of funny. Not the death part . . ."

Tony's words drifted passed Ziva as she unzipped the leather case and opened it. Three panels unfolded from the central case; to each, a medium sized throwing knife was affixed. She held her breath for a moment and released it very slowly. The knives were beautiful. She extracted one from its bindings and balanced it across her left palm. Tony joined her and whistled.

"Nice."

Ziva nodded distractedly. "You have no idea – really, you couldn't. Hand made . . . Do you see, below the blade, the markings there?" Tony leaned in closer. He could discern characters subtly etched into the metal. They looked familiar. "It is Hebrew. It means 'sunrise'."

Tony leaned a little closer to the case that held the other two knives and squinted. "What about these two?"

Ziva flipped the knife lying on her palm and deftly caught the grip. She slid it back in the case and inspected the other two. "Ah. This one is 'sunset' and this is 'twilight'."

"So, ya think she names all her weapons? Just sounds so 'Lord of the Rings' or something."

Ziva shrugged. Her phone rang; she picked it up and answered automatically, "Agent David."

Director Vance responded. "Good Morning, Agent David. When you and DiNozzo are done playing with your toys, can you join me in the conference room? Got a case I need you to look at."

"Of course," she slapped Tony's hand as he reached for the card she'd left on her desk. "We will be right up."