McGee wiped the damp paper towel over his face again and leaned over the sink. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to throw up again, but not sure enough to venture out of the bathroom. Besides, he didn't want to have to face the rest of them.

It was a nauseating feeling, to know he'd been used. It wasn't the near-death that bothered him, even. He'd faced guns before, not to mention a coked-up German Shepherd. No, it was the manipulation. How easy it had been for her - all she had to do was smile and he'd been toast.

Tony wouldn't have fallen for it. Neither would Gibbs.

Groaning, he re-dampened the paper towel and slapped it against his face.

The door creaked open, and as he struggled to scrape the wet paper off quickly enough for it to not be seen, it occurred to him that he'd locked the men's room door. Only one person could pick locks that swiftly and quietly. "Ziva, this is not the time," he said, his voice muffled by the paper towel that refused to move.

Her fingers skated over his face, and then the paper towel was gone and she was looking at him, holding the towel out to one side as if it was dirty. "It will have to be the time. It is either now or when Tony realizes how long you have been gone and comes after you himself." She tossed the paper towel into the trash can, rubbed her hands together, and leaned back against the sink, next to him. "I presume you would rather face me than him."

"I don't want to face anyone right now, ok? I just need some time to...decompress."

"It was not your fault, McGee."

"I didn't say it was."

"It is clear that you believe it was."

"I don't believe it was my fault," he protested again. "I just..." He sighed, shaking his head. "None of the rest of you would have bought it. Why did I?"

She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You believe that Tony, or Gibbs, or I, are not able to be manipulated? That we are not vulnerable?"

He scowled and reached past her for another paper towel from the stack that sat behind the sinks, cranking the tap open slightly to wet it. "Not the same way, no." He turned off the tap, looked at the paper towel for a second, and then crumpled it in his hand. "Almost ten years, Ziva!" he growled, pegging the blob of paper at the door, where it stuck with a wet slap. "I've been doing this almost ten years. I'm a competent agent. Or at least I thought I was. And I caved right the hell in the minute some pretty assassin smiled at me and stuck her hand down my pants!"

Ziva drew back in surprise. "She stuck her hand down your pants?"

"Well, I mean, to get my phone. I was holding a tray of coffee. It wasn't -" He groaned. "Never mind."

"It is an unusual technique," she mused, her professional curiosity piqued, "but yes...I can see it being promising."

"Ziva!"

"I am sorry," she said quickly. "I did not mean it like that. What I intended to point out to you is that all humans are able to be manipulated. There is nothing, no amount of hardening, of experience, that can make you immune. Less vulnerable, perhaps, but not immune."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes." She looked down at her feet. "You remember Michael, yes?"

"Your -" he began. "I mean, yeah."

"He did not start a relationship with me because he loved me; he was simply assigned by my father to monitor me. I did not know this until after..." She swallowed. "After his death."

McGee stared at her. "I'm sorry, Ziva," he finally managed. "I had no idea -"

"I did not, either," she interrupted. "That is my point. I am sure you would think that I, of all people..." She laughed at her own stupidity. "That I should be able to detect this, yes?"

"Yes," he said slowly.

"And yet I did not." She drew in a deep breath, tipped her head back, and let the breath out. "I am learning to forgive myself for that...error. And mine was far more egregious than yours."

McGee raised his eyebrows. "It was?"

"He almost killed Tony," she said simply.

"Ah."

"In my ignorance, I almost cost the life of one of my friends," she said, holding his eyes with hers. "In yours, you risked only yourself. It is not pleasant, in either case," she went on before he could interrupt, "but it is not unforgivable. You should not consider yourself any less worthy of being an agent for it."

"It's not the same, Ziva."

She whirled around, pinning him against the sink with a glare. "It is exactly the same, Timothy! We are fallible. It is a truth of life. You must learn to accept this!" Pulling back, she swallowed. "If you cannot learn to accept that you may make an error...then you must begin to doubt yourself. It is when you believe you are not vulnerable that you are in danger."

McGee sighed and crossed his arms.

Gently, Ziva laid a hand on his forearm and leaned closer. "There is nothing wrong with you. I promise you this. You are no better or worse than any of us."

The men's room door banged open, startling them both. "Hey, guys!" Tony boomed. "Don't I get an invite to the party?"

Ziva took her hand off of McGee's arm and turned to DiNozzo, giving him a slow up-and-down examination. "No," she finally said with a small smile. "It was a private party. And it is over now, in any event. Right, McGee?"

McGee coughed, then nodded. "Right. We were just on our way out."

"Aw, guys, I'm hurt!"

Ziva smirked at him as McGee beat a hasty retreat out of the bathroom. "May I suggest a wet paper towel on the wounded area?" she asked Tony teasingly, as she followed McGee out.

A/N: There will be no post-ep next Tuesday, as I won't have TV or internet access. I may post a catch-up chapter early the next week.