AN: Thanks for all the comments. As you guessed, I waited to give you something meaty to digest on hump day. Also, remember all those warnings at the beginning of the story? They don't all come into play in this chapter, but several of them do.

Josh pulled up outside the address Tony had given him when he'd called yesterday. There were plenty of cars, and he recognized Ziva's Mini Cooper and Tony's Mustang, so he was pretty sure he was in the right place.

Still, he hesitated a bit as he got out of the car and locked it. Working with the team was one thing, but this social event was more. At least he didn't see Agent Gibbs' pickup truck around. Maybe he could be hiding in a corner when Gibbs came in, out of the way. The team leader still intimidated him after almost two months.

As he headed up the driveway, a bright red hot rod pulled up. Josh wasn't really surprised to see Abby and Jimmy get out of that car — it almost had to be Abby's car.

"Hey, Josh!" Abby waved and bounced her way up the driveway in a pair of long shorts and leather tank top. It should have looked ridiculous, but it didn't.

"I think this is the first time I've seen you not in a skirt," he said.

"Twister," Jimmy said as he joined them.

Josh just stared at the assistant medical examiner, whom he still didn't know all that well.

"Jimmy's right," Abby said. "Playing Twister in a skirt with this bunch just sends us even deeper into the gutter, and Tony would totally get a concussion from head-slaps."

Josh just nodded and followed them up the driveway. Abby didn't even knock, just walked inside, where the air wasn't any cooler than outside.

"Down, Jethro," she said as a big German retriever tried to knock her over.

"Sorry," McGee said, running over to pull the dog off her. "He's wound up to see me and Tony again." McGee snapped his fingers and pointed to the living room and the dog walked off, tail drooping. "Hey, Josh. Welcome to the insanity. The hot insanity — the AC stopped working earlier today."

Josh replied, then turned to Jimmy. "Why is Ziva's dog so excited?"

Jimmy laughed. "Jethro — Abby named him — is McGee's dog. This was McGee and Tony's house, but they switched with Ziva and Sarah after Paloma came back. It's kind of a long story."

"Everything's a long story with this crowd," said a man who'd walked in behind them.

"Hey, Brad," Jimmy said. "Josh Cooper, this is Brad Pitt. He's a Navy doctor at Bethesda and an honorary Gibblet."

They exchanged greetings, and Josh laughed when Brad gave what had to be a practiced line about yes, that was his real name.

"So how did you get adopted into Team Gibbs," Brad asked.

"I'm interning at NCIS and the director assigned me to the team," Josh said. "They helped find the terrorist who killed my dad a few years ago."

"Wow." Brad paused. "I'm sorry about your dad, but glad you got the best team in NCIS on the case." At the sound of Tony and McGee bickering in the living room, he added, "Not to mention the least sane. Hope you're ready for a wild night."

"I think I can handle it," Josh said. He followed Brad into the main part of the living room where everybody was clustered. He knew pretty much everybody there, and he followed Ziva's instructions toward the kitchen to make himself a pizza.

He walked into the room and stopped when he saw who was there.

"Um, hi," he said. He stopped when he saw a woman at the counter and a man pulling a pizza from the oven.

"Oh, hey, you must be the guy who's interning with the team," the man said as he stood. "I'm Damon, and this is Sarah, McGee's sister."

"Why am I always Tim's sister when you guys are intro-," the woman said, breaking off as she looked back over her shoulder at them.

"You're McGee's sister?" Josh tried to reassemble the bits of his brain.

"Your internship is at NCIS?" asked the barista. McGee's sister. Sarah. Whoever she was.

"You two know each other?" Damon asked.

"He's a regular at the coffee shop in the morning," Sarah said. She stooped to slide her pizza in the oven. "We talk, but we never really introduced ourselves."

Damon smiled. "Tony is going to have a field day with this one." Damon picked up his plate of pizza. "Everything you need is right here — Sarah can help you if you can't find something."

"Thanks," Josh said. He moved over to the counter and saw the balls of dough and cups of toppings. "Wow, you guys go all out," he said.

"It started as therapy for Tim's shoulder after he got shot earlier this year," she said. "But we all thought it was too delicious to stop, even if they do make me eat in another room."

Josh turned and stared at her. "Why-?"

Sarah laughed. "My pizza toppings are... Well, Abby calls them unique. Everybody else says they're gross."

"Does the peanut butter sitting here come into it?" Josh asked as he rolled out his crust and started laying sauce, cheese, sausage and pepperoni on it.

Sarah nodded, her cheeks turning a little pink. "And pickles and hot sauce. I skipped the hot sauce this time, though — it's a little too much these days." She rested a hand on her belly, then used her other hand to pick up a glass of water.

"Oh, so this isn't-"

Sarah shook her head. "Tony said he thought maybe I'd start wanting normal pizza now, but I haven't." She rolled her eyes.

"Hey, no talking about me when I'm not here," Tony said as he walked in. "Sarah, there's a Scrabble game starting after we eat if you want to kick McWordy's ass again. Josh, how do you feel about Clue?"

"Josh?" Sarah set her glass of water down on the counter with a click.

"Oh, yeah, introductions never got finished," Josh said. "I'm Josh Cooper."

"Josh, why don't I get you set up with the Clue fiends," Tony said. "Sarah, can you throw his pizza in when your monstrosity is done?"

Sarah nodded and Josh let Tony hustle him into the living room. He wanted to ask, but Tony looked serious, and Josh figured he probably shouldn't. Sarah, McGee's sister, was a whole different situation than when she was just the barista he was attracted to, and he needed to figure out what that meant before he did anything else.

An hour, a pizza and a game of Clue later, Josh was happy to just sit on the floor and chill out while the Scrabble game entered the last few rounds. Sarah and McGee sounded like siblings as they snarked back and forth, but then again, listening to Abby and Brad join in the conversation made it impossible to tell which ones were related, though Abby was flirting with Tim as much as snarking at him. Neither Jimmy nor Tony seemed to mind, though, and nobody else seemed to notice.

Josh looked around. Ziva sat on the floor, with Damon next to her. The former Marine was relaxed, his legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned against the wall. Ziva sat cross-legged, her posture straight so that her head was the same height as Damon's was with his slumped form. Damon was talking, but Ziva seemed to only have brief replies. She rarely said much, at least from what Josh had seen. He'd thought it was just her work mode, but she was the same here at home, so apparently not. Then again, Tony and Tim sounded about the same here as at work. They just sounded like an old married couple at work, too. Jimmy sat on one of the chairs, a smile on his face as he watched Abby. Josh realized that Jimmy was probably the closest to his own age, except for Sarah, and made a point to try to get to know the assistant ME better during the rest of his internship. It was hard to think of the team as anything but adults, even though they treated him like an equal. Jimmy seemed more like somebody Josh could be friends with.

Tony was over at the piano playing jazz, and Josh couldn't help remembering listening to records with his dad on Sundays. He still listened to those same albums more Sundays than not, though he'd gotten them on CD when he went back to school so he didn't have to risk the originals in the dorm. He still could remember the day he was listening to them when Tony came by to talk with him. Tony was right, Coltrane wasn't his thing back then. He never would have guessed it was Tony's, but here he was, playing in a way that reminded Josh of those early Sundays when listening to the music hurt as much as it helped.

When Jimmy went to let the dog out back, Josh followed.

"Need a break from our crazy already?" Jimmy asked as they stood on the back steps.

"My dad and I always used to listen to jazz together," Josh said.

Jimmy nodded. "You can hang out here with Jethro for a bit," he said. "I think Damon did the same thing the first few times after he came back. We can be a little overwhelming."

"Came back?"

Jimmy explained about Damon's background, and Josh enjoyed listening. He figured he could find out about the others, too. "And Brad? I thought he and Tony might be college friends at first, then they started in on the heckling."

As Jimmy told the story of a woman driven mad by a brain tumor and a 12th-century disease returned to the present, Josh shivered despite the August heat. "You people are insane, you know that, right?"

"You get used to it after a while," Jimmy said. "And except for Damon, Ziva and Sarah, we were all around for the plague."

"Ziva wasn't on the team then?"

Jimmy shook his head. "No, she joined later. Kate was on the team then." He hesitated. "She died a few weeks later in the line of duty."

"Oh." Josh didn't know what to say about that.

"We don't like to think about it, but it happens," Jimmy said. "Even Abby and I have been shot at — different cases, though — and we're not agents. Damon seems to handle it pretty well, but he was in combat, so he knew what he was getting into with Ziva."

Josh turned to look at Jimmy. "Wait, Ziva?"

Jimmy turned bright red. "I shouldn't have said anything." He dropped his eyes to the ground. "Abby's going to kill me." He straightened up. "Look, forget I said anything. Damon and Ziva aren't dating yet, and even though we all know it's going to happen, they've got reasons for taking it slow."

Josh debated whether he should ask the question he'd been wondering about all evening — longer, if he forced himself to be honest.

"And Sarah?"

Jimmy sighed. "It's not really my story to tell."

"I know Sarah doesn't want to talk about it," Josh said. At Jimmy's raised eyebrows, he replied, "She works at the coffee shop where I stop in the morning. We've been talking. But we never exchanged names until I walked in here tonight."

"Talking?"

"Yes, talking," Josh said. "And before I put my foot in it with McGee, Tony or Sarah, I'd really like to know at least the basics."

"Tony and McGee are adopting Sarah's baby," Jimmy said. "But that wasn't the plan. Sarah had a bad breakup earlier this year — bad enough that we were worried we might have to get Metro PD involved to stop him from harassing her. She didn't find out Evil Josh had knocked her up until later."

"Evil Josh?" He thought back to the moment he'd introduced himself. "Let me guess, none of you told her my name is also Josh when you organized this thing."

Jimmy's mouth dropped open. "Oh, shit," he said. "No, and that was bad. We should have thought of that after all the grief he caused."

"You're saying I should tread carefully," Josh said.

"The last guy who hurt Sarah had all of us, including Agent Gibbs and Dr. Mallard, focused on stopping him," Jimmy said.

Josh didn't need to be told twice. When Jimmy headed inside, Josh stayed on the back porch steps. A few minutes later, the back door smacked shut and he looked up to see Sarah lowering herself onto the step next to him.

Have we scared you off yet?" she asked, her tone light.

"Are you trying to?"

"Tony and Tim can be pretty intimidating," she said.

"They're not really the ones I'm worried about." Josh turned slightly so he could face her. "I didn't ask before about-" He wondered what the best word was. "About the baby's father. You seemed pretty mad at him."

"I am."

"It's not any of my business."

"It's not." Sarah sat up straight, but her hands never stopped moving.

Josh reached over and put his hand over one of them. "Tony was there to listen to me when I needed it a few years ago, and I would have done something stupid if he hadn't been. I know you've got lots of people around to talk to — but if you ever need one more, just let me know."

Sarah put her free hand on top of his, sandwiching it between her smaller ones. "Thank you." She leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. "Any of them can tell you the basics," she said. "The rest of it — that's a conversation for when all my honorary big siblings aren't around."

~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~

It was after ten by the time everybody left, and Sarah couldn't stop yawning as they started to clean up.

"We have this," Ziva said. "You are opening tomorrow, yes?"

"Yeah." Sarah rolled her eyes. "Up at the crack of dawn again."

"You should go to bed," Ziva said. "We can clean up."

After another couple of protests, Sarah finally conceded and headed upstairs. While they had been talking, Damon had cleaned up most of the living room. Ziva went to the kitchen and started loading the dishwasher.

"You're still worried about her." His voice startled her. "Even with Paloma gone."

She turned to see him standing there, close. Too close. His tank top did not hide his muscles, the ones that could overpower her if she was not careful. The low yellow light shone on his sweat-damp skin that was only shades lighter than hers, his dark hair cropped close. His-

There was no chain around his neck, no string of silver balls leading to dog tags. She was in the kitchen, not on the Damocles. This was not Daniel Cryer, it was Damon. Not their guide, but her boy- her friend. Not a victim of her father's mission, but of her own.

Ziva forced her heart rate to even out, controlling her breathing to moderate it. "She is my sister," she said. "Not by blood, but I imagine this is how I would feel had Tali lived." It was true, though she was saying something very different than she knew Damon would hear.

"She's managing fine," Damon said. "We talk sometimes, when I'm picking her up at work. She's been worried with the cartel out there, but she's a lot stronger than I think she gets credit for. She'll be fine."

Ziva nodded. "We all are relieved that this has ended." She returned to stacking dishes.

"I think Jimmy especially," Damon said. "When Abby was talking earlier about her doctor's appointment next week and hoping nothing was wrong with her, I heard him muttering and he seems glad that things can get back to normal."

Ziva nodded. "As he should be." She put the last dish in the dishwasher. "It is late," she said. "Goodnight, Damon." She did not wait for a reply, but walked past him and headed upstairs.

Once in the room that still did not feel like her own, she stripped down and prepared for bed automatically. She kept her lotions in her room rather than the bathroom she shared with Sarah. As she got into bed and turned out the light, she practiced techniques she had learned many years ago to find some sleep.

Ziva lay on the narrow pallet in the earthen cell in Saleem's encampment in the desert, the afternoon sun creating patterns on the ochre-colored walls as it came in through slits cut near the top of the walls. She watched the changing light and shadow to give her mind something to focus on other than what the men had done to her. She thought of her Magen David lying in the dust in Saleem's interrogation cell. It had so many meanings for her: Her faith, her homeland. Her father, who had been known by that nickname as he rose in Mossad's ranks, his star rising even as their family fell to pieces. But mostly, the literal translation of the Hebrew, the shield of David. It had been her shield, always. When Cryer discovered it on the ship, she used it and all it stood for as her armor, the way she had always done. The way she thought she always would and could do. Now, it was gone. Her father had abandoned her on this suicide mission, the way he had abandoned Ari all those years earlier. She forced her eyes to track and note the position of the triangles of sun on the walls because it was the only way she could forget.

She blamed that later on why she did not hear the men coming. Not Saleem this time, but one of his men. The man stood over her, his gun aimed at her heart.

"What is wrong with you?" he said. "You are not a woman, you filthy Jew. You should be home, fat with your man's babies, more mongrels that attack my people and deserve to be shot and die a painful death." His eyes raked over her. "Your men, they are weak to send you to do their jobs." He reached down and pulled her to her feet, then backhanded her into the wall.

Her body was too weak from lack of food and her head swam for a minute before she could straighten. It was a minute too long. The terrorist tore at her clothes, stripping her and throwing her back to the ground.

"I should teach you a lesson. Teach Mossad a lesson," the man growled. "Those monkeys send a filthy bitch to do their dirty work for them." He spat on her.

"You won't get your honey and virgins that way," Ziva retorted, fighting to stay alert. She refused to try and cover herself, knowing it would only give him more power.

"Oh, you like this?" He sneered. "You finally see reason, see who the real men are, and it's not your swine." He dropped to his knees and forced her legs apart, then took his knife and cut the skin in several places, and Ziva finally started struggling. He backhanded her again, the blow making her woozy. He pinned her to the ground, his fetid body odor overwhelming her and making her gag. She didn't remember what came next, only that after it ended she was aching and torn, her legs sticky with blood and other things she didn't want to think about. She hoped she would bleed out and end this torture, but he had been careful to make only shallow cuts. When he returned, he cut her again, different places. He attacked again and again, each time leaving her bruised and bloody. Each time, a bit more of her died. And then came the day he did not come alone. Four of them crowded into her cell, each with the same goal. She tried to clench her legs together, to cross her ankles and lock them in place, but her muscles trembled and she was no match for them.

Ziva's eyes popped open. Her muscles were tensed, heart hammering in her chest, sweat coating her skin. She listened, but nobody else stirred. She must not have screamed. Her training still held, then. She forced her muscles to relax, working from the extremities inward. Her legs and arms ached, and she could not help but wonder how long she had been trapped in her nightmare. The sheets on her bed were damp and one corner had popped off, leaving her tangled in the soggy cotton. When she could move again, she pushed up to sitting, forcing herself to stay there as dark spots swirled in her vision. She realized she needed at least some fruit juice to replenish her blood sugar levels to avoid the adrenaline crash that already was pushing its way in.

Despite the summer heat outside, she reached for the heavy fleece robe she wore in the winter. As she moved, her soaked sleepclothes stuck to her skin. Ziva gritted her teeth and stood, peeling off the sodden cotton. A spare towel on her dresser allowed her to dry off, and she pulled on new pajamas as she shivered. Once the robe was firmly belted around her waist, hands trembling the entire time, she made her way downstairs by feel.

She blinked at the light from the refrigerator and let her eyes adjust before finding the orange juice on the top shelf. When she closed the door, the rest of the kitchen was too dark, so she flipped on the single low-wattage bulb above the sink, its soft glow giving her just enough light to get down a glass and pour herself some juice.

"Ziva?" Damon's low voice startled her, and she spilled some juice. She cursed in Hebrew, then reached for a paper towel to wipe it up. Only then did she turn to look at him.

"Damon?" She thought she sounded appropriately questioning.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked.

"I was hot and I thought some juice would cool me down," she said.

"So hot you're wearing a winter bathrobe?" Damon leaned against the doorjamb, his arms at his sides.

Ziva didn't answer. Instead she turned back to the counter and drank her juice.

~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~NCIS~

"That day at Gibbs house, I thought I was back in Afghanistan." Damon carefully didn't look at Ziva's face. "The guns started going off, I ducked to shield Sean and next thing I knew, I could see the sand and feel the heat." He stayed away from Ziva, but moved into the room, leaning a hip on the kitchen table. "I watched you chase after them and it was like watching the rest of my unit move into action without me."

When Ziva didn't say anything, he looked over. She stood with her back to him, her hands on the counter's edge. If there was more light, he knew her knuckles would be white. "I thought I was rid of those. It's been a long time, since that last time I helped the team out."

"It was a Humvee then," Ziva said, her voice quiet in the darkness of the room.

"I could picture Heatherton driving it, leading us into battle before we got blown up." Damon kept his voice about the same as hers. "I've had a lot of flashbacks over the past few years. Some are like waking memories. Other times it's worse, and I don't remember I'm not here any more. The one last time was a waking one. The one at the Gunny's house was the kind where I think I'm back there until something snaps me out of it."

"That must be difficult," Ziva said.

"It's scary," Damon said. "I see it a lot with the men and women I work with at the Wounded Warriors. A lot of the injuries they deal with are as much mental and emotional as they are physical."

"That is a challenge all of the branches of the military face," Ziva said. She still faced the wall, her shoulders straight under the fuzzy robe.

"It's a tough one," Damon said. "Admitting I needed help was the hardest part for me. It's the hardest part for most of us. We're the strong ones. The tough soldiers, sailors and marines who keep other people safe. We're not the ones who need help. That's what we tell ourselves."

"It is only when we have nothing left to lose that we can face what we have lost," Ziva said.

He watched as she turned to face him.

"I am glad you were able to ask for help," she said. She walked out of the kitchen and Damon managed to resist the temptation to reach out and stop her with a hand to the shoulder.