A/N: Thank you for being patient! I love that people actually want to read this. It makes me happy. This is going to get going again, I promise! I just need to know for sure which way I'm taking this story. :P Okay! Now to what you really want to read! Much love! ~Kasha

Ziva woke to a wonderful smell, something that gave her a strange feeling of happiness. Raising her head, she noticed firstly that she was not in her living room. Why was she in her bed? She couldn't recall ever going to bed last night...

Last night.

The memories of yesterday poured into her head now, and she closed her eyes tightly. How could she have been so weak? She had cried all over Damon... who had just held her. She rolled this information over in her mind for a moment, confused. Why would he do such a thing? No one had ever held her while she had cried before, so she wondered why he, of all people, would. They hadn't known each other very long, it was true. But maybe he felt the same pull she did. That odd sense of belonging, and not just that-- of rightness.

She quickly dislodged this notion from her brain. How could he? 'You're being silly,' she chided herself, and got up from the bed. As soon as she did she felt the jeans she still wore shift uncomfortably, stiff from so many hours of remaining in one place.

She mumbled a little, moving like she usually did in the morning--slowly. Her aching body was slow to respond to the orders her brain gave it, but she finally pulled on loose cotton pants and tank that wouldn't bother the stitches on her arm. It was only then that she noticed that her shoes and socks had been taken off.

And for some unknown reason, she felt a warm feeling at the thought that Damon would be enough of a gentleman to take her socks and shoes off, but leave the rest of her clothes alone, and then tuck her into bed after she had cried all over him. To think that someone as bulky and massive as Damon would be gentle and laugh as he did... He confused her. Attracted her. And she still hadn't yet decided whether she liked it or not.

The smell prevailed again and caught her attention. Coffee? And food. Peppers, she knew instantly from the delicious smell in the air.

What was going on?

Ziva silently opened the door and crept down the hall, moving with no noise until she came around the corner to the kitchen and nearly laughed.

Damon was currently leaning his giant frame of muscles against the counter next to the stove, back turned partially to her as he read a book. And not just any book, she saw with a jolt of shock. It was the Sherrilyn Kenyon novel that she had only just gotten, the one Abby had suggested-no, demanded-she read!

What was Corporal Damon Worth doing in her kitchen with a romance novel about vampire-like people?

"You seem to be farther along than I am. Please, tell me what is going on."

Ziva did not expect an arm to swing at her face, but reactions had taught her to duck and chop towards the elbow, in order to break it and hopefully discourage another attack. She ducked automatically, but refrained from breaking bones so early in the morning. She merely looked at the extended arm as she stood up and smiled, adrenaline rushing.

Damon, on the other hand, looked horrified. "Jesus, Ziva. Shit."

"Monosyllabic in the mornings, I see." She grinned wickedly and moved to see what was happening in the part of the book he was on.

"Oh, uh..." he shut the book and handed it to her, and Ziva had the undeniable and extraordinary pleasure of seeing his ears turn a bright and vibrant red. "I was looking for something to read while I was...uh...waiting for the potatoes, and...well, I found this behind the couch-- My sisters love her, you see, so I wanted to know what was the big deal, and--"

Ziva could hardly contain her laugh, and covered her mouth with a hand in an effort to stifle it. "So you decided to read it, I see." Her eyes glinted with humor and mischief. "And how is it?"

Damon's lips tugged outwards in a torn look. "I think the safest thing to ask is where people come up with that sh--stuff."

Ziva laughed now. "That was my impression also. Only my response was not so civilized. Hence why it was behind the chair." She laughed, and he shook his head in horror of being caught reading that sort of thing. "Do the others know of your pension for reading love stories?" she couldn't help but tease.

Damon's expression was priceless. His mouth slacked open and he shoved the book at her, bending over to carefully tend to the potatoes, which she could only assume was a delicate task, the way he was preparing them so tediously.

And avoiding eye-contact.

"Ziva, do you know of the American saying, 'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?'"

"I do not believe I have heard that particular phrase, no. Why do you ask?"

He looked over now with an embarrassed, but cheeky grin. "Cause the same applies here. What happens here stays here."

Ziva's head tipped back as she laughed now. "Or you will never be able to face your group!" An emotion came and went into Damon's eyes so fast she almost missed it. "What is it you are not telling me?"

Damon didn't know whether to laugh or swear. He'd forgotten how perceptive she was. Damn.

"Damon?"

He sighed. "I am no longer part of that group. When I found out what went on behind closed doors..." he shrugged. "It wasn't right. So--"

"So you left." She shook her head. "Whenever you come near us you seem to get the short end of the rope. No, not rope. What is it?"

Damon smiled now. "Stick?" he suggested.

"Yes, stick! That is it." She smiled widely, and he noticed how lovely her face was when she smiled.

"Yeah, well, I think I owe you a thanks anyway."

Her head tilted to the side now, and her gaze was curious. "Thanks? For what reason?"

He shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal, but his words bellied his motion. "For setting me straight. For forcing me to get cleaned up."

She looked sad now. "But all you wanted to be was a Marine."

Damon shook his head. "I wanted to be what I thought a Marine was. That's over and done with. And," he said with a smile, "so are these."

He pulled off the stove the most delicious-smelling potatoes she'd ever seen before. She had to make sire she wasn't drooling, just in case.

"So you do cook!" she said, and it truly did surprise her. She hadn't expected someone with his size and stature to do something as domesticated as cook. And well, going by the smell.

Damon grinned now. "Don't expect a Betty Crocker meal, but it was my favorite growing up. Ever had Potatoes O'Brian, Ziva?"

She took a bite from her plate and closed her eyes, savoring that bite. He had a desire to laugh at her expression of rapture and divinity.

"No. I believe I would remember if I had tasted something like this. You have to give me the recipe." She took another bite, her foot tapping.

Damon studied her face, how the emotions weren't an open book, but not fully closed. Enough that he could tell some things, but not what he wanted to see the most. So he took a guess, a risk, gambled on fates. And prayed that he didn't screw things up by doing this.

"I don't think so. I think I'll just keep it close. That way you'll have to come around more often."

Ziva's eyes subtly flew to his, an odd mixture of movements, but it was graceful on her--and still sharp as hell. He could see her trying to understand his meaning behind that while not be blatant and ask. After a long moment, a corner of her mouth turned up. "Since you do cook so nicely, I suppose I will."

Damon felt the tension leave his back and finished his plate of food. When he tried to wash the dishes, she wielded the wooden spoon at him, making him laugh.

"You cooked," she said evenly, with a bit of a smile, "I'll clean."

He held his hands up. "Okay. Okay. I give." He backed off and sat on a stool next to one of the counters. He watched her, the steady, smooth way she did things. It was like she was all natural fluency, moving from one task to another. She would reach for a towel to dry something off, set the plate down in the drying rack and put the towel down at the same time. It amazed him. Even now, when he wasn't in the tall, gangly and awkward stage, he never moved as liquid as she did.

"You are staring," she said without turning.

He laughed. "And caught. Were you trained to move like that?"

Now she turned back, a question written over her brow. "Like what?"

He waved his hand, not wanting to sound like an idiot twice in one day. "Like... that." He took both hands and waved them back and forth, like how a breeze would sway.

Ziva laughed. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I believe my think my balance is just fine."

Damon chuckled and shook his head. So it was innate. "And you being so quiet when you move?"

She shook her head, now. "I am actually loud, comparing to the standards of Mussad."

"Well, then, they either aren't alive, or are extremely underweight, to make less noise."

This got her to laugh. "No, it just means that people like Tony would be considered elephants, or morons."

Damon laughed now, a full belly laugh. "I'm not going to ask which is more appropriate."

Ziva found herself laughing as well, and had no idea how he seemed to make her laugh so easily. Tim's attempts at humor were sweet, but unsuccessful most of the time, Tony's jokes were just annoying, and Gibbs... did Gibbs ever joke? But now she seemed to be laughing more than she had in months. Why? And did she truly want to analyze it? Ziva thought she already knew the answer to that question, and let it slide. It was nice to simply enjoy the moment.

"Well, he does have big feet," she replied with a grin.

Damon raised a brow and looked down at his own size fourteens.

"Yes, but you move quietly. Even those-" she pointed at the gigantic feet, "-do not move as loudly as he does."

"And McGee?"

She smiled, an affectionate smile that interested him. "He is like a child, but has that brain in his head that only Abby can understand."

"Who's Abby?"

Now the smile stretched wide. "Six feet and one inch of dog collar and tattoos. And very sensitive, very caring person."

Damon's brows raised at the picture she painted. "She sounds interesting."

Ziva nodded, ignoring the strange feeling in her gut at those words. "She is. She is extremely intelligent, but almost... breakable, the way she puts herself out for other people."

His smile was... what was that look? Tender? No, it couldn't be, she thought. Then what was it?

"Then it's a good thing she has such a protective group." A thought came to his head. "What does McGee think of her?"

He watched as her smile grew, and she rolled her eyes. "They are more than half in love with each other and don't seem to realize it at all!"

"Really?" he couldn't imagine Mr. Straight-Edge with Ms. Goth.

She nodded though, grinning. "They are-" she broke off a warning in the back of her neck. It was like a shiver, whispering that trouble was coming.

"What's wrong?" Damon stood now, his body ready for action, from the look on her face.

It was the moment he stood up that she knew what would happen. "Get down!" She launched herself at him the same time she said it, and he caught her and rolled just as glass broke.