I'm so sorry for how long it took me to update this but I've spent the last couple of months revising madly for final exams. Now it's the summer and the horrid things are out of the way, updates should be much more frequent! Thank you very much for still reading my story and, again, I apologize for the delay.

"Ziva? Ziva?" Gibbs gently shook the young woman's shoulder and she sat up groggily.

"We're home now," he informed her and she nodded, rubbing her eyes and shifting around slightly in her seat.

He sighed quietly as he looked at her. The events of the last few days had really taken it out of her and she looked exhausted.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm. . ."

She had said the words so many times that they had become automatic. Ever since she was little her response to that question had always been the same, 'I'm fine, I'm fine', even when she knew it was a lie, she never had to think about it. The fact that she had stopped herself now worried her at first, but then made her wonder.

Was she beginning to trust Gibbs? She had never trusted anyone before, not completely. She'd always set herself up for the worst, believing anyone she cared about would leave her. But she did not think Gibbs would. She didn't know why she trusted a man she had know for mere months more than people she had known for years, but she did. Maybe her father had been right, maybe America was going to make her soft. Or maybe she was right to feel this way. Being suspicious of everyone, being constantly on her guard, was exhausting. Maybe she should trust someone, let her defences down let someone in. Maybe she should trust Gibbs.

"Ziva? How are you feeling?"

She lifted her head and looked at him. There was no malice in his eyes, no anger. Only concern.

"My head hurts," she whispered.

Gibbs allowed himself a small smile, knowing that, for her, that simple sentence was monumental. "I have some Tylenol inside."

She returned his smile. "Thank you Gibbs."

Her thank you, he knew, was for much more than the painkillers.

"You're welcome," he replied, kissing her cheek. "Thank you for telling me it hurts."

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By the time dinner was ready, Ziva had decided that she hated Tylenol. Her head was still pounding, the gash on her neck burned, her backside stung and all that the medicine had seemed to achieve was to make her exhausted.

She picked at her steak unenthusiastically while Gibbs watched her across the table.

"Did the Tylenol help?" he asked eventually

"No, my head still hurts and now I am smashed."

"I beg your pardon?" Gibbs asked, surprised.

"I am smashed."

"Are you completely sure about that Ziva?"

"Yes, of course I am sure! I am completely and utterly smashed. I just want to go to bed."

Gibbs chuckled. "So you mean that you're shattered?"

Ziva groaned. "I hate American idioms! What is the difference?"

"Actually it's quite a significant one Ziva. If you're shattered, you're tired but if you're smashed, you're drunk."

"Oh," she thought about this for a moment. "I hate English."

Gibbs laughed again. "So you keep saying. If you're tired just go up to bed."

She smiled at him and lay her cutlery down. "Okay, goodnight Gibbs."

"Goodnight Ziver."

Half an hour later, Gibbs headed upstairs to check on Ziva. He smiled as he put his head around the door and saw her sprawled out across the bed, still fully dressed. He bent down and removed her boots and then, with some degree of difficulty, pulled the blankets back and tucked her in. He smiled as she curled up under the quilt, her hair spread across the pillow. She looked so young and sweet and fragile when she slept and reminded him so much of Kelly.

He lent over and kissed her cheek gently.

"Goodnight Ziver, sweet dreams."

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