Title: Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

Author: ChelseaDaggerCinderella

Summary: Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

Author's Note:

Okay, so I have to say that I am going to need your help, guys. At the end of the chapter I'll explain what I need and how you guys can help. I think it'll be a really great cooperative experience. And it will definitely get me writing again, which, of course, means faster updates. Thanks, all! Hope you enjoy the chapter.

Tony just hadn't seen any of it coming…any of it. Paula had been saying that she should have been in there with her team when the first bomb went off—she said that she could feel it. He never thought it was a portent instead of survivor's guilt. He felt an overwhelming sadness come upon him at the realization that Paula was dead. He took a few ragged breaths in an attempt to process what had just happened.

And then he heard the shouts from outside. "We need a medic! Somebody call a bus!"

And then suddenly, Tony had an even worse feeling overtake him. Gibbs turned to look at him and the two shared a very brief look before they made a break for the door at break-neck speed. They rounded the corner and plowed through the plastic just in time to see Ziva on the ground, half-sitting and half-lying down, and possibly a little delirious. She was covered in blood and Tony was frozen for a moment as he realized it was all her own.

He heard her groan and in that moment he snapped back to reality. He tore down the street to her side, wrenching his tie off as he did so as. She had some really bad wounds—nasty—but it didn't look like any of them were life-threatening. But I'm no doctor, he thought to himself as he begged whatever powers there were to hurry up with the ambulance. "Ziva!" he screamed at her, and she groaned again, but looked right at him. She was conscious and reasonably lucid.

She had a gash in her head, over her left eye, and there was a lot of tiny glass shards embedded in her left arm as she had obviously used it to protect her face when the blast occurred. But that wasn't what worried him. What worried him was the two-inch nail embedded in her left arm and the blood that gushed from the wound. He tore his tie from around his neck and started wrapping it her arm, trying to tie off the bleeder.

She gritted her teeth and stifled a scream at the pain caused by the way he manhandled the wound. She cursed in Hebrew a few times and then she started cursing in a myriad of languages. "Boss!" he yelled, screaming so loud he startled himself. Gibbs knelt down beside the two and finished screaming into his phone for an ambulance for a downed Federal Agent.

Gibbs knelt in front of Ziva and began to assess her mental state. She seemed all there—just really pissed off. "Hit an artery," she said through clenched teeth.

Gibbs took a look at her arm and started shouting for a first aid kit or anything else they could scrounge up. Metro PD officers scurried about while Gibbs and Tony assessed Ziva.

"Bus is two minutes out!" someone yelled over to them.

"She's bleeding through the tie," Gibbs grit out as he took the makeshift tourniquets the LEOs had in their kits and pressed them down hard on the wound. Ziva cried out but she hung in there like a trooper. "You're tougher than that, David," the older man teased her, pleased when she growled in response.

"Belt," she choked out, looking at Tony.

He understood her immediately and began unbuckling his belt in almost the same instant. His heart was pounding so fast he thought it might just burst out of his chest. No, no, no, no, no, he kept thinking—the mental equivalent of rocking back and forth like a small child. He wrapped it around the wound and looped one end through the other. He paused for a second to look her in the eyes and she nodded to him, her eyes telling him to just do it! He pulled as tight as he could and she cursed in a language he couldn't even identify. He fastened the belt and prayed that it halted the bleeding enough. When he was done, he grabbed her uninjured hand and moved so she could lean against him. She didn't argue. A minute later they heard sirens approaching and within another two they had Ziva loaded onto a stretcher and into the ambulance on its way to Bethesda.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs yelled, "Stay with her!"

Tony nodded, not having to be told twice, or even once, he added silently, glad that he wasn't going to have to fight to go with her. Tony climbed up in the back of the rig and sat down next to her, gripping her good hand, his eyes never once leaving hers. "I'm right here," he whispered to her. He felt her squeeze his hand in response and right before the drugs kicked in he saw her lips form one familiar word. Toda.

Ziva's head was very fuzzy. She remembered the events at the storefront, she remembered Gibbs and Tony tending to her, she remembered being loaded into the ambulance, and she remembered that Tony had been with her. Everything after that was very sketchy. Ziva had been drifting in and out of consciousness since the EMTs had given her the pain killers in the ambulance, leaving her memory very much like Swiss cheese.

Everything was very hazy and her head felt as though there were a low humming all around it. She hated it. Under normal circumstances, when Ziva began to wake from sleep she could feel her surroundings and take proper inventory of her general well-being; it was part of her training, something she used often, and when without it, she felt very vulnerable and anxious. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her lids heavy. She blinked a few times and looked around her. She was in the hospital—a recovery room by the look of it, she thought relatively clearly. Her entire left arm was bandaged from her fingers all the way up to her neck. She could feel the scratchiness of the gauze that covered her chest and neck, and if she was correct, she had a few stitches over her left eye. I must look like a mummy, she thought sourly. She caught a movement of black out of her right eye and saw—with relief and delight—that Tony had not left.

He set his coffee cup down on the table and came to sit down next to her, picking up her good hand. "Hey," he said with a smile, brushing her hair out of her eyes gently.

She tried to smile at him, but winced at the pain the small movement caused—and then the wincing caused more pain—so she cursed and sighed and rolled her eyes at him instead, having found one seemingly pain-free way to express her displeasure for the situation.

"Well, aren't you a mess?" he tried to joke, but she just scowled at him.

"Right," he said, sobering and patting her hand. "I suppose it would be cruel to make you laugh when doing so would just cause pain."

She managed to chortle softly. "Who said anything about laughing, DiNozzo? That would require you to actually be funny."

He was taken aback, a little amused, and a little surprised. "Well apparently it's even impossible to blast the sass out of you. Okay, I'll play—but only because you're over there looking all banged up and the what-not."

"Banged-up, huh?" she asked with distaste before becoming more serious. "How bad is it?"

He leaned back in the chair and nodded soberly. "Well," he began, stretching out the word ominously, "The liposuction went reasonably well, and you'll be happy to know that you no longer have that unseemly arm-waddle right there," he said, gesturing to her left arm and then his own for purposes of demonstration. He sighed heavily and then looked glum, "But I'm afraid that the face lift didn't go as well—they said you have to keep yours."

"And the serious answer?" she said, her eyes not leaving his.

He heaved a large sigh and then sat forward on the edge of his chair. "You've got twelve stitches over your eye, multiple small wounds from the flying shards of glass, and they operated on your arm to repair the severed artery—so you were right about that."

"My prognosis?" she inquired.

"Sullen…and moody," he quipped. She just looked at him. "It was only partially severed so the operation was less serious than it could have been, as will the recovery. There wasn't any nerve damage and it didn't rip through any muscles or tendons. You'll be benched for a while," he said, looking at her with sad eyes. "But you were lucky."

Ziva wasn't wholly herself at that moment, but there was something in the way that Tony spoke that made her think that he was telling her she was lucky because someone else was not. Her mind worked as quickly as it could while so doped up. They key is in his eyes, she thought to herself, looking at him closely. "What has happened?" she asked him, her tone belaying that she knew something bad had occurred.

He looked her sadly. "Paula's dead—she took down Malik in the blast."

She squeezed his hand with as much energy as she could muster. "I am sorry, Tony; I know how much you cared for her."

His face was guarded stoically. "It's hard to think that that's exactly what she wanted," he said, and scratched his nose with his index finger.

Ziva nodded stiffly; she understood that perfectly. "It is not easy to be the one left behind, Tony. When one feels as much guilt as Paula did…" she trailed off, feeling a constriction in her own throat. …All you want to do sometimes is to end it. She shook herself and nodded to Tony. "She died a hero, Tony—surely one can find solace in that?"

He sniffled and nodded—and then he yawned.

"You should go home," she chastised. "It has been a horrible day, Tony; you need to get some sleep."

"Yeah, you're right," he said and stood up, heading for the door.

Ziva was a little taken aback. I thought he would at least put up a longer fight.

Then he stopped at the doorway, looked back at her, and winked. "You should get some sleep too," he said, shutting off the lights in the room, shutting the door, and making his way back to her bedside. He grabbed the large arm chair from the far corner of the room and dragged it back towards her bed. She smirked and chastised herself for thinking that he'd actually leave. He plopped down in the big chair with an over-exaggerated show of effort, and put his legs up on the chair he'd previously occupied. He was facing her and he threw her a knowing smile. "You didn't actually think I was leaving, did you?"

She didn't answer him—she just sighed. "I am surprised that Abby did not storm the hospital," she said lightly.

He scooted his makeshift bed a little closer to her and picked up her right hand so it was in his. "Oh, she did," he said. "But you were still in surgery, so there wasn't much she could do except react like Abby, which she did," he clarified. "As a matter of fact," he said, pulling out his cell phone and hitting keys, "I'm supposed to send out a blast text when you wake up."

"I do not wish to see anyone right now, Tony," she said, a little panic in her voice. His eyes cut to her sharply, worried all of a sudden. Then she relented. "At least, not until I am more…myself," she said awkwardly.

"Understood," he said, nodding. He finished his text and flipped the phone shut. "No visitors until tomorrow; that can be arranged." He stroked her fingers soothingly and she closed her eyes. Within a few minutes she was asleep and snoring softly, the drugs increasing her susceptibility to sleep.

Tony just sat there watching her in the soft glow of the moonlight from the window for a few minutes. He thought about the events of the last forty-eight hours and he just couldn't believe that so much had gone down in such a small span of time. He thought about Ziva's ultimatum two mornings ago—it was reasonable, he had decided. He thought about what Paula had said in the storefront, and he found himself wondering if what he was feeling was love. Tony was reasonably sure that he could have loved Jeanne if he hadn't had to lie about himself so much—and if he hadn't been so conflicted about his feelings for Ziva. Ziva—the woman with whom he didn't have to keep secrets; the woman who knew him altogether too well; his best friend; his partner.

He thought about how he felt when he saw her lying out in the street after the bombing, and he knew he never wanted to feel that overwhelming panic ever again. There was a small fraction of time during which he thought she might die, and in that moment his entire being let out such an excruciating wail that Tony had no choice but to stand up and take notice of the fact that he couldn't lose Ziva—he knew he wouldn't be able to bare it. She was such a huge part of him—she butted in where he didn't want her; she pushed and prodded, poked and nagged until he wanted to strangle her; she never took no for an answer when she'd set her mind on something; and she never gave up on him when even he himself had. She pushed him, he realized. She's a pain in the ass, he rationalized to himself. And then he smiled, thinking about her craziness—the way she'd massacre the human language, the lengths she'd go to in order to prove him wrong, the sense of humor and adventure that provided him with a partner in crime more times than either one of them would rightfully admit to. Yes, she was a pain in the ass, but she was his pain in the ass, and he wouldn't trade her for the world.

As much as he knew about Ziva, there was just as much that he didn't know. And he found himself wondering as to where she got her strength. She'd deliberately alienated herself from Paula (risking, at the time, the destruction of a professional relationship that would be lost to her for the remainder of her career, as well as any civility Paula may have ever shown her) in order to help Cassidy live with the grief and guilt she felt.

He remembered that unknown emotion that overtook him in the hallway; he remembered the way she'd struck him silly from the moment he met her; he remembered her words to him the night that Gibbs quit—and all the times she'd put her faith and trust in him since then; and he remembered how after all he'd put her through, she'd come to haul his ass out of Donnie's that night to take him home and make sure he was alright.

She was an incredible woman, he realized—not for the first time. One I don't deserve, he added silently. But one I want, though, he decided once and for all as he bent down to kiss an uninjured part of her forehead. One I really want.

Drugs do funny things to people. There are so many different drugs and so many different ways that all the people in the world can react to them. They can make you happy or sad; they can mellow you out, or make you bounce off walls. Some can make you sick to your stomach, and some can completely knock you on your ass. Right now, the drugs in Ziva's system were making her dream…

She was eight years old, very cute, and she was still innocent enough to have the happy smile of a child who believed there could be happy endings. Right now, the eight-year-old version of Ziva David only wanted one thing—the candy that her mother kept from her by stashing it on the very highest shelf. She was too short to reach it so she often found herself just standing there looking up at it with longing.

"You're never going to get it like that," he said from behind her. She spun on her heel, surprised by his voice, but then she flung herself at him, so happy that he was there. "You're back!" little Ziva cried, overjoyed at his reappearance in her life.

He scooped her up in his arms as she attached herself to him, squeezing as tightly as her small arms could. He slung her onto his hip and stood up. He ruffled her hair and smiled when she giggled. "I told you I'd come home for your birthday, achoti. Would I lie to you?"

She shook her head 'no' emphatically, the smile still shining on her face. "Of course not, Achi. I'm just so glad you're home!" She squeezed him even tighter, burying her face in his neck. She'd missed him so much and his homecoming was the greatest birthday present she could think of.

He laughed heartily at little Ziva's exuberance and sighed dramatically. "Well, with a homecoming like this, I should come back more often," he said, and plunked her down on the kitchen counter. He leaned on it, his hands on either side of the little girl. "Well, now—what is it that you want for your birthday, Zivaleh?"

"You came home," she said simply. "That is all I wanted; I missed you…"

He mussed her hair playfully. "I missed you too, little one. But am I to believe that there is nothing else I can get you, birthday girl?" He leaned in closer, seeing her eyes drift up towards the top shelf. "Nothing at all?" he asked knowingly, looking up at the candy stowed away in the top cabinet. He scooped her up quickly, making her squeal in surprise, and then put her up on his shoulders so that she could now reach the candy cabinet. She opened it up very slowly, so as not to alert anyone to their secret mission, pulled out the jar with all of the many pieces of brightly-colored candy, and plucked out a bar of chocolate. She put the jar back in the cabinet and closed it silently. When he lowered her down to the floor once again she cheered silently, and hugged him close. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she kept saying. He bent down to one knee again so he could hug her back.

"You don't have to thank me, Ziva," he said smiling. "That's what big brothers are for…"

Then he pulled back and she looked at him—but it wasn't the same scene as before. All of a sudden he was a full grown man with hate in his eyes and a large bleeding bullet hole in the center of his head. He looked at her with such hate and disgust now—all traces of her loving brother extinguished. She struggled to get away from him, but she couldn't move—she was trapped in the body of her eight-year-old self. He grabbed her to him brutally and began screaming at her. "Until you killed me, little sister!"

Ziva jolted awake with tears in her eyes. She was breathing quickly and she felt an incredible nausea come upon her. Her stomach rolled over and she knew she was going to be sick. She reached out with her good arm to the hospital table that had been rolled over her bed and grabbed for the pitcher of water, heaving up bile from her stomach as it burned its way up her esophagus. There was barely anything in her stomach, so after a bit it was just dry heaving and heavy breathing.

And then Tony was there, placing a cold cloth to her forehead and wiping her mouth just as she had done for him. He didn't ask any questions, and he didn't say a word. She was grateful for that. He took away the now-vile water-pitcher and brought her a fresh glass of water to sip slowly. He brushed her hair back from her face in a soothing and repetitive gesture. She nodded her thanks to him, took a few deep breaths, and tried very hard to forget the nightmare she'd just had.

"The doctor said you might have a bad reaction to the anesthetic," he explained, his eyes avoiding her own.

He's lying, she thought. He's giving you an out, Ziva, she realized. And she took it, gratefully. "Well, then, I should avoid having to be operated on, then," she said in an attempt at levity.

He smiled at her and nodded before sitting back down and grasping her hand reassuringly. Ziva never went back to sleep, but that was okay—because neither did Tony.

Abby came bursting through her hospital room door the next morning baring hot tea and coffee, and donuts. Ziva had been in and out of a supremely restless sleep all night. At some point she'd decided just to fake sleeping so Tony would allow himself to pass out as well. She was glad he was there with her, but between the issues that surrounded the two of them, the pain of her recently operated-on arm, and her extreme unease over her ever-present and now increasing night terrors, Ziva wasn't so much tired as she was weary. Abby's uplifting and energetic nature was a welcomed change of pace from the endless parade of thoughts marching through her head.

The Goth set the tray of hot beverages on the hospital table along with the bag of donuts, planted her things on a spare chair, and slung her coat over the back of it. Ziva noticed that Abby's eyes stayed focused on anything that wasn't Ziva. I must look worse than I first thought, she decided, not bitterly, but none too happy either.

"Let's see—I stopped at Mario's bakery, your favorite," she said, inclining her head to her friend in deference, "and I got all the goodies. Some turnovers, Danish, donuts, croissants, and a few cookies for later on." She moved over to the drink section of the offering and waved her hand over the tray as if it were a full of magic. "Here, we have a wide assortment of toasty-warm beverages ranging from herbal tea to coffee to hot chocolate, and a hot tottie, but seeing as you're all doped up, I'm thinking that one's not for you."

Ziva smiled at the young woman. "Thank you, Abby, but really, you didn't have to."

"Ziva!" she screeched, finally succeeding in waking Tony, who mumbled something and tried to turn over in the chair. "You're one of my best friends, you're in the hospital, and I don't carry a gun—there are few things I can actually do to be helpful when you all keep getting yourselves hospitalized! Consider this the Schuito equivalent to 'Federal Agents, drop-it, scumbag!''" she said, dropping into a defensive crouch, lowering her voice, and mimed holding a suspect at gun-point.

"Thank you, Abby," Ziva said sincerely, glad to have a friend like her.

Tony moaned from her other side. "Can we ask Agent Sciuto to keep the arrest to a dull roar, please?" he asked, extricating himself from his makeshift bed and moaning painfully as all sorts of body parts began to crack in protest to being compressed all night long. He shook his head like a dog does when it's fresh from a bath and it wants to get its human owner very wet.

Ziva chuckled. "Good doggie," she said with a wink.

He just gave her a look. "You feeling any better?" he asked, concerned about her early-morning episode.

She nodded stiffly. "There's a little pain, but I'm fine," she said.

"Good thing these hospital beds come fully loaded," he joked. He dropped his hand down to the side of her bed and brought up the little red morphine button, handing it to her with a look. "Pain, meet Mr. Morphine, Mr. Morphine," he said, narrowing his eyes, getting up close and personal with the piece of equipment, and imitating some ominous voice, "meet your maker."

Abby laughed lightly. "I see you haven't gone without entertainment," she said to Ziva.

Ziva smiled a tight, awkward smile, and nodded.

"Here," Tony said, handing her the morphine button.

She waved him off and put on a brave face. "It is not that bad, Tony; I will be fine." She flashed him a diversionary smile. "Abby is here to distract me," she reasoned, letting the button fall onto the bed next to her. The truth was it hurt a lot more than she was letting on, but she'd dealt with much more pain than this, and there was absolutely no way she was going to go through another night like last night. She hadn't had a bad reaction to the anesthetic, though she was thankful that he'd let her remain in denial about last night without being too curious. He really knows me well, she thought to herself a little awestruck.

Abby smiled wide. "And distract you, I shall. What's your poison?" she asked, gesturing to the various containers she had brought in.

Ziva startled. "Poison?" she asked, slightly alarmed.

Tony shook his head with a smile. That's my girl, he thought thinking back to the previous night's revelations. Can't understand a damn thing sometimes… "Easy, Abs," he said with false bravado. "She been knocked around quite a bit lately, probably lost a good deal of the knowledge required to understand the expressions she had learned before." Ziva scowled at him. "Let's go easy on our gal this week with the colloquial, shall we?" he said with a wink at both women.

"Yes, Sir!" Abby said, saluting Tony incorrectly before returning her attention to Ziva. "To rephrase, which of these lovely drinks and breakfast foods would you care to partake of, oh wounded one?" Tony reached in for a danish as Abby finished and she slapped his hand.

"Ow!" he protested.

"Patient first," Abby ordered. "Ziva?"

"I think the hot chocolate and a croissant might be my best bet," she said, emphasizing the turn of phrase for Tony's benefit and gratefully accepting the proffered cup.

"Tony?" Abby asked. "Those who stick around all night get second dibbs," she said with a smile.

"I'll take the coffee and a danish, please," he said tiredly, receiving the cup and dumping four packets of sugar in at once.

He's drinking coffee, Ziva noted wearily. She sighed and scowled for a moment. "The morphine's there for a reason, Ziva," he reminded her thinking she was in pain. She rolled her eyes at him, and Tony scoffed. "What did I do in the three minutes I've been awake?" he asked, astonished.

"You should have gone home last night, Tony," she said quietly.

Tony shook his head, confused and astounded. "What?"

Abby looked a little uncomfortable. Knowing what she knew and witnessing what she was witnessing, it made for a jacked up tension level at that moment, and so she shifted awkwardly.

"You're exhausted," Ziva said to him plainly.

He took a sip of his coffee. "Am not," he argued. She looked pointedly at the coffee cup in his hands. His eyes followed the path of her stare and he scowled at her in return. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said childishly, taking an obscene bite of his danish. "You need coffee to wash down a good danish," he explained, his mouth still incredibly full. He took another sip of his coffee to prove his point, and he smiled smugly at Ziva.

"Tony—" she began to argue, but was cut off.

"Knock, knock," McGee said, poking his head in through the door. "Up for a few visitors?" he asked as he walked in, Ducky, and Gibbs right behind him.

As if I have a choice, she thought a little sour. But she smiled as best she could and decided to be thankful that she had such caring friends.

"Now it's a party," Tony muttered, sipping from his coffee again. He knew that Ziva really didn't want visitors, that she was in fact feeling pain, and that they had only a few hours left until she tried to make a break for it. "I don't suppose you brought a change of clothes with you, McGoo?"

Ziva huffed, "I told you to—"

"Eh!" Tony said, throwing up his hand to stop her from talking. She looked at him as though he had grown a second head. "You just drink your cocoa there, sparky, and stop worrying about me, will ya?"

Ziva took a deep, calming breath and tried to remember that this was Tony being caring. We are in front of the other, after all...

"You stayed here all night, Tony?" McGee asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"Protection detail, McGoo," he bristled. "Perhaps you've heard of it."

"Tony there's no one after Ziva—she doesn't have to be protected," McGee argued.

"Oh, Probie-san, how much you have yet to learn. It is true, our little Mossad ninja doesn't need my protective services, however the same cannot be said for the hospital staff. I'm protecting them from Ziva," he clarified, taking another sip.

"You will be the one in need of protection soon, Tony," Ziva threatened. "I still have one good hand," she alluded, smiling menacingly. "Imagine the possibilities…"

Abby stifled a chuckle as Tony blanched and Gibbs smirked. Ducky took a step forward looking at Ziva with a doctor's eye. "How're you feeling, my dear? Any ill effects?" he inquired innocently. Tony looked at her sideways and Ziva avoided his gaze, smiling at Ducky and shaking her head 'no.' "Do you mind?" he asked, indicating her chart at the foot of her bed.

"Please," she said.

Ducky picked up the chart and started to read, making a sound and frowning here and there.

Gibbs saw Ziva start every time Ducky made a comment or nondescript noise. "Wanna share with the class, there, Duck?" he asked, saving Ziva from having to ask the same thing.

"Oh! My apologies, Jethro, Ziva," he said inclining his head. "It seems as if everything is in order, though, a partial severing of the left subclavian artery, my dear; I am just glad it was not any more severe than that." He replaced the chart and motioned to her left arm. "I expect you're in a good deal of pain. I do hope you're making good use of your pain medication, Ziva—it is there for a reason, after all."

Ziva once again avoided Tony's gaze, as well as Ducky's, choosing simply to nod once again.

"Jenny sends her wishes for a speedy recovery," Gibbs informed her, his small smile reassuring.

She nodded her thanks and finally had to make eye contact. She sighed, trying to work up the nerve. "Has she…made the call yet?" she asked him.

He nodded curtly. "First thing this morning, once she knew enough. As a matter of fact I wouldn't be surprised if—" Gibbs cocked a knowing smirk and fished his ringing cell phone from his pocket. "Yeah, Gibbs," he answered, looking right at Ziva. He looked at her as he listened to the caller on the other end, inclining his head in question. She debated with herself for a moment, and then decided that she was not as of yet ready to have that particular conversation, so she shook her head. "No, not currently." There was more talking on the other end. "Understood," he said before closing the phone.

"Thank you," Ziva said sincerely.

"Can't dodge it forever, Ziva," he said knowingly. She nodded again. "You focus on getting back on your feet," he said by way of letting everyone know it was time to go.

"Her feet are the one thing that didn't get injured," Tony quipped, receiving a smack to the head for his efforts. "Thank you, boss."

"Feel better, Ziva," McGee said.

Abby looked conflicted, unsure how to say goodbye when her second best pastime was no longer an option. "I'd hug you, but I wouldn't know where I could without hurting you, so here's an air hug," she said, pretending to hug an invisible Ziva, "and I'll save one for when you're all huggable again," she promised before gathering her things and leaving with McGee.

Ducky came over to kiss her on the forehead in a grandfatherly sort of way, made her promise to mind her doctors, and then he made his exit as well.

Gibbs came closer to the bed and Ziva caught his attention. "When will I be able to return to duty?" she asked, very obviously wanting nothing more than to get back to work. She'd only been bedridden for 18 hours, but she was already going stir-crazy—and she'd been asleep for most of her sentence thus far.

He swayed his head to and fro in a patented Gibbsian shake of the head, and gestured to her cup of cocoa. "When you can drink that with your left hand," he said simply. Then before she could protest he picked up the morphine drip controller and hit it twice.

"Gibbs—" she began to protest, but it was too late.

He smirked at her and then placed his hand on her left cheek for a moment with fatherly concern. "Ya did good, Ziva, but don't try to be a hero," he finished knowingly, before nodding to Tony and making his exit.

She saw Tony sit back down in the large arm chair, and then moments later she was asleep again.

I'm having such a hard time getting past this block of mine. I'm about five and a half chapters ahead of this chapter and I'm completely stuck on a particular transition. Basically, everyone is at a party for Tony's birthday; they're at a bar—what kinds of scenes would you guys like to see? I have an agenda with the scene and the storyline that goes with it, but I'm lacking the creativity necessary to inspire the social minutia that I need to write. Suggestions wanted! What do you want me to write into the party scenes? Let me hear you, readers!