Disclaimer: You know the drill.

I apologize in advance for the poor quality of this chapter. It is 1:30 in the morning and I have given up fighting with it.

Also, one reviewer brought to my attention that fact that there has been alot of swearing. I hadn't actually even noticed this, but I am sorry if I had offended anyone. In my defense, they are in a pretty high pressure situation.

So anyway, review. :)

"Okay," Tony was saying, crouched on the ground, conducting a mini inventory. "We have two bottles of water, several bandages and band-aids, a packet of matches, two power bars, some cotton swabs, alcohol wipes, eight pain pills…" he said, taking each item and placing it on the ground next to him. He continued reeling off the various items until there was nothing left.

"Done?" Ziva asked, her voice strangely strained.

They'd walked for a couple of hours before Tony had insisted they rest, if only to check their supplies. He knew Ziva was taking her injury far harder than she was letting on and it was easier to feign weakness on his part than to get her to admit she needed a break.

"You okay there?" he asked, packing the supplies back into the pack, arranging them so that the bottles would fit as well.

She didn't answer.

"Ziva?" he said, more loudly this time, looking up. She was sitting on a log, eyes closed, head tilted back to rest of a tree trunk. He could see the sweat clinging to her tank top. She seemed startled at her name.

"Hmm?"

He abandoned the pack and walked over to her. "You alright?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah, I am fine. We should get going though." She tried to stand but her legs buckled. He caught her around the waist with his uninjured arm, causing a jolt of pain to coarse through his body.

"Woah, Zee, steady there," he said, easing her back down. Unconsciously, he looked to her thigh and pulled back the fabric over the wound.

"Your leg is bleeding!" he said, alarmed.

She didn't look down. "It is fine."

"It is bleeding," he repeated. "By definition, not fine."

"I must have bumped it," she said dismissively. "It will be okay."

"God, Ziva. Will you for once just admit that maybe you are less than invincible?" he said, exasperated, and walked back to the pack.

She didn't open her eyes, but spoke in a low voice. "No. To admit that would be to say that there is nothing I can do. I do not like to feel helpless." She said it as if she had a bad taste in her mouth.

"I've noticed," Tony muttered, and walked back to where she was sitting, pack in hand. "Stay still," he said, kneeling down beside her and pulling out his knife. "Thank god for rule number nine."

She cracked open an eye. "Never date a coworker? Why is that relevant?"

"Never go anywhere without a knife," he corrected, holding his blade up to show her. "Although it is interesting that your mind made such a leap," he said suggestively. "I'm flattered, really, but…"

"Would you like me to shove that knife in your eye, DiNozzo?"

"I'd prefer you didn't," he replied evenly, and turned his attention back to her wound.

She snorted and closed her eyes again.

It amazed him that she was the same person that had come home from Somalia just a few short months ago. How she could trust him he didn't know. He had, after all, killed her boyfriend, or whatever Rivkin was.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he turned back to the leg. Using his knife, he cut off her jean leg so it resembled one leg of a short short. He now had the room he needed to work. The leg was worse than he had expected it to be. It had resumed bleeding, but not only that, it had also become swollen, the skin around the wound tight, red, and hot. It was getting infected. Gingerly, he pressed one finger to the skin around the wound. He heard a sharp intake of breath as Ziva tried to ignore the pain.

As best he could, he used the alcohol wipes and some of the water to wipe out the injury. He was clumsy and it took longer than usual as he only had one functioning arm, but finally he was satisfied. He started dressing and bandaging.

"Ziva?" he asked, as he added the finishing touches.

"Yeah?" Her voice was croaky.

"You need to tell me if this gets worse okay?"

She opened her eyes and looked down at his work. "DiNozzo, the doctor…" she said with a wry smile. Then, she narrowed her eyes. "Hey!" she said. "I liked those jeans."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because that was high on my priorities- saving your jeans. Anyway, you'd already cut them up the side!"

She looked confused. "I did?" Realisation crossed her face. "Oh yeah… I guess I am a little fussy right now."

"Fuzzy," he corrected and picked up a water bottle. "Here, drink some."

She took a small gulp.

"And take these." He held out a couple of pain pills.

She started to protest, but he spoke first.

"It's not only for the pain. It will help with the inflammation. Take them." He pushed them into her hand. "I'm not having you die of infection after surviving that shootout. If Gibbs doesn't kill me I'm sure you'll come back from the dead and do it."

She narrowed her eyes, but took the pills, accepting his rationalization. "Now what?"

He packed up the bag. "Now we keep moving. I estimate we have about two hours before it starts getting dark. We should use the light while we can."

She nodded and he couldn't help noticing she looked a bit feverish.

It's hot, he told himself, and she's just tired and hot. It's normal.

But he knew it wasn't.

"Can you walk?"

She nodded and stood, somewhat shakily, but managed to keep her footing. "Okay, we should go."

He nodded and kept his eyes on her as she limped ahead. He hurried to catch up, stunned that she was so able with her injuries. He put it down to the crazy Mossad training.

"Talk to me, Tony," she said suddenly.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"In Mossad we are taught that if we are confronted with pain and have to push through, we should occupy our minds. This is not usually hard on a mission, because we are caught up in the midst of everything, but now…"

He knew what she meant. It was hot, eerie, and silent. She needed something to think about.

"Um, okay…" he said, thinking. His mind ran through all the things he desperately wanted to talk about, but knew he couldn't- Somalia, Rivkin, Mossad, Daddy David, their current relationship (or lack thereof)…

She cut into his thoughts. "So I was on this mission when I was, oh, twenty one," she said. "We were tagged with taking out the leader of a drug ring. I was undercover in a bar. Mossad likes to dress me up and make me sing to get men's attention."

"They do that because it's effective, Ziva," Tony interrupted. He wasn't sure where she was going with this, but it seemed to be taking her mind off the pain. She seemed more animated when she talked about her missions, as if the very thought of them took her back.

She rolled her eyes. "Believe me, I have noticed. Anyway, one night I was in my room at the hotel and our target just walked in my door."

"Why?"

"He wanted to sleep with me," she said simply.

"Shocker," Tony muttered. "So what'd you do?"

She shrugged. "I shot him."

"Lovely."

"Hmmm," she said. "But not before he pulled a knife."

Tony raised his eyebrows.

She went on, "See, I had expected it to be so easy that I had not even thought about the risks. He had just walked right into my room. It should have been simple. I have never again taken something for granted like that."

"So what happened?"

She lifted her shirt slightly to reveal a long thin scar along her right hip. "He gave me this."

"Ouch," Tony said, inspecting the scar. He straightened up. "Okay, my turn." He pulled up his shirt sleeve to reveal his bicep. "Not as dramatic, but the end result was pretty spectacular. Jumped off a rooftop trying to catch a suspect. Stupid idea." He pointed to a large scar. "Turns out garbage disposals aren't nearly as soft as they appear to be in the movies."

She chuckled. "Smooth." She showed him her arm. "Grazed by a bullet."

His calf. "Burned in a fire."

Her stomach. "Shrapnel from a bomb."

His ankle. "Stabbed in an altercation."

Her wrist. "Broken by an overbearing undercover boyfriend."

He pulled his shirt up and pointed to a circular scar on his side. "Ten years old, cigarette burn. My father gave it to me."

With pained eyes, and shocked at his sudden confession, she showed him a thin scar on the side of her ribs. "Eight years old, knife throwing training. Didn't get out of the way of his blade fast enough."

He met her eyes as she pulled her top down and smiled sadly.

"Let's camp here for the night. It's getting too dark to see anyway. Go to sleep, Ziva. We have another day of walking ahead of us tomorrow."

They lay down in silence, a mutual agreement not to bring it up again.

They were awoken four hours later but the sound of grumbling and a gunshot.

Ziva's eyes mirrored the panic in his own as she whispered. "They found us."

A/N: So... thoughts? Loved it? Hated it? Criticism?

Review with your favourite lines because that makes me happy. :)