"Ziva? Hey, can you help me with something?"

Ziva placed the laundry basket she had been about to take downstairs inside the door and turned back into her apartment. Her damp, salty clothes wouldn't suffer if they sat for a while longer, maybe even overnight. And Ray was calling from the direction of the bedroom…

When she found him, he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying futilely to grab an iodine-stained piece of gauze off his back. The pile he had already unwrapped and untaped was sitting in a pile in her sink. "I decided it was time to change these, but I can't reach…!" he made a noise that was a combination of pain, surprise and relief as she yanked the gauze off. "Thanks."

A curved row of ten or so stitches stood out in uneven black relief against yellow-stained skin. She took the time to look over his other injuries – they were all similar. "You said these are from shrapnel?"

"Yeah, nothing to worry about." He pressed a finger to the edge of one of the smaller wounds, causing it to blanch along the scar line. "See? No pus."

"Are you sure there is no material left?"

"Nothing they could see on x-rays."

She frowned, unconvinced. Pulling the bottle of alcohol and washcloth from his hands, she said, "There are cotton balls under the sink. And what were you planning to bandage these with once you had cleaned them?"

He pointed to a bag on the toilet. "I bought some stuff at the drugstore. Couldn't even find bandaids here."

"You need a lot more than bandaids," she muttered under her breath as she touched the first damp cotton ball to his skin, causing him to flinch slightly. "Big tough CIA agent."

"It doesn't sting, it's just cold."

"Hm." She took her time cleaning around the stitches on his back, noting that, while he was tense, he didn't pull away again. The wound looked far less worrying when she had finished. She taped down a gauze pad to cover it and tried to turn him to face her.

He resisted. "I can get the others."

"I know I am no nurse, but…"

"No, you were fine, but you don't have to take care of me. I can manage."

"No, I do not have to." Unblinking, she met his gaze in the mirror. "Please, Ray?"

He sighed and turned, pushing himself up to sit on the countertop. "Sorry. I'm just not used to someone…"

"I know." She looked up from what she was doing to peck his lips. They were quiet as she cleaned and covered two more wounds. The last was the longest line of stitches, stretching from a spot low on his side to the middle of his stomach. "I know you cannot give me any details, but how…was it something that came as a surprise?"

"Just some bad luck."

"And do you often have…bad luck?"

He gave a single grunt of laughter. "This was the first time since I met you." He caught her hands as she moved to place a final piece of gauze. "You don't have to worry about me getting hurt."

"Your fifty stitches would argue otherwise."

"I told you, it's not a common…" His phone, which she had not seen on the counter, suddenly beeped. "I gotta take this."

"Something important?"

"They always think it is. I wouldn't have burned dinner last night if they were a little less demanding. I can finish taping this up." Before she could leave to allow him to answer the call, he caught her arm. "Thank you."

Ziva nodded, trying not to feel bad that he closed the bathroom door the moment she was out. She picked up her basket and went down to the laundry room in her building's basement. As she loaded the washing machine, she felt a lump rising in her throat. Why did he have to have such wonderful eyes? All it took was one look and she was willingly being kicked out of her own bathroom. And it didn't matter if she was angry walking back upstairs, because he'd give her another look and she would be so happy just knowing he was here that she would forget about being mad. She'd already forgotten how mad she'd been on her drive home…

But no. She was mad at Tony then. Tony and his stupid parallels between their dead corpsman and his fake trips overseas. Ray was a legitimate CIA agent with stitches from shrapnel wounds sustained…somewhere. She certainly hadn't been thinking that the bandages were some kind of lame cover. That was just some stupid thing that Tony had put into her head. Buying her lunch may have made up for the dolphin-splashing incident, but it didn't give him free license to…to…

She slammed the door of the washing machine and started it up. There was no need to get so worked up over something Tony, of all people, had said. He was always saying things; If they meant anything, McGee would be in heavy-duty therapy by now.

She had calmed down by the time she had returned to her apartment, but the lump was back in her throat when she entered the living room to see Ray, fully dressed in a suit and tie, sitting on the sofa, tying his shoes. "What are you…?"

He didn't look up. "I have to go."

"What? No!" The empty basket hit the floor with a dull clatter as she pounced. "You said two weeks! You…"

"Whoa, now. No need for the tackle! It's just Langley." He held her back and tilted her chin up to force her to look at him. "They need me to consult on something and I can't do it over the phone." He grabbed her upper arms firmly. "I'll only be gone a few hours."

She had a fleeting urge to tell him not to bother coming back, but…those damn eyes again. "You are sure? You are not going to decide that you cannot handle this from Washington and leave on the first available flight to parts unknown?"

"It's not something I can handle from DC." He actually had the nerve to smile. "That's why I'm going to Langley. Then I'm coming back here." He kissed her, his soft lips finishing what his eyes had started. "Love you."

"You too." She trailed him to the front door. "See you soon?"

"Absolutely." He gave her another kiss and walked purposefully down the hall toward the stairwell without looking back.

She checked her watch and closed the door. If she ran after him now, she would feel pathetic and needy and wouldn't even have the excuse that she was just going downstairs to check the laundry. She did the dishes instead.

There was nothing on TV.

The book she was reading didn't seem to hold her interest.

Damn the CIA. Ray was hurt and they still had to drag him into the office… She stopped just short of thinking that NCIS would never do that. There was no point in lying to herself. He would be back soon and they could go back to enjoying their time together and planning for the weekend. She wasn't on call and he'd been hinting about a bed and breakfast somewhere on the coast where not even the CIA would bother them.

No, they would find him. Bastards.

She was still a little angry when she returned from switching her laundry from the washer to the dryer, which definitely came through when she answered her phone, "What?"

"Sorry to interrupt." Tony sounded more amused than apologetic. "If you can tear yourself away from whatever you're doing, Maryland State Troopers found Terry Sutton's car."

"And Terry Sutton?"

"Might be inside. The car went off an embankment on the Patapsco River. They haven't gotten down to it to confirm, but there's definitely a body inside."

"I will see you in a bit, then." She hung up before he could add anything.

She felt like a hypocrite as she left a note for Ray about her call-out. Hopefully he would see her postscript about grabbing the laundry from the dryer before he went to bed alone.