A/N I had to rush to finish this story initially so this is a new chapter that I didn't have time to write the fist go around.

Chapter 30

At Ease

(Ziva's POV)

One week later

We are in a warehouse, following a lead from a potential bomb threat. Tim and I take the left flank while Tony and Gibbs circle from the right. We hear voices, smell the destructive chemicals and hope that we can interrupt before they are connected with a detonation device that can easily convert our alleged terrorists into martyrs for their cause.

We do not escape their notice. I sense the hurling object before hearing the shriek of shattering glass. I cover McGee, having a split second advantage in reflex timing. Unfortunately I feel daggers of glass fragments and wet burns seeping through my shirt.

The searing pain causes me to twist involuntarily and a yelp. I hope that the chaos is a sufficient distraction while I right myself and try not to draw undo attention to myself.

Tony and Gibbs are pursuing the suspects and Tim reels around to take in the scene before him. He shifts to get a view of my back then urges, "Ziva, the chemicals are eating right through your shirt!"

I can't get myself to move.

Without hesitation and as gently as he can in his urgency, he cuts my shirt off with his knife and guides me to a utility sink. He takes his Polo shirt off, douses it in cold water and soap and starts gently washing the blood and chemicals off my back. As I lean my hands against the counter I hear Tim's sharp intake of breath as the sight of mangled skin registers; old scars layered with new cuts. He starts talking calmly while getting the tweezers from the side of his Swiss army knife, "You have shards of glass embedded in your skin. I'll try to get the bigger ones out and keep a cool cloth on your skin until we get the all clear from Gibbs and we can get you to the hospital, alright?"

I do not reply as I hunch over farther; my knuckles white with pain and uncertainty. Tim does not say anything about the scars as his hands steadily work; alternating between dampening and reapplying his shirt and pulling glass out of my skin. He pauses his curative pursuits long enough to put a tentative hand on my shoulder and ask, "Ziva, you okay?" I do not twitch when he touches my bare skin, nor do I feel panicked.

"I am fine, Tim, aside from the obvious."

I hurt physically but i have been through worse.

He is witnessing the pitiful remainders of Somalia, which I have endeavored to hide for so long, but I honestly am not mortified at the thought. Yes, aside from the new injuries, which are definitely an annoyance, I am not in distress.

Gibbs calls back that all is clear. His voice precedes him as he explains, "DiNozzo has the suspects in cuffs and Fornell's guys are on their way to take them into custody . . ."

When Gibbs rounds the corner and into view he pauses and sees Tim diligently tending to me.

"Ziver?" I do not have to look to feel the concern.

"Just some glass, Gibbs, nothing to worry about."

Tim rats on me, "Boss, she also has chemical burns. Now that it's secure we need to call for an ambulance."

"I hardly need an ambulance, Gibbs." I turn, expecting to see the 'Gibbs stare' in response, but surprisingly the intense look is more gentle than demanding.

"Tim, I've got it from here. Go help DiNozzo babysit the bad guys."

Tim nods as he hands over the tweezers. I feel Gibbs gently peel off McGee's shirt and pause as he makes his assessment.

"You're going to the hospital."

I do not reply, nor do I move.

Gibbs douses Tim's shirt one last time with cool water then secures it under my sports bra to keep it against to my wounds. He then unbuttons his shirt and drapes it over my shoulders. I wrap the shirt around me rather than fumble with the buttons. He places his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him. His eyes betray how deeply he is worried.

"Let's go."

Tony sees me stiffly walk out of the warehouse and rushes in my direction but I cut him off by saying, "I'm fine, Tony. Gibbs is just being overly cautious." I roll my eyes for emphasis.

Tony masks his own worry by smirking and saying, "Oh yeah, because Gibbs is such a drama queen."

I cannot stifle my giggle as Gibbs' hand connects with Tony's head as we walk by. "Oooph . . . I'll be there as soon as the FBI decides to grace us with their presence." I nod and give him a reassuring smile.

Gibbs folds a jacket and places it on the dash on the passenger side "Lay your head on that." I fold my arms on the dash and lay my head on them a top the jacket. My back does not make contact with the seat as he drives very carefully to minimize jostling. He signs me in then supervises while I talk to the overly chatty intake nurse to verify that I do not minimize my injuries.

She asks Gibbs to step outside while she does her exam, to which I reflexively reply, "No, he can stay." I am not even sure why I say it. I have never put my weaknesses on display before like this. I would never allow Eli into a doctor's office or hospital room with me, not since I was a young girl.

Eli is no Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Gibbs told me before that he had to see my file and so I know he saw pictures of my wounded back, but his sensitive treatment of me at the warehouse communicated much more than a boss' concern over an underling. He was not able to be there for me when I needed someone the most and while I would never hold that against him, (and honestly would have pushed him away at the time if he had tried to hold my hand through any of it) I do not want to shut him out again.

When the nurse sees my back she balks at the extent of previous scarring and becomes remarkably speechless. She cannot form the words to ask their origins. Gibbs gives her a hard look and says, "We are federal agents. It's a risky job. This is not her first exposure to terrorism." This silences the nurse who scratches notes nervously then scurries away. Internally I am smiling at Gibbs' ability to say so much with few words and a sharp look.

Within a few minutes a doctor comes in followed by the nurse and insists that Gibbs step out. I am aware of the reason why so I suggest he gets some coffee then comes right back. He looks at the doctor and pointedly declares, "You have 10 minutes." The doctor looks more curious than anything as he starts gently probing into any possible domestic violence, my unorthodox work relationships and seeks a basic understanding of my recent medical history. I dismiss any domestic abuse accusations lightly, although in a way I could say that my father was not completely innocent where my injuries are concerned. As far as the torture, it is amazing how intimidating the phrase "Classified Mossad Operations" can be. In the end I skirt the details then ask if Gibbs can return. I may be a fiercely independent former assassin that has spent her life reporting to her father, but there are times I feel like a little girl that could use the comfort of a dad. It's been so long since I've felt that.

Twenty minutes later I am lying on my stomach and the doctor is hovering over me with tweezers and stitching materials. Gibbs is sitting in a corner, drinking his coffee and looking out the window but stealing protective glances my direction. I hear a light knock on the door. Gibbs shoots me a questioning look and I say, "It is fine, Gibbs, let them in."

Tim walks in first, very hesitantly, followed by a confident Tony, sauntering behind him. The doctor looks up and says, "Who do we have here, Agent David?"

"Special Agents Tony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee, who is the one who thought to wash the chemicals off right away." He looked rather sheepish but I grant him a warm smile.

"Well, Agent McGee, I would say that you saved Agent David here from suffering much more extensive burns. She's lucky you were there." Tim looks uncomfortable at the heroic portrayal.

Tony starts fumbling with a model of a human heart on the counter. We both know we will talk later and are comfortable with that unspoken arrangement. He lets Tim continue.

"How you feeling, Ziva?"

"My whole back is numb so right now I am not feeling much of anything."

The doctor interjects, "You will feel quite a bit once the Lidocane wears off, and since you won't be able to reach your back easily to apply the prescribed cream yourself or change your bandages you will need to have some assistance for a few days at least." Eying Gibbs he continues, "Boss, she will have to lie still for a few days so she doesn't pull any stitches or aggravate the burns. That will be arranged, correct?"

"You hear that, David? Quarters. Not negotiable."

As I listen to this conversation taking place around me, I consider my situation. I am completely comfortable with my unconventional family hovering around as I lay on an exam table in just my bra, all my scars open for them to see, yet I feel no humiliation, only familial camaraderie.

"Okay, I'm about done. The total damage aside from first and a few second degree burns is 22 stitches spread throughout your lower back, I have bandages on them and you will need to keep those areas dry. I'll give you the cream to spread on the burns, and some Vicodin so you'll be able to sleep tonight. Who will be driving you home?"

Before there can be a discussion I blurt out, "McGee." I am sure Tony is disappointed, and Gibbs mildly surprised, but I want to be able to talk to Tim before I am drugged.

His smug smile is directed at Tony as he says, "Sure thing, Ziva. I'll pull the car around."

I gingerly sit up then Gibbs holds out his shirt for me to slide my arms through. As I button it Gibbs tells me he has to check in with Fornell and tells me to call him if I need anything.

Tony and I are in the room alone. He steps towards me and his hands weave under mine and take over fastening the upper buttons. He's standing very close to me. I place a palm on his chest, not to push him away, but simply to feel his warmth and the cadence of his heart beat. His hands drift from the final button to my shoulders and he rubs a thumb along my neck. I can't help but dip my head in that direction and he takes it as an invitation to lean forward and kiss my cheek. My hand slides around his sides to his back and I pull him in for a hug. He keeps one hand on my neck, his thumb still addling my senses, and the other slides to rest on my side.

I never want to move again.

Tony drops a kiss to my hair then reluctantly clears his throat.

"Not that this isn't . . . well . . . nice, but I suppose we shouldn't keep McKilljoy waiting."

When we arrive at my apartment Tim walks me to the door and I ask him to come inside. I change out of Gibbs' shirt and put on a comfortable one of my own then walk out and carefully lay on the couch.

"Thank you for driving me home, and for helping me at the crime scene."

He pulls a chair next to me, but he does not make direct eye contact.

"Ziva, it was really no problem." He then stuttered, "I just . . . I didn't mean to . . . I didn't want to invade your privacy, especially after . . . I guess I just reacted without really thinking."

I put my hand under his chin and direct him to look at me, "Tim, your instincts were correct. Would you have done anything differently if it your sister had been in my place today?"

"I guess not."

"You did nothing inappropriate, so I never want to hear an apology for this. Understood?"

He smiles. "Okay. I'm going to get you some water and your pills so you can sleep off the pain." He stands up to walk to the kitchen, but pauses at the doorway and turns back to shoot me a smile. I cannot help but think that Sarah is a lucky girl to have grown up with Tim as a big brother.

I do not stir while Tim sits in the recliner and watches a Stargate marathon. He starts to try to explain the basic premise to me, but as words such as jaffa, tokrah, and goauld, swarm through my brain and I feel inexplicably sucked into a wormhole thanks to the meds, I decide it is much easier to fall asleep than try to follow the plot.

When I wake again from an odd dream where Gibbs' eyes inexplicably started glowing, Tim has morphed into Tony, who is now watching my Israeli copy of "Raiders of the Lost Arc." My fuzzy mind is trying to reconcile Tony with Hebrew and pain and eventually the reality of my situation descends on me and I remember.

"Hey, there, Sunshine," Tony says pausing the movie and kneeling in front of me.

I rub my eyes then squint at him, "Where's McGee?"

Tony answers in mock suspicion, "Why the sudden interest in McGee? It wasn't good enough that he got to tear off your shirt, now you want him to be the one to rub in the cream and tuck you in at night? I could give him a call if you'd like, but I'm just not sure he'll feel the same. After all, you're really not his type."

"I am not certain Tim has a 'type,' he is very open-minded you know, and his last girlfriend did turn out to be an assassin so who knows, maybe I do stand a chance."

Tony eyes me playfully, "You know you're killing me, right?"

"Oh, I am counting on it."

"Well, as I drew the short straw you are stuck with me tonight, so I suggest you deal with your McDisappointment while you dine on Chinese and accept the fact that I have sequestered your remote this fine evening."

(Tony's POV - a little earlier)

I give Ziva and Tim a few hours together before taking what is starting to feel more and more like my rightful place at her side. I', relieved Probie is no longer oozing with guilt as he had been at the crime scene.

I talked to Tim after Gibbs and I caught the suspects. He came out from the warehouse, very pale, and it was obvious that he was avoiding making eye contact.

"Everything secure there, Probie? Where's Probette?"

Tim looked down. "Uh, she got hit by some glass and chemicals. Gibbs is taking care of her, and I think she'll be okay but I'm sure he'll insist on a stop at Bethesda." I fought my instinct to run to her aid and rescue her like her personal knight in shining NCIS armor. His guilty look told me there was more to the story. "Aaaand . . . "

"I feel awful, but I really didn't have a choice, I mean, I would never have done it otherwise, but I'm not sure if she'll forgive me for it now." His feet were shuffling and he was as jittery as I've ever seen him.

"Just spit it out, Tim." Then I added pointedly pausing after each word, "What. Did. You. Do. To. Her?" It came out much more accusatory than I meant, after all McGee could never hurt anyone on purpose so whatever it was really couldn't have been that bad, could it?

"I cut off her shirt. You warned me that she was badly scarred but I still wasn't prepared. I carelessly did it without considering her privacy, I didn't even ask permission. I know all she's been through and I should have known better."

I looked at him and saw how uncomfortable he was. I knew Tim would never be anything but chivalrous unless it was an emergency. I reflected on how I've jumped down his throat when it came to Ziva before so I opted not to go either in the direction of bullying him about it or teasing him about just wanting to see her with her shirt off, so after a pause I took a less conventional route – kindness.

"Tim, she was in pain. Would you have rather let her suffer more?"

"No, but who's to say that I didn't just cause more psychological damage? In her case, that might be worse."

"Don't underestimate her, McGee. She knows that you were trying to help. Anyway, she has a soft spot for you, just like Abby has towards bunnies. You'll be fine."

After Ziva wakes I tease her about the attention she gave McGee.

When I finish plating our Chinese I walk back into the living room and see the sharp pain in her expression. I bring her dinner and pills then head back to get the medical supplies that Tim had left in a very organized fashion. I take it all back to the couch and spread it on the coffee table.

"Are you sure you did not volunteer to watch me so that you could brag about taking my shirt off again, Tony?"

I raise an eyebrow, "Wouldn't you like to know. However, now that you mention it, I do need to be granted access to that irresistible back of yours, otherwise I'll withhold all medical treatment and you'll have to confess that you were in physical pain from lack of my touch."

Boy am I flirting with fire. I just can't help myself.

She gives me a sultry look and says, "Well, we cannot have that now can we?" Then she lifts herself off the couch enough for me to slide her shirt up to assess her new injuries. As I examine and lightly touch them she sweetly says, "So, are you going to change my bandages or do I need to ask McGee to come back and work on them with his extremely skilled hands?"

"Oh, Probationary Agent David, if you think his hands are highly skilled you have much to learn." I gently start peeling off the old bandages and tenderly apply the creams and new bandages. She seems to register that I am taking my time and enjoying myself. The content smile that graces her face tells me that I'm not the only one.

"So, are you going to kiss them all and make them better or are you nearly finished?" I can't help but jump at the opportunity so I lean in and gently kiss her back in several places. I feel her twitch and her expression confirms that it is a pleasant reaction to my light touch rather than out of pain.

Before I let myself get too carried away I straighten and say, "There. Good as new." I tug down her shirt then lift her legs and sit under them on the end of the couch and rub her calves. "Hey, you want to sleep in your bed or out here on the couch?"

She groggily replies, "Bed . . . you might as well come along. There is no need for both of us to have painful backs in the morning." I help her off the couch then leave her to change. I hear sounds of frustration then surprisingly a mild call for me to enter. When I walk in she is wearing a long t-shirt and it's obvious that while she could get her cargo pants off she was having trouble bending over to get her pajama bottoms on. Her pride is paying a price for the admission so I don't make any inappropriate comments despite what I'm sure she was expecting. Instead I keep eye contact as I bend down and help her get her shorts pulled up until she can reach them and tie the drawstring. I then pull down the covers on her side of the bed and she awkwardly lowers herself onto her stomach, wincing at the effort. I make her as comfortable as possible before I climb in the other side and reach over to lay my hand on her shoulder. As the snoring begins I find that I am perfectly content.