A/N: I know this update came late, but I swear there's a logical reason. I totally had this chapter almost completely finished, but then I decided it was coming out too cartoonish, so I had to revamp the whole thing. And this past weekend I had no Internet, and the past two days have been crazy with midterms and meetings and getting ready for Spring Break. And unfortunately, I might not post again until Thursday or Friday. There's a lot going on right now. But I swear things are gonna be good. Just hang in there!

The journey out of the City was blessedly uneventful, but none of them relaxed until they were ambling along an abandoned highway, which was lined by dense woods on either side. Tactically, it would have been safer to avoid the roads and stick to the tree line, but with one of their group crippled, and another carrying her, they decided to keep to the smoother surface of the road. It was quicker, and ran a smaller risk of Gibbs tripping and toppling over with Ziva in his arms.

After years of disuse, the asphalt beneath their feet was cracked and pitted, with a light carpet of green pouring from the broken seams. As a result, the surface beneath their shoes was spongy and soft, muffling their footsteps as they plodded along.

They stopped periodically throughout the day, but never longer than it took to pass around a bottle of water. Ziva's first sip had sent her coughing and sputtering, as if unfamiliar with having more water than she could down with a single gulp. But once she'd had that first sip, she was insatiable.

She polished off the rest of the canteen before Gibbs could even think of stopping her. It hadn't been much, but it was still enough to force its way back up a few moments later. Gibbs held her hair back as she retched, and watched with a heavy heart as only water and bile splashed to the broken pavement. When she had finished, it took several long minutes of gentle coaxing to get her to try drinking again. This time, he made her take small sips and told her continue sipping while they moved on. She was dehydrated, and severely malnourished.

He gave her food that would be easy to consume on the move and easy to digest, though they all had little to work with. Sergei and Fornell both nodded in approval as Gibbs passed their limited Rations to Ziva. They would last the four day trek back to Sanctuary without food, and water was in abundance, as evidenced by the sound of a nearby stream deeper in the woods. Ziva, on the other hand, looked ready to pass out at any moment, despite her energetic wake-up earlier that morning.

But she accepted Gibbs' direction with only a mild glare in return, and drank repeatedly throughout the day. Her stomach didn't rebel again, and they moved as quickly as they could along the highway. Not long after they had left the city, Ziva fell asleep in Gibbs' arms, her head resting heavily on his shoulder. Gibbs was glad for it, since it hadn't been long before his grip on her had begun to cause her pain.

It couldn't be helped—either he carried her as he was, bridal style, or he carried her over his shoulder. A fireman carry would put pressure on her ribs, and without being able to accurately look her over in the time they'd had, he was reluctant to do anything that could aggravate any internal injuries she had.

In the light of the afternoon sun, he could see injuries that he had been unable to earlier, due to the poor picture quality of the Jumbotron, the darkness of the Boxcar and the shadows of Autopsy. The skin on her right cheek, where Werth had struck her down the bleachers, had swollen considerably, distorting the tattoo that framed her eye. The redness was just beginning to deepen, and Gibbs could tell that it would turn into a nasty bruise before it got any better.

There were hand-shaped bruises lining both of her arms, of varying colors and size. There were also a mass of them concentrated on her wrists, beneath the strips of raw flesh left behind by the cuffs, which by now had begun to crust over. He made a mental note to clean her wrists later, to try to wash the dirt from the cuts before infection set in. Her ankles, however, her most worrisome injuries, did not seem to be the worse for wear. Sergei's work seemed to be holding up, with minimal discoloration and swelling.

Every so often, Ziva would awaken once more, and it would be at those times Gibbs would gently prompt her to drink or eat. At one point, just before she dozed off again, her brow had furrowed as she took a deep breath.

"It smells."

Her voice had been soft, blanketed in exhaustion, and Gibbs had almost missed it.

He glanced down at her. "What do you mean?"

"The air. It smells different. Weird. You smell too." When Gibbs chuckled, she backtracked. "Not in a bad way. You smell good. You smell like you."

"The air smells because there's trees and grass, and some wild animals. I smell because I've washed in the past six months."

Ziva sighed sleepily against him. "And I smell 'cause I haven't."

Gibbs debated saying anything more, but it became moot when her eyes drifted shut again. He smiled softly to himself as he continued on. His mind repeatedly drifted to how she wouldn't be dirty for long. How once at Sanctuary they would wash her up, bandage her up, and find her clothes that weren't falling off her frame. Well, they might still hang for a few months, until she gained the weight back, but at least they would be whole, and clean.

And most importantly, they'd get the damn collar off from around her neck.

But how? They didn't have the traditional tools they would have used pre-Incident. However, they had managed to find that one cargo truck that had been abandoned with its load some ten miles down the highway from Sanctuary. It had held various supplies that seemed to have been intended for a construction site, with sheet rock, pipes, wiring, and a couple of hand tools.

He couldn't remember off the top of his head what exactly had been Salvaged, but it was possible a pair of shears had been found. They looked like pliers, but were able to be hand-powered and could cut through thin sheet metal. Glancing at the band pressing against Ziva's skin, Gibbs noticed that the steel itself wasn't too thick. Maybe, just maybe, the shears would be enough to cut through the offending metal.

The group pressed on until well after dark, striving to make the most of their energy. They only stopped when Gibbs heard Ziva's breathing grow harsh from discomfort. She refused to give voice to her pain, but Gibbs knew her injuries were fully making themselves known. They found a clearing to set up camp in, complete with a fallen tree that Ziva could lean up against.

Gibbs wanted to talk to Ziva, but he knew that what needed to be said could not be shared with Fornell and Sergei so near. He satisfied himself with simply remaining close. His eyes could not tear themselves away from her for long as Sergei changed her bandages, and he held her hand in comfort. She caught him staring several times, but was too exhausted to even smile at him. So Gibbs offered the smile instead, attempting to reassure her that he was all right. He managed to get her to eat another small pack of peanuts before she nodded off for the night.

She had been reluctant, and had tried to mumble something about not being hungry, but Gibbs had insisted, and she had obliged him. Gibbs suspected the concession was simply to get him to let her sleep sooner, but he wasn't complaining. He stayed by her side that night, letting Sergei and Fornell keep watch.

He knew he would never be able to repay either man for their roles in helping him. For helping him rescue Ziva. He knew Sergei was doing it for his own devotion to Ziva, first for her memory and now for Ziva herself. But Fornell… the old bastard had only shown up a few days before they had left. He'd had no reason to risk life and limb on a suicide mission, especially not when he'd finally found a safe haven for himself and his fellow Rovers.

It was moments like these, Gibbs realized as he glanced around the clearing at their rag-tag team, when he was reminded that not all hope was lost. Despite the magnitude of the Incident, despite the hardships they'd all faced to Survive, there were still those who would give their lives to help a friend, or even to honor a friend. Even in a world where Bloods pitted Survivors against each other and kept others as pets, where a man could sit on a throne of blood and bone without batting an eye, there was still hope for humanity. There still moments like these when Gibbs knew that love and courage persisted in the forms of old friends and family, and that the human identity could still persevere, no matter what hell it faced.

But he kept his smile to himself, unwilling to answer the questions that might be asked in curiosity at the sight of it. He remained awake that night, and felt the familiar chill of the forest creep up around them. Dawn came blessed quick, and Gibbs watched as the wood began to brighten slowly, revealing the fine mist that had permeated the clearing in the dark.

The others woke with the sun, though Ziva did so more sluggishly than the others. They gathered their things after and quick bite to eat and some water, but when Gibbs went to pick up Ziva, Sergei's hand on his shoulder made him pause.

"Please, Boss," the Russian rumbled, "allow me."

One look at the large man's expression told Gibbs that he was not simply offering his services, to give the Voice a break. Sergei needed to do it, just as he had needed to come along on the mission in the first place. So with a reluctant glance to Ziva, who nodded her approval, Gibbs allowed the larger man to crouch down to Ziva's level. Her arms reached up to wrap around her neck without hesitation, the trust between them evident in her eyes.

Sergei rose smoothly, with more grace than Gibbs would have thought possible. His hold on Ziva was almost reverent as glanced down to ensure she wasn't in any pain. But she hadn't even winced, and within moments they were back on the highway and making their way home. Their pace started out even brisker than it had been the day before, with Fornell in the lead and Gibbs at the rear. Sergei and Ziva were in the middle, and for several hours neither of them spoke. They all walked silently, intent on both getting as close to their destination as possible and keeping an eye out for Bloods or hungry animals.

But just about the time the sun hit its zenith, Sergei's familiar rumbling could be heard.

"There are many people waiting for you at Sanctuary, rominy," he said slowly. Ziva looked up at him, glaring against the bright light. "They do not know it yet, but they have all been waiting a very long time." The Russian grinned. "There is one in particular. A little girl." Gibbs saw Ziva stiffen in Sergei's arms as he continued. "A little girl with brown hair and big blue eyes."

Even from his position behind the pair, Gibbs could see Ziva's eyes widen, filling rapidly with tears. Her lips pressed together briefly, and when she spoke softly a moment later, her voice was thick.

"Tali?" she whispered. Sergei nodded. Ziva tried to smile, but the impending tears prevented her from doing so unhindered. "I had been afraid to ask…" She looked up at Sergei once more with pleading eyes. "She's all right?"

"More than all right," Fornell offered from the front. "She's a half-pint ball of fire. I don't know how anyone can keep up with her."

His comment was met with a smile that Gibbs could barely see over Sergei's shoulder.

"Of course you don't, Fornell," Gibbs joined in good-naturedly, "since the last time you did any PT was about twenty years pre-Incident."

Fornell glared over his shoulder at Gibbs, as well as the two other sniggering Residents, but failed to deliver a staggering comeback in return. Gibbs gave a chuckle of his own as they continued onwards. His attention quickly returned to Ziva, however, and he saw her lean up and place a tender kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you," he heard her say softly, in a tone that told him she intended only Sergei to hear. "For honoring your promise to me. For keeping them safe." A thin hand came up to cup his cheek as she offered him a smile. "I know Rider would be proud."

For a long moment, nothing else was said. Gibbs almost believed that Sergei hadn't heard her, but then finally, the Russian's rumble continued, only now as a nearly unintelligible whisper.

"I have done nothing worthy of pride, rominy. I left you, when you took the path that I should have claimed for myself. You should have been the one to return to your husband, to your family, but it was I who did in the end." Sergei's gaze met hers with burning intensity. "It is not a mistake that will be repeated in the future," he told her, with no room for debate.

Ziva nodded once, accepting his declaration without saying another word. Her head dropped back to Sergei's heavily muscled shoulder, and out of Gibbs' line of sight. The pair didn't speak again for the rest of the day, which Gibbs suspected may have been due in large part to Ziva's continued exhaustion.

When they stopped again for the night, after an uneventful day's trek, Gibbs noticed that Ziva seemed paler than she had seemed the night before, but he couldn't be certain it simply wasn't the angle of the moonlight washing over her. But when she gave a moan of discomfort when Sergei gently lowered her to the ground, he knew the pain had increased from yesterday. He immediately went to try and ease her discomfort, but was dismissed just as quickly.

"I'm fine, Jethro," she told him through gritted teeth, pushing away both his curious hands and his concern.

"Ziver—"

"Please, Jethro. Stop. I'm fine. I just need to rest."

Gibbs tried to ignore the harsh rasp of her voice, sharpened by pain, and the stiffness in her limbs as she moved and when Sergei immediately began to change her bandages. Her eyes glinted in the darkness, a silent warning aimed directly at Gibbs. He heeded it, against his better judgment, in an attempt to avoid a full on battle between them.

Within moments of Sergei finishing his task, Ziva was fast asleep. She hadn't had anything to drink for a few hours, and hadn't eaten since midday, but Gibbs decided to let her sleep. It was obvious that going the night without food or water wouldn't be an uncommon occurrence for her, and if sleeping gave her a respite, Gibbs was all for it.

So instead of waking her, he gave Sergei a nod telling him to keep an eye on her, and went to take the first watch. His hovering would do neither him nor Ziva any good, and having a quiet moment alone to process would help relieve some of the tension that had been growing in his limbs over the past 48 hours. His gut told him that even though they were within a day and a half's journey from Sanctuary, they were not safe yet. Something was going to happen, and soon—he just didn't know what.

It didn't appear that they had been followed. He doubted Werth would have the discipline to track them rather than destroying them on sight. And as far as he could tell, they were not in any danger of running into the larger predators of the forest. So maybe they weren't in any physical danger. Perhaps he was simply apprehensive about what would happen when they finally reached Sanctuary.

How would he explain to Tali who this new addition to their family was? There was no way the small girl could remember Ziva. They'd barely spent a week together, and even though they had bonded, Tali had been too young to form lasting memories of brief an experience from so early in her life. What would it do to Ziva if the child reacted badly, rejected her?

Gibbs knew from the sparkle in her eyes he had seen earlier that day that Ziva still cared deeply for Tali. No doubt, the kid had been a lifeline for her in the past two years, a reminder of why she continued to do her best to Survive. If Tali spurned her, out of fear, or perhaps resentment that she now had to share her father's affection with a stranger, how would that affect Ziva? Gibbs may have been able to predict her reaction two years ago, but now, it was a toss-up.

As much as he hated to admit it, Ziva was a wild card.

The night passed smoothly, and halfway through Gibbs relinquished his post to Fornell, and stretched out next to Ziva to catch a few hours' sleep. He was careful not to jostle her, for fear of waking her up. He wanted her to get as much rest as possible, especially when she was so adamant to not allow her pain to hinder them in the slightest. The longer she slept, the longer he could at least believe she wasn't in any pain.

In what seemed only like moments, the sun was up again, drawing Gibbs from his brief sleep. Blinking the exhaustion from his eyes, he stood and arched his back. His back popped in at least three places, and nearly instantly some of the stiffness that had settled along his spine disappeared. Within moments Fornell and Sergei were up and ready to go. But when he glanced at Ziva, Gibbs found she was still asleep. She hadn't even stirred.

Gibbs knelt next to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to rouse her without startling her. He softly called her name, but when her eyes remained closed, without so much as a twitch, alarm flooded him.

"Ziva?" He shook her shoulder more firmly. "Ziva!" His hand flew to gently pat her cheek, but he froze when his fingers made contact with skin that was scorching to the touch. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "Ziva! Can you hear me?" He let his fingers tap sharply on her cheek, in an attempt to wake her, but it was of no use.

There was a light sheen of sweat that coated her skin, even in the morning chill, and under his touch she seemed to shiver. It was obvious she had a fever but what had caused it? Her ankles were clean, and though they had caused her pain the day before, the work Sergei had done seemed to be holding up.

Gibbs' hand unthinkingly brushed against her ribcage, eliciting a pained, muffled moan from Ziva. Gibbs immediately jerked his hand away, his eyes searching for any other signs of awakening in his wife. But nothing had changed.

It was then that Gibbs noticed that his hand, the hand that had touched her midriff, was damp. He glanced at his fingers and saw them tacky with blood, and a clear fluid smeared with a thicker, white substance.

Alarm flooded him as he recognized the sticky fluid, and in an instant he was pushing the hem of Ziva's tank top up to reveal the bare skin of her abdomen. And there, clear as day, was a sight that made Gibbs' heart clench tightly in fear.

A long gash traveled from her right hip to just beneath her left breast. It was deep, especially across the softer regions of her abdomen not protected by her ribcage. But it was not the severity of the cut that terrified him, but the obvious infection that had taken root in the exposed flesh. Her entire abdomen was bright red, with darker streaks trailing away from the gash, but the jagged edges of the cut itself were blanched and a sickly shade of off-white.

The wound was still sluggishly leaking blood, as well as the tacky clear fluid that had covered Gibbs' hand. But even more concerning was the thick, yellowish pus that oozed from deep within the slashed flesh. Gibbs' fingers rested lightly on either side of her abdomen, keeping them away from the raw, red skin, but even that soft touch made Ziva whimper in pain.

Her own hands came up to weakly try to push his hands away. Gibbs saw her eyes finally open, but they were clouded from fever and pain. She mumbled something at him, but it came out as nothing more than a muffled jumble of words. Gibbs tried to brush the hair from her sweaty forehead, but she pushed him away as forcefully as she could, which was really nothing more than a slight pressure on his wrist. But her touch was not one of trying to fend off his ministrations—in her fevered state, she thought he was Werth.

And that realization turned his gut to ice.

Gibbs silently cursed himself, kicking himself for not remembering the blow she had taken during the Games that first night in the City. One opponent had managed to slash her with a sharpened piece of rebar. Even thinking about it now made Gibbs wince—he should have remembered it that first night. And every day since then. How could he not have noticed?

The tank she wore now was not the one she had worn that night, he suddenly realized, not finding a corresponding tear in the fabric. It was whole, and had shielded her untreated wound from his view. But he should have remembered regardless. And he hadn't, and now the dirt and the sweat and the grime from the road had had a chance to fester in the wound.

They nothing in their packs to treat so grievous an injury, and even less to combat such an infection.

And on top of all that, they were still a day and a half from Sanctuary.