She couldn't stay awake long.

The effort it'd taken to curl three fingers around his hand, even to smile at him, had exhausted her. Within moments of his return to the bedroom, she was asleep once more, much to Gibbs' disappointment.

He understood her need to rest. He knew that it was necessary for her recovery. He accepted the fact that the more she rested, the quicker she would heal.

But that did nothing to stem his desire to speak with her.

The few words they'd shared on the journey home to Sanctuary—before the morning his heart nearly stopped when she wouldn't wake up—now seemed insufficient. He had so many things to tell her. Two years worth of words he'd kept to himself, voicing them only when he was certain no one could overhear. He'd turned those words into prayers, hoping that she'd be able to hear wherever she'd gone.

But she wasn't dead. She was alive.

And it was a relief to know that she'd never heard his prayers. He had to tell her all those words himself. And he didn't want to wait any longer. He'd had to wait two years—a lifetime, in this world that had been forced upon them.

But he did wait.

There was nothing else he could do. He remained by the bedside for hours, eyes glued to her slumbering form, searching for any indication that she was ready to wake. But aside from the occasional flicker of her eyelids, she remained still as stone. Even the rise and fall of her chest, reassuring as it was, was nearly indiscernible it was so slight.

For hours and hours he waited.

He sprinted to Sergei's in order to put Tali down for the night, and then sprinted back only to find that Ziva hadn't stirred. He resumed his post in the easy chair beside the bed, leaning forward onto his knees to take her limp hand in his.

Eventually, however, nature called.

And when he returned from the head, he bypassed the chair in favor of sitting directly on the mattress beside her. Automatically his hand returned to hers, but the moment his skin brushed hers he knew something had changed.

Frail fingers flashed, and suddenly his wrist was clasped in a vise-like grip. And before he could blink his hand was shoved away with as much force as Ziva could muster, which in her condition meant that his hand merely returned to his lap, but Gibbs could not ignore the ferocity with which she'd attempted to move, even in her now semi-conscious state.

She murmured something unintelligible as she feebly continued to push away the hands that instinctively drifted towards her. The words were slurred, muttered, and indecipherable—save for one.

"Damon."

The whispered name drifted to his ears, and was instantly recognized, sending a flood of rage through Gibbs' consciousness. He froze, unable to think past the blood roaring in his ears. But somewhere, somehow, he was able to recognize that she didn't want Werth. She wasn't asking for him.

She thought he was Werth.

She thought he was her captor and had warded off his perceived advances as violently as she could manage. And that comforted him just enough to acknowledge the flash of pride that sparked within him.

Another second passed, her murmured confusion refusing to abate, and that additional second was a second too long for Gibbs.

"Ziva," he called softly. His intention was to gently wake her—not to distress her further by scaring her. But the simple utterance of her name did nothing to soothe her.

"C'mon, Ziver," he said more forcefully. "It's me. It's Jethro. You're safe. Wake up for me, okay? Wake up."

This time, his words seemed to get through to her. And after a moment, her eyes blinked open again.

At first, they were clouded with confusion and wariness. Gibbs' position on the bed prevented him from being in her immediate line of sight, and her gaze darted around the unfamiliar room with what Gibbs could tell was a growing sense of panic. He moved to offer comfort before it fully set in, but the movement had the opposite effect.

It startled her, and her freshly conscious state had her hyperaware and her reflexes on high alert. With the same speed he had seen in the gladiator Games, she twisted to face him, at the same time lifting her torso enough to slide away, putting distance between herself and his close proximity.

A second later the pain hit, and she folded slightly with a soft cry. But when Gibbs instinctively moved to help her, she knocked his hands away with as much fervor as she had woken with. He immediately pulled back at the harsh reminder.

"Ziver…" he voiced instead.

His voice-- and the petname that was used solely by him-- made her pause, and she finally looked up at his features. And as soon as she did, she visibly relaxed. Her hand reached out, and Gibbs' instantly grasped it. He was relieved to find that all five fingers in his palm were relatively undamaged. He was sure he would find scars when he took the time to look, but he could feel that each could bend and straighten as they should.

"—'ro," she rasped harshly, her voice struggling to work properly. But he knew the attempt at his name for what it was.

"I'm here, Ziver," he said, unable to keep the grin from his lips. "It's okay."

"Where 'm'I?" came the slurred question, her eyes blinking heavily. Exhaustion clouded her gaze, and kept her eyes from completely focusing. Her head lifted briefly to look around the room once more, making the links of chain still connected to her collar tinkle obscenely.

"Sanctuary," he told her gently. "Do you remember us talking about it?"

Her brow furrowed, and the top two inches of the scar creasing her features wrinkled as she struggled to recall the events that had occurred after leaving DC.

"Trees," she said finally, her eyes struggling to remain open.

Gibbs nodded encouragingly. "That's right, Ziver. We went through the woods."

He watched as she struggled to swallow. He moved to get her some water, but her grip on his hand tightened, keeping him in place.

"Thaw y'wir Daym—"

Gibbs pressed his lips together. Her coherency was deteriorating, despite his continuing ability to understand her. He knew she would be asleep again in a few moments.

"I know," he reassured her. "It's okay. You don't have to worry about Damon anymore. You're safe."

Her fingers tightened on his.

"Nuh," she muttered. "Nah sif…" She coughed as her voice finally gave out.

Gibbs reached out to brush a tangled lock of hair from her face. It was sticky and waxy against his fingers, but he ignored it in favor to focus on her tired features.

"You are safe. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise." His reassurance seemed to fall on deaf ears as her eyes closed, and did not immediately reopen.

"Ziva," he said forcefully. Brown eyes reemerged from beneath sallow lids. "I need to sip some water for me before you go to sleep again." She blinked. "Can you do that for me?"

"Wa-er?"

She finally showed something that could be considered interest.

"Yeah, water." Gibbs jerked his head towards the pitcher of the liquid that stood waiting on the small table that had been brought in.

She blinked again. "Din urn ih."

This one took a moment for Gibbs to translate. "You don't have to earn it, Ziver. You can have as much water as you need. As much as you want."

She glanced at the pitcher, then looked back up at him. He could see the wariness in her gaze—she didn't believe him. She wanted to, but she couldn't.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her softly.

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, and then finally gave a small nod of her head. He smiled in relief at the affirmation.

Unwilling to release her hand for even a moment, he stretched to grab the pitcher of water, empty cup, and small plastic straw that Ducky had thought to leave out for them. As smoothly as he could manage one-handed, Gibbs poured some water into the cup, and then slowly brought the plastic straw to Ziva's chapped and torn lips.

She was fading quickly, and it was several long moments before she could gather the dexterity to wrap her lips around the tube. But when she was finally able to draw the liquid into her mouth, Gibbs realized that he had neglected to consider her ability to use the straw correctly.

Ziva choked on the first sip, the water hitting her windpipe with unerring accuracy as she failed to swallow in time. Her body spasmed as she expelled the offending liquid, and Gibbs tried to help her sit in order to ease her breathing while she coughed. The metal around her neck tinkled underneath the sound of her hacking, sending chills down Gibbs' spine, but he shoved the sound from his awareness, focusing instead on his wife.

When she had recovered enough to breathe freely, albeit raspily, Ziva slumped unceremoniously back down to the pillows. Gibbs watched helplessly for a moment before reaching out to stroke her matted hair soothingly.

"Wanna try again?" he asked softly.

Brown eyes gave him a scathing glare. Gibbs couldn't hide his grin.

"Okay. No more for now."

"Sleep?" Her tired voice still sounded like music in his ears.

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, sweetheart. You can sleep now."

Brown drifted shut, but a moment later Gibbs was unable to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Thanks for pulling through, Ziver," he murmured quietly, listening to her steady breathing. "Don't think I'd survive losing you a second time."

He wasn't sure she'd heard him until her hand found his once more.

"Thnks fr cmn fr me," she slurred in return, not opening her eyes. She gave a soft, gentle sigh, and the whispered words that followed were as clear as day, despite her fading consciousness. "Love you. Never stopped."

"Love you too, Ziva," he said. "I love you too."

---

A/N: Oh, gods. Sorry times a million. I know I said by the end of Spring Break, but it's like the minute I said that, my muse took offense at my presumption and decided to flit away for a month or so. And this is a super tiny chapter, more of a filler, really, but I have already roughly planned the next update. I'll try to get it up soon, but I'm refusing to guarantee anyway, lest my muse decide to leave again on strike. But I will say that I really want to get this story done by June. Otherwise y'all will have to wait until late August, which would not be fun for anyone involved.

Thanks for sticking with me!

P.S. Special shout-out to Zivacentric for her unwavering patience with my nuances and random thought ideas. Muchas muchas gracias, mi amiga!