A/N: On a roll! Just a heads up, I think some of the previous chapters were incorrect in some aspects, despite what I originally conceived for this story. So if there are discrepancies, here and there, assume that the most recent update is the correct version/description.

Enjoy!


The next time Ziva awoke, her features were blessedly clear of fear and confusion.

Gibbs was careful not to touch her until she had recognized him—for which he only had to wait for a moment— so as not to startle her as he had before. And when her brown eyes met his in the early afternoon light, they immediately creased into a soft smile.

And Gibbs was so pleased to see it that he almost didn't notice how the skin around the gash across her face pulled tightly against the unfamiliar expression. Her hand, which had only left his when he went to spend his time with Tali, tightened around his.

"Mornin', sunshine," he said with a grin. If possible, her smile widened.

"Jethro—" Her speech was clear this time, or at least would have been if not for the distinctive dry rattle of dehydration in her throat.

Wordlessly, he handed her the cup and straw, filled with fresh water. This time she did not hesitate to take it. When she sipped the refreshing liquid, there was no choking, no coughing—instead there was only relief in her gaze as the cool water soothed her throat.

"How're you feeling?" Gibbs asked carefully when she handed him back an empty cup.

"Better," she responded, her voice coming more easily now. But then her features twisted into a grimace. "Except—"

"Except what?"

"My back—I can't lay like this…"

Gibbs examined her position for a moment. Her torso was cushioned by several pillows, elevating her shoulders to a forty-five degree angle. "Do you want to sit up or lie flat?"

"Up," came the quick reply. "Upupup." Her jaw tightened as she repeated her request, and Gibbs quickly realized that her back was probably a mess of knotted and cramped muscle at this point. He and Ducky had been so concerned about the wound on her abdomen that they'd disregarded the condition of her back, or which positions she may or may not be accustomed to.

He moved quickly, helping her lean forward slightly as he piled more pillows behind her. When he was certain that they would provide enough support for her, he moved to let her lean back, but at the last moment changed his mind.

With expert fingers he reached down her spine, tracing the knobby vertebrae projecting grotesquely through her skin. He ignored her thinness in search of something else, something he could maybe fix right then and—there. Right around the L5 vertebrae was an obvious, nearly visible bump of muscle hiding just beneath the skin. A Charlie horse if he'd ever seen one, and a bad one by the looks of it.

Gingerly, calloused fingers began to softly massage the muscle. He started off lightly, not wanting to risk her further pain, but when she didn't even seem to notice his administrations, his fingers began to press harder. And then, ever so slowly, the muscle began to loosen.

When the last of the tension had disappeared under his touch, he finally let her lean back. She did so with a relaxed sigh, an expression of pure relief on her features as she looked up at him with a smile.

"You must be magic," she said lightly, her eyes twinkling.

Now that she was sitting, it was easy to see the vast improvement in her condition. Her skin was still pale, still scarred, and her frame still gaunt, but her gaze was sharp and alert, and the underlying current of fear that had been present the last time she'd woken had disappeared.

But even with her lips curled into a familiar smile, her brown eyes shining up at him, the change in her was too glaring to ignore. She had not lost her vibrancy, it seemed, but seeing her injuries—and the continuous flashes of her limp and nearly lifeless body in his arms that flew behind his eyes— reminded him that she was far from her former self.

The woman he had said goodbye to two years ago was forever altered, and he didn't know exactly how deep the change was. It had been two years—he would be naïve to think that she'd come out of her captivity with only temporary psychological changes.

But when Gibbs reached out to caress her cheek, this time she leaned into the contact. Her eyes closed, and her right hand came up to gently trap his hand in place.

"Not magic," she whispered, almost to herself. But then her eyes opened again, and Gibbs knew her words had been meant for him to hear as well. "Magic's not real. You are."

Gibbs felt his throat instantly fill with a painful lump. His vision wavered, and he knew that his tears had returned. Her words reminded him how close he had come to losing her a second time, but the warm skin beneath his fingers was a reminder of its own.

She was real too.

He blinked, and the tears spilled down his cheeks, nearly at the same moment that his fingers—the ones pressed against her cheek— became moist as well. And with his tears came clearer vision, and he saw her lips working to keep from quivering as she blinked her own tears away.

And then, it was as if the dam had broken.

A gravelly 'oh god' found its way past the lump in his throat as he moved pull her into his arms. He wanted to sweep her up, clutch her to his chest, but forced himself to be mindful of her injuries. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck, returning his embrace. Her hold was weak, though, another reminder that she was not completely healed despite her improved coherency.

He held her for several long moments, only releasing her when he felt the muscles in her shoulders start to tense from the strain of trying to hold herself up. But even when she settled back on the pillows once more, Gibbs didn't go far. He stayed close, his hands framing her face gently as his eyes took in every new scar, every cut and scrape that left her skin swollen and tender.

He'd come to memorize them in the days of her continuous slumber, but now they were unfamiliar again as they shifted and moved in her wakefulness. The bruises from Werth's last assault on the bleachers were by now a grotesque mottling of dark purple, green, and the beginnings of a sallow yellow, tracing the line of her jaw and obscuring the ridge of her cheekbone. The tattoo, which he was slowly becoming accustomed to, stood out against her still-pale skin, but it now attracted far less attention than the scar that ran across her face.

He could see now that though it was healed, it had not had any help in doing so. The new tissue was knotted and slightly twisted, having grown on its own without stitches. It looked painful, the way parts of her skin seemed to stretch and pull against the newly fused skin, but if it was, Ziva gave no indication.

But that did nothing to curb the burning ire that erupted inside of him.

"I'll kill him for what he did to you."

His words were little more than a growl, but Ziva heard, and instantly her eyes widened, then grew hard as steel. Her hands captured his face where it was, inches from hers, and she stared him straight in the eye with an overwhelming intensity that threatened to swallow him whole.

"No," she said sharply. The word was heavy, resounding in the quiet room around them. "No, Jethro. That anger you're feeling, that hate—"

Dark eyes searched his for a moment, and Gibbs knew that she could see the emotions she listed, and more, in his gaze.

"Let it go," she continued. "No vendettas, no retribution. I'm here, I'm breathing, and we're together. Don't risk destroying that for the sake of revenge. Please."

Gibbs saw tears gather in her eyes again, watched them build and then spill over. But her eyes never wavered.

"Promise me. Promise me you won't go after him."

Gibbs hesitated, but she stared him down until he acquiesced.

"Okay," he said reluctantly.

"No!" she forcefully, gripping his head more tightly in desperation. "No, you say the words, you promise me."

One look into her eyes, still dripping with tears, and the fury in him died. In that moment he knew he would not be seeking vengeance. And staring at her, he found he didn't mind letting it go, if it meant this fear and apprehension would leave her features.

"I promise."

He only had to say it once.

Her head dipped forward in relief, and her fingers relaxed slightly, though they did not leave his skin. Instead they stroked his cheek, in silent gratitude that was voiced a moment later.

"Thank you," she whispered. She sniffed softly, and the sound nearly broke Gibbs' heart. He tilted his chin, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. Under his lips, he could feel the rough texture of the deep, unfamiliar scar.

"I'm sorry," he murmured softly.

To his surprise, she chuckled thickly, her right hand patting his cheek once.

"Sign of weakness," she reminded him.

He kissed her cheek, following the moist track of tears against her skin. "You're my weakness, Ziver. Doesn't matter if you see it." He met her gaze once more. "I missed you. God, I missed you so much."

A tiny smile tickled her lips. "You're going to make me cry," she told him.

"Been there, done that."

She laughed again, the sound music to his ears. He gave a grin of his own. But then, his expression grew serious.

"I want you to drink some more water," he said gently. "Think you can do that?"

"But I just—"

He waved away her objections. "You lost a lot of fluids this past week," he told her. "You're dehydrated."

"But you shouldn't waste water on me," she returned. "If there's any leftover once the Residents have gotten theirs, then maybe—"

"Ziva." Gibbs' voice was warm, but firm. "There's a river less than a mile from Sanctuary. In the year and a half we've been here, the water table's never dropped lower than five feet. We don't ration the water anymore. We don't need to. We have access to more water than we could ever need." He smiled. "Now stop worrying about the Residents and drink."

She took the filled cup that he offered without another word of protest. She grasped the cup gently at first, but when he relinquished his grip on it, Gibbs noticed that her fingers tightened around it possessively. He said nothing of it, though. He simply watched as she sipped her precious water, this time more slowly than before.

"You hungry?" he asked. She shook her head no, and Gibbs accepted the answer for the time being. "Can I get you anything?"

Another head shake, this time accompanied by a wry smile. The grin needed no translation, the gleam in her eye telling him all he needed to know the words she left unsaid—she needed and wanted him, and him alone. Everything else could fall by the wayside.

And as much as Gibbs appreciated and returned the sentiment, he knew that he couldn't let her allow her health to fall by the wayside as well. He would have to keep an eye on her, and act as her voice of reason, just as she acted as his.

Just like old times.

He was about to tell her as such, but a voice at the bedroom door caught his attention before he could do so.

"Boss—"

McGee's voice cut itself short when not one but two heads turned to look at him.

"Ziva! You're awake!" the young man exclaimed in soft surprise. Then he tried to backtrack. "Well, I knew you were awake before, obviously—" He had been the one to see her awaken for the first time after the fever had broken, after all. "—but I thought you were still resting…"

"You got something for me, McGee?" Gibbs asked semi-impatiently. It had been a while since the younger man had fallen victim to his nervous habit of rambling, and Gibbs couldn't help but bite back a grin at the glimpse of the younger, less mature special agent that flashed to the surface.

"Um, yeah," McGee answered, getting back on track. "Tali tripped, and scraped her knee. Nothing serious, but she's asking for you."

The familiar rush of over-protective concern sparked in Gibbs, but it was immediately tamped down by common sense. Just a scrape. But still—he was always the one who bandaged the little girl up.

He glanced at Ziva, who was listening with rapt interest, and saw instant comprehension flood her features.

"Go," she said calmly. "I'll survive ten minutes on my own."

He arched a brow at her nonchalance. "On your own," he scoffed good-naturedly. "No way in hell I'm letting be on your own." He stood with a grin that mirrored hers. "McGee—"

"I'll stay here until you get back, Boss," he responded quickly. "No problem."

"Good." Gibbs leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Ziva's forehead. "I'll be back soon, okay?"

All he got was a pleasant smirk in return, before she innocently slurped some water from her cup.

Brown eyes watched him leave, taking swift strides out the door, before they turned and looked at McGee expectantly.

When the man simply watched her in return, silent and unmoving as he stared, a dark eyebrow arched, making the scar on her brow wrinkle.

"I'm not going to break, Ma-Gee," she said slowly, teasingly. "You can sit, you know."

"Oh, I know, I just—" Rapid words began spilling from his lips again, before he caught himself. "I mean—" He stopped again. Finally, he sat, filling the cushioned seat of the easy chair. "Wow," he said finally, his eyes drifting over her. "Ziva, you—"

He gave her a smile. "You're amazing," he finished finally.

"Amazing?" she echoed curiously.

"Yeah," he affirmed. "A couple days ago you could barely keep your eyes open longer than ten seconds. Now you're fully coherent, sitting up, drinking… Anyone else would probably still be unconscious." He grinned shamelessly. "But you never were one to follow the norm, especially when it came to personal injury."

"I think I heard a compliment in there somewhere," Ziva teased, lowering the cup to her lap as she looked at her friend.

"Oh, there definitely was," he assured her.

But there the banter stopped.

His expression grew serious, accentuating the hard line of his jaw that had developed in the years since her death. Well, her disappearance, he supposed as he looked at her. She had never really died, had she? And seeing her own eyes pass over his form, he knew that she saw the changes in him as easily as he saw the changes in her.

"I'm really glad you're not dead, Ziva," he said bluntly, breaking the silence between them half on impulse.

If he'd said something like that two years ago, he knew she would have come back with some stinging quip that would make him grin knowingly. But now, in that room, she only gave him a tired smile.

"Me too, Tim," she responded softly. She nodded once at him, accepting his sentiment while simultaneously telling him that he needn't say anything more on the subject.

And so he decided to change the subject.

"I left the computer at the Warehouse," he voiced. He didn't blurt it out—he'd meant to tell her. He'd been wanting to tell her for two years. And now that she was here, he couldn't wait any longer.

"Tim—" There might have been an apology in her voice, but McGee didn't give her a chance to follow-through.

"No," he interrupted. "You were right. You were right the whole time. I thought leaving it behind in the Evacuation would have been difficult. But after news of what happened in Vector 9 made its way back to us, perspective was the one thing we had too much of. It was easy to make the decision.

"And afterwards, I realized that you were right. I shouldn't have been focusing so hard on making contact with anyone through the computer. I'd gotten so involved in the search, I never fully accepted the way we were living. But after I left the computer behind… helping the Residents with the here and now is more important than the unlikely future I was hoping for." He looked down at his folded hands in his lap. "I only wish I'd realized that sooner."

Ziva gave him a warm smile. "You were trying to help us, Tim," she said smoothly after taking a sip of water. "I never faulted you for that. But I am glad you are focusing on more productive… endeavors." She watched him smile proudly as she took another sip. "So what kind of work does a computer genius do without a computer around?"

"He works with his wife to make stuff that makes Sanctuary life more efficient and more safe," McGee responded with a grin.

But instead of immediately smiling back, Ziva stiffened, her fingers tensing around the cup in her fingers. "Jethro said Sanctuary was already safe," she said carefully, the warmth of her tone vanishing in the blink of an eye. "He said—"

"Oh, nonono," Tim interrupted, scrambling to put her at ease. "Not that kind of safe. There haven't been any unwanted intrusions since we got here. I meant, well… Last week Abby and I finished putting the final touches on a water purification and dispensing system. It's more efficient, because we don't have to boil each pot of water we collect for the river, and it saves us the time it takes to lug buckets of water to and from Sanctuary. It's safer because it purifies the water before people drink it—they won't get sick if they forget to boil it themselves." He shifted closer to Ziva, his eyes warm and apologetic. "I should have said healthier, or something. You're right, safe sounds like—"

"No, Tim, you're fine," she said finally. The tension slowly left her shoulders, but her fingers still remained tight on the cup, though she didn't drink from it. "I overreacted, I shouldn't have…" She took a deep breath, then met his gaze once more. "I'm glad Abby's all right," she said softly. "I think… I saw Ducky, and Palmer, maybe—" McGee nodded in affirmation. "What about…"

McGee watched as her lips pressed together uncertainly. Her gaze lowered, but she finally took a steadying breath before asking what she wanted to know.

"Tony? Is he--?"

"He's here too," Tim replied quickly, his lips creasing into a beaming smile. "He's been by to check in on you every day since Gibbs brought you in. He just never managed to be around when you were awake. He will though, especially if you keep progressing the way you have."

Ziva gave a sigh of relief, an honest to goodness smile on her lips as she relaxed back onto the pile of pillows behind her. "So everyone is alive. They're safe."

McGee gazed at her warmly. "Yeah, Ziva. We're safe. Thanks to—" He censored himself at the last minute, but one look at Ziva told him that she knew exactly what he'd intended to say before tact decided to make an appearance.

"Thanks to me," she supplied softly. Her smile didn't disappear, but a shadow flickered across her eyes.

"Well, yeah," McGee said helplessly. "If you hadn't—we wouldn't have been able to Evacuate in time." He gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

"Don't be. That's all I ever wanted, Tim. You're all safe, and that's all that—"

Her words ended in sharp hiss, her eyes clenching tightly shut as a wave of pain washed over her. One hand left the cup to brace herself against the mattress, clenching the blankets in a fist that turned her scarred knuckles white. In a flash, McGee was on his feet, moving closer to offer what help he could, only stop short when he realized he didn't know what was wrong.

"What is it? What's wrong? What—I'll get Gibbs—"

"No, Tim," she whispered harshly. "It's passing, I just—" A pained gasp left her lips even as she tried to assure him of her condition.

"I'm getting Gibbs."

"No, Tim, please." Her hand shot out to capture his.

McGee hesitated. "What can I do?"

"Stay." The low request was all it took for McGee to sink like a stone to the bed beside her. Calloused hands settled over her sheet-clenching fist, which instantly shifted its grip to him.

The motion surprised him, the ease with which she took comfort from him so uncharacteristic that it made him pause. But he didn't overthink it. He focused on the woman in front him, his friend, and resolved to give whatever aid she would accept from him.

"What happened?" he asked tentatively.

For a moment, she didn't respond, and McGee was ready to accept a non-answer in response when she finally replied.

"My legs," she managed to choke out. "I tried to move my legs, and then—what happened?"

McGee gave an inaudible sigh of relief. The pain in her ankles would pass, and it was easy to explain. She must have forgotten, when the fever ravaged her small frame.

"Your Achilles tendons were cut," he said gently. "Gibbs said it happened when he rescued you. Sergei patched you up before you made it to Sanctuary, and they should heal okay as long as you don't try to use them too soon." He paused. "Do you remember?"

There was another delay in response, but McGee waited patiently. "Yes," she replied finally. "It took me by surprise, but—It is the same as when I fell off the Autopsy table."

McGee smiled in relief, and then did a double take. "Wait—what? Autopsy? What autopsy?"

To his surprise, his question earned him an eye roll, though he knew it wasn't directed at him.

"I was taken to NCIS," she told him. "That was where Sergei worked on my ankles." She grinned through the fading pain. "I don't remember much, but I do know that I woke up lying on one of Ducky's tables. I fell off the table when I attempted to climb down."

So she didn't explain her panic, or her confusion at waking alone. But he didn't need to know that part of it. It was unnecessary, and she didn't want their easy conversation to turn tense.

As the pain diminished, she could feel the familiar warmth of his close proximity. Not body heat—everyone had that. Even Damon. But McGee was comforting, unpresumptuous, and softer than Jethro.

A friend.

One who was currently offering comfort with no strings attached, and who had absolutely no capacity for heartless violence. Sergei and Jethro could cross that line if provoked, but not Tim. He was always gentle, and she could feel that gentility permeate the air around him, soothing her. It was impossible to feel tense around him.

Soon, all she could feel was the peace of mind that had filled her before, when Gibbs had been with her.

"Jesus," McGee continued softly. "I would've fallen off too, if I had woken up there." He gave her an easy, if sheepish, smile. "I still have nightmares about it sometimes."

She returned his smile with one of her own. "I think we all do, Tim," she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

A quiet moment passed as neither of them said anything more. McGee almost didn't notice that his thumb had been tracing comforting circles over the back of her hand, but when Ziva didn't object or pull away, he saw no harm in continuing. Finally, he was the one who broke the silence.

"I think nightmares are a good thing," he admitted softly. "They used to haunt me, before the Incident, but now… Now I almost look forward to them."

To his surprise—or perhaps, not so surprisingly—Ziva nodded in agreement.

"They're reminders that however hard things seem, they could always be worse," she affirmed. McGee watched as an unbidden yawn made her pause.

"When you stop having nightmares… that's when you know you're in trouble."