A/N: Okay, it's official. I'm leaving for training on May 25th, which means two things. The first: This fic won't get done until at least the first week of July. Second: I will not be seeing the second part of the finale until that same week in July. So anyone who tries to spoil ANYTHING risks serious bodily harm. Now, any questions? No? Excellent.

Enjoy the update! :)

As soon as Ziva had calmed somewhat, Gibbs got Ducky to come and sew her ankles up once more. There wasn't any additional damage, for which both men were grateful, but Ziva barely seemed to register the doctor's jovial prognosis.

She'd completely withdrawn after her nightmare, and apathetically received Ducky's ministrations as she lay silent on the mattress. Gibbs watched on in concern, though his worry was more for her sudden change in disposition than for her reopened wounds.

It didn't come as much of a surprise, however. To be honest, he'd been waiting for the bottom to fall out from under them. The optimism and good humor she'd shown everyone since her Rescue were not natural. There was no way she could Survive something as twisted as the Black Blood Gang and be unscathed. It was Gibbs' suspicion that she'd been irrevocably scarred by whatever she'd been forced to live through, and not just physically.

He didn't know the first thing about the science of the mind. That was Ducky's territory. But he knew that under certain circumstances, the mind simply broke. It was a miracle that Ziva had the presence of mind to even pretend to be okay. Anyone else might have been an empty shell, but she was torn between putting up the façade for the Residents and the Council and trying to convince herself she was as okay as she pretended to be.

And finally, it had all caught up with her.

Ducky finished his work with a flourish and left, allowing Gibbs to remain alone in the room with Ziva. He watched as she lay on her side, bringing her knees as close to her chest as she could. She turned her back on him, facing the wall instead as she tried to tune him out.

He knew avoidance when he saw it, and he let her have it, taking up residence in the armchair next to the bed.

She lay stiffly on the bed, not bothering to use the blankets that remained twisted beneath her. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, anything, but he'd said all that he could. He'd offered his promise that everything would be okay, but she wasn't ready to hear it. And he understood that. He did. But until she was ready to hear it, and was capable of believing it, there was nothing more he could do.

And so he simply sat there, and ever so slowly Ziva relaxed. Her breathing evened out, and Gibbs was able to believe that she had managed to fall back asleep. By then the sun was high in the sky, near midday, but Tali had yet to come looking for him. That meant that Abby had once again taken charge of the girl, having either heard the morning's commotion for herself or been briefed by Ducky after he'd finished with Ziva. Sergei was also off-Duty today, which meant that more than likely the large Russian would be watching after Tali as well.

But the illusion of peace the silent bedroom possessed was shattered when Gibbs heard Ziva sniff. The sound was congested and forced, and in an instant he knew that she was crying. She hid it well, and maybe she thought he had fallen asleep by now, but it broke Gibbs' heart to know she was hurting. He wanted to embrace her, to hold her until she fell asleep, but the image of her wide and panicked eyes when she'd seen him earlier that morning kept him where he was.

As much as she tried to deny it, something in her dream had made her frightened of him.

He didn't dare try to imagine what her mind had seen fit to plague her with. Who knew what she'd born witness to in the past two years, and the mind had a terrifying knack to twist reality until a person questioned his own sanity. He wanted to ask her, so he could know what he was dealing with, but the task was too daunting. He didn't want to know what he'd done in her nightmare, what had made her suddenly so wary of him. And so he remained torn, unable to choose between her piece of mind and his own.

But when another sniff issued from the form lightly curled on the mattress, he was unable to stay away.

Rising from his chair, he ignored the tension that gripped her frame when she realized he was not as asleep as she'd assumed. Instead he walked carefully around the end of the bed, and knelt on the floor in front of her. He bent a leg under him to keep him level, and sat back, settling in to remain there for a while. He glanced her way, but her eyes were closed, even as tears leaked past her eyelids and coursed their way down her hollow cheeks.

She looked frail on the king-sized mattress, dwarfed by both the size of the bed and the poufy duvet that had been left behind when the original inhabitants of the town had fled. Without the mask of bravado she'd been hiding behind for the past few days, she seemed fragile and vulnerable. Guilt made itself known in Gibbs' gut, as he realized that he should have been there to prevent any of it from happening.

She shouldn't have gone missing, and she shouldn't have been kept as a—what? A slave? A gladiator?— for two goddamn years. She shouldn't have gone on that Medicinal run, and he shouldn't have prohibited it. She should have been there to watch Tali grow, to be her mother. And he should have been there with Ziva in DC, when Damon had decided to claim her as his own.

But he couldn't change any of that. He could merely help mitigate the damage, and even then his effect on her recovery would be minimal. She no longer trusted him as she once did, and for good reason. He hadn't exactly been the pillar of protection. She was not going to tell him much more than she already had, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt.

And that meant that Gibbs was left at a complete loss.

For a few long minutes he simply sat there, unable to find anything to say. Everything he wanted to say sounded naïve even to him, and would have meant absolutely nothing to her. But the silence weighed on him, as he watched Ziva reach up and wipe her silent tears away. He hated being helpless, but he couldn't deny the fact that he was. He didn't know how to help her, and as each moment passed the possibility that he couldn't weighed ever more heavily on his shoulders.

Ziva's hand rested limply on the bed sheets, halfway between her body and the edge of the bed. Gibbs stared at it for a moment, and then as if it had a mind of its own, his hand slowly reached up to wrap his fingers around hers.

To his surprise—and reassurance—she didn't flinch when his skin brushed over hers, or when his fingers closed over her hand. Her fingers remained lax in his grip, but Gibbs didn't take it to heart. She didn't seem to be afraid of him, and that was a start.

For a moment he simply held her hand, the warmth of her hand dispelling some of his own nightmares that continued to plague him. But then his thumb began to trace light circles over her skin, feather-light and nearly nonexistent. It was then that Ziva finally opened her eyes, her blood shot orbs looking at him from beneath tear-swollen lids. They were expressionless, but not empty. Veiled, but not lifeless.

He could only look into them for a moment before he looked away in shame.

Silence pressed suffocatingly, until he finally broke it with hushed words that scraped against his throat.

"I don't know… what to do here, Ziver," he said, his words coming haltingly. He stared at their joined hands. "I want to help… I need to help you. But every time I try I feel like I'm just making it worse." He heaved a soft but heavy sigh. "I don't know what to do."

A long moment passed, before Ziva's fingers finally closed around his. Gibbs looked at her, and found that her eyes now filled with guilt.

"I'm sorry," she said in the softest of whispers.

"I'm not blaming you—"

"I can't… I can't tell you what you want to hear, Jethro." Her voice was shaky, but she kept his hand in her grip. "I can't tell you what happened, in the dream or before you found me. I told you too much already."

"Ziver—"

"I can't." The tears resumed their trek down her cheeks, and her free hand came up to hide them from view, obscuring her features. "I just can't."

Gibbs lowered his gaze. "I know." His whisper sounded hoarse even to his own ears. "I wasn't going to ask." He wanted to know, yes, but he wouldn't have asked. He would wait, until she was ready. "But you don't have to do this alone."

His declaration of support went unanswered, and for a moment it seemed as though she hadn't even heard him. She didn't speak for a long moment, and while she didn't pull away, she did not reach out to him either.

But then, finally, she pulled gently on his hand. When he looked up at her, she was looking at him with tears in her eyes.

"Will you…" She hesitated. "Could you—?"

Suddenly, he realized what she was trying to ask him. Without a word, he stood, and when Ziva moved back on the bed, he slipped into the space she offered. His arms found their way around her, and she pressed her forehead to his chest. Her tears continued to fall, but they soaked into his shirt just as they had earlier that morning.

He pulled her close, and she let him, gripping his shirt tightly as she tried to keep her sobs silent. Her shoulders shook under the strain, and her breaths came heavy and thick. But he held her, for it was all he could do, and savored every moment she did not push him away.

"I'm here for you," he whispered into her hair. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I'll be here, I promise." He sighed softly, breathing in the scent of her. Again, he was struck by how deeply he had missed her, how deeply entrenched his need for her had become. "I'd go to the ends of the Earth for you."

To his surprise, this earned him a muffled laugh. "I know," she muttered, resting her hand flat on his chest. "You already have." Then, with an arch of her neck, she surprised him again by placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I need you. That's all I can tell you now. The rest…"

She let her words hang, and it was enough for Gibbs. He smiled, relief flooding him as the tension that had gripped him since morning finally began to dissipate. He pressed a kiss of his own to her forehead, and his hand stroked softly against her back, running over the sharp angles of her shoulder blades.

"You have me," he whispered. "And don't you ever doubt that."