A/N: So here we go! I know it's been a while, but this is my priority for the next couple of weeks. I'm gonna see if I can't go ahead and knock out the rest of this story! So, read, and remember, reviews feed the muse. HEY! I'm poet now too! AWESOME!

Ziva had never been one who enjoyed being idle.

Before the Incident, she had been Mossad through and through, though even at NCIS she'd had enough to do with her job that she was never truly without purpose. She'd learned early that to keep moving was to keep your mind off whatever maybe lurking in the back of her mind, and it seemed that even now that held true.

For here she was, sitting on the porch of the house, watching the rest of the Sanctuary going about their work for the day. Most days she tried to join them—or more often, supervised while providing conversation, since not one of them were likely to let her help.

But today, she simply sat there, watching and thinking.

It was so peaceful. It was almost sinful, it so peaceful. Everything was quiet, with the murmur of conversing Residents and the sounds of the birds in the forest. But she knew if for what it was. It was nothing more than a mask of bitter deceit.

It was a simple life, safe and secure. But it wasn't permanent. She knew that. This place… its survival was tenuous at best, especially now. But its fragility was even more dangerous because the Residents wanted it so badly.

They had been running for so long, they wanted to believe that this place could keep them safe forever. They hadn't run into any gangs since coming here, and there was ample food and they could even build fires during the night to keep warm. Such simple accommodations were hard to come by in the years since the Incident—they were downright rare. No wonder they wanted to hang onto it.

Even Jethro, usually so level-headed, couldn't see the risk. Well, actually, Ziva suspected he saw it—he just chose to ignore it. He wanted the best of both worlds, and was taking huge gamble in order to preserve both facets of his life; her, and the Sanctuary.

He couldn't make the decision, Ziva knew. But she could.

And it was little wonder why she felt the need to preserve this peace for them. They had risked everything by Rescuing her—she had no right prolonging the risk. Even if she left now, there would be no guarantee she'd be able to divert the Bloods' arrival. It would be risky, and would involve a delicate balance of cat and mouse, and relied heavily on Damon's ability to interpret the markers she left behind.

She would go back towards the City, get close enough to intercept the most likely route the Bloods would take in following Gibbs' trail, and then head due south, away from the Sanctuary. There was a keen risk of her running into other Gangs, and it was that risk she was counting on. She would be able to move through their territory easily—the Bloods wouldn't.

The other Gangs would see the Bloods' movement as territorial aggression, and would respond in kind. The Bloods would then be delayed by skirmishes, if not an all-out war. It could even prove to be enough of a deterrent to turn Damon off her trail for good. But just in case it wasn't, she would leave signs for him, little clues to remind him that she was out there, and he was on her trail.

He would know something was hinky if he did recognize her signs. And odds were, Damon would even figure out why she was doing it. He would know that she was trying to defend her Rescuers, and he could probably even deduce that it had been Jethro who had stolen her back.

And there was a risk that they would push on anyway, and find the Sanctuary, but she was banking on the fact that his possession of her overrode his pride. He would only go back for Gibbs once he had her back in his grasp—then he would be able to gloat and annihilate all life in the Sanctuary. And she would not allow that to happen. She had been through too much to be captured alive, and once she healed, she would be able to defeat anyone who stood in her way. Even if they caught her, she would make sure she was dead before they ever got their hands on her again.

But first she had to get off the crutches.

She was healing, that much was certain. It simply wasn't happening at a pace she was satisfied with. And at the same time, she didn't want to push herself too hard to heal too soon, because that would only set herself back even further than she already was. She'd tried taking her first steps without the crutches the other day, and had barely taken two before her legs gave out under the strain and pain.

She sighed, closing her eyes against the memory. She was tired of being injured. She'd been injured for the past two years—it was exhausting. And even though she'd had worse injuries, none had had as much banking on its quick healing as this one did.

Ziva settled back in her chair, watching Tali sprint towards the house, Sergei close on her heels. She smiled, her heart both warming and breaking at the sight of her daughter's broad smile and twinkling eyes.

She wanted to watch Tali grow into the woman she was sure to be. She wanted to be there for that little girl, to make up for lost time.

But some things were more important. It didn't matter who watched Tali grow up, so long as she actually had the chance to grow up at all.

Ziva knew what she had to do.

She only hoped she had time to do it before the Sanctuary began to burn.