Author's Note: Here I am with another one! I have no idea where all this inspiration is striking me from, but it better keep coming! This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic, so hang in there with me! You know where that little review button is - give me some feedback, let me know if this is something you would be interested in reading more of. You'd be making my day!

Spoilers: None. Set roughly some time in season 9, current up to episode 16.

Disclaimer: Not mine - not now, not ever.


Sometimes she forgot.

Never for very long, and not completely, but sometimes she had a moment where it all just slipped to the back of her mind. A moment where she didn't have to think about the horror, the terror of realizing that she knew what it was like to give up. The span of a breath that didn't remind her of all the lives she had taken. She could tell herself that she was just like the rest of them, just trying to do her job and bring this little girl home alive.

Then she'd take another breath, and all those years of Mossad training and dangerous missions would take over. She saw that little girl, trembling as she blinked wide eyes at them from across the room. Cassie Evans was eight, and the Glock pistol pressed into her temple was nearly as big as her head. Ziva could hear Gibbs to her left, his voice cold steel as he tried to talk their suspect into lowering his weapon. That didn't matter to her, though, because she knew the look on Cassie's face – she knew what it looked like when someone had given up on hope. She knew what it felt like to believe that you were about to die, and to see that look in a child's eyes …

Ziva was weapon. Fighting, taking a life, none of it was foreign to her. Since Somalia, however, she had vowed that she would not take another life unless it was absolutely necessary; she would not get blood on her hands again if there were any other way. But she knew, just by looking at the crazed man across from her, that there would be no other way. That man truly believed in what he was doing – he truly believed that taking Cassie's life was warranted. Gibbs would not be able to talk him down. More than that, she knew that she would be the one to take this man's life – she would take it, because it was his life or Cassie's, and that was not a difficult choice for Ziva to make.

The slightest hint of movement caught her eye. She could just make out the profile of Tony and Tim as they circled around the suspect in a sweeping arc that took them partway behind the shipping crates. As long as Gibbs kept that man talking, Cassie had hope.

The sound of metal smashing into concrete as it hit the floor reverberated off the walls as it bounced around the small warehouse. She had no time to wonder what had happened; in the time it took their suspect to flinch, to take his eyes off her and Gibbs for one small second, Ziva was halfway across the gap that separated them. Her eyes watched the thick finger that rested on the trigger as her feet swept her across the room, the noise and the chaos around her fading into the background.

The man's head whipped around, but it was too late. Ziva launched herself at him, small and fierce and ferocious, and they collided into one another with enough force to knock them to the ground.

She had no time to look for Cassie, no time to do anything but fight. They had barely connected with the ground when a meaty hand smashed into her jaw, knocking her sideways. She blinked the spots out of her vision and had time to throw her arms up to block another blow when the concussive sound of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun shattered the air. The great hulk of a man gave one great shudder and then he was falling forward, the weight of his now lifeless form pinning Ziva to the cold concrete.

"Ziva!"

She tried to answer, but all that came out was a breathy wheeze. She could hear footsteps and more voices – one that sounded remarkably younger than the others – and then the body was being lifted away from her.

"You okay?" Tony appeared above her, his familiar face tight and drawn.

"Where is the girl?" She took the hand Tony was offering, but gasped and let go quickly when the pull sent a sharp pain through her chest. He was there before she could say anything, slipping one arm around her waist and lifting her carefully to her feet.

Gibbs was there then, grasping her chin lightly with his thumb and turning her cheek to get a look at the bruise that had undoubtedly blossomed across the bottom of her jaw. She could feel the throbbing where she had been punched, but she was also aware of a sharp ache around the ribs on her right side when she breathed. She tried to straighten herself out, but the pull was too much so she half curled into Tony's side.

"I think I bruised my ribs." Her words were clipped because she was trying not to breathe too deeply.

"Where else are you hurt?"

She didn't immediately comprehend what he was asking. Gibbs, in his infinite wisdom, must have seen her confusion because he dropped the hand from her chin and pointed to her abdomen. When she looked down, she realized that most of the bottom half of her shirt was covered in blood. How had she not realized that before?

"It is not mine," She assured them. "Where is the girl?"

"Tim took her to the car," Tony answered. "She's frightened, but she's alive."

"Ducky is on his way. Let's get you to the car." Gibbs fell in on her other side as Tony started them forward. She had been determined to carry herself, but walking was something of a challenge when the pull at her ribs kept her from straightening up all the way. She tried anyway, but they hadn't even made it out of the warehouse when she began to sag. Tony's arm tightened around her waist, taking on more of her weight, and she didn't miss the look Gibbs shot at her partner. Her boss was not happy.

The sight of Tim crouched down in front of the open car door, talking quietly to a living Cassie Evans, made the pain in her jaw and ribs seem less important. An eight year old girl got to go home to her mother today – her injuries and Gibbs' anger didn't matter in the face of such a victory.

They weren't far from the car when Cassie saw them. Her little mouth straightened into a thin line as she watched them approach, eyes narrowed in a way that suggested a perceptive mind cataloging information. The little girl stood then, followed by McGee, and walked slowly to where Ziva and Tony had come to a stop.

"Is that your blood?" Cassie's voice was even and soft, blue eyes blinking and drifting from the blood on Ziva's shirt to her face.

"No."

"But you're hurt?"

"I am fine, Cassie." Ziva smiled easily, but the little girl did not look convinced. Despite her youth, something about her gaze reminded Ziva of Gibbs, and the Israeli glanced sidelong at her boss. Gibbs ignored her gaze, just continued to watch the little girl.

"I thought I was going to die," She said quietly. "I thought he was going to shoot me, but you saved me."

Before Ziva could form a reply, Cassie had stepped forward and wrapped her little arms around the older woman's waist in a hug. Ziva's reaction was automatic: she hugged the girl back, swallowing the gasp of pain that hit when she bent slightly at the waist to accommodate Cassie's shorter stature. She knew that Tony was hovering just next to her, ready to slip his arm around her again when Cassie let go; on the other side, Gibbs already had one hand wrapped around her bicep to steady her.

Only belatedly did Ziva realize that Cassie was just tall enough to reach the bottom of her shirt, which was saturated with blood. She pulled away quickly but gently, her eyes scanning Cassie's face. There was the smallest smudge of pink on her cheek, but the girl either didn't notice or didn't care. "What's your name?" She asked instead.

"Ziva."

"You're a hero, Ziva." Cassie's tone, so innocent and yet completely serious, caught her as much by surprise as the words did.

Gibbs' hand released her arm, and he reached out to Cassie with a small smile. "Let's go get you cleaned up, Cassie."

"But …" Cassie began to protest.

"Ziva isn't going anywhere," He assured her. Cassie let herself be lead back to the car, leaving a still stunned Ziva to process what she had said. She glanced to her partner, perhaps to ask for clarification or maybe just to see what he would say, but the look on Tony's face stopped her. He didn't look at her like that often, but she could remember almost every occasion when he had: in the bathroom after she had come back from Israel; in the elevator after Mike Franks' death.

"I think you have a new friend." He had meant it teasingly, but his tone was far from it.

"But I did not do anything."

"I think Cassie sees it differently."

The arrival of the coroner's van saved Ziva from answering.

Ducky and Jimmy had barely stepped out of the van when Gibbs descended upon them. Ziva couldn't hear what was being said, but she didn't have to wait long. Palmer went straight to the back of the van, and Gibbs and Ducky headed straight for where she stood with Tony.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Ducky asked as got closer. "That is going to be a very nasty bruise."

"I am fine, Ducky." She doubted he would believe it – after all, none of them believed her – but the doctor had the good grace to just small at her in reply.

"Tony, let's get Ziva to the van."

She leaned into Tony as he guided her toward the vehicle, silently thankful that Ducky was here. She had been doing her best to ignore it, but the throbbing in her jaw had become more persistent, and the ache in her chest had morphed into sharp pains every time she tried to move. The van was not far, but her whole body hurt.

By the time they reached Ducky at the van, Ziva was leaning heavily against Tony's side.

"Take this," Ducky instructed immediately. He handed her a small white pill and a bottle of water, which she took wordlessly. "The pill is Vicodin, so you will not be doing a lot of moving for the rest of the day. There is no use in protesting."

She arched an eyebrow at the older man – she hadn't even had time to protest – but did as he said and took the pill. Pain killers were sounding pretty good at the moment.

"Tony, I'm going to need your help." Ducky glanced at the other Agent long enough to see him nod in consent, and then turned his attention to Ziva. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt, but I have to know if you broke any of the ribs."

"I understand."

"Good. Tony, stand behind Ziva and wrap your arm around her chest, just below the throat. The body's instant reaction to pain or injury to the torso is to curl inward, and I need you to keep her upright."

Ziva didn't like the sound of that, and from the look on his face she could tell that her partner was also less than enthused. He did as he was told anyway, moving to stand behind her. He stepped close, close enough that her back was pressed into the span of his chest, and she told herself that the jump in her heart rate had nothing to do with his nearness. One strong arm draped over her shoulder and across the top of her chest, and some dark part of Ziva's mind sparked to life at the positively possessive feeling of it. That part was quickly forgotten, however, when he pulled gently so that she had to stand perfectly straight. Her ribs protested with another stab of pain.

"Left or right side?" Ducky queried.

"Right."

"Okay, Ziva, I'm going to press along your ribcage. If one of your ribs is broken or fractured, I'll be able to feel it move. I need to press hard enough to feel it, but I promise I will go as quickly as I can."

Ziva could only nod.

The moment Ducky began to press on her injured side, Ziva's ribs began to scream. The air fled her lungs with an audible whoosh and she immediately tried to fold in upon herself, but Tony held her upright. The lower Ducky's hand went, the narrower her vision became. The onslaught of pain awakened the flight or fight response she had honed so well, and the years of training tried to take over. She had to remind herself that this was Ducky, her friend, and that she was not in danger.

He pressed on the last rib, and the edges of her vision went gray as pain exploded under his hand. Her legs gave out as she crumpled, her muscles twitching with the effort of trying to pull her body in upon itself. The effort was hindered once again by the pressure of Tony's arm as he held her tightly against his chest, her weight thrown against his arm.

For several long seconds, Ziva was aware of nothing. Bursts of light cascaded behind her eyes, entire galaxies imploding on the back of her eyelids for only her to see. There was no sound, no awareness of time or space or the world outside her body.

The steady rhythm of a heartbeat was the first thing to return to her. She couldn't so much hear it as she could feel it, keeping a steady beat against her back. She focused on the feeling, on the way it seemed to beat counterpoint to her own, and the world slowly started to come back to her. The ringing in her ears lessened, and she became aware of two things: quick, shallow breathing that could only be her own, and the sound of someone calling her name.

"Ziva!"

"Tony?" She felt him sigh, the warm breath tickling the back of her neck. She blinked and glanced down at the arm still wrapped around her chest, then back up at a somewhat bewildered Ducky.

"I'm afraid you passed out, my dear."

Ah.

She struggled to get her legs underneath her again and make them hold her weight, but she felt shaky and dizzy. It took her a few attempts, but she finally managed to hold herself up.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered.

The idea of how much the movement would hurt was the only thing that kept her from shivering.

"So?" She asked.

"No broken ribs. You did a number on them, but I am fairly certain they are nothing more than badly bruised. I still want to x-ray you when we get back just to be sure, however. For now, why don't you help her into the van, Tony."

Ziva thought about protesting, but she doubted she could make the walk back to their car. Besides, she could lie down in the van.

Tony's arm loosened and then disappeared, closely followed by the rest of him. Only his sudden absence told her how much she had been depending upon his support to keep her standing, and she suddenly felt very unsteady on her own. The one bright spot was that the Vicodin must have started to kick in, because the constant stream of pain seemed to be lessening.

"Alright, let's get you in the van."

Oh yes – lying down sounded like a very good idea.