[Trust the man in the lab coat, Ziva. :|b He'll just be spending the next minute or two firing a list of handwaved questions at her to check out her general state of physical well-being. She might be a rumpled wreck, but from what he's seeing, that's mostly superficial, and she can figure out where to take a bath on her own time. So long as she's not about to keel over from uncaught injuries, he can be content with that.]

Okay. The good news is, it looks like the blast did more damage to your wardrobe than it did to you. Which is really good news on your part, considering the medical facilities in the town you're standing in are archaic enough to make the Dark Ages look like Star Trek. The bad news is, you've just marked yourself as a new arrival on this network thing, and in about two minutes you're going to have to contend with six thousand yappy teenagers turning up to explain this whole new world to you, which probably isn't going to do a whole lot for your already rotten mood.