A/N: Getting all funky with this one. Let me know what you think.

It was a challenge from Jess. Blame her.

"Explain one thing to me..." Ziva said as they stood in the elevator, suffering from the pre-scene buzz they always felt. "Why are we going to a suicide bomber? Surely this is for bomb squad... or CIA... or not NCIS!"

"Because," Gibbs replied with a sigh. "The bomber is a Gunnery Sergent in the Marines."

Tony groaned. "Shit. They know anything yet?"

"Nope. Evacuated the area of civilians, but there's still a bunch of local LEO's looking for some action, FBI, bomb squad, and Tactical response. This is gonna be a circus."

They loaded themselves into the van, allowing McGee to ride with Gibbs in the sedan. Tony glanced at Ziva, who was rubbing her hands nervously, her face paling slightly.

"You okay?"

"I am fine, Tony." She snapped, not meeting his eyes.

Her nodded. If she wanted to talk - which he doubted – she would. No point pushing her.

The car ride was thankfully short. By the time they arrived at the Washington Monument, the green was bustling with reporters, various federal agents milling around with little to do or say, local LEO's underestimating the severity of the situation, and bomb squad. Looking concerned.

Gibbs had the team reconvene by the tape securing the scene, pointing to the Lieutenant. The man couldn't be more than twenty eight. He was stood, trembling with fear, but his face was resolute. Ziva noted he wasn't the stereotypical bomber. White, fair hair shaved in a typical Navy style, uniform pressed, middle-class. What reason did he have to want to blow himself up, along with everyone around him? What statement could he have to make? He was in the armed services, he of all people should have been able to understand what explosions could do, how they could kill. What the hell was driving him to this?

They took up their positions behind the tape. No-one other than bomb squad could go further than this, in fear of causing the man to detonate the bomb of unknown quantities, killing unkown numbers of civillians and LEO's.

Gibbs took up the role of negotiator, due to said official being stuck in traffic five miles away. It turned out that a man wearing an explosives jacket in the middle of DC just a little too close to the White House for the President's liking caused somewhat of a traffic jam.

"My name's Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. What's yours?"

The man said nothing.

"Gunny, what is your name?"

"Gunnery Sergent Quinn Jones, sir."

"Alright, Jones. Why don't ya tell me why you're doing this? There's gotta be a reason you're stood in Memorial Park wearing a suicide jacket, huh?" Gibbs kept his voice level and pleasant - something Tony rarely felt the luxury of.

"I've had enough, sir. We get deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan with inadequate protection and briefings, then enquiries are swept under the carpet. My brothers are dying and for what? A few thousand dollars that instead is spent on paying for Air Force One?"

"I understand, Jones. I was a Marine. I know the kit was useless, I know it did nothing to save your buddies. But is this really the way to solve this thing?"

"Yes sir. This is the way the people we fight get the attention of the Government, why shouldn't I do the same? How is this any different to what we do over there?"
Gibbs had no answer to that.

Tony's position was at the far side, gun aimed, co-ordinating the sniper teams on the White House roof with the ground teams. He was waiting on a signl from Gibbs for them to fire. One signal, and that guy would drop like a marionette with it's strings cut. But the risk was a a dead man's switch - if the man was serious, he would have wired the explosive to his heart. Once he was dead, the bomb would detonate.

Ziva had her SIG aimed at Jones, but her hand was shaking slightly. The guy from bomb squad was stood next to her, arms folded, white t-shirt hugging his biceps, brown work trousers held up by a pair of braces. He'd d discarded his jacket and helmet somewhere else, and his dark hair flopped into his eyes, which were full of worry. He leaned over to her and steadied her hand.

She smiled at him slightly.

"First suicide bomber?" He asked gently.

She laughed. "I wish. I am Mossad. It is a regular occasion for me."

"Hmm. Yeah, never fancied living in Israel."

"Ziva David," she told him.

He grinned at her. "Patrick McDonald, but call me Paddy."

"Irish?" She guessed.

Paddy grinned. "Just a little."

"So we are both immigrants."

He shrugged. I guess. Whoa! Aim!"

Her eyes shot back to the man, who's hand tightened round the trigger as he raised it up slightly.

Ziva spoke into the microphone attatched to her jacket. "Gibbs... I have a clear shot!"

"No, stand down!" He replied quickly.

She growled in frustration, and lowered her weapon, but her finger did not leave the trigger.

Paddy nudged her shoulder with his elbow. His height bugged her. She was only five'six, and he was easily six'three. Irritating, to say the least. "It'll be okay, you know."

She grimaced. "I... I can't do suicide bombings, Paddy. I-I just can't."

He saw the pain flicker in her eyes. "Ziva... what happened?"

People were screaming, scrambling away from the wreckage of what used to be the free bus that shuttled people to and from Tel Aviv. Ariel Michel was moving in the opposite direction - towards the chaos. She slipped across the scraps of metal and rubble, searching for one face. A woman almost knocked her over in her desperation to get as far away from the explosion site as possible.

But Ariel needed to find Tali.

Tali David was the youngest Mossad Operative at only sixteen, but showed incredible promise and potential - just one of the reasons the Director had assigned her as Control Officer for this operation. It didn't hurt that she was the daughter of Eli David - a living (unusual in itself) ledgend at Mossad, and the little sister of Ziva David, the best agent at Mossad. Tali had insisted taking the most dangerous tasks on herself, despite it going against protocol. But Hassan had got to her - killing more people than Tali could stomach, and managing to slip away from Mossad in the process. This time, she had sworn he would not get away. Ariel had accepted her unorthodox approach, and regretted it thoroughly. However, she had to keep hoping, for her friend's sake, hold on to every chance, because if you didn't seize them when you could, God would stop offering them to you.

But hope faded as she spotted the tiny brunette sprawled in the wreckage, with an almost etheral beauty. There was such peace on her face, she could have been sleeping.

But Ariel knew from the deep laceration to the back of her head and the sticky pool of blood at her feet that this was not the case. Tali had died instantly when the force of the explosion knocked her off her feet, hitting her head against a rock.

Small mercies Tal, Ariel thought to herself. Shalom...

Three hours later...

Ziva was sat at her desk when Ariel stumbled into the office, dirt smeared across her face, clothes torn, cuts covering her.

"Ariel!" She rose quickly, suppoorting her friend, who stared into the distance. "What's happened to you, El?"

Ariel begun to sob quietly, and Ziva grew increasingly alarmed. "El, what's going on? Where is Tali?"

"I told her not to get so close, Ziva! She got too close to the damn bus. She would not listen... pulled ranks..."

Ziva jumped back as though she had been scorched, sliding down the wall into a slumped heap. "No..."

"I'm sorry, Ziva. Tali died in a suicide bombing. I'm sorry."

"No..."

"I'm sorry."

Paddy echoed the words Ariel had said to Ziva so long ago.

She shrugged. "It gets easier with time."

"Does it?"

Ziva gave a small laugh. "No. Never."

He glanced at her. "You're a girl."

"I'd gathered."

"Well, I have a problem."

"Go on."

"Well, my sister in law had lunch with me the other week, told me she was pregnant. Now, she still hasn't told my brother - he's called Don... I don't know which one of us got the worse name - and I want to take you to dinner."

She burst out laughing. "That is the most absurd way I have ever been asked out. Also, I get the feeling I will not be off shift tonight. Or tomorrow."

"Friday then." Paddy grinned lazily, his grey eyes capturing hers.

She nodded. "Friday..."

Just then, Gibbs gave Tony the nod. Out of nowhere, five shots echoed simmoultaeniously. He winced as the man dropped to the griund, dead before he hit the floor.

But the threat wasn't over.

Paddy grimaced. "Great. This is my spot."

Ziva chuckled. "Try not to blow us all up, hey?"

He pulled on the rest of his kit, a smirk on his face. "I'll do my best, David." He strolled away, holding up seven fingers, then an okay sign. "Neaplita's!"

She laughed, nodding.

Then, it happened. The shockwave knocked Ziva back maybe five metres onto her back. She laid still, ears ringing, dazed. Dust clouded above her, and she could just hear people screaming, running...

Tony sprinted over to his friend, crouching by her side. "Ziva! Ziva!"

She looked at him. "He's dead, isn't he?"

Gibbs was by their side. "I'll check."

Tony remained silent. The chances of Paddy surviving a blast like that from such a close range were slim to none. But Ziva didn't need to know that. Not just yet. He offered her a hand, which she accepted, hauling herself up.

Despite the warning shouts, Ziva stormed - albeit unsteadily - under the tape, towards the bomb site.

There, sprawled in front of her, was her date for friday night. She dropped to her knees, and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, before closing his eyes.

"Someone - someone needs to... to call his brother..." she called.

Tony pulled her up. "C'mon. Ziva, you don't need this. We have to work."

Ziva nodded, allowing him to direct her towards the command centre, where Gibbs was yelling at the group of people stood around. She closed her eyes briefly, the noise not helping the sticking headache she could feel coming on.

Finally, Gibbs turned to them. "Dah-veed, medics. Now."

She shook her head. "No. I am not going anywhere, Gibbs."

McGee hovered nearby. "Ziva, that was a pretty big explosion..." He trailed off as Ziva shot him her best death glare.

"Mah-Gee, I do NOT need you telling me what I should or should not be doing! Let me decide what I do or do not need!"

Tony laid a hand on her arm. "Ziva. Walk. Now."

They moved away, towards the quieter corner of the park. "What happened?"

"Paddy... we were supposed to go out friday." She said, angrily scrubbing away the tears that escaped her eyes. "I knew him all of ten minutes, and it still hurts."

He nodded. "I know. In Baltimore, I was assigned a probie to monitor. She was a good kid. Done a couple of years on the beat, was joining homicide. First day out with me, and some damn kid with his brothers gun shot her, straight in the chest. Bled out."

She sighed. "I guess we are both unlucky in love then, no?"

Tony gave her a wry grin. "If I didn't think it was inappropriate and you'd probably kill me, I'd say we should go grab a drink sometime."

Ziva was about to reply when a stunning woman with vibrant ginger hair screamed.

"Paddy!"

She sprinted towards the slightly hysterical woman. "Are you Paddy's um..."

Tony came to interpret. When Ziva was emotional, her english slipped a little. "Sister in law?"

"Yes," she said, blinking the tears from her crystal blue eyes. "Jess."

"Jess... you're brother in law was killed in the bombing a short time ago."

Jess' whole body shuddered as she broke down. Ziva hugged her tightly, allowing her own tears to fall. "He was a good man."

"You knew him?" she looked up.

It broke Ziva's heart. This woman, a face so ready to love, a warmth about her, the one person she trusted, killed. "Y-Yes, I... I met him."

"He... I..."

Ziva kissed her cheek. "Tell your husband, about the baby. Patrick wanted you to... Be well."

She didn't look back as she walked away, towards Gibbs. "You-" she growled. "Better have a good reason for getting a man shot, who was wearing a dead man's switch!"

"David, there was too much risk, soclose-"

"To the white house?! I'm not surprised he did it! Look at what you're country does - charging in with no good reason, sticking its nose where it isn't wanted!"

"You cannot criticise, David!" Snarled some man Ziva didn't recognise. "You Israeli's - shooting innocent Palestinians for a strip of land that is not yours!"

"It isn't there's either!"

"HEY!" Gibbs interrupted. "We are NOT getting into this, alright? David, go home, cool off, okay? You-" he glared at the agent. "Get out of here, now."

Ziva stormed away, glaring at various people.

Tony rested an arm lightly on her shoulder. "Call me later, okay? You'll want to talk."

She merely smiled, and walked away. This was too much. He hadn't deserved this, and one thing was for sure - today had firmed her passion for both Mossad and NCIS.

They could not win.

Fear could not win.

Pain of mind on account of something in the past; mental suffering arising from any cause, as misfortune, loss of friends, misconduct of one's self or others, etc. ...

A/N: Jess - that okay for ya, hon? Review, please!