Tony woke to a surging pain in his head, the tickle of warm breath on sweaty cheek, and the sound of his name being called by a familiar voice.
He tried to speak, but any noise that actually escaped his mouth came in the form of a wheeze. He coughed, clearing his throat, and the body above him, whom he was now aware was lying on top of him, exhaled in relief.
"Thank God," the voice of the person murmured. He opened his eyes, and as his blurry vision became clear, he recognized the owner of the voice.
"Officer David," he said, his voice still hoarse. "Why are you on top of me?"
"Officer?" she questioned sharply, having been awake much longer than him and clearly not sustaining any serious head injuries.
"Sorry, Zee-vah," he replied, then repeated his question.
"I heard the bomb go off and I - "
"Bomb?" his eyes opened fully as he spoke.
"Tony, Dearing placed it in the Director's car. It blew up the building."
"Dearing? What?" he asked, alarmed. "Is the Director OK? How bad's the damage?"
"How would I know? I'm stuck in here with you," she reminded him, and he immediately felt stupid.
She tried to shift her weight to be more comfortable. He let out a yelp.
"Oh, I think you might have a few broken ribs," she said in a concerned voice. She carefully prodded the sensitive area with her finger. A high-pitched noise escaped him once again.
"Yeah, probably broken," she replied. "Anything else?"
He blinked at her a few times, then spoke: "Yeah. My head hurts. A lot."
"I think you hit it on the way down. Hopefully nothing too nasty."
"Yeah. Right." He stared at her for a moment then, and when asked why, he muttered something incoherent. Ziva's logical mind told her not to worry about it, but her heart told her something wasn't right. It was cancelled out, though, for now, because frankly, she had bigger things to worry about.
...
A man in a uniform, with a little assistance from the Jaws of Life, finally pulled them out of the elevator. As the steel elevator walls crumbled under the mechanism, Ziva felt a little pang inside of her. After all, this elevator had been the scene of so many memorable moments. Some good, some not so good...maybe getting rid of ghosts wasn't all bad. The light she saw gave her hope. The sun was setting over the D.C. skyline, and the sky had turned a magnificent shade of pink. A good thing in the midst of disaster - one thing she had learned in her short life not to take for granted.
"This is what the sunsets look like in Israel," Ziva told Tony, fully aware that a) he'd been to Israel and b) he probably wasn't listening. Still, she felt the need to mention it. "Only brighter."
Apparently, Ziva and Tony were the last two out. They were sent straight to Bethesda where they were told the other surviving agents were waiting for them.
Surviving.
As in the ones who weren't blown to pieces. What Ziva hated, more than the fear, more than the pain, was the uncertainty. She did not want to have to run through all the possibilities in her mind. She did not want to contemplate not having her family. She didn't want that.
Tony nearly collapsed after attempting to stand, which re-focused her attention on the task at hand. She hurried over to him, acting as a crutch while they staggered their way over to a waiting ambulance. They were strapped in, and the window was left open just a crack, a cool breeze floating in. When they turned the sirens on, Tony winced and held his head with the arm opposite to the side of the broken ribs.
"Never liked the sirens," Tony said softly.
"You chose a good profession, then," she replied. They sat quietly for the remainder of the trip, though more than once she caught his eyes trained on her again.
It didn't feel like the stares he'd send across the bullpen, with a smile, or sometimes a paper airplane, rubber band or spitball. It was different. He frowned as he stared. It almost felt like he was examining her.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, finally snapping.
"Nothing," he replied. "I just…nothing."
...