AN: Okay guys! Taking a break from Remember with all the excitement of the series. I had to get this out, it's been on my mind a while! Please read and review- I need the encouragement! I might actually finish it, hah! :)

"Flight confirmed, 0500 tomorrow. Five seats to our layover in Munich, where McGee will be running intel from the safe house, and the rest of us will continue north by train." Tony typed away at the keyboard, bringing four flight confirmations with NCIS credentials and approvals to the plasma.

"Munich? Isn't that a bit far? There's a U.S Embassy in Leipzig, that's much closer to Berlin." Ziva announced, only the muscles necessary for speech, and a slight eyebrow furrow, moving in her face. Now was not the time for anything more than focus.

"There was a group of marines on 48 hour leave from the Middle East staying in Munich. Vance is about to issue an announcement to the regarding some fake trouble they got in. Sexual harassment claims made by a Bavarian bierfrau. Original, huh? Could start some international diplomacy issues if NCIS doesn't intervene." Tony waggled his eyebrows. "Do I get kudos or what?"

Ziva's thinning patience chipped. "Tony, why in the world would NCIS send the MCRT halfway around the world for some sexual harassment claims? We deal almost exclusively with murders. It's not very believable." She watched his playful smile deflate. "Plus, why alert Bodnar of our arrival at all? He will be suspicious."

Tony's eyes shifted and Ziva watched him place his bottom lip between his canines, beginning to chew. He stayed focused on the computer screen. "I'll tell Vance to change the story. Maybe our bierfrau was murdered. It was Gibbs' idea to have a cover story anyway. It makes sense, Zi. Bodnar's gonna have our passports flagged." He shifted his focus back up to his partner. She was sitting on the edge of his desk, leaning over him as he typed, dominating the situation as always. "At least yours."

Ziva's look changed from pointed indifference to mild humility. He was right. "Okay, the cover story is in. Whatever. I still don't like it."

Tony took his hands off the keyboard, and folded them beside her hip on his desk. Her eyes followed his hands, attempting to guess his next move. But Tony, as much as he wanted to comfort her, knew better. Ziva, when in mission mode, had to be the one to make the first move, or he would risk scaring her away completely. For all the strength and power she brought forth when she was like this, he couldn't help but compare the small vulnerabilities he picked up on to some sort of scared child. He payed attention. He would pick up on the widening of her eyes, the slight leaning away from any authority figures that came in the room (including Gibbs and Vance). He'd bet anything that her heartbeat picked up with every new development in their European plan they'd created over the previous 24-hours. "You're not mad about the cover story."

She flinched. He was spot on. "No."

"What is it then?"

"Five seats?"

Tony did a slight double take. "Yes? You, me, Gibbs, McGee, and Vance."

He watched her shoulders slack, if only letting go of a miniscule amount of tension. "Vance is going." She pushed herself off his desk, folded her arms in on herself, and walked over across the bullpen to her own desk. She fiddled with the small white and blue flag that stood tall for it's size next to her computer.

Tony stood from his desk chair. She wasn't running away from this one. "Did you really expect that he wouldn't?"

Ziva gave a small smile, still fiddling with the flag. "I guess not." Her fingers stilled. She suddenly snapped towards Tony, the small smile gone. "There are personal matters of his causing him to go. But you aren't burdened with any. You should stay, or at least stay at the safe house with McGee."

Tony snapped his head back to the ceiling and closed his eyes in frustration. "Ziva, no. We are not doing this again. This is personal for me too. You are involved, that's enough." He didn't stumble over the omission- it was nothing she hadn't heard a dozen times that week. "Besides, Gibbs is going. He didn't lose anyone."

The small smile returned, and this time Ziva diverted her fingers to rest on top of her computer, watching as Tony made his way to her desk, mirroring her position from moments earlier. "Yes, but he is like family."

Tony seized up. What was he, chopped liver? Perhaps it was better this way. Their relationship, in all of it's stages over the past eight years, had never had much spoken to back it up. Plus, what did he want from her? He didn't need her to tell her that they were important to each other. And Tony couldn't honestly say he wanted her to think of him as family.

He exhaled, trying his best to not let it sound like a sigh. "Ziva, look. I know you are focused. And I know you have a job to do. I also know you well enough to know you have the martyr thing going on right now, and that you don't want to bring us down with you. But your cause is unfounded- you say you need vengeance but you don't need to force away all the growing up you've done with your time in America." Tony didn't know where this brazen speech was coming from, but once he began, he knew he needed to say it just as much as she needed to hear it. "You're not that girl anymore."

Ziva looked up slowly, and when their eyes met, she tilted her head to the right. No longer carved by her composure, she looked quite unsure of how to digest Tony's words. He could see the gears turning in her head, the notches clicking into place as she pulled apart the meaning from his spiel. He just hoped that when she was finished sorting through his language that she emerged with his intended meaning, as she always did when they communicated just by looking at each other.

She parted her lips slightly to offer... assurance? A rebuttal? Tony couldn't tell, and the response never came. It was cut off by something grabbing her attention from over his shoulder: Gibbs making his way to the bullpen. "When we're done explaining to him the arrangements, in half an hour, meet me in our office."

Tony stumbled back to his desk, and hissed back at her in an attempt to avoid detection by his boss. "You mean Gibbs' office?"

Ziva looked back at him with a smile that attempted to be playful, but only showed her reservations about their meeting. "No, our office."

Ziva leaned over the mens room sinks, bracing the cold edges with her palms. She raised her head to look herself square in the mirror. You can do this. You have to do this. He was going to follow her to Germany no matter what, he'd made that clear. A thought came to her head, and once she indulged in it once, she couldn't help but try to come up with the answer. Would Tony be doing this a year ago? Risking himself for me? The feeling of desert sand rubbing her skin raw prickled her nerves, and she felt the heat of a poorly ventilated prison cell. Dumb question- she dismissed it. He'd already done it for her four years ago. As much as it frustrated her that he was going after her again, she couldn't help but smile at the fact that he would repeat the danger. Also, there was one giant difference this time- he wasn't going after her, but rather with her. It was that classic Tony DiNozzo love and loyalty that obligated her to tell him this deep-buried truth before he put himself in harms way for her again.

She heard the door hinges swinging open before she saw his reflection. She had snuck in early to mentally prepare herself, and he was right on time. "I think we should redecorate the office, sweetcheeks." He said, loosely gesturing to the orange walls. "It doesn't really scream us." He leaned against an adjacent sink. "Then again, I didn't know this was our office. I'll have to get used to that."

"Well, it's less about the décor and more about the... memories." Ziva responded, trailing off with her admission. He nodded and crossed his arms. Ziva went from looking at him to his reflection, now facing the mirror again.

They sat in silence for a few beats. She'd rehearsed her story, but found that she'd forgotten her plan to start it all off. All of her carefully chosen words seemed unnatural when she balanced them on her tongue.

"Whenever you're ready." He shifted to a more comfortable position against the counter. Ziva searched for impatience in his voice, but found none. She was impatient with herself, she had dragged him to the mens room and she just wanted to get it out of her. Gibbs would be expecting them back, and she hoped he wasn't already suspicious.

She decided she'd need to change her method, to ease herself into things. "Tony, you have always been there for me. It bears repeating that you have always had my back. Even when I am not looking out for myself." Why was she so nervous? "But we have never been the best at communicating. Until this year. We have made great strides in that area since the elevator."

"Post-elevator us." He grinned. Ziva got the feeling he was doing his best to make things easier for her. A big defining factor in their relationship, and their immediate interpersonal chemistry, was their ability to read each other. Ziva was inwardly glad that aspect had not dimmed, but only grown, after years of partnership, and only slightly fewer years of friendship. She was surprised but comforted when she felt his hand overlap hers on the ceramic counter. "Honesty, too."

Ziva swallowed back the newly formed lump in her throat. "Yes, honesty. We are much better at that. I was never in the habit of lying to you. I just did not always give you the whole truth." No retracting now, Ziva. "That is why I have to tell you something. Before we leave for Germany, before you follow me into the fire, you need to know what you saved me from four years ago. You deserve that much." Ziva looked up at him, capturing his face, now twisting into curiosity and concern. "I have told you much about Somalia, but I left out one of the characters."

"Characters? Ziva, the past is the past. I'd save you the same today." The overlapping hand turned into him frantically grabbing at her elbows. "I promise it won't matter."

Ziva shook her head. "No, you need to know. You need to know what happened with her."

"Her?"

"The doctor. Jeanne Benoit."