A/N: This is short. I had a bit of a mental block I guess. But it'll get longer. In the mean time, you should read 'Get Out Alive.' Yes, I'm advertising a story inside a story. Isn't that sad? ;)

Enjoy. I don't own anything.

Her scream, his scream, her pain, his pain.

It was all the same at the time.

He remembers every word and every thought.

He remembers choking on those words and thoughts

Wishing it all away.

He heard her scream and he felt it and he could have screamed because it wasn't like Ziva to scream. She was his warrior. She could take any pain, any sight - or so he'd thought till now. But as his gaze shifted to her, he realized why she'd screamed.

Tears were running down her face. He could barely bare to look at her. She already had enough scars - she didn't deserve any of this. He'd take all of her pain if it only mean that she was exempt from the torture he knew both of them felt at that moment.

It had been a bad idea to sit up, he realized. She'd tried to copy him, lifting herself carefully. But she'd screamed for the pain, far worse than his. He'd never believe that she'd screamed otherwise unless he saw it for himself.

Her leg - if you could call it that. It had taken so much damage. When she'd tried to lift it, the pain had been unbearable. Even he would have crumbled under the pain.

She would have smiled if he'd actually said that, and if they'd been in another place, another time. He couldn't take any of the pain she'd been through before.

Her left leg seemed to be ripped to shreds. Shrapnel was stuck in her leg in many places, with cuts slicing it. Her foot was ripped up to the point that it was surely unrecognizable.

Now, if anything, would be the time to call an ambulance. But he knew before he reached for his cell phone that it had been ripped from his body - as had his gun - and most likely crushed by the rubble.

Thankfully, Ziva had stopped screaming almost immediately. He lay back down and pulled her to him, cringing at her pain. He'd thought that covering her had provided protection - but obviously, not enough.

God, he felt so bad for her.

"Ziva, oh God, Ziva," he whispered, feeling a familiar pain as his own tears fell into the cuts across his face. He'd been lucky not to hit his head as she had, but as far as he knew, he was in just as bad of trouble as she.

At least he could still walk. But he wouldn't leave her. Not here, not now.

Not ever.

"Tony," she replied, breathing slowly as an attempt to stop the wracking coughs that she knew would soon be coming. "I'm… sorry. My fault."

"Your fault? How is this your fault?" Tony asked, staring at her wildly. She hadn't planted the bomb. She hadn't sent them to the death trap.

"Didn't… protect you. We knew there was a bomb," she pointed out. "Should have stopped you. Or gone with you."

"Hey, I made you stay, remember?" he asked her, relieved to hear that her voice was becoming stronger.

At least she'd have her voice, amongst everything else.

Ziva shook her head painfully at his words. "Don't remember much. Still, sorry."

She didn't remember much? Wasn't that bad? Or had they said that it was common in severe trauma victims, back when Gibbs had been blasted to hell and back?

"Well… I'm sure someone will find us soon," he declared, trying hard not to show the fear in his wavering voice.

They were stuck here. Embers smouldering in their faces, pieces of the building littering the ground around them. Gibbs - they needed him now more than ever. If anyone had seen the bomb blast (probably, the destruction had taken down most of their side of the building) - let alone heard it - there should be ambulances and fire trucks.

They should be found.

But what if no one was expecting survivors?

He wasn't lost, and neither was she.

Did that mean they could never be found?

With each breath was a fight -

He could still see the spark in her eyes as she fought -

But how long could they fight?