A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay! I would make an excuse, but they all sound lame. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, I am so glad you're enjoying the story.
"20 questions?"
"Yeah. It's like truth or dare, but with just the truth. I ask you questions and you answer them. Then you can either ask me the same question or make up a new one. Once we hit 20 we're done."
"Oh, alright. If there's nothing else to do."
"Oh, and you get one pass. If there's a question you really don't want to answer, you can pass."
She nodded in confirmation.
"Alright, I'll start. What's your favorite color?"
"My favorite color?" she asked in disbelief. She thought the questions would be more interesting than that.
"Yeah. Of all the things I know about you, I don't know your favorite color."
"Oh. It's green."
"Like lime green or..."
"No. Do you know what color the leaves are right after the rain? That color green."
He doesn't ask why. That he can figure out on his own. They're bright, vibrant, the very essence of being alive. He knows she cherishes the smell of the rain, too.
"What is your favorite color?"
"Scarlet and gray."
"Tony, not everything can be about your Ohio State Buckeyes."
"Not everything. Just my favorite color and my selection in sports teams."
Ziva rolled her eyes.
"What's your favorite food?"
"I do not know the name, but it is a spicy pasta dish that Monique introduced me to. What is your favorite food?"
"I think my Nonna's homemade tiramisu is my favorite. She used to make it for me all the time."
"That is nice."
"You expected it to be pizza, didn't you?"
"No, I did not, but I was not expecting it to be something so sentimental."
"It's good to know I can still surprise you. Alright, current favorite song."
"Pass."
"Seriously, that's what you're going to use your pass on?"
"Yes."
"That's unacceptable. I refuse your pass."
"That is not allowed."
"How do you know?"
"You said I could use my pass on any question, yes? I choose to use it on this one."
"Nope. Come on, it can't be that bad. Whatever song you pick, I won't judge you." He gasped, "It's not Call Me Maybe, is it?"
"No. It is Stronger, by Kelly Clarkson."
"See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"
"No. Now what is your favorite song?"
"It will always be "Fly Me To The Moon" by Frank Sinatra.
"You're just saying that because you like Call Me Maybe."
"I do not."
"Ha. I heard you humming it at your desk."
"It's just so catchy."
"I will remember that for future reference, but it is your turn to ask another question."
"Hmmm...How about...first kiss?"
"My first kiss was with a boy named Jacob. I do not recall his last name, but we were twelve. I punched him immediately afterward because he did not ask my permission first."
"Geez, poor Schmuel Rubenstein for saying he liked you and your first kiss? When did you stop punching your dates?"
"When I was fifteen. Now who was your first kiss?"
"Oh come on, Zi. It's not fun if you just ask me all the questions I ask you."
"You told me I could. You said I could ask the same question OR make up a new one. I happen to like your questions."
"But it's so much more fun if you ask me other stuff."
"You cannot take it back now. You already made it a rule."
"Oh yeah and we've always been big sticklers for rules, obviously."
"Just answer the question."
"Which was..."
"First kiss."
"Oh. Her name was Jamie Henner. I was fourteen."
"Fourteen?"
"Yes, alright. I wasn't exactly great with the ladies until I started playing football in high school."
"I did not criticize, Tony, I was merely wondering if I heard you correctly."
"Sure."
"Your turn again," she said smirking.
"What's the story behind the tattoo?"
She smiled inwardly. She knew it would come up eventually. It had been several years since he'd seen the tattoo on the inside of her thigh, and though he had only brought it up once before this, she knew he hadn't forgotten. It was an owl in only black ink perched on an elegantly crafted 'T'.
"It is for Tali. She loved owls. She had a fascination with them. We had a family of them living in a big tree in our back yard as children, and she would climb up inside it to find them. She broke her arm falling out of it when she was twelve. As we grew older and I began my Mossad training, she would always tell me that I reminded her of her owls. 'Swift, silently moving in the night to capture her prey, and wise beyond her years. Beauty that radiates while perched watching the world go by, but deadly accuracy and even deadlier talons hidden away, only shown when the time is right'. I will never forget the night she told me that." She sat quietly for a moment, engrossed in memories of her sister. "What about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"What's the story behind your tattoo?"
"I thought we'd been over the you asking me different questions thing."
"I really want to know the answer to this one."
He sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of this one. "How do you even know about it?"
"I saw it briefly one day when you were changing."
"Why were you watching me change?"
"You were doing it at your desk. I didn't really have a choice in the matter."
"You always have a choice. Just admit it, you wanted primo seats for the DiNozzo gun show."
"You are avoiding the question."
"As are you."
"I asked first. What's the story?"
"Ninja."
"You have not called me that in some time."
"That's what it is. On my right bicep. It says ninja in hebrew. I got it when you were gone that summer."
"Oh, Tony."
"I just wanted something to remember you by, as though I could ever forget."
"I was not aware my absence affected you that much."
"I thought the showing up in the desert to avenge your death kind of spoke for itself."
"Do not joke about that, Tony."
"I'm not joking. I thought that me showing up to kill the guy I thought killed you would tell you how much I care about you."
"It did."
"Good. Mission accomplished then."
They sat in silence for a moment before Tony decided to break the tension with another question.
"What is your least favorite place you've been out of all the places you've visited?"
She has to contemplate this for a moment. Of all the places, she knew instantaneously which was her least favorite, but refused breech that conversation again in the elevator. She decided on an appropriate answer a moment later. "Russia. It is too cold in Russia."
"And your favorite?"
"At one time I would have said the United States, back when I had first met all of you, but thought that I could be recalled at any moment. Now that it is home, it would feel strange declaring it my favorite visit. I think Paris would be my favorite place, then. There is something so lovely about Paris each time I visit."
"Ziva, do you regret what happened in Paris?"
Gibbs moved quickly and easily back into the building, taking the same route back up as he had to go down with Abby. There were no agents in his path on the way back up, though he suspected that would change as he neared the front of the building and the ground floor. As he approached the second stairwell that would take him to the bullpen, he steeled his nerves. There would be people in there that he knew, and his team could be amongst them. He shook his head gently, willing the thoughts of his injured children from his mind. He made his way up the stairs, making it nearly to the top platform before finding his first injured agent. The agent was just coming around.
"Vandalay, you alright?" Gibbs asked, crouching down to check for injuries. He had a visible gash that was still dripping blood on the right side of his forehead that he hoped was not as bad as it looked.
"Gibbs. Yeah, I got thrown into the railing when the explosion...I'm assuming it was an explosion..."
"Yeah, it was. You gonna be alright?"
"Yeah. Have they cleared the building?"
"I dunno. Hopefully they will soon if they haven't already. Can you walk, or do you want me to call in the crew to get you when the building's clear?"
"I'm gonna try to get out of here myself."
"Easiest way is down to evidence lock up and out the receiving doors."
"Noted."
"Alright, FBI's outside setting up comm checks, make sure you check in with them and get yourself checked out."
"I will. Be careful in there, Gibbs."
"You too."
As Agent Vandalay hobbled away, he made a quick call to Fornell.
"Got an agent coming out named William Vandalay. Slight head injury. If he doesn't show up in ten, send someone in to get him. Headed down the north stairs."
He received a crackled "Copy," from the radio before continuing into the bullpen. As soon as he stepped into the room, the safe orange walls that normally greeted him were anything but. The entire room smelled like fire, C4 and death. The windows were completely shattered, and the ceiling scorched. The paint was peeling off the walls from the heat, the remaining fading to brown and black. It was destroyed. His true home for the past fifteen years was destroyed. He wished there was time for the shock to truly sink in, but there was no time to waste on grief.
As he stepped out of the stairwell, he heard glass crunch beneath his feet. Instantly he saw two agents down, one slumped against the divider next to Ziva's desk, another laying face down next to Tony's desk. He sighed, knowing that this is just the beginning of what he could find. He approached the first victim, pressing his fingers gently against his carotid, looking for a pulse. He found none. He wasn't sure if he really expected one. The blast had hit him hard, if the shards of glass puncturing his body weren't enough, the head injury certainly would be. He moved to the second agent and did the same. Nothing. He sighed.
He moved to check in his squadroom, and froze. He knew before he moved the backpack from his face that it was McGee. He had been blown back by the blast, glass littering his pants and jacket, his limbs splayed like a rag doll. He rushed to McGee's side, moving the backpack from his face and checking his pulse. It was faint, but present. He had several lacerations on his face and neck. None bleeding profusely, but leaking slightly.
"Damnit, McGee." he said, pulling out his radio. "I need a med evac team up to the squadroom, now."
"Bomb squad hasn't cleared us for entry"
"I don't give a damn what the bomb squad says. I've got an unconscious agent in immediate need of medical attention. I need a bus NOW."
"Agent's name?"
"Timothy McGee. He's got a head injury, and he needs to get out of here now. I don't care what it takes, send me someone."
"EMT's are on their way."
"Third floor." he said for good measure.
"Copy, third floor."
Hang on, McGee. I'll get you out of here.
McGee was being jostled, he was sure of it. Someone was touching him he realized, alarmed. At least if they were touching him, they knew he was there. The movement stopped, but he could hear a faint voice.
"You do not have permission to die, you got that, Tim? You will not die."
On it, Boss.
When Ducky woke again, he was groggy but quite aware of his situation. He lay in an itchy hospital gown in a too-hard hospital bed with a nasal cannula and an IV. He opened his eyes to a blurry world, his glasses no longer sitting on his face.
"Doctor Mallard. Welcome back. I was so worried." Jimmy moved to put Ducky's glasses back on, provide some clarity to the world he had been so recently deprived of.
"Mr. Palmer. What are you doing here?" he croaked out.
"I was coming to get you for our return flight when I saw the ambulance. I followed them here."
"Thank you, my boy."
"You do what you have to for family."
"Are you aware of my medical status."
"I do...and if anyone asks I'm your grandson. You had a heart attack. Specifically a myocardial infarction. The doctors were waiting for you to stabilize before they took you in for tests to determine the extent of the blockage."
"How long will that take?" Ducky asked.
Jimmy looked slightly taken aback "I'm not sure, doctor, but of course I will be here every step of the way. I won't leave you until you're discharged."
"Yes, you will."
"What? No, I won't. Doctor you've been through a serious event. It's the least I can do to stay and help you through your recovery."
"I did not mean to imply that you will not be true to your word, Mr. Palmer. If it were possible for you to stay by me, I am certain you would."
"What do you mean, if it were possible?"
"Jimmy, something has happened."
