A/N: Soo... an update for this. Finally, huh? Well, I hope you enjoy this. It kind of completely veered off from where I thought it would go, so it might just be as surprising for you as it was for me. Please enjoy. :) I hope to finish this soon, but you should know by now... I'm an unpredictable procrastinator.

I don't own NCIS. Reviews are loved, by the way.

They say life flashes before your eyes

Just as you're about to die;

But how is memory distinguishable from reality

When all you can see is pain?

"Tony…?" her words came out a whisper, barely audible; her voice itself was raspy. It felt as thought it had been years since she'd even seen water, let alone tasted it. And the world felt so damn far away - she'd reach for it and it would shrink back, just skirting her reach. She wasn't even sure if this was reality. Certainly it wasn't anything like what she remembered or thought she remembered. Normally reality had her in it, not watching it go by as it was.

And certainly reality wasn't so unpredictable. The scenes changed with each heartbeat. It felt as though she was watching her own life, but detached from her body. The feelings that accompanied these memories just tingled on the edge of her mind, but refused to break the mould of… of whatever this was. She nearly cried out when Tony's face first appeared in her mind, followed by images she couldn't even be sure were real. It was all going by so fast, blurring together…

Was she dying? It was certainly something to consider. Maybe this was the whole life flashing thing, the life-changing moment before death. Unsuccessfully attempting to shake her head, she decided her thoughts weren't even making sense in this sort of twilight-zone. She could only hope to get out of here before things really started to meld together.

On the outside world, things were not going so well. Tony was still desperately trying to capture his partner's attention, even shaking her once, despite the pain he knew it would bring both her and himself. But he was so desperate to rouse her. They were going to get out of here, weren't they? She ought to wake up for him, then. She ought to open her beautiful eyes, put on her determined face, and get ready to leave.

Because that's just what they were going to do, right? Leave. Leave this place behind, and live to tell the story.

He shuddered. He wasn't sure he'd ever want to share any story of this place. He didn't even want to acknowledge anything had happened. Surely if he put his mind to it, he could imagine them both out of the wreckage, right? Wrong.

Still, he had to hope. For both of their sakes, considering she wasn't doing much on her own at that moment. It scared the hell out of him; what would he do if she died in his arms? What would he do if (oh, God, oh, God, please, no) she took her last shuddering breath, and finally stopped fighting?

She's spent her whole life fighting, he knew. Fighting just about everything: her father, her life, other soldiers, other countries, other people. He almost smiled at the memories of her fighting to preserve the warrior part of her, and that tiny smile really did bloom into existence at the thought of her changing despite herself. It hurt to use the muscles on his face but… if it had to do with her, then he'd have to suffice.

"Tony! Ziva! We're gonna get you out!"

A voice pulled him out of his thoughts and his smile dropped, eyes widening substantially. So he hadn't been hallucinating, then? That, or he was still hallucinating. Tony bit his lip. He had to stay strong, had to keep hoping. He forced himself to believe it was Gibbs, or McGee, or even Abby - anyone who could help them out.

The wail of an ambulance sounded in the not-so-far-off distance, and he felt that hope actually begin to spread through him. It was like a numbing solution, a medicine one might find at a doctors' or dentists' office. The few parts he could feel were blurred at the back of his mind, promising him so many things. He'd get out. She'd get out. They'd live, be happy; he'd finally open himself up to her, completely, and utterly. They'd be happy together. Gibbs wouldn't give a damn because he wouldn't let him give a damn.

It would be perfect. If - if only they could hold on. Tony gritted his teeth and forced himself to think better of things. The numbing returned, albeit slowly, as he forced himself to concentrate more on the possibility of living and less on the equal possibility of death. The wail of the ambulance (or fire truck? police car? he couldn't be sure) drew louder, signalling it was getting closer. His heart lifted a bit, and he whispered to Ziva, "We're gonna get out, Zee."

He wasn't even sure if his words actually reached her. His voice was dry, raspy, weak; nothing like the normal strong, charming tone he was proud of pulling off. Really, he wasn't anything normal at that moment. He wasn't obsessing over his looks, women, cases, or even perfection his charm - none of that mattered just then, did it?

Maybe near-death experiences really do change people, he mused, but somehow he doubted it. He'd have to see for himself, then, when they finally left this place. We're actually gonna leave… Ziva… We're getting out of here… I can't… I can't believe it…

"Tony?" the familiar voice screamed at him, perhaps closer this time. He actually recognized it this time. Gibbs. He'd never been happier to see (or, to be more accurate, hear) the silver-haired man. He had an unmistakeable urge to embrace his boss, but that was obviously out of the question, as he couldn't lift his arms if he tried, and he couldn't actually be sure where Gibbs was. Probably still behind the wreckage… trying to get in…

Sighing, Tony buried his face in Ziva's hair and tightened his hold on her. If he had any fluids left to spare, he might've cried. Instead, he breathed in her scent (what was once so unmistakably her was now blood, metal, dirt… and yet still he loved it, because it was her, it was really her) before pulling back to look at her. That's when it really hit him: something was certainly off.

Using the last of his energy, he moved so he could get a careful view of her face. He moved a hand to grip her wrist, now remembering that it was, in fact, a pulse point, and was not really surprised by the slow pulse. He was, however, shocked, and horrified, by what came next.

She breathed in a rattling breath, and breathed it out, normal as could be. The problem? She didn't draw another breath.

Right in front of him, her breathing ceased.

And her heart stopped.

She left him, alone, bleeding, dying.

Perhaps she didn't mean to - perhaps she did.

He couldn't be sure, but now, he could hardly hope, either.

Hope for the hopeless, it seemed.

And so he waited, with baited breath,

For the world to cease,

For his own heart to stop.