She didn't even have to think about it.
Call it a sixth sense, a general awareness or as Tony called it her ninja skills. But the second the bomb detonated, the second a ball of flame engulfed headquarters, the second the elevator gave a sickening screech, she knew what had happened. It only took a second.
And it took even less than that, for her to launch herself at Tony, throwing herself on top of him, covering his body with hers.
She was always glad to be on top.
She reasoned with herself that, if anything were to fall on them, he stood more chance being protected underneath her, with less of his body exposed to anything sinister.
He would thank her for it later when he realised that it could have been him trapped in a hospital, or on desk duty instead of her.
He would also complain, just like he always did.
Knew he would have something to say about the fact that, yes once again she was being the man in the relationship. Protecting him before he even had a chance to register what was going on, putting herself at risk, and putting herself in the most danger just so that he stood a better chance.
It had always been this way, and she didn't plan on changing it any time soon.
Even if Tony did whine like a little girl afterwards.
She had lost so many in the past, people she loved, people who were friends, people who she had only met the once, yet people none the less.
It didn't ever get any easier.
And it would be unbearable if Tony was added to that list.
It was the worst feeling in the world, wondering if there was anything you could have done, wondering if your own actions had been the thing that lead that person to their deaths, wondering how their families reacted how they dealt with the fact that their son or daughter or brother or sister or cousin had been taken, when it so could have so easily been someone else.
It wasn't survivor's guilt; she knew that, losing people, risking life was all part of the job.
She had been on both sides of the coin herself. She had been the sister, the daughter, had even been the friend left wondering what if?
She doubted the pain would ever go away, the only small consolation was that she hadn't actually been with them, had she been alongside them, and lived instead of them. She didn't know how she would move on.
If Tony were to be taken from her though, if Tony was taken from her, when she herself could have done something, if she could have taken the bullet, or the shrapnel from the explosion or could have been the one to be taken and tortured for information, yet hadn't. She seriously thinks she would lose it.
Lose it completely.
How could she face the rest of the team, knowing that it had been her job to protect him and failed? How could she see their faces everyday and know that the reason, that a member of the team, a member of their family, that Tony was gone and never coming back because of her.
She knew herself too well by now. Knew that the grief wouldn't come out, lessen over time like a normal person dealing with loss. But would be bottled up and driven inwards, and in those sorts of quantities she didn't doubt that it would destroy her.
It wasn't as if she wouldn't do the same for anyone else on the team.
Though if she was perfectly honest she didn't think that the rest of the team would end up in the types of situations that needed her protection, they had done pretty well so far. They were far too intelligent, far too quick to end up on the wrong side of a bullet. But Tony, well he just seemed to attract trouble wherever he went.
And she knew, she knew it was different with him.
She knew and hated herself for it, hated herself for letting it cloud her judgement as much as it already did. At times she wondered whether they should just give up this silly game of cat and mouse that they played, because she was already so compromised when it came to him that she didn't see how them being together would change that.
His life though, and protecting it was the only thing that was on her mind as she felt them begin to fall, his arms locking around her waist securely, and god she shouldn't like it as much as she did, because right now the only important thing was that he was ok and eventually got out of this damn metal death trap.
Even if she didn't.
It simply wasn't negotiable.
She felt his hand meet hers as they hit the floor, it felt almost as natural as breathing these days, the position they took when they were in danger. Had it really happened that often, that they simply fell into place, having rehearsed it to the point that they literally were a well oiled machine?
The joining of the fingers was symbolic of so much more though. It was a sign that they were both still there, that they were ok, a private means of communication between them when things were unable to be voiced. But also – to her anyways – when they finally did get the all clear it was what kept her grounded, because staring down into those green eyes, so full of concern and care with the slightest bit of irritation that once again she had tackled him to the ground before he even had the chance to respond.
It was so very nearly her undoing.
Without the firm press of his fingers between hers, without the feeling of the skin on their hands stretched tightly but rubbing against each other, without the reminders that they were in fact still alive. Well she thinks she may as well just tear his clothes off where he lay because that is where they would be heading should she have to look in those eyes for a second longer.
She had her eyes clenched shut, not sure if she was ready to face the fact they were now trapped in a slightly dim precariously hanging elevator - her fear of small spaces had never really disappeared.
So when she felt the familiar though slightly frantic squeeze of her fingers she couldn't help but to squeeze back just as hard, her heart giving an involuntary leap at the knowledge maintaining the pressure even after she was assured he was ok.
Debris ceased to fall from the ceiling, having scattered across her back and legs, though thankfully no chunks had been large enough to pin her down or injure her at all, she didn't want Tony to be trapped underneath her, he had to be able to climb up and out.
She knew he wouldn't do that if she were injured, knew he would refuse to leave her, insist on waiting with her until help arrived even if she shouted and screamed at him he wouldn't budge.
He was literally the most stubborn, annoying person she had ever met.
But he was also someone she couldn't get rid of no matter how much she pushed, he would always just keep coming back. Her goofy, movie quoting Tony DiNozzo could never just quite leave her be.
It was sweet in one sense.
At times though, the man was a complete idiot.
But he was ok, that was all that mattered at that precise moment.
She knew that the team would be ok too, knew that they would have gotten out, though her heart sank at the thought of who hadn't gotten out in time. She knew despite their best efforts, there would still be agents and workers lurking around somewhere.
They were just doing their jobs, many assuming that there was in fact no emergency, that this was just another one of the safety protocol practices that Vance ran far too often for a fully functioning federal agency.
Maybe not enough judging by the fact she and Tony had chosen to take the elevator in the middle of a crisis. Gibb's was going to slap them silly when he found out.
But the people who stayed behind, the people, who today had been taken from their family, simply because they chose to stay behind, anticipated that they had more time.
Of course they didn't, no one ever knows how long they have though do they?
It's one of the things that make life so unfair.
Her eyes were squeezed shut still, she could feel the cab of the elevator rock from side to side, it was slightly nauseating, though not as nauseating as the terror that rocketed round her blood stream when she noticed the grip Tony had on her hand had lessened. Growing gradually weaker as the seconds ticked by.
Her head shot up, her eyelids snapped open. Her gaze meeting his, but the eyes that she was used to seeing, the care, the concern, the worry was absent.
Instead his pupils were refusing to focus, the green meeting her brown but without the usual intensity that they usually bared.
What the hell had happened?
She saw him try to open his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, she prayed that he would flash her one of his smiles, the ones that she liked to think of as her own private one, one that he saved just for her.
Right now though she would take just about anything she could get. Even prayed that he would grimace, even the slightest amount, do anything to show that he was more aware than the blank disoriented look he was giving her right now.
It didn't make sense, nothing had fallen on him, there was no obvious reason he should be like this.
And then she saw it, the way their bodies were aligned closely with the door of the elevator, the way that they had literally been bodily flung by the force of the explosion.
Reaching round the back of his head, her fingers met a warm wetness in his hair; she still hoped there was any other explanation for it. But as she brought her fingers back to the front, her own skin stained red, she knew exactly what it was, knew exactly what had happened too.
She was shouting at him now, begging him to stay awake, she wasn't even sure he could hear her. But she knew she couldn't allow him to shut his eyes right now, couldn't allow him to drift off, he wasn't allowed to be taken from her like this, not in this sick twisted way fate had decided.
He was losing the fight with the darkness though, she could see by the way his eyes were now fluttering closed. She tried to tell herself that it was simply off the bang to the head, he was likely concussed and with blood loss on top of that of course he was likely to pass out.
She couldn't stop the panic from building though, couldn't stop herself from thinking that this was the last time she would ever see him conscious, couldn't help but be terrified by the thought he wouldn't come back to her, that they had ran out of time.
And that's why she was screaming at him now, screaming as the tears blurred her own vision, screaming threats at him that she wasn't even sure made sense.
But it didn't matter; she doubted he could hear them anyway.
Because as his eyes finally shut, his form giving the impression he was sleeping as it stretched out for seconds at a time that then turned to minutes. Her gripping his face, now whispering, begging him wake up for her, promising him things she had long been terrified of, she knew that for once he had gotten his way.
For once he had been the hero.
A/N: So decided to continue with this for a few chapters, I just can't resist a good bit of angst, particularly when it involves an injured Tony. So thank you to anyone who reviewed/alerted etc so far. The next chapter should be up within the next week or so.