<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">"Dad used to," Jack said, finding a yellow crayon for some of the detail on Superman's crest.  "He doesn't so much anymore, 'specially not with Papa."  He looked carefully at Ziva.  "You needs somebody like Papa.  I mean, you know, the kind you have grown-up sleepovers with.  Dad is a lot happier now that he's got Papa." <br/>
<br/>
* ~ *<br/>
<br/>
If Tim had been less drugged, he wouldn't have leaned into Gibbs' hand like a kitten.  Certainly wouldn't have made a soft, contented sound about it, either.  He couldn't remember his own father doing that.  His mom, maybe.  Maybe Sarah.  "Drugged, Boss.  Good meds," Tim said, smiling a little loopily.  "How's Ziva?  Nobody'll tell me anything."  Probably because he was likely to forget it five minutes after they told him.<br/>
<br/>
* ~ *<br/>
<br/>
Tony raised an eyebrow.  "I've done that accidentally -- when an international arms dealer blew up my car and my team thought I was in it -- but never on purpose."  He paused.  "Well.  Jeanne probably pretends I'm dead, but I don't really think that's the same thing."  He swirled his coffee around in the cup.  "You wanna talk about it?"</span></span>