Disclaimer: NCIS and it's characters are the sole property of people other than myself and I derive no profit from this story.

Death to Mondays!

It was your typical Monday with the typical players. Tony sighed, bored out of his mind. 'I hate Mondays, but then again who doesn't, except maybe McGee, he probably waits all Sunday with baited breath for Monday to come. Nothing interesting today, just your usual run of the mill paperwork to look forward to.' He was really hoping to catch a case. Not that he wanted anyone to die or anything, he was just so bored and the thought of doing paperwork all day was scarier than facing down a pack of rabid wolves or drunken Marines, he couldn't decide which was worse.

The only thing he could think of to alleviate his boredom, was picking on his co-workers, another typical day thing. McGee was easy to mess with, but Ziva was more of a challenge. Never one to do things the easy way, he looked across his desk to Ziva. She was making faces as she typed on her computer, every once in a while, slamming her fist onto the keyboard in frustration. She was not much of a computer expert, but then again, neither was he. Seeing her apparent frustration, he figured it might be fatal to pick on the Mossad assassin right at the moment. He'd have to save it for later.

He looked to his right, eying McGee, merrily typing away, completely at ease with his computer, oblivious to his surroundings. The perfect target. Unlike Tony and Ziva, the man was practically a machine, his full geek powers coming to the fore whenever he was around anything that came out of Silicon Valley. He seemed in a good mood. Tony would definitely need to do something about that.

He got to work, deftly gathering several scraps of paper and balling them up, lining them up in a row. Employing his best free-throw stance from his seat, he took aim and launched his paper projectile. To Tony's chagrin, it bounced off the rim of McGee's coffee mug. Grabbing another paper wad, he took aim and threw again, this time it landed dead center in the mug, floating on top of the coffee.

“Yes! Two points!” Tony announced.

“Not funny, Tony.” McGee didn't even look up from his computer screen. He would just have to try harder. He took up another ball and sent it flying in the Probie's direction, hitting him in the temple.

“Okay, that's it!” McGee turned to him, his face red. Success! Tony grinned at him slyly until a hand made contact with the back of his head, bringing a ringing to his ears. Tim smiled triumphantly.

“Quit wasting paper, DiNozzo.” Came the voice that never failed reign him. “Grab your gear.” Yes! Tony exclaimed internally, trying not to let his excitement show. Gibbs strode into the bullpen, walking swiftly to his desk and pulling open the drawer that held his badge and weapon. Like Pavlov's dog, Tony reacted immediately, reaching for his own weapon and badge before grabbing his bag on the floor. He was on his feet in seconds, following Gibbs, Ziva and McGee to the elevator.

OOOOO

An hour later and Tony was taking pictures, snapping off a couple of clandestine photos of Ziva as she bent over, bagging and tagging evidence. He'd have to secretly take the photos home, maybe photoshop them and email them to her at a later time, but then again, he did have some self-preservation instincts.

Ziva suddenly turned around, catching Tony mid-snap. Shit. He was going to die. He smiled broadly. She glared at him.

“What are you doing, Tony?”

“Who me? Just taking pictures of this dead guy here.” He pointed to the poor sailor laying in a pool of blood, shot in the heart while loading his car up with groceries that morning at a local supermarket. Witnesses had stated that he had been approached by a man dressed as a vagrant begging for money and when the sailor had refused to give any cash to the man, he pulled a gun and fired once into his chest, fleeing immediately. Of Course, the eyewitnesses had about ten different descriptions of the suspect, making it difficult for any identification to be made should they ever catch the guy, especially since this neighborhood was the stomping grounds for hundreds of homeless people. Their job was not going to be easy.

Not at all convinced that Tony wasn't taking pictures of her, Ziva approached him with her hands on her hips before snatching the camera from his grasp.

“How about I finish taking the pictures and you can collect the evidence.” She started, giving him the evil eye, as if she could melt him with her heat vision. Maybe she could, he thought. “Then it could be I who shall enjoy the view of your big hairy rump.”

“I don't think so” He said, grabbing the camera back, staring into her fiery dark eyes. “I wouldn't want to excite you too much with all of my sexiness.” He swayed his hips for her and she laughed.

“Ha! Good one Tony. You are about as sexy as my Grandfather in a Speedo.”

He stared at her and she stared right back. He loved this. He could never tell her that, but getting under her skin was the highlight of each day for him. Maybe she knew, she seemed to enjoy it too.

“Ah, Anthony, Ziva. Good- morning.” Ducky greeted them, both of them breaking their stares and turning to the medical examiner as he walked up to the body, followed by Jimmy, his assistant. They backed out of the way to allow him to pass and the diminutive doctor knelt next to the corpse, sighing.

“Well, my job shall be easy today. I would say that the cause of death should be quite apparent. Single gunshot wound to the chest, most likely hitting the heart and causing instantaneous death.” Ducky shook his head. “Such as shame; out on a typical day, minding his own business, doing the mundane task of buying food, only to have it be the last day of his life.” He pulled out his liver probe, lifting the man's shirt and plunging it in. Tony always hated seeing that, even after the countless number of bodies he'd seen in various stages of death and decomposition, that part always got to him and he wasn't exactly sure why.

Gibbs took that opportunity to walk up to them and get in Tony's face. The older man had no qualms about invading other's personal spaces, but Tony had grown accustomed to it over the years and was only intimidated by it half of the time now.

“You two just about done?” He asked sternly in typical Gibbs fashion.

“Sure boss.” Tony replied. He probably could have taken a few more pictures of the scene, but he wasn't about to tell that to the ex-marine.

“You and Ziva go into the neighborhood and start asking around for anyone who might match the description of the suspect.”

“Got it, boss.” He and Ziva nodded. She gathered up her evidence and Tony brought the camera back to the truck before they walked off into the neighborhood.

It was your usual crappy D.C. hood, filled with crime, poverty and drugs. They stopped by several establishments asking about any suspicious vagrants or anyone who might resemble the descriptions given to them by the eyewitnesses. Unsurprisingly, they were unable to gather much information. The only tip they had been given was to check out an alley that was frequented by many homeless people as a place to take shelter.

Tony didn't relish the idea of visiting such a place, he was wearing new shoes after all, but so far, it was their best bet and they soon found themselves entering the musty and garbage lined alleyway. His senses were on the alert to danger. Their suspect might still be armed and he didn't want to take any uneccessary chances. Ziva too was keeping a keen eye on their surroundings, her hand never leaving the hip that held her gun holster.

Making their way past several dumpsters, they came across some makeshift tents set up between them, the ground littered with dirty blankets, empty food wrappers and other assorted items that made it clear that someone was living there.

"Well, this is sure no Waldorf Astoria." He commented, earning another roll of the eyes from Ziva. Cautiously they approached. There appeared to be no one home at the moment as he scanned the area. He lifted the flaps on one tent to find it empty. As he came to the one next to it, he heard a shout from Ziva.

“Tony!” He looked up just in time to see her being bowled over by a large, long-haired, greasy man, knocking her to the ground. Springing into action, adrenaline pumped into his veins and he went to her.

“I am fine. Go get him!” She yelled.

Tony took off, satisfied that she wasn't hurt badly and sprinted after the suspect. The surprisingly nimble man rounded a corner as he gave chase. Tony's lungs burned as he ran and he wished he had worn a pair of running shoes rather than the loafers he had on today, it would have made traversing the wet alleys less dangerous.

After a block, he was gaining on the man and with a burst of speed he closed the gap. Making a flying leap for the man's back, he landed on top of him into a pile of garbage bags. His sense of smell was overwhelmed, but only momentarily as the vagrant threw a punch that landed squarely on his nose. Blood instantly flowed from his nostrils, but he hadn't registered any pain yet, he was too focused on his mission to bring the man down. His vision blackened for a split second, but Tony fought against it, swinging back and making contact with the man's cheek, but not doing much to stop him from fighting back. With a crazed yell and both feet, the man kicked against Tony's torso and he cursed himself for allowing the guy to get the better of him as he was sent sprawling backward, landing hard on his ass.

He tried to leap to his feet again, but he was a little dizzy, the blow to his face had done little to add to his coordination. As soon as he was up, he heard the shot. Followed by another. The man fell backward into the garbage pile, a bullet wound leaking blood from his forehead, the gun in his hand still smoking as it hit the ground. His mind was having a hard time catching up with what just happened and Tony breathed heavily before noticing the world had taken on a new and painful element. He looked down.

“Shit!” He hissed.

“Tony!” He heard Ziva shout, but it sounded distant and hollow to his ears, the blood pounding in his head making it hard to hear. Still looking down at the bright crimson stain spreading across his chest in disbelief, he fell to his knees as he was caught by her hands, laying him down.

“Tony, hold on!” Ziva was talking to him, her cell phone to her ear. By the look on her face, it must be bad, he thought absently. This really was turning into a very bad day for him to leave the vest behind. A little too late for that now, he realized. Just don't let her know how much it hurts, let her think that you'll be okay. He tried to give her a weak grin, but it may have been more of a grimace as the pain began to flare across his chest, making it hard to breathe. He looked deep into her eyes and she held his. He wanted to tell her so much, but the words were swallowed up by the impending darkness. God, I hate Mondays. She faded from his vision and blackness followed.

To Be Continued......

Chapter 2

Ziva's hands shook, holding the phone to her ear, watching helplessly as Tony's life slipped away before her eyes, his blood pooling onto the wet pavement of the alley. This was not happening, she thought in despair, she was not going to let him die here, not like this. The voice of the dispatcher on the other side of the phone was speaking calmly to her, reassuring her that paramedics were on the way, but she heard none of it.

Instincts kicked in and she whipped off her jacket, pressing it firmly onto his chest in an effort to staunch the flow of blood. She was a trained Mossad officer, she could handle this, couldn't she? She had seen worse in the field. Friends had died in her arms before, so why was she still shaking?

Because this was Tony. She didn't have time to think about the ramifications regarding that thought right now, though. She just needed to save him.

She checked his pulse again. It was weak, but still there, but for how long?

“Come on, Tony.... stay with me. You cannot die now... who will be left to torment me?” She asked, pretending to joke with him, pressing harder onto his wound, as though she could hold his life inside through sheer force of will. Tears threatened to spill over her eyelids but she willed them away, she couldn't feel what she was feeling, not now, she could give into them later when she was alone.

In the distance, she heard the wails of the approaching ambulance, bringing her some relief. Hurry, hurry, hurry....Things were getting worse, Tony's face took on a ghostly pallor and clammy feel as she wiped sweat from his brow, pushing back his bangs. His breathing too was becoming labored from lungs filling with blood.

“Just keep breathing.” She whispered to him, close to his face, her voice taking on a subtle quake. “please....” A single tear fell and traced down her face just the ambulance sirens grew louder and louder until they stopped all together and she looked up to see paramedics racing for them.

Pushed out of the way, she could only watch as they worked, tearing his shirt off and exposing his chest to the cold air. She couldn't believe she was still shaking as she ran he fingers through her hair and grabbed hold of a few locks, steadying them, reigning in the emotions she wasn't allowed to feel. She should be doing something.

Gibbs. He would need to know. He would know what to do next, he never wavered like she was now. She needed him here, then she would be fine. Then he could slap Tony upside the head and order him to live, she had heard rumors that it had worked before, he could do it again, Tony always did what Gibbs told him, his hero worship of him knew no bounds.

Snapping to reality, she dialed her phone, damning her unsteady hands again as she punched the speed dial number. Keeping her eyes trained on Tony as the medics worked, she heard Gibbs' voice answer the phone. Wake up, Ziva. You have a job to do.

“Gibbs....Tony....” Why couldn't she speak without the crack in her voice?

“Ziva?” He interrupted “Where are you?” He knew something was wrong.

“Alleyway behind the Mexican restaurant on Tenth.”

“Stay there. I'm on my way.” He hung up abruptly and she lowered the phone. They were loading Tony up, ready to take him away. He was still alive, she could hold onto that until Gibbs got there, but she needed more and sprang up to join the paramedics as they placed him on a gurney and rolled him to the waiting ambulance. Before they could open the doors and roll him inside, she grabbed his hand.

“Hang in there Tony....” She told him, hoping he might hear her.

“I'm sorry ma'am, we need to hurry.” The paramedic informed her with a sympathetic face. “We'll take good care of him.”

“I know.” She nodded. “Where will you take him?” She asked, releasing his hand, but maintaining her gaze on his closed eyes and slack features, a bruise spreading across his pale face and swelling, bloody nose where he must have been hit. That was not him. Normally, even in his sleep, he held that look of mischief and irreverence that defined him, but it was not there now and that frightened her, what if he was gone? Do not think about it. He will live. He must.

“Howard University.” He said succinctly, shaking her from her trance before he pushed Tony inside and jumped into the back, closing the door. The sirens started up again, lights flashing against the filthy walls of the alley and reflecting off the puddles of rainwater on the ground and she watched them pull away, leaving her behind.

OOOOO

This was comfortable, he thought. I could stay here all day, just sleep the afternoon away. But, something wasn't quite right, it was familiar yes, but at the same time he knew that he shouldn't be here. Where was here anyway? He ventured to open his eyes.

Confusion filled his senses. Above he saw a popcorn ceiling, looking right was flowery brown and orange wallpaper and underneath him, a couch. A couch he had spent many an afternoon sleeping on, he realized. He knew immediately where he was, yet at the same time, he knew it wasn't possible.

He bolted up. What the hell was going on? He looked around. Everything was just as he remembered it from the last time he was here right down to the green shag carpet, the cookoo clock on the wall, the giant console television set and the flower-patterned, soft velour couch he was sitting on. All was as it was, but when was that? Twenty years ago? This just wasn't happening.

How did he end up here anyway? He tried to focus his thoughts on where he was last, but it was hard to concentrate, very strange. C'mon Tony, think. Where were you last? He closed is eyes, vaguely, images of him running through wet alleys and a fight with a bear came to mind, but he was pretty sure that last part couldn't be right. Then Ziva's concerned face popped into his mind. Try as he might though, he still couldn't figure out what happened. the answer right before him, but just out of reach, frustrating him.

He sighed. Getting up, he looked around and sniffed the air. Something familiar smelling was coming from across the expanse of the living room in the kitchen. He'd know that smell anywhere and it made his heart leap in delight and memories. Curious, he made his way to the kitchen and looked into the small galley. He smiled. This too, was just has he remembered it. The orange formica countertops, the brown stove and refrigerator. Even the shiny gold star embossed wall paper. He moved to the oven and kneeled down, turning on the cook light an peering inside. Yes! His favorite. Lasagna.

He heard a throat clear authoritatively from his left and he turned toward it, doing a double take, not believing his eyes. He stood up tall and moved towards the small woman before him.

“Oh, Anthony, you know the lasagna isn't finished yet.” She snapped him with a dish rag, smiling brightly “I know you're hungry, but you'll just have to wait.”

Tony couldn't find his voice. He was speechless, something he was not used to. He always had something to say, but not now. In shock, he moved to her, grabbing her hands and studying her features. Her grey hair pulled into the tight bun on the top of her head that she wore on a daily basis, the crows feet that framed her smiling hazel eyes, even the flower-print house dress, all told him that she was who he thought she was, even if it wasn't possible. However, he couldn't contain the smile that was spreading across his face, it was just so good to see her, even if this wasn't real.

“Nonna?” He asked “Is it really you?”

“Of course, It is silly boy, who else would I be?”

“This can't be happening.” He whispered, not believing the situation he was in.

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because, you're dead.” He answered raising his eyebrows.

“I know that” She smiled brightly.

“Then how is it you're here or rather that I'm here?” He asked, stammering “Y-you died almost twenty years ago and this place, this whole building was torn down a few years later. It doesn't even exist anymore. How is any of this possible?”

She just smiled at him.”We'll talk about that in a few minutes. Why don't we have some supper first, then we can answer all of your questions.”

“We?” he asked. “Who else is here?”

“Oh, a couple of your friends stopped by. They wanted to say hi. I thought it would be nice to have them over for dinner as well, so they're waiting for you at the table”

Tony didn't remember seeing anyone else in the apartment and no one had been sitting at the table when he passed by it on his way to the kitchen, but he couldn't help turning in that direction, going around the corner to the breakfast nook and stopping dead in his tracks. Ooookay, I have officially crossed over into the Twilight Zone.

“Hey Tony, what's up?” The dark-haired woman addressed him, cocking her head to the side. He felt faint.

“We were just talking about you.” The blonde beside her added, crossing her legs. He searched for his voice, surprised when he found it rather quickly and greeted them with a grin. Might as well play along, he figured, things couldn't get any weirder. At least, he hoped not.

“Hello Kate, Hello Paula.”

To Be Continued........

Chapter 3

Gibbs' head was throbbing. This was more than just a bad case of the 'Monday's', as Abby would put it. This was just turning into a shitty day all around. Not that he ever was one to complain about having to go back to work after a nice weekend off; he left that to DiNozzo. However, two hours in a meeting with Vance and his toothpick regarding his agents' performance reports, followed by this senseless murder of a sailor in a grocery store parking lot and the fact that he only had time for one cup of coffee this morning had sent his head spiraling down into a full-blown migraine. He was not a happy camper and everyone around him knew it.

“I'm all done here Jethro. Jimmy just needs to load the body and we'll be on our way.” Ducky informed him as he approached.

“Fine, Duck.” He replied grumpily, grinding his teeth. The medical examiner eyed him over his glasses for a moment.

“What?” Gibbs asked curtly.

“I have aspirin in my truck should you want anything for that headache of yours.” Ducky informed him.

“How'd you know I had a headache?”

“I'm a doctor, Jethro. Do you think they would award me a medical license if I couldn't diagnose a migraine? Besides, I've known you for far too long to know that when you don't have a cup of coffee in your hands, you're most likely suffering from the effects of caffeine withdrawal.”

Gibbs gave his old friend a weak grin “Thanks, Ducky. I may have to take you up on that offer.”

“Don't mention it. Just take care of it before you hurt someone. Poor Timothy has been cowering from you all morning, I'm not sure his nerves can take much more of your crankiness.”

He just shook his head as Ducky walked off to help Jimmy with the body. McGee was wrapping up the evidence collection and Ziva and Tony had left over an hour ago to scope out the neighborhood. There wasn't much else for them to do at the scene, so he was making his way to the medical examiner's truck for that aspirin when his phone rang.

“Gibbs.” He answered.

“Gibbs....Tony....” Ziva voice cracked from the other end of the line sending chills up his spine. She was never distressed, something terrible must have happened to shake her.

“Ziva. Where are you?” He demanded to know, not letting her finish the sentence.

“Alleyway behind the Mexican restaurant on Tenth.” She told him firmly, but still with a hint of unease that sent his gut into overdrive. He needed to get there and fast.

“Stay there.” He ordered “I'm on my way.” His feet were already in motion as he snapped the phone shut and raced for the sedan.

“Boss?” McGee called out, seeing him flee and wondering no doubt, what was going on.

“Stay here McGee.” He called out before he was in the car and starting it up. Peeling out of the parking lot with a squeal of the tires he fishtailed into traffic. He ignored the horns from fellow drivers on the road and pushed the limits of the Charger, dodging other cars and trucks at a rate of speed that was way past legal and way past safe. He was approaching the alleyway Ziva described when he saw an ambulance pull out of it, lights flashing, sirens blaring and taking off quickly in the opposite direction.

“Shit.” He swore. How bad was it for the ambulance to be going so fast? He floored it, his heartrate picking up speed and he spun the wheel, turning the car abruptly to the right and screeching to a halt at the entrance to the alley. In the span of a heartbeat he was out of the vehicle and running up to Ziva.

“What the hell happened Ziva?” She started to speak, but nothing came out, only her lips moved. Gibbs grabbed her shoulders.

“Ziva, Focus.”

“Right. I am sorry. Uh....” She looked to a pile of garbage bags to her left and Gibbs followed her gaze, seeing the body lying amongst the trash and the pool of blood near her feet. Was that Tony's blood then? Crap, there was a lot of it.

“What happened to Tony?”

“We were taken by surprise a few blocks away... He knocked me down and Tony chased after him. He tackled him here and they fought. I got here just as the guy pulled the gun, I fired, but the man got off a round first. I was too late.... Tony was hit.”

“How bad?” Gibbs asked. Ziva just shook her head and looked away from his intense gaze. This couldn't be good.

“Dammit, Ziva.” He implored and she snapped her head back up to look at him.

“Bad Gibbs...very bad.” She finally answered, her eyes bearing down on him. Dammit Tony. He swore angrily to his agent internally How do you always get yourself into these situations?

Gibbs turned away from her, thinking. His mind clicked into his take-charge mode, he was in the lead here and they still had a job to do. As much as he wanted to just race to the car and run off to the hospital to see his downed agent, they still had to focus on the case. One thing he had learned over his years in the Marines and with NCIS was that it would be of no use to anyone for them to go to the hospital only to sit around unable to do anything. They would have to trust the doctors to do their jobs as they did theirs. At least out here they could focus on their mission and get to the bottom of things rather than twiddling their thumbs in a hospital waiting room.

Ziva was still staring at the body, deep in her own thoughts. He knew she was distracted and he would have to pull her out of her funk and get her working; get her mind off of her partner and onto the case. He turned back to her.

“Call Ducky, Ziva and get him down here. Tell him we have another body for him.” He gave her what she needed, a task she could concentrate on and she reacted like the soldier she was, snapping out of her reverie, calling their coroner and obeying his command.

Gibbs grabbed his cell and called McGee, ordering him to the alley with the truck. He walked over to the vagrant lying in the pile of rubbish, surveying his tattered clothes and dirty, matted hair. He was most definitely a man that hadn't seen a shower or a clean set of clothes in a very long time.

Looking to the gun that lay on the ground beside the man's hand, he knelt down and took a closer look at it. It was not your ordinary handgun. Certainly no 'Saturday Night Special' that could be easily obtained by the criminal element and absolutely not the kind of weapon a man that lived on the street could afford. Closer inspection showed it to be a Ruger .22 in nice condition, maybe even brand new.

Seeing the distance between the man and the crimson stain where Tony had fallen, he figured that the damage any bullet coming from the rimfire pistol could be extensive, but he was thankful that it was a small caliber and not a very powerful weapon, otherwise Tony certainly would have been killed. Why weren't you wearing your vest, Tony? You know better. He had to get that thought out of his head though, now was not the time for worry about his senior agent or about his failure to safeguard his own safety. He needed to focus on finding out the truth. Why did this guy have this gun? Did he find it? Was it given to him? So many questions needed to be answered and it was best that they get to work, there was more to this case than met the eye and he was determined to find out what it was.

OOOOO

Tony took a seat at the head of the table and smiled cheerfully at the two women. With Kate to his left and Paula to his right, they eyed him haughtily and he chuckled until it became a full blown laugh with tears streaming down his face. He had to put his head on the table, holding his side as he gave into the hilarity.

“What's so funny?” Kate asked, annoyed.

Tony tried to bring his mirth under control, willing the laughter to end as he wiped the tears away, sighing and catching his breath.

“Oh, this is just....” He laughed a little again “Sooo absurd. I mean, here I am in my Grandmother's apartment, decorated just as it was in 1987, about to have dinner made by my dead Nonna with two dead friends. So forgive me if I am having a hard time keeping this all in. This is just crazy!”

“Oh C'mon, Tony. Haven't you figured out why you're here yet?” Paula asked as though he should know.

“What? Are you serious? You ask that like it's everyday that I wake up to have dinner with the dead.” He fixed her with a gaze and she raised her eyebrows. He smiled again and wagged a finger at them “Oh, I get it...this is hell, isn't it? I've died and gone to hell and you two are here to torment me for eternity.”

“If this is hell Tony, why would your sweet grandmother be here making you your favorite dish?” Kate asked, crossing her arms and giving him a smug look.

“To tell you the truth, she really wasn't all that much of a saint.” He said from the side of his mouth.

“I heard that, Anthony!” Nonna came to the table carrying the large pan filled with Lasagna and placed it in the center of the table before straightening and putting her hands on her hips. He grimaced.

“Sorry, Nonna.” He back-peddled and smiled sweetly with his most charming face. “How could this possibly be hell when you're here and we have lasagna? In fact, the smell alone could quite possibly pass for heaven.” The older woman shook her head and chuckled.

“Don't be sorry boy, just get some plates so we can eat.” She kissed him on the cheek before playfully smacking him with a pot holder on the shoulder and he flashed a grin, waggling his eyebrows toward Paula and Kate. Both women rolled their eyes.

“Right away.” He got up from the table and went back into the kitchen gathering four plates and forks along with a serving spatula for the lasagna. Tony could hear them talking to each other while he was in the kitchen.

“He still doesn't know what's going on, does he?” Kate asked.

“I don't think he has a clue.” Paula replied. “should we tell him or let him figure it out on his own?”

“I think we should let him draw his own conclusions.” Nonna suggested. “We are after all, just figments of his imagination.”

Ah- ha! he thought. He knew it, this was some kind of dream. It had to be. It all made sense now. All he had to do was wake up and it would be over. But there was still lasagna to be had, so he might as well hang out a little while longer and enjoy it.

He walked back to the table and handed everyone a plate and a fork. Nonna took the spatula from him and served everyone a gigantic piece. Tony sat and dug into his meal with gusto, earning a look from Kate. The first bite was just as good as he remembered it, maybe even better. He closed his eyes in enjoyment and brought his fingertips to his lips, kissing them towards Nonna, making it clear how he felt about her cooking.

“Mmmmm... This is just spectacular!” He said, his mouth stuffed full of food.

“Anthony!..Chew with your mouth closed.” Nonna chastised, but grinned, proud of her meal. He obeyed, closing his mouth and chewing with a big smile across his face.

He finished his first piece quickly and was rewarded with another right away from Nonna.

“Save some for the rest of us, Tony.” Paula joked.

“Oh, now Paula. Anthony is a growing boy, he needs his food.” Nonna turned to the blond, who rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, Paula, you heard her. I need my food” Tony shot back at her and Kate snorted.

“Well, you may be growing, but it's not upward.” The brunette patted his belly and smiled as she popped another bite into her mouth. Paula laughed and Tony made a face at both of them.

“Hey. I'll have you know I'm the exact same size I was the last time I saw you two.”

Paula and Kate just exchanged looks and laughed at the same time.

“What? I am!” He insisted.

“Sure you are.” Paula chuckled.

“Alright, kids. Let's just eat our dinner.” Nonna interrupted. “I do have dessert for when we're finished.”

“Oooh. Is it your fudge brownies?” Tony asked excitedly, his mouth watering in anticipation. Nonna's brownies were the only things she made that were better than her lasagna.

“For you? Of course.” She patted his cheek.

“You're the best.” He kissed the top of her head.

“So, Tony. Is Nonna your grandmother from your mother or your father's side?” Kate asked, trying to make polite conversation while satisfying her curiosity.

“My mom's.” He answered between bites. “I never did meet my other grandparents, they died before I was born. But, I always had Nonna here, even after my mom died and my father cut me off. She gave me a place to stay whenever I needed to get away from good 'ol dad.” He looked to the older woman affectionately and she returned it.

“Aw, that's so sweet.” Paula said, looking nostalgic. “I was an Army brat and we moved around so much I never really got to see my grandparents much. I wish I had gotten to know them better though.”

“How about you Kate?” Tony asked “What about your grandparents?”

“Well, being a Catholic family, we tend to breed rather prolifically and my extended family was pretty large. My grandparents had four sons and five daughters. Needless to say, family get-togethers were a noisy affair, especially Christmastime when we had everyone there, including all thirty of my cousins. We had to rent a hall for such occasions, and that's just my mom's side” She smiled at the memory, looking in the distance and putting her hand into her chin. “I really miss all of that.”

“Jeez, Kate.”

“I know.”

Tony looked down and realized sadly that he had finished his last piece of lasagna and there was no more left in the pan. He should be full, he thought to himself, but he wasn't. Then he was reminded that this was a dream and he could probably eat as much as he wanted without any consequences. That thought gave him great joy as he thought about dessert.

“So, where are these brownies of yours, Nonna?”

“They're in the kitchen by the sink, why don't you go ahead and grab them for us.”

“Absolutely.”

“Good boy.” She praised. Tony pushed back from the table and was about to head back into the kitchen when a sudden sharp pain pierced his side. Okay, maybe he couldn't eat all he wanted, even in his dreams. He doubled over, grabbing the space between his ribs that felt like someone was twisting a knife into. What the hell was happening?

Nonna was by his side as was Kate and Paula.

“What is it? What's wrong?” Nonna asked, holding him around the shoulders.

“I don't know.” Tony said as the pain flared. “Hurts.”

“Let's get him to the couch.” Kate suggested. It sounded like a good idea to Tony, maybe he just needed to lie down, then he'd feel better. The women helped him maneuver across the living room to the couch and laid him down. Nonna grabbed an afghan from the back of the armchair and wrapped it around him. He clenched his teeth, the pain in his chest felt like an elephant sitting on him, making it hard to breath. This pain was familiar, he recalled. Something had happened to him, he couldn't remember.

“Why don't you just close your eyes and take a nap, Anthony.” Nonna placed her hands on his head, smoothing back his hair. “We'll still be here when you wake up.”

He looked up into the concerned faces of his friends and grandmother, afraid that if he closed his eyes, he wouldn't open them again. But he was suddenly so tired and weak and his eyes begged to shut. He tried to force them open, but they refused to obey his commands and a tunnel closed around his vision, darkness enclosing him.

The sounds of voices talking rapidly, machines beeping and a bright light being shined into his eyes assaulted his senses, shocking him out of the dark. Something was over his face, obstructing his view and he moved a heavy hand to remove it, but it was grabbed and placed back by his side.

“Are you with us, Mr. DiNozzo?” A fuzzy face above him asked.

“Uhg...Wha?...”

“You're in the hospital. I'm Dr. Grossman. We're going to take good care of you, but you need to leave the mask on your face and leave the tube in your side alone, they're helping you to breath.”

Tony's hazy head tried to take in what the man was saying as he came into a clearer view. He didn't even realize that his other hand was attempting to reach for the tube sticking out from between his ribs until he looked left. So that's what hurts so much.Tubes filled with fluids and blood were coming in and out of him at various location across his body and he came to the conclusion, rather detached, that he was naked. Couldn't they even spare a towel for his manly parts? He wondered.

It hurt. There was pain all across his chest.

Shot. He remembered. He was shot.

Was he dying? Another face joined the doctor next to him. A young man moved into his view holding a device with a wand.

“I've got the ultrasound, Dr. Grossman.”

“Okay, you want to give it a try?” Try? Give it a try? Tony may be spacey, but he wasn't too keen on this kid trying new things out on his body. Feeling much like a guinea pig, he could do little to protest as the doctor squirted a cold gel onto his chest. Was this guy a doctor? Was he even old enough to be one?

“Whatcha doin Doogie?” He tried to ask, but it was muffled by the mask and his voice sounded surprisingly weak as it hurt to push the air past his lips.

“Dr. Michaels here is a med student and he's going to perform an ultrasound on your heart. Don't worry, this won't hurt.” Great, a med student, he thought. The boy put the probe awkwardly against his chest, moving it around as the older doctor gave instructions.

“There, move it a little to the right...no, your other right...a little more...more... Okay, there we go. Take a look at that.” he pointed to the hand-held screen and the med student looked nervous, like he was taking a test. “Do you see it?” Dr. Grossman asked.

“Uh, I think so... is that the bullet?” The student asked, not inspiring confidence in Tony.

“Yeah...” The older doctor turned his attention back to Tony, who desperately wanted an explanation.

“You are one very lucky man, Mr. DiNozzo. The bullet that hit you is sitting right on top of your heart between your aorta and your pulmonary vein. It doesn't appear to have punctured the pericardium, which is very good, but there is some bleeding around the heart that concerns us and given the bullet's location, we can't risk leaving it in, so we're going to have to go into surgery and take it out before it causes any more damage, okay?” Okay? This didn't sound so good. How was he lucky again?

“A millimeter in either direction and you and I wouldn't be having this talk right now.” Oh. He guessed he was lucky after all. He watched through slitted eyes as the medical personnel worked on him. Thankfully, someone was laying a blanket over his nakedness, he hadn't realized how cold he had become. Suddenly tired again, he felt an unexplained lightness and heard a female voice tell the doctor his blood pressure had dropped.

Dr. Grossman grabbed the portable ultrasound from the med student and ran it over Tony's chest again. As the world grew dark once again, he could still hear the raised voices of the people working on him and of the doctor ordering the assembled nurses to get him to surgery right away. The bullet was moving, the doctor explained; there was no time to wait. As their voices faded he had only one thought. Oh crap. So much for being lucky.

Chapter 4

Walking slowly out of the elevator, McGee took a deep breath before entering Abby's lab with the box of evidence from the two crime scenes. No one had called her yet. Now that the evidence had been gathered, and the two bodies safely away in the morgue, Gibbs and Ziva had taken off for the hospital to get an update on Tony and leaving him with the unenviable task of bringing the evidence to their goth forensics expert and informing her about what had occurred.

Gibbs had been clear in his instructions to McGee while they were still in the alley, finished with the crime scene.

“Tell Abby to find out if this is the gun that was used on the sailor and on Tony, The serial number's been scratched off and she needs to find it right away.”

“Yes, Boss.” He turned to go, but Gibbs grabbed his jacket.

“McGee....Don't tell Abby until she's done with the tests. She needs to get this done without the distraction.”

“Got it, Boss.” He watched as Gibbs took off from the alleyway with Ziva in the sedan. Leaving him with Jimmy and Ducky, who were loading up the medical examiner's truck with the vagrant's body. He understood that there was a job to do and someone would need to get the evidence back, but he wished he could go with them. Tony may be a thorn in his side on most days and today was no different, but he was like that big brother he never had. Sure, he didn't relish the constant hazing and teasing Tony dished out, but he knew that he did it because he was uncomfortable showing affection in any other way.

Ducky walked up to him and planted a hand on his shoulder, addressing him in his Scottish brogue.

“Not to worry, my boy. Tony is as tough as they come, he'll be fine. I know it's hard to be left behind. I too wish I could go right away, but sometimes the hardest part of our job is just carrying on when our friends cannot.” He nodded and gave the older man a grateful look before going to the truck. He followed the coroner's van back to base where Jimmy transported the bodies to the morgue. Tim unloaded the evidence they had gathered from the two scenes and placed it in a box before heading to see Ducky.

Once he passed through the doors to morgue, he found that Palmer had already laid the bodies out on the exam tables for the Pathologist and Ducky was hard at work with a pair of forceps, digging deep into the wound on the chest of the sailor.

“Ah..almost got it....Sorry son, I'm going to have to dig a little deeper.” He spoke to the corpse as though he were treating the man for a splinter. He wiggled the probe in further until he found what he was looking for. “Ah-ha. Here is the little bugger.” Ducky pulled up and slowly produced the small bullet. “Mr. Plamer, would you be so kind as to produce an evidence bag for me?”

“Right away, Doctor.” Jimmy swiftly opened a bag and held it open for the doctor who dropped it inside before Jimmy sealed it up.

“There you are Timothy. Gibbs wanted this tested right away” Ducky signed the bag and handed it off to McGee, then stripped off his gloves and blue protective surgical gown he had on over his shirt. "Please put our guests away for now Mr. Palmer for I'll be heading to the hospital and will perform the autopsies later."

"Sure, Doctor." Jimmy replied.

"Please tell Abby that I'll be waiting for her there when she is finished.” Ducky turned to McGee

“Of Course.” He assured the older man.

“Thank-you.” Ducky nodded with a sigh. “I shall see you both later.” He walked off, grabbing his coat and hat. Left behind again, Tim left the morgue and headed for Abby's lab.

McGee wanted to tell Abby the truth right away, but agreed with Gibbs, she might be too distraught about Tony to accurately complete the processing on the weapon, but how was he not going to tell her? She was as close to a mind reader as anyone he knew, she would read it on his face as soon as he walked in that something was wrong. He wasn't very good at hiding his feelings behind a harsh glare, like Gibbs or a cocky smile, like Tony. She would figure it out.

Abby had her back to him when he crossed the threshold into the lab. She bounced up and down on her knee-high, black leather, platform boot heels to the beat of the music coming from the headphones on her head, making her pigtails sway from side to side. She didn't hear him put the box on the table and approach. He tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped with a yelp.

“McGee! For God's sakes don't do that! You scared the crap out of me!” She hit him playfully on the arm.

“Sorry, Abs. I have evidence you need to look at.”

“Whatcha bring me?” She asked loudly, the music still blaring through the headphones as she turned towards the table and took out the items from the box one at a time. “Cool, a gun, a bullet and some casings too. You shouldn't have.”she joked.

McGee didn't feel much like playing with her. He had to admit that he was just as distracted as Gibbs feared Abby would be. He made a gesture for her to remove the headphones and she smiled sheepishly and turned off the Ipod, removing the headphones and placing it by her computer.

“Gibbs wants you to find the serial number on the pistol and see if the bullet came from it as soon as possible”

“Sounds easy enough.” She was looking at the gun through the plastic evidence bag, turning it over in her hands before she signed the chain of evidence log and found a pair of gloves. She looked up at McGee who had taken to staring out the window, lost in his thoughts.

“What's wrong?” She asked

“Huh? oh...” He snapped his head towards her. He wanted to tell her about Tony, but he just couldn't. “Um...I'll tell you in a little bit, let's just get that serial number and test the gun, okay?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“C'mon, Timmy." She pressed him. "Just tell me or do I have to resort to tickle torture?” She reached for his sides, determined to tickle his underarms.

“I can't....just...not yet.” He told her seriously, grabbing her hands.

“What? Why not?” She asked concerned, sensing his mood. Again, she was looking into him with those eyes that seemed to penetrate to his very soul. What was he to say?

“Gibbs told me not to.” Oh Smart McGee, now she's definitely not going to let this go without you telling her right away.

“Gibbs told you not to?” She looked at him sternly for a moment, but he could almost see the cogs in her brain turning as she thought. “Did something bad happen?” She asked, suddenly slipping into a worried face.

Tim couldn't find his voice.

“Is he hurt?”

“He's fine Abby.”

“Is someone else hurt? Who?” She searched his face for the answer “Ziva?... Tony?” She saw his reaction to hearing Tony's name and her face dropped.

“What happened, is it serious?”

“Abby....”

“Tell me McGee!” There was no fighting her anymore, she wasn't going to let this go.

“He was shot.” She brought her hands to her mouth, covering it. “ He's in the hospital and in surgery.”

“What?! Why didn't you call me? We need to get there!” Her voice was near panic. Tim grabbed her shoulders and made her look at him.

“Abby, We'll see him in a little bit. There's nothing we can do for him right now anyway. The doctors will take good care of him, but we need to focus, okay?”

“How can you say that, Tim? He's our friend.”

“I know. I want to be there too, but we still have a job to do and this gun...” He held up the evidence bag that held the weapon “Is the one that was used to shoot Tony and this bullet...” He put down the gun and picked up the bag with the bullet. “Was taken from the body of a sailor who was shot, possibly by this same gun. We need to find out who this weapon belonged to.” Abby was on the verge of tears and she was pale and shaky. Tim put down the bullet.

“C'mere.” He pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her hair. She held him tight.

“You think he'll be alright?” she asked into his chest.

“Of course he will.” He tried to sound as sincere as he could.“You know Tony. If the damn plague couldn't kill him, then neither can a little bullet.” He pushed her away a little and held her at arms length, smiling at her a little to give her some encouragement. “We need you to this for Tony, okay? Let's get this gun tested, then we can go visit him.”

She was still a little shaky, but she nodded and turned to the evidence, setting off to work. She grabbed the bullet and inspected it.

“Looks like a .22, full metal jacket.” She said mostly to herself.

McGee followed as she went to a cabinet and opened it up. Inside were boxes upon boxes of ammunition. She ran her fingers along the outside of the boxes until she came across one that could closely match the bullet taken from the sailor. She took the box down and brought it with her to the room at the very back of the lab that held the ballistics water tank. She took down a pair of ear muffs and safety goggles and handed some to McGee as well. She slipped the ear protection on and placed the goggles over her face before unsealing the pistol and loading it with the ammo.

Taking aim through the diagonal tunnel at the front of the tank, she fired a round and another for good measure, the bullets splashing upon impact, causing waves to form at the top of the water. She laid the weapon down and reached for a long pole with a large magnet attached to the end and went to the open part of the water-filled tank, dipping it into the liquid and extracting the bullets she had fired.

“Okay. Now that's done, let's go compare.”

They removed their headgear and goggles, moving back to the main part of the lab, Abby taking the gun and newly fired bullets with her. Swiftly, she turned on the comparison microscope and set the bullet from the sailor and one of the new bullets under it. For McGee's benefit, she turned on the plasma and brought up the image of the two bullets side by side so he could see it too. The his untrained eye, the bullets looked pretty similar. Abby however, studied the two projectiles intensely, counting lands and grooves, rotating the bullets, inspecting every last scratch and striation, before coming to a conclusion.

“They're a match” She confirmed, looking up from the microscope to him. “This is definitely the same gun that was used at both scenes.”

“Good job, Abs.” He smiled at her and she grinned back, he could see that she was still worried, but his fears that she might be too distracted to do her job had been alleviated. He should have known better. Abby was a pro at this and the only thing she loved as much as the people she worked with was science, she could never fail when it came to that.

“Now for that serial number.” She wasted no time taking the gun up and setting it on her work table. She reached for a drawer and pulled out a Dremel tool, snapping on a round grinding bit. Turning it on, she worked the grinder over the place where the number had been scratched off, smoothing it down and blowing off the dust when she was finished.

“Here comes the cool part.” She said as she grabbed a large magnet and placed it on the other side of the gun, directly behind the newly smoothed over metal. A mixture of oil and iron filings was coated on next over the area and they watched as the tiny bits of metal coalesced together, gathering in the shadows of the places where the numbers had been pressure stamped into the metal the day the gun was made. Criminals usually think they can get away with obliterating evidence, McGee thought, but there was no escaping Abby and today was no exception as a series of numbers and letters appeared, giving them the information they needed.

“Voila, Here it is.” She told him.

“Sweet. Good job again, Abby.”

“Thanks, McGee.”

He grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote the numbers down and went directly to Abby's computer to bring up a search for the serial number. The computer went to work, digging through millions of entries as fast as their server would allow. Tim and Abby watched in anticipation as the minutes ticked by, finally a name popped up. Taking down the information, Tim did another search, seeing if he could find more information on the name that just came up. He was surprised to find several newspaper articles and police reports. Skimming through them, they came to the conclusion that they needed to get to the hospital right away and talk to Gibbs. Their case had just become a lot more complicated.

OOOOO

“So that's when Tony went up to the very pregnant lady and asked her why she was so fat and she explained that she had a baby in her tummy. 'You ate your baby?' He asked. He was so absolutely disgusted that she might have actually have eaten her baby.... I was mortified of course, but couldn't stop laughing....That poor woman! How do you tell a five year old how a baby gets in a woman's tummy anyway?” There was a peel of laughter all around from the three women as Tony tossed under the warmth of the afghan, getting it tangled up in his legs and groaning. They were talking about him, weren't they? Of course they were, what else would they be discussing?

From the sound of things, he was back in his Nonna's apartment. He ventured a peek through his eyes and was rewarded with a smile from Nonna.

“Anthony, you're awake.” She greeted him.

“Welcome back sleepy-head. We were just having a good time discussing your childhood” Kate added with a sly grin and a cock of her head. “Who knew you were such a cute little boy?” She pointed to the photos that they had spread amongst them on the floor. He groaned again.

“Yeah, Tony, how cute.” Paula added with a chuckle, holding up a photo of him as a toddler without a diaper, mooning the camera.

“Real funny, Paula. Ha ha.” He sat up and snatched the picture from her. “Hope you've been having lots of fun at my expense.” He didn't even bother to hide his sarcasm.

“Oh, we sure have.” She looked over at Kate and they exchanged a secret grin.

“How are you feeling?” Nonna asked with concern.

“Uh, Okay.... I guess.” He stretched and yawned, chasing away the remnants of his nap. That's when he was hit by memories. He looked down at his chest and felt around over his shirt. No pain, no holes, no tubes. He felt fine. Which was kinda weird given the last thing he recalled was being wheeled into surgery for a bullet that was doing it's darndest to burrow into his heart.

“What's wrong, Tony?” Kate asked. “You look like you've seen a ghost.” They all laughed again, but he was serious.

“I think I'm dead.” He gulped.

“You're not dead, Tony.” Kate informed him, laughing. “We're the dead ones. You're just hurt, maybe even on that edge between life and death, but you're mind just isn't sure how to deal with it, so you're imagining this and us.”

“But this is so....”

“Real?” Nonna answered.

“Yeah, it is. If this is all a dream, it sure is a doozie.” He told them.

“What is the difference between dreams and reality anyway, Anthony?” The older woman asked him.

How was he to know?

“Perception.” is what she answered for him.

“I don't get it.” He told her. She got up off the floor and sat down on the couch next to him, grabbing his hand.

“Maybe you brought us all here because there's something you need from us. Something that you never got from us when we were alive or something left unsaid....” He gave her a thoughtful look as she patted his leg and got up. “Just think about it. I'm going to go make us all some coffee and we can talk about this some more.” She puttered over to the the kitchen, leaving him alone with Paula and Kate.

They looked up expectantly at him.

“What?” He asked.

“Well, I for one am looking forward to hearing what you have to say to us.” Paula said with a mischievous grin.

“Me too.” agreed Kate with a twinkle in her eyes, looking to bait him. “I know you can't wait to profess your undying love for me.”

He snorted. “Not even in your dreams, Kate.”

Chapter 5

Banging her head against the soda machine, Ziva sighed. Nothing was coming out. Nothing about today was right. It was all wrong. Giving it one last slap with her hand, she gave up on the machine and headed back over to her seat. They had been there two hours already and still no word other than 'he's in surgery' from the nurse at the desk. She hated waiting. It made her feel so helpless; a feeling she was not accustomed to.

She sat down just as Gibbs strolled up with two coffee cups in his hands. He sat and handed one off to her. He must have read her need for some caffeine. She mumbled a thanks and began to sip, looking off into the distance, not really looking at much of anything, lost in the jumble of her thoughts and emotions.

“Any word?” He asked

“Nothing.” She replied flatly.

She didn't want to look at Gibbs. She knew he was looking at her, but she just couldn't look back at him. She knew he was analyzing her, reading her feelings and drawing conclusions about her mental state. If anything, Gibbs was the best at reading people. He knew when people were lying, when they were hiding something. His 'gut' was famous in law enforcement circles. All at one time, she admired and hated this facet of her boss.

“How are you doing, Ziva?”

“I am fine.” She lied. She was anything but. Thankfully, Gibbs didn't press the issue, letting the silence settle between them as he pulled another drag from his coffee. It was then that she looked up and noticed Dicky walking towards them.

“Jethro, Ziva....How is our Anthony?”

“Don't know much, Duck. Just that he's in surgery.” Ducky nodded.

“I'll see what I can find out, I have a couple of friends here who might be able to give me a little more information if I explain that I am his personal physician.” Gibbs nodded and Ducky walked off to the nurse's station and asked to borrow the phone. Ziva couldn't hear him from where she sat, but she could make out his expressions as he talked on the phone with his contact. They were not encouraging. Finally hanging up, Ducky moved back over to their position and took a seat next to Gibbs.

“Give it to us in layman's terms, Duck.” Ducky took a deep breath and sighed.

“Well, it appears that Anthony had a bullet lodged between his aorta and his pulmonary vein, but the bullet appears to be moving around as his heart beats and it has begun to push it's way into his pericardium, the membrane that surrounds the heart. Since the bullet is acting like a sort of cork, blood is leaking into the space between the pericardium and the heart, but cannot flow out, pooling inside and putting pressure on the heart, making it difficult for it to beat. However, the cardiologist performing the surgery is one of the best in the area and I have every confidence that he shall be able to remove the bullet and repair the damage. But, I am afraid that in the mean time, Tony's condition is very critical and this surgery is expected to be quite lengthy.... all we can really do is wait.” The older coroner put his hat in his hands, dangling it between his knees as he looked down to the floor.

“Thanks.” Gibbs nodded grimly as he briefly patted his old friend's back, his face a mask, blocking the feelings he might have inside but refused to show to the outside world. Ziva did her best to reign in her own feelings, not allowing any tears to escape as they pooled at the bottom of her eyelids. She got up, not wanting Gibbs to see should she lose control.

Feeling a constriction against her throat, she had to get up and move.

“Excuse me.” She quickly spoke as she stalked off towards the bathroom and made her refuge there. Going to the sink, feeling sick to her stomach, she turned the water on and splashed her face. It did little to stop her internal struggle, but she no longer felt like she was going to breakdown and cry. Taking a long look at her face in the mirror, she took a deep breath and blew it out. Was this face the last thing Tony saw? She wondered. Her troubled expression, the worry etched between her eyes? If only she had ran a little faster, if she had only pulled the trigger half a second sooner, none of this would be happening and they would be back at work, Tony throwing spit wads at McGee and annoying her endlessly, something she had to admit, she liked more than she let on.

Stop it Ziva, he is going to be fine. You are overreacting... Get a grip.

But what did Tony mean to her and how did he feel about her in return anyway? She thought she knew. There were the stares, the exchanged glances, the times when her imagination ran wild and she just wanted to grab him by the hair and ravage his face and body in passion,but did he want the same as she did? Did he imagine her the way she imagined him? She remembered the time, in his anger and frustration, he had told her that he was tired of pretending and she had told him she was too. She knew he had just been blowing off steam, but it had hurt. Did this mean he had feelings for her, but would rather not Or did he mean that he didn't want her to have those unspoken feelings for him? They hadn't spoken about it since, both of them opting to try their best to forget it and move on as though nothing had happened.

Right now however, none of this would matter if he didn't survive. The emotional wounds on her heart ran deep. She had seen people she loved die before her eyes and she had even killed a few, including her own brother, Ari. She knew she would go on if he didn't make it, she had to, she was a soldier and a Mossad officer after all, but sometimes when scars healed over other scars, things could become damaged beyond repair and would never be the same again. If he died, she knew her heart would never be quite as strong as it used to be, it would always have that hole on the inside.

She dried her skin with a paper towel, knowing that Gibbs and Ducky would be concerned if she remained too long in the bathroom. Making her way out again, she walked back to the damned seats that offered little but more waiting and worry. Ducky and Gibbs were discussing the case when she returned, neither man giving her more than a concerned glance, for which she was grateful. She didn't want them worrying about her too.

“Did you get the bullet?” Gibbs asked.

“Yes, I gave it to McGee and Abby should be running the appropriate tests as we speak.” Ducky replied.

“Good.” Was all Gibbs said as he took another sip of coffee.

An hour later and the waiting was starting to become all too much for Ziva and she had taken up pacing up and down the corridor. Gibbs didn't seem to mind and Ducky appeared to be comfortable sitting in the seats with a newspaper. On her last return trip back to the seats, she saw that McGee and Abby had shown up and were hurrying towards Gibbs. She jogged up to find out what was going on.

“They're a Match, boss. The weapon that shot the sailor at the grocery store and Tony are the same weapon.” McGee relayed to Gibbs at little out of breath, who was listening intensely.

“Did you find out who it belongs to Abs?” He asked the dark haired goth.

“Yeah, he wasn't able to completely destroy the serial number, and we traced it down to an anesthesiologist named Dr. Benjamin Jameson. And get this, his wife was reported missing six weeks ago. The FBI and LEO's have been on the case and they suspect he might have killed his wife, but they haven't come up with any evidence that points to him having anything to do with it.”

“So what are we doing here?” Ziva asked. “Should we not go and get him?”

“It's an FBI case, Ziva. I'm sure they'll argue jurisdiction.” McGee figured.

“A sailor and an NCIS agent have been shot with this man's weapon, I don't give a damn about jurisdiction.” Gibbs angrily tossed his coffee cup away and grabbed his coat.

“Where are you going, Boss?” McGee asked

“Gonna see Fornell, then I'm going to find this Doctor.” He said succinctly.

“Actually, Gibbs.” Abby interrupted, wringing her fingers. “We already found him. He works here.”

Gibbs' eyes flashed and he strode purposefully over to the nurses station with McGee, Abby and Ziva in tow, followed a little slower by Ducky.

“Get me Dr. Jameson.” He ordered the nurse. She stood up with her hands on her hips, giving Gibbs a look just as stern as the one he was giving her.

“And who might you be?” She asked. Gibbs whipped out his badge and flashed it towards her. Grudgingly she sat and dialed a number, giving him a dirty look as she listened for a response.

“Hey, Shirley, it's Danielle....Is Dr. Jameson in?....Oh, Okay....Yeah, I know....later?...sure I can get together for drinks, how 'bout we meet at- Hey!” Gibbs clicked the connection on the phone, hanging up for the nurse.

“Where is he?” He demanded. She again scowled at him, pissed by his rudeness and impatience.

“He's in surgery right now, you'll just have to wait until he get's out.”

“Where?”

“Why does it matter? You can't go in there right now anyway, it's expected to be a very long surgery.” Ducky took that opportunity to come up behind Gibbs and place a calming hand on his shoulders, attempting to bring down the man's anger at the nurse. While Gibbs usually got what he wanted through intimidation, Ziva knew that Ducky was just as skilled at getting what he wanted by gathering more flies with honey than with vinegar. Ducky always brought out the best in people with his friendly and gentlemanly ways and people just naturally liked him and wanted to help him should he ask for it.

“Oh, hello Dr. Mallard. Were you with these people?” She asked him sweetly.

“Yes. Danielle, I am.” He smiled at her. “I apologize for my friend here, but we need to know which surgery would Dr. Jameson be in right now?”

“He's in the cardiac tamponade surgery in OR three with Dr. Matthews.” Ducky's smile faded and his face grew extremely concerned and paled a bit.

“Are you absolutely certain of that, my dear?” He asked.

“That's what I was told by his secretary just a moment ago.”

“What is it, Ducky?” Gibbs turned to the older man and Ducky addressed him seriously.

“Dr. Jameson is currently the anesthesiologist performing Tony's surgery.”

OOOOO

Nonna poured coffee into everyone's mugs before pouring some for herself and settling into a seat next to Tony. He took a drink, then reached for some of the sugar and creamer she had placed on the table. She always made her coffee a little too strong for his tastes, but it's familiar bitterness was a comfort to him, reminding him of that time she had taken him in, given him a home when things were so bad with his father that her couldn't stand to be in the same home with the man.

Tony was certain that if it hadn't been for her, his life would have turned out a lot differently and not for the better. She encouraged him to pursue his dreams. From an early age, Tony knew what he wanted to be; a pro basketball player. His father on the other hand, had other ideas for his future, wanting him to study business like he had, poising him take over his business when he decided to retire. Being the stubborn person that Tony was and not in the least bit interested in any aspects of his father's shipping business, he rebelled.

Things had never been very smooth with his father, especially after his mother died when he was in grade school and he left Tony with nannies and servants to be raised, only giving attention to the young boy when he got into trouble or had found some new way to disappoint him.

As a teenager, he fought with his father whenever he could, started fights in school and was failing out of the majority of his classes. By the time he was sixteen, the conflict between the two had boiled over to the point where DiNozzo Sr. was cutting him off from the family fortune and ready to send him to military school to straighten him up. Tony would have none of it and ran away, wandering the streets of Brooklyn until he found himself at Nonna's doorstep.

She took him in, but insisted that he fly right. She wouldn't allow him to play sports, not even his beloved basketball, until he got his grades up and she made sure he stayed out of trouble by seeing to it that he went directly home from school each day.

It had been hard on both of them. He only wanted to play sports, he had no interest in school work. Not that he wasn't smart, Nonna knew better, but he was no scholar and never would be. He was street smart, but she knew that if he wanted to get into college after high school without the aid of his father's money and influence, then he was going to have to improve his grades. She made him study and study hard each day if he wanted to continue his dream to play basketball. Eventually, Tony had raided his grades to the point where was not only passing all of his classes, but had made the honor roll.

It was mainly thanks to her that he made it into Ohio State. He had the talent and the skills to be a great basketball player, but he never would have received even a sports scholarship if he couldn't pass his classes and he never would have thought that he could if she hadn't pulled him up and demanded that he work hard and live up to his potential. She gave him the encouragement he needed and the affection he craved and he loved her for it.

Then she died suddenly of a heart attack his first year at Ohio State. He never got to say goodbye and he never got to tell her what she meant to him. Maybe this was his chance to do that now, but with the addition of Kate and Paula to the mix, he was still uncertain how to go about it and what was he to say to them?

The two women in question looked at Tony expectantly as they drank their coffee.

“So, Tony...” Kate began, putting down her cup “Why are we here?” She asked point blank.

“I don't know, Kate.” He shot back.

“Yes you do. This is your delusion. You just don't want to admit it.”

“What don't I want to admit?” He asked annoyed, taking another sip of his drink, keeping his eyes on her.

“That you have unresolved issues with us, that you can't move on until you've dealt with them.” Kate replied.

“Move on to what?” Did she mean death?

“Ziva.” Paula broke in with eyes penetrating him.

“Ziva?” Tony was taken aback, he wasn't expecting that, but then again, he was.

“Who is this Ziva?” Nonna asked. “Is she a girlfriend of yours, Tony?”

“No, Nonna. She's my partner.” He had to think closely about this, choosing just the right words. “We're friends, but nothing more.”

“Ah...” She said thoughtfully. “But you want more, don't you?” She asked him. He was silent, looking at his coffee mug, watching ripples form on the surface of the black liquid as he turned the cup in circles.

“Maybe.” He finally admitted, looking up at the three women.

“So, what's holding you back?” Kate crossed he arms and asked.

“She's my partner, we work together.”

“Oh, I get it." Kate said pointedly. "This is about Gibbs' damn rules, isn't it? Never date a co-worker, right? Which one is that anyway, rule 11?”

“Number 12.” He corrected.

“Whatever” She sighed. “When are you gonna step out of Gibbs' shadow and start thinking for yourself, Tony?”

“Stop it , Kate. I listen to Gibbs because he's been there and done that. He knows better than anyone what this job entails.”

“And you want to be just like Gibbs? Building a boat in your basement to escape from the loneliness and bitterness in your life because you won't let anyone in?”

“That's not it at all.... Ziva and I have a very dangerous job, you of all people should know that. What if something happens to her, like what happened to you?”

“You mean being like shot in the head by a rogue Mossad double agent bent on revenge?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Kate leaned over the table towards him, sharpening her gaze on him. “You don't want to get too involved with Ziva because there's the possibility that she might be hurt or killed and then you'd be left alone again, is that it?”

“Kate...”

“Answer the question, Tony.” She demanded angrily. He was hesitant, looking straight into her fiery eyes, but he decided to give it to her.

“No, Kate...Because.. You don't get it...You can't. You don't know what it's like to be the one left behind. You don't know what it's like to see one of your best friends killed right in front of your eyes and you can't do anything for them.” His voice was raising, his eyes flashing with anger and sorrow as it grew louder , nearing a shout.“You have know idea....I can't do that again.”

“Anthony...” Nonna put a hand on his shoulder and he dropped his head, his eyes fixing on the tabletop.

“Was I really one of your best friends?” She asked quieter, surprised.

“Of course, you were.” He calmed down and sighed before going on. “We may have had our differences, and we might have fought like siblings, but we were partners and I trusted you with my life. You stayed with me when I was sick, even though you could have picked up the plague too... I told you I wasn't scared, but I was terrified and when you kept things normal between us, joking with me, keeping me company, I wasn't as frightened. You have no idea how much that meant to me and I should have told you then.”

Kate gave him a little grin from the corner of her mouth “That's what friends are for. You would have stayed too.”

“Yeah, I would have.” He agreed sincerely.

“You're right, Tony." Paula joined in softly and calmly."You should have told her then. You couldn't have known she was going to be killed so soon after that, but everyone dies, some of us just sooner than others. I remember telling you how I regretted not telling my team what they meant to me before they died and I know you feel the same for not saying anything to me before that bomb went off. Life is too short to waste it being afraid. Don't let fear cast a shadow over your relationships or you'll always be alone. Take a chance” She reached across and took his hand in hers, offering her support. “Because, if you ask me, you're being a stupid, pig-headed fool if don't take the next opportunity you get to tell her how you feel. That is, if you get another one.”

"Paula....." He wanted to tell her how she had been a good friend to him, how he missed her and the flirty and fun sexual tension they had shared. Most of all, he wanted to say he was sorry. He should have dug deeper, maybe they could have uncovered the terrorist's plot that took her life if he hadn't been so distracted by Jeanne and that whole damned affair. Maybe she would still be alive today.

"Tony, don't." She stopped him before he could get started. "It's not your fault. It was my decision that led to my death. Nothing you could have done would have prevented it. It's not your fault, so just let it go. I never blamed you and I never will." She smiled as sweetly as he had ever seen her and he returned it.

He took back his hand and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair, focusing away from the women at the table as a silence spread out between them. He had a lot to think about, his own mortality for sure, but more immediately, what was he to do if he should live?

Unable to stand the silence any longer, he pushed away from the table and grabbed his coffee cup, taking it back to the kitchen. Placing the mug in the sink, he suddenly had to grab the edges of the basin as the room spun and he was overcome with lightheadedness. His grip on the sink did little to prevent his fall to the floor and as the cold linoleum tile seeped into his back and blackness ensued, he came to the conclusion that this was it. He was dying wasn't he? NO! He didn't want to die. Not yet. He made his decision right then. He would tell her everything, that is, if he ever got the chance.

To Be Continued.....

Chapter 6

Dr. Benjamin Jameson was having a bad morning. Not only did he awake to the sounds of the FBI pounding on his door at 6am to perform yet another search of his house, but when he arrived at work, he was called into a meeting with the chief of staff and the hospital president to discuss his current situation with his wife and the FBI's investigation.

It turned out that the FBI had been digging into his work life and had discovered the affair he had begun several months ago with his secretary, Shirley, bringing their concerns about this and his possible involvement with his wife's disappearance to the hospital leadership. They were naturally concerned, uncertain if they should allow him to continue working for now or let him go and they had called a meeting to discuss the matter in length later that afternoon with the board of directors. It would be then that they would decide his future with the hospital, if there was one.

The FBI and the cops seemed hell-bent on destroying his life and he hated them more and more as each day passed since he reported Liz missing. Six weeks ago he had the perfect life. A wonderful paying job, a beautiful wife and even a mistress on the side. But when Liz discovered the letters Shirley had sent him in his briefcase, she flipped out, demanding a divorce and slapping him hard across the face. He snapped. That was all. He was not an evil man, he just lost control and hadn't meant to push her down the stairs.

With her at the bottom of the stairwell bruised and dazed, her leg most likely broken, she spat venomous insults at him and threatened to divorce him, taking all that he had worked so hard to build. In a rage he ran back to the bedroom, going to the closet and pulling out the gun that he had bought several years ago for home protection, but had never used more than once at a firing range. He ran down the stairs to her, unable to get up, she continued her verbal assault until he hit her over the head with it the butt of the weapon, knocking her unconscious. After he saw her inert form on the floor he panicked. What was he to do then? He would have to get rid of her now, she would certainly bring up charges now, he would lose his medical license, his career, everything. It was too much for him to take, so he dragged her out to the car, heaving her into the trunk.

There had been no plan, but he was a smart man and had seen his fair share of crime dramas to know that if he killed her in the house or in his car, then blood evidence would be too difficult to destroy. So he drove for more than an hour until he came to a secluded bridge and pulled her unconscious form out of the car and dragged her towards the edge. He was just going to throw her in at first, but figured at the last moment that the chances that she would wake up were pretty high and he didn't want her to be able to swim out or to wash up again the next day. Thinking quickly, he opened his trunk and pulled out his spare tire and some bungee cords he had stored in there, wrapping the cord around her waist and attaching it to the full-sized tire. He prayed that it would be secured enough and heavy enough to weigh her down so she could never surface again.

The hard part came next. He had to kill her before he tossed her over the edge. He wasn't a monster. He had never killed anyone before, but he didn't want her to suffer unnecessarily if she did wake up and find herself under water. So, he had to pull the trigger and make her death swift. Several minutes passed, psyching himself up, pointing the trigger to her head several times only to chicken out and turn away. It wasn't until she began to moan that it hit him that if her didn't do this then she would survive and destroy him for sure. Gathering his courage, he put the pistol to her head, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

He could hardly believe that he had done it. He killed Liz, his wife of nearly 15 years and then he was pushing her body over the edge of the bridge, watching her blond hair fade into the shadows as it sank under the water and disappeared under it's murky depths. He became detached from it all, like someone taking in a really bad horror movie.

He returned home in a daze, but knew he had a lot of work to do to cover up the evidence of his crime. Destroying the letters and coming up with a plausible story first on his list of many things to do if he was to get away with this. Almost as an afterthought, he remembered the gun.

Knowing that the gun could be traced back to him should it be found, he brought it to the basement and dug around in his tools until he found a pipe file and began to scratch away at the numbers on the side of the weapon's barrel until they could no longer be discernible.

Liz was a nurse and her absence would be missed at work, so he had to come up with a story. She was an avid runner, so he decided it best to say that she had gone for a run that morning, but had not returned by the time he left for work. So instead of going straight to the police, he went to work, tossing the gun into a dumpster behind the coffee shop he often stopped by on his way to the hospital, forgetting that he had left it loaded and ignoring the dirty vagrant sitting beside the trash receptacle.

He did his best to play it cool that day while he was a work, returning home later that evening and calling the police in tears, some of which where actually real and unforced. Immediately the police were suspicious and the FBI was called in. Over and over again he recounted his story until he had it down to a science, his words memorized. The feds tried and tried their best to trip him up as they interrogated him several times, but could find no evidence to hold against him. Thankfully, Liz hadn't bled in their home or in his car and he had been extremely careful to make sure that not a trace of hair or fibers from her left in the trunk of his car.

After everyone he knew learned of Liz's disappearance, he had to work hard to maintain the pretense of the grieving husband, desperately searching for his missing wife. At first, his co-workers supported him, helping to look for her, organizing searches and spreading fliers out over the city in an effort to locate her. But, as the FBI applied more pressure to him and began questioning his friends at work, he knew it would only be a matter of time before they found out about his affair with Shirley and then everything would come apart.

Thankfully, he managed to convince Shirley that he had nothing to do with Liz's disappearance and that she should keep their affair a secret from the police and FBI, professing his love for her and promising to marry her and give her a life of pampering, spas, new cars, high fashion and bright shiny jewelry. But, she must have cracked under the pressure and told the FBI about them.

Needless to say, it was quite possibly the worst day of his life and it wasn't even noon yet. It was as though the walls had decided to start moving in on him, crumbling as his house of cards fell apart and he was trapped inside After the meeting, he was certain that the chief of staff and hospital president had drawn their own conclusions already and convicted him in their own heads. They had no proof that he had anything to do with her going missing and could do little to remove his medical license until he was convicted, but they could still fire him from the hospital and now it was almost a foregone conclusion that they would.

The only break he caught today was an emergency cardiac surgery on a NCIS agent shot during an investigation that he had been called in to perform the anesthesia for when there was no one else available to work. Hopefully, the surgery would be long enough where they would have to delay the meeting until at least tomorrow and give him some more time to think about what he should do, maybe it would only postpone the inevitable, but maybe he could find a way in the mean time to save his career.

As he sat in surgery, he watched the clock tick like a hawk. There was still two hours to go before the meeting and this surgery was already wrapping up, the repair finished, the heart still exposed and ready to be restarted and the patient brought off of the heart-lung machine. Barring any complications, they would be finished within an hour, but he just couldn't face the board, not yet. He desperately needed more time... It was then that a thought entered his head. All he needed to do was increase the anesthesia just enough to prevent the heart from being shocked back to a normal rhythm, thereby extending the surgery and excusing him from his potential firing at least for today, and he could go home an plan out his next move.

He was nervous, hands shaking as he contemplated his decision, hoping no one in the OR would see his internal struggle. Doing this could kill the patient, but complications happened in surgery all of the time, especially open-heart procedures where there were already plenty of inherent risks, his chances of getting caught where negligible and it wasn't like he wanted to kill the patient, he just wanted to the surgery to last long enough for the meeting to be cancelled. The guy would most likely survive, but even if he didn't, he wouldn't be too upset, he was just another one of those damn federal agents anyway and he had had his fill of those people lately.

All he needed to do to get started would be to send his nurse away since she would notice if he did anything to the patients drugs. Deciding that it was now or never, he turned to her.

“Sally, I'm having a hard time reading the monitors, would you mind going to my office and getting my glasses, please? I should be okay on my own for a few minutes.” She gave him a somewhat confused look from under her surgical mask. It was a bit of an unusual request to ask the nurse anesthetist to run such an errand, but Jameson knew that Sally was a people-pleaser and always did whatever was requested of her.

“Uh, okay, Dr. Jameson.”

“Thank-you, they're just sitting on top of my desk.” She nodded and took off, leaving the OR. She would be gone for at least a couple of minutes in order to get to his office and back, plus she would have to scrub up again, giving him a little more time. Being on the other side of the curtain from the rest of the surgery, he was largely ignored as the other medical staff in attendance were focused on the gaping hole in the young man's chest or on his vital signs This gave him the perfect opportunity to change the rate of anesthesia being delivered to his body without rousing suspicion.

Now that was done, all he needed to do was wait and see.

OOOOO

Tony opened a groggy eye, groaning. He was extremely exhausted and headachey, like he had one too many beers the night before, but ten times worse. Feeling a cool cloth cover his forehead, he opened both eyes to see Nonna smoothing the little wet wash towel into place.

“You awake now?” She asked with concern. “You've had me worried, Anthony.” His stomach was doing flip flops and he wanted to sit up, but was too tired to accomplish such a meager feat He noticed then, that he was in what his bed in what used to be his old room in Nonna's apartment. He looked around at the familiar sights, taking it all in. Most of the stuff he had in this room when he was a teenager was gone now that he was an adult, except for the signed poster of Larry Bird from the '86 NBA World Championships where he was named MVP, there was no way he'd ever get rid of that, in fact, it graced the wall in his living room still and it always would no matter how tacky any of his girlfriends thought it was.

“What happened ?” He wanted to know. “Where are Kate and Paula?” The last thing he remembered was drinking coffee with Kate, Paula and Nonna before the world began to do it's best to throw him off the merry-go-round.

“You just passed out, sweetie and they've gone home now.”

“Why?”

“I suppose because you said all that you wanted to say to them and they knew you needed your rest. Don't worry, you'll see them again sometime, but not right now.”

“I was sure I was dying.”

“Maybe you were.” She smiled “Maybe you still are, but you're here now, that's all that matters.” He was bone-weary and he couldn't remember ever feeling this way before, even when he was sick with the plague. Considering how weak he was, he was certain that he had little time left.

“Nonna...” He grabbed for her hand, fighting his eyelids to keep them open.

“Yes, dear?”

“I owe you so much, yet I never even said thank-you or ever told you how much you meant to me and I'm sorry I never told you when you were alive. I was a real jerk when I was a kid.”

“Oh, Hon. You were just a boy and I always knew how you felt, even if it was never said. Nonnas come with that kind of intuition.”

“Thank-you just the same, I never would have made much of myself if it hadn't been for you.”

“Awww, c'mere.” She bent down and he tried to sit up for a hug, but couldn't get far, not that it mattered, for Nonna had him in her arms and was holding him tight. He wrapped a heavy arm around her, enjoying her warmth and the love, something he had been missing out on for far too long. She helped him back down to the pillow and pulled the covers up around his shoulders, tucking him in like a child and kissing him on the cheek. “You're tired. Why don't you go back to sleep now?”

He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep like she said, but there was still so much he wanted to say to her, but she seemed to be reading his mind. Then he remembered that this was all in his mind, so it made sense that she could do that.

“It's okay, don't worry, I know that you want to be with your friends and teammates again and I know how you feel about that partner of yours too." She smiled knowingly. "You'll get that chance as long as you are strong, but even the strong don't get that way without rest, especially before a tough fight like the one you have ahead of you, so just close your eyes, I won't let you go.” She soothed in a soft voice, holding his hand. With her words, there was little Tony could do to resist Morpheus and in moments he was slipping away again, sleep grasping him and not letting go.

To Be Continued.....

Chapter 7

After nearly thirty years as a cardiologist, Dr. Nicholas Matthews had seen almost everything in the book, but today truly took the cake. He never imagined anything like this would ever happen in one of his surgeries, it was inconceivable, yet here he was, a witness to the improbable.

The morning had started out just fine for him. He may not have shot his best score at the country club before breakfast, and it had started to rain on him halfway through, but he still enjoyed himself and even after being paged into work on his day off, he had retained his good mood.

When did it all begin to deteriorate so fast? It must have been when he learned that Jameson would be doing the anesthesia for the cardiac tamponade surgery he was called in to perform. Matthews was not a friend of Jameson's. He wasn't one to put much credence into rumors and innuendo, so it wasn't the hospital scuttlebutt that said he had something to do with his wife disappearing that had Dr. Matthews worried. It was only that man always rubbed him the wrong way and he never quite understood why. He got along fine with everyone else he worked with, but Jameson always held an air of smug superiority and deep narcissism that irritated him to no end. He truly did not want the man in his surgery, but there was simply no one else available.

Grudgingly, he had to accept the anesthesiologist's presence in the operating room and went about his normal pre-surgical routine. First, he had a cup of coffee, the caffeine would help him to stay alert and on his feet for however many hours this procedure could take. Next, he picked out some of his favorite CDs to be played while he worked. He always tried to pick music that everyone would like, usually opting for something classical. Then at last, it was time to make his way to the surgical suite.

As he scrubbed up, Jameson came in and moved to the sink next to him. He gave him a nod to let the other doctor know that he accepted his presence, but gave him little else as he entered the OR and was dressed by a nurse into a surgical gown and help with his gloves. Jameson entered next and headed for the head of the patient. The poor man was already unconscious, shot in the chest. Matthews had a lot of respect for those who put their life on the line for others, he himself had served as a combat medic in the marines and knew what the NCIS did to protect sailors and marines alike. Knowing that this man had been shot after chasing a possible murderer of a sailor made him want to work all that much harder to save his life.

Matthews watched Jameson as he worked the lines of anesthesia, waiting for the go ahead from him to begin the procedure. When he got a nod, he started the surgery, incising the chest, spreading the ribs and exposing the heart muscle. Immediately, he could see the cause of the trouble, but repairing the damage would require the patient's heart to be stopped and he be placed on the heart-lung machine to keep him alive.

Delving into the surgery, he paid little attention to much of anything except for the task at hand. He never noticed Jameson order his nurse to leave and get his glasses and he never saw the other man change anything with the anesthesia before she returned. He was in a zone, all else around him faded away as he worked, enjoying the CD of Mozart Symphonies he had chosen earlier. After he had removed the bullet and repaired the pericardium, there was not much left to do, but restart the heart. As any cardiologist could tell you, this was always the most critical portion of the surgery as so much could go wrong.

He signaled to Jameson, who took the patient off of the heart-lung machine. It was now up to this man's heart to begin circulating and oxygenating his blood again, sometimes a heart would start by itself after it was refilled with blood and allowed to do its work, but many times it needed a little help to get started and this was one of those times where it needed some help. He called for the staff to clear as the defibrillator was charged and he placed the paddles on both sides of the heart. He depressed the button that would send the electricity coursing through the heart muscle, shocking it back into a rhythm. As the juice flowed into the organ, it constricted tightly, but failed to beat again after that, something that was not unusual, sometimes it would take a few tries to get things back. With his hand, he massaged the heart a few times, sometimes that was all it needed, a little push to get things going, but still the heart refused to find a rhythm, beating a few times, but sluggishly and irregularly before it stopped altogether once more. Again, he called for the room to clear off the patient and he charged the paddles, but the same results followed.

Once off the cardiopulmonary bypass, there was not much time for the surgeon to restart the heart before the body began to be starved for oxygen, killing cells, damaging organs and even leading to brain injury. The patients oxygen saturation rate was dropping rapidly and he tried several more times to get the heart to start with the defibrillator. If he kept this up much longer, the patient would be dead. His only other option would be to place him back onto the heart-lung machine and re-check his repair, perhaps there was some bleeding or damage that he had missed, even though he was quite certain that he had caught it all.

Sighing in frustration, he looked up at Jameson and ordered him to place the man back onto the heart-lung machine. Maybe it was his imagination, but something just wasn't right with his colleague's response. He seemed happy, almost ebullient that the surgery had hit a snag. What was the matter with this fellow anyway?

Just as Jameson finished placing the patient back on the machine, Matthews turned to hear a disturbance coming from outside the OR and was more than surprised to see a grey-headed man in a tan polo shirt and blue sport coat, barge into the observation room and pound on the glass. The man was yelling, but he couldn't hear him through the partition. Another man, much younger than the other, entered the room after him and pointed to the intercom button before the older one gave him an angry, stern look and slapped the button forcefully.

“Which one of you is Dr. Jameson?” He asked urgently with blazing, blue eyes.

“Who are you and what are you doing in there?” Dr. Matthews demanded to know. “This area is for hospital staff only.” The grey one answered his question by pulling out an ID and placing it up to the glass.

“I'm special agent Gibbs with NCIS. That's my agent you have in there and he was shot with your anesthesiologist's gun and I want him out of there right now!” By the tone and fierceness in his voice, Matthews knew that Gibbs must have been in the military and was used to the people around him jumping to obey his orders.

All eyes went directly towards Jameson, who stood up from his stool by the patient. Even with the surgical mask on, his face visibly paled and sweat began to bead up on his forehead. He backpedaled and bumped into a tray, sending it to the floor with a loud crash. Looking very much like a cornered animal, Jameson's face took on a new look of terror and desperation. Sally, his nurse, stood by his side in shock, looking at him in disbelief, shaking her head. It was then that the anesthesiologist took action. Knowing that he had been caught, he grabbed Sally and a scalpel that lay next to him at the same time with surprising speed. Putting the blade to her throat, he pulled them both towards the exit.

“Nobody come near or she dies!” Jameson yelled, his voice near hysterics. Sally cried out as he dragged her out of the OR and out of a stunned Dr. Matthews' field of vision, leaving the assembled medical team and his patient behind. From the corner of his eye, he saw the two agents in the observation room take off running.

Yes, today was one for the record books, he mused.

OOOOO

“Wake up, Tony!” Face down on the soft surface, a voice floated over him, hands shaking him, coaxing him to get up from his position. He snapped his eyes open to see who the owner of the voice was and there she was above him, her braided hair falling to the side of her face as she bent over his prone body.

“Ziva?”

“Come on Tony, get up. You need to finish the fight.”

“Huh? What's going on, what fight?” He asked as she helped him to his feet. Still confused and in a daze, it took a moment for him to process the situation and even after that, it was still surreal. He was in an alleyway, the alleyway he realized, but instead of a pile of garbage bags and dumpsters, there was a boxing ring around him and he came to the conclusion that he was the main event of the evening.

Spectators had gathered and when he took a closer look, he recognized everyone in the audience. McGee, Abby, Palmer, Ducky and everyone he worked with, even those from Baltimore, his frat brothers from Ohio State, all of his ex-girlfriends where yelling and cheering, even his father stood in the back, his arms crossed in a disapproving manner. The only people missing seemed to be Nonna, Paula and Kate. He wondered vaguely why, but had little time to ponder it as Ziva pulled him to a corner and sat him down on a bench.

Looking down, he noticed he was shirtless and sweaty, wearing a pair of boxing gloves over his hands and shiny red trunks, reminding him very much of Rocky. Ziva too was dressed in an Israeli battle dress uniform, complete with combat boots and rifle slung across her shoulder. His nose was bleeding and she was tending to it, sticking cue-tips up it to stop the flow. She looked him in the eyes.

“Okay, Tony. He got you good there, but you can come back from this, he is slowing down and getting tired. All you have to do is keep throwing punches and stay on your feet and you can win this.”

“Win what, Ziva?” He asked confused.

“The fight, of course.” She sighed in frustration. “My goodness, he must have hit you pretty hard.”

“Who is this guy I'm fighting anyway?”

“That guy.” Ziva pointed to the other corner. Wearing only black boxers and black gloves, the greasy-haired vagrant he recalled from the last time he had been in this particular alley was bouncing up and down on his heels in a perfect boxing dance, hitting his gloved hands together, looking fiercer and crazier than he had the first time Tony had encountered him.

“You gotta be kidding me.” He told Ziva incredulously.

“Look, I am going to do all that I can to help you win this fight, but you are going to have to do the work.” Tony was listening to her, but staring at the homeless man as well until she grabbed his face and turned it to her direction, her dark eyes connecting with his. “You have to win or you do not get to come back.”

“What?” He asked, still bewildered by the whole spectacle.

“This is it, Tony.” She told him, moving her hands to his shoulders and digging in with her fingers, massaging him. “This is the fight for your life. If you want it, if you want to see me again, you have to win it, you have to beat him. He is tough, but you can do it.”

“Oh, I get it now.” He laughed, pointing at her and then gesturing around the boxing ring. “This is more of the dream right? This is all some kind of...of..whatchamaycallit...a metaphor? Is that it? I beat this guy and I live. I don't and I die?”

Ziva rolled her eyes and pulled the cue-tips out of nose.

“I know it is cheesy Tony, but this is your lame imagination conjuring this and you watch way too many movies, so do not blame me, I am only here to help you out and offer encouragement.”

“Fine.” He looked at his opponent, he looked a lot bigger and stronger than he recalled from the time he fought him after the chase to the alley. He glanced back up at Ziva. “I'm really not much of a boxer, why would I dream this up? Why not a friendly game of basketball or flag football, why boxing of all things?”

“I wish I knew.” She returned, grabbing him by the elbows and helping his back up. “Just stay loose and focused and you should be fine.”

“Great.” He spoke to her sarcastically.”Thanks for all of the advice.” He could see this all ending very badly. He turned back to Ziva to see her looking up at him expectantly.

“What?” He asked.

“Well, what are you waiting for? I am here to encourage you after all, yes? Is there not something you want to do before you fight this guy? This is your dream after all.”

“You're right it is.” He replied with a sly grin. “I've wanted to do this for a long time.” Instantly, Ziva's clothing changed from her uniform into a tight leather outfit that hugged every curve and covered just enough cleavage to leave little to the imagination. With as much grace as he could muster in gloved hands, he moved towards her and swept her up, kissing her fiercely and passionately against the lips. She returned the gesture, sliding her tongue against his own, probing deeper as they pressed against each other, sharing one anothers heat.

“All right you two. Break it up!” Tony jumped at the voice and turned towards its source, surprised to see Gibbs standing in the middle of the ring, wearing a ref's outfit. “We have a fight to finish, remember?”

“Win this Tony, and we can do that again,” He looked back down at Ziva who smiled seductively “only for real next time.” He smiled, wanting nothing more than to kiss her again, but Gibbs was already pulling him towards the center of the ring. After that little preview, Tony knew there was no way he was going to lose this fight, not when he had more of that to look forward to.

To Be Continued.....

Chapter 8

Sally kicked and screamed as Jameson pulled her from the OR towards the corridor, her cries muffled by the surgical mask she still wore. It wasn't so much that she was afraid of Jameson, heck she had worked with him for nearly ten years and knew that he was a bit of a pansy, but she was angry. Very, very angry.

She was always a very trusting person. Her mother would even say gullible. When her brother needed money to be bailed out of jail... again, she was there, paying for it. When her ex-husband said he had to go to Vegas on business, she believed him. Only to find out a week later that he never left, and was having an affair.

Now once again, she felt duped and manipulated, her good nature used against her. Dr. Jameson had acted so heartbroken, so lost, that she immediately felt for him and trusted when he told her that he had nothing to do with Liz's disappearance. Liz was her friend and co-worker and it was hard thinking that something terrible may have happened to her, so Sally had been one of the many volunteers to go out and search for her and had canvased many neighborhoods handing out fliers for her missing friend, she had even brought meals to his house, believing him to be the grieving husband he pretended to be. Coming to the conclusion now that he may have killed her and knowing the truth, sent a blaze of fury burning inside of her. Some of that anger was directed at herself for being so easily deceived, but the vast majority of if landed squarely on him and for the first time in her life she felt pure, unadulterated hate against another human being, if he could even be called that anymore.

And now, that lying good-for-nothing bastard was taking her hostage to save his own skin, dragging her down the hall. With all of her strength she fought, but his hold was too tight and he outweighed her by at least 70 pounds. She was no match for him physically, but she could still put up a fuss and she screamed and screamed, hoping it was hurting his ears as much as it was hers.

Doctors, nurses and patients alike came out to see what was going on, stunned to see the anesthesiologist holding a knife to a nurse's throat. She continued to holler as loud as she could. The two agents she had seen before from the observation room were running towards them, pulling guns from their sides and leveling them in their direction.

"Stop, Jameson!"

“I meant it!” Dr. Jameson yelled at the agents. “Come any closer and I'll slice her throat open!” She started up her wailing again, this time hurling insults and epitaphs towards him.

“You killed Liz, didn't you? Go to hell, you sick bastard!"

“Shut up, Sally!” Dr. Jameson shouted, but she ignored him, she was too pissed off to care about doing anything he ever told her to do ever again.

"I hope you fry for what you've done! To think I ever trusted you!” She continued on her tirade. In frustration, he tried to silence her by placing his gloved hand over her mouth, accidentally sliding the surgical mask down her face so that it fell around her neck. That was where he made his fatal mistake.

Sally took this opportunity to make a bid for freedom. With his vile, latex covered hand still attempting to quiet her, she opened her mouth up as wide as she could before slamming and locking her jaws shut, clamping her teeth down as hard as she could around his offensive digits until she could hear him cry out in surprise and pain and she could taste the metallic warmth of blood in her mouth. Not letting go, he had to push her violently away in order to rescue his hand and she fell to the floor. Once free, she scrambled away, leaving him hostage-less.

He turned to make a run for it, stumbling as he dashed to the end of the hall, but as he turned the blind corner, he ran right into the barrel of a gun held by one very, pissed off, cold-eyed and dark-haired woman, her eyes boring into him with anger.

“I would not try to go any further if I were you.” She said cooly. “It would only land you in one of these operating rooms as a patient instead of a doctor.”

Breathing heavily, Dr. Jameson sighed and held up his hands, tears coming to his eyes as he sank to his knees the floor. The older, grey-haired agent, Gibbs was his name she remembered, went to the doctor and whipped out a pair of handcuffs, slapping them forcefully onto his wrists and closing them tightly, not giving a damn about his comfort. The exotic looking woman kept her weapon trained on the doctor as Gibbs read him his rights and hauled him to his feet.

By now, Dr. Jameson was openly bawling as he was dragged away. Still on the cold floor, and realizing that her ordeal was over, she gave into her relief, finding herself trembling like a leaf. It was then than she felt a blanket being draped over her and she looked up into kind eyes. The younger male agent was helping her up and directing her to an empty bed.

“Thanks.” She told him as he helped her up.

“Are you alright?” He asked gently with a hand on her shoulder. Feeling reassured, she nodded shakily. “What's your name?” He asked.

“Sally.” She replied weakly.

“It's nice to meet you Sally, I'm Tim. Do you need me to call anyone for you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I'm okay.” She nodded with a ghost of a smile. “Thank-you for helping me.” She told him gratefully.

“Actually, it is you we should be thanking, you were very brave and managed to take out Dr. Jameson on your own. You're the hero of your own story today.” Looking down, she didn't feel very brave, instead she felt...numb? She couldn't put a word to describe her emotions right at the moment, but a thought suddenly popped into her head. Her training as a nurse anesthetist kicking in as she remembered the agent in the operating room. He was still on the heart-lung machine and there was no anesthesiologist. She gasped and looked up into Tim's eyes.

“I have to get back to the OR! Your friend still has his chest cracked and our only available Anesthesiologist right now has just been arrested.” She hopped off the bed, throwing off the blanket urgently and raced back to the OR as Tim watched her run off. Back in the wash room, she quickly stripped off her soiled gown, gloves, mask and hat. She scrubbed as fast as she could without sacrificing cleanliness before putting on fresh protective wear and racing back into the OR.

Inside the OR, things were tense. Dr. Matthews had managed keep a level head and reign everyone in to get their focus back on the patient and was currently back at work, checking his previous repair on the heart. He looked up to see her enter.

“Sally!” He exclaimed in surprise. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I'm fine. Dr. Jameson has been arrested.” There were gasps and mumblings all around, but she ignored them.

“I'm glad you're okay.” He offered sincerely. “But we're going to need someone to monitor the anesthesia, do you think you can handle it for now, until we can get another anesthesiologist in?”

“I think so, but I've never worked general anesthesia on my own before.”

“It's okay for now, I've called in Dr. Bauer, but it's going to be nearly half an hour before he gets here and we can't leave the patient without anesthetic that long and I'd like to try to get him off of bypass as soon as possible.”

“I'll do my best.” She told him as confidently as she could, but inside she was still shaking from the incident with Dr. Jameson and she was plagued by self doubt. Tim, the kind young agent, had entered the observation room, she noticed and emboldened by his presence, she warily went to the head of the patient and checked the equipment. Right off, she was shocked by what she saw. The ratio of drug mixtures was way off. No wonder the man's heart was having a hard time starting again.

“Dr. Matthews!” She exclaimed. “I think Dr. Jameson was trying to poison the patient!”

OOOOO

“Alright.” A no-nonsense Gibbs started as Tony and the dirty vagrant faced each other in the center of the ring. “I want a clean fight. Touch gloves and let's get started.”

“Got it, boss.” He told Gibbs while his opponent only shook his matted hair and snarled menacingly. As they tapped their gloved hands, the show began. The vagrant bounced up and down, dancing from side to side. Tony too, tried to imitate him, keeping on his toes and lifting his hands up in front of his face to keep up his guard.

He had to admit that he was out of his element. He liked to watch fights on television from time to time, but it really wasn't his favorite sport. Of course, he was trained in hand to hand and could hold his own when he needed to fight out in the field. He had even sparred with Gibbs on many occasions, but had thoroughly had his ass handed to him each time by the older man. However, boxing was not something he ever did for fun or on his own accord.

The two men danced around each other, circling and throwing a few jabs, but never actually making contact for what seemed like an eternity.

“Come on, Tony, what are you waiting for? Lay him out!” Ziva yelled above the cheers and shouts coming from the spectators. “Take the offensive!” He made the mistake of turning his head in her direction, enjoying the view of her leather clad body and his opponent took the advantage of his distraction and sent a gloved fist flying into his face. Caught off guard, the vagrant's glove impacted with his jaw and sent his ears ringing, he tasted blood from a cut on his bottom lip and nearly lost his balance, but immediately, he snapped his attention back to the fight, shaking off the dizziness the hit had caused.

“Sorry, Tony!” She yelled again. “Forget offense. Think defense. Keep your guard up and focus!”

Focus she tells me. How can I when she's wearing that? If only he didn't have the mouth guard in, then he could tell her how much she really wasn't helping at the moment, but she was right, he needed to focus.

They danced around each other some more until Tony could stand it no longer and he came charging at his opponent, wildly swinging a couple of hooks and connecting with the man's torso several times. It did little to hurt him and only served to inflame his wrath.

Oh Shit! Tony saw the man's eyes light up in anger and take on a whole new level of crazy. With an insane howl, the fellow launched himself at Tony and they went into the ropes, the man's fists hitting him over and over in the face. Tony did his best to block him, covering his head with his arms, but several blows threatened to take him out.

From his side he heard McGee and Abby come up to the ropes.

“Keep fighting Tony!” Abby shouted.

“C'mon, Fight back!” McGee yelled his support, as well. Thanks for the advice, Probie. He wanted to say. What do you think I'm doing? Playing pat-a-cake?

Tony could feel that he was losing steam with each fist that made contact with his body, pounding him over and over again. Bruises and welts were forming everywhere and blood trickled into his eyes from a cut above his eyebrow, making it hard to see. He tried to push back against his opponent and was marginally successful in getting him off the ropes, but he kept coming at him.

Breathing heavily, his chest burning from exhaustion, as he maintained his guard and attempted to swing a few punches against the vagrant. He just needed to hold out until the bell signaled the end of the round. It had already seemed like an eternity since the fight began, how much longer could it be?

His legs were growing rubbery after another blow hit him in the eye and he stumbled. Seeing his weakness, the crazy man went for broke with an inhuman growl, sweeping in with a jab and uppercut, hitting him under the chin, knocking his teeth together and throwing out his mouthguard. Blood poured out of his injured mouth, and he had to spit out a tooth or two that had been jarred out by the impact.

The world faded and he fell to his knees, but he caught himself with his hands before falling to his face completely. Holding onto the last shred of consciousness he had left, he fought to stay awake and to push himself up, but his battered body refused to obey and he lay on the mat panting.

“Get up Tony!” Ziva yelled. Gibbs came to his side and began the count, knowing that when he reached ten, he'd be out and the fight would be over and he would lose. He could just give up, he thought. It would be the easiest thing to do.

“One! Two! Three!” He just wanted to lay there. There'd be no more pain if this just ended now.

“Get up Tony!” No more fighting, no more fear, no more getting shot at.

“Four! Five! Six!” No more having to go to work on Mondays, no more cases.

“Get up! Now!” No more Gibbs, no more head-slaps, no more Probies to pick on.

“Seven! Eight!” No more sex, no more Ziva.....

“Now, Tony!” In the space of a heartbeat, the world slowed down and from his position on the floor of the ring he could see Ziva in the corner of his eye. Her mouth was moving, but he could no longer hear her shouts. He could just make out her face and their eyes locked. Like magnets, her dark eyes pulled at him, willing, begging him to rise, to keep fighting. But he was so tired, he just didn't think he could take any more.

“Nine!”

To be continued.....

Chapter 9

Looking through the observation window, McGee's stomach turned. It wasn't so much the blood and seeing the inside of Tony's organs that got to him, yes that was disturbing, but it was what the nurse that he had met earlier was saying.

“Dr. Matthews!” She exclaimed “I think Dr. Jameson was trying to poison the patient!”

“What?” The surgeon asked, dumbfounded.

“There's too much isoflurane coming through the anesthesia machine and not enough oxygen... He's in overdose.” Sally shook her head. “Dr. Jameson must have done this on purpose, he may be a bastard, but he never would have done anything like this accidentally. I'm going to try to level the mixtures out, but it may be too late already.”

“Do what you need to do, Sally.” Matthews ordered her and she nodded, going to work on the machine. “How did we miss what he was doing?” He asked, mostly to himself.

“He must have changed things when I left to get his glasses and I never really got a good look at things again before he went psycho” Sally replied. “I knew something was going on with him, I should have known better.”

“It's not your fault, Sally. It's all Dr. Jameson's.” Dr. Matthews consoled her. “Now, how are those mixes coming?”

Sally adjusted a few more things on the machine. Tim wasn't sure what she was doing, but hoped it would remedy the peril the anesthesiologist had put Tony in.

“I think I have it just about right. It will be a few minutes before things are where they should be, but I'll feel a little more comfortable when Dr. Bauer gets here and takes over.”

“Don't worry, You're doing just fine.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

Sally made eye contact with McGee and he gave her a weak smile. He didn't think he could stand to watch much longer as he was close to that point where his breakfast wanted to come back up and meet everyone, so he slipped out of the observation room. He was relieved at least a little, that Tony's immediate danger was caught and the doctors had the situation under control, but that still left him far from out of the woods and Tim was still worried.

Leaning against a wall, McGee dropped his head back and sighed. He decided it was best to go back to Abby and Ducky in the waiting area and Gibbs would need to know what was going on. He wasn't going to be happy that Jameson had tried to kill Tony, in fact, Tim was really glad he wasn't Dr. Jameson right now.

Reaching for his phone, he dialed Gibbs as he headed down the hall to wait with his friends.

OOOOO

Ziva followed Gibbs as he dragged Dr. Jameson out of the hospital and to the sedan, roughly pushing him into the backseat. The drive back to the base was delivered in typical Gibbs fashion and by the end of the six mile journey, filled with breakneck speeds, hairpin turns and stomach turning lane changes, Jameson was crying and cursing the older man. Ziva actually thought he was being quite restrained. She would have driven a lot faster to get him to the interrogation room.

Just as they were making their way from the garage to the elevator they found themselves being intercepted by three trench-coated men. Gibbs sighed in exasperation and Ziva groaned a little internally, but did little to hide her disdain.

The men approached.

“Hello, Gibbs.” The oldest one greeted.

“Hello, Fornell. News travels fast I see.”

“We've had our eyes on the good doctor here for weeks. I've been sent to make nice and retrieve him. I Guess he's a person of interest in a missing person's case of ours. It's not my case, but seeing as how I've become the only one in the whole FBI that'll still speak to you, I'm the lucky one that's been sent.”

“Sorry, Fornell, but this just became our case the moment his gun shot a sailor and my agent.” Fornell moved in closer, eying the prisoner before getting into Gibbs' face. The grey-haired FBI agent was possibly the only person on the planet that ever dared to do such a thing and Ziva often wondered what had brought these two together into such an unlikely and tenuous friendship of sorts.

“I don't think so. Look, Jethro. I'm sorry about DiNozzo, but this guy's only indirectly involved. ” Gibbs didn't back down, not intimidated in the least, which didn't surprise Ziva at all.

“Take Jameson upstairs, Ziva.” Gibbs ordered, his eyes fixed on Fornell.

“Stay right there, officer David.” Fornell returned immediately. Ziva watched as the two men faced off. If it hadn't been for Gibbs' phone ringing, who knows how long they would have been stuck in that stalemate. He whipped it out, bringing it to his ear and turning away from Fornell to answer it with a stern voice.

“Gibbs...Go ahead, McGee.....He did what!?” Gibbs turned to the Doctor, his blue eye alight with sudden anger and Jameson put his head down avoiding the deadly gaze. “How's Tony?....Okay....Stay there with Ducky and Abby....Call me if anything changes.” Gibbs slapped his phone shut and turned menacingly to the Anesthesiologist and Fornell, troubling Ziva. Was Tony alright? What happened?

“You can come to the interrogation if you want, but he's staying here, Fornell. I've got him for attempted murder of a federal agent.”

OOOOO

“Are we ready to try again?” Dr. Matthews asked. The patient's levels of anesthesia had finally leveled out and Dr. Bauer had managed to come in sooner than expected, relieving Sally and taking over the anesthesia. Watching his team, he felt a sense of pride in all of them, especially Sally, working to save the life of their patient despite all that had occurred that morning with Jameson.

“We're ready.” Dr. Bauer responded, turning to the heart-lung machine, preparing to switch it off at Dr. Matthews' go ahead.

“All right. Turn it off and switch on the vent. I'm removing the cannulas.” He removed the cannulas from the major vein and artery to the heart that had served to circulate the patient's blood during bypass and released the clamps over the aorta and vena cava that prevented blood from entering or exiting the heart while the patient had been on bypass, allowing Dr. Matthews to perform the surgery in a bloodless field.

Now that was done, they had to get this man's heart started again. Without the over-dosage of anesthesia, his heart should start rather easily, but who knew how much permanent damage could have been done to his organ by Dr. Jameson's malpractice.

“Alright, young man.” the cardiologist spoke to his patient as though he could hear him. “It's up to you now.” Matthews reached in with the defibrillator paddles and once again sent electricity coursing through the young man's heart.

OOOOO

He wasn't sure where it came from. He was on that cusp where giving up seemed so much nicer and easier than fighting. He could have just closed his eyes, and allowed death to swallow him up and take him away to a nice and quiet place, but Ziva's penetrating stare would not allow it.

Instead understood it all at once. Why he was here, why he was fighting and his reason for living. It was the woman across from him, imploring him to get up and he couldn't let her down, not as long as he still had breath.

“Nine!” Gibbs yelled slapping the mat next to Tony's head. With a burst of strength he didn't know he had left and a mighty push against the floor with his hands, he came up to his knees and Gibbs ended his count. Swaying from side to side, he sought out Ziva's face as he stood the rest of the way and put up his hands, bringing up his guard once again, ready to keep up the fight.

OOOOO

The heart contracted once and beat weakly a few times before stopping altogether again. Matthews sighed, but charged the paddles again. He wasn't going to give up yet and he hoped his patient wasn't either. Placing the paddles to both sides of the heart once again, he sent another shockwave through the stubborn organ.

OOOOO

Tony fought the dizziness that threatened to fell him like a lumberjack's tree and faced his opponent once again. The vagrant came at him and threw a right hook, but Tony ducked and avoided it, surprising himself with his own speed. With renewed optimism, he swung back and was surprised when he made contact with the dirty face, forcing the man to stumble backward into the ropes in a daze. Tony was on him like white on rice, pummeling him while he still had the upper hand.

The crowd cheered and went wild, invigorating Tony as he continued his assault, wailing into the torso of his opponent over and over again. He was sore and nearing exhaustion, but the thought that he might actually win kept him going.

With his last ounce of strength, he threw a punch that landed square in the man's nose, breaking it for sure as blood poured from his nostrils and the vagrant fell to his knees. For several moments, the man stayed there, sitting back on his heels until his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Tony held his breath and watched in slow-motion as he fell forward. landing on his face. Gibbs jumped in between them and started his count.

It didn't take long for Gibbs to reach ten and rush up to Tony, grabbing his gloved hand and raising it with his in victory, declaring him the winner. His proud boss slapped him on the back in congratulations and cheers filled the alleyway. Through swelling eyes Tony searched the faces around him, looking for her.

“Ziva!” He yelled as she pushed past people, clambering up the ring and through the ropes, running up to him. He hugged her tight, allowing her strength to keep him up.

He tore off his gloves hastily and threw them to the mat so he could use his bare hands to cup her face before landing his lips on hers and drawing her into a crushing and passionate kiss. In the background music was playing. Was that Eye of the Tiger he heard? Now he knew for sure he had seen Rocky one too many times, but he was beyond caring as they continued their kiss and the crowd faded away and they were all alone.

OOOOO

Matthews sighed and smiled as his patient's heart finally found a steady rhythm, filling with blood and pumping it out again, delivering the body's vital fluid to all of his organs. Even after all of these years, he was still amazed by this powerful organ and considering all this man's heart had been through this morning, it was remarkable that it was beating once again, doing the job it had been created to do. Maybe it was something that only a cardiologist would think, but it was a thing of beauty and a sight to behold.

“Good job, everyone.” He praised his team. “Let's close him up.”

To be Continued......

Chapter 10

Ziva was day-dreaming, thinking of the many possible ways she could kill their prisoner. Shooting him would be efficient, but too easy. A knife thrown into his heart would be gratifying, but too messy. Poison might also do and considering what he did to Tony, she figured it would be almost appropriate. Of course, she could never follow through with any of these designs for the doctor, she could only dream. It was all she could do to keep her anger in check and prevent her from barging into the interrogation room and beating the living crap out of Jameson as he spewed forth his verbal diarrhea.

Through the one-way glass on the other side of the room, she watched as Gibbs and Fornell worked on the doctor. Neither Fornell nor Gibbs yelled or raised their voice, all they needed to do was fix him with a few of their steely, knowing stares that held that spark of anger just underneath the surface that told anyone in their path that they wouldn't going to take any shit or lies from him and they weren't leaving until they had the entire true story.

The doctor had been on the verge of tears again as they entered the interrogation room, but now after just an hour of their questions, he was nearly hysterical, sobbing uncontrollably and babbling nonsense about how he had never meant to do any of the things he had done, but had been forced to do it all to save his career and fortune. It was a pitiful sight, but Ziva felt no sympathy for him whatsoever, for he cried out not in remorse for his actions, but in regret for getting caught and having to face the consequences.

She listened intensely as he confessed to having an affair and killing his wife when she discovered it, dumping her body in the river then lying to police and the FBI about her disappearing while jogging. He also admitted to throwing his gun out into a dumpster where presumably, the vagrant that had killed the sailor in the parking lot of the grocery had found the weapon and then used that same gun to shoot Tony.

But when Gibbs mentioned Tony to Jameson and asked him what was running through his mind when he tried to kill a federal agent and not just any agent mind you, but his agent, the doctor's indifferent reaction and attempt to explain why he messed with Tony's drugs during surgery made her blood run cold. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to make her daydreams become reality. How could anyone endanger another person's life in such a way just so they could get out of a meeting or even to save their job? It was preposterous. If Tony did die, she wasn't sure she could restrain herself much further; rules and laws be damned, especially since she had killed people for far less before when she was with Mossad.

Ziva impatiently checked her watch again for the umpteenth time. It had been over an hour and a half since McGee called and explained what Jameson had done to Tony and he still hadn't called back. She resisted the urge to call him herself, but knowing her co-workers, either he, Ducky or Abby would contact them as soon as they knew anything. However in the mean time, the waiting was killing her slowly.

Sighing in frustration, she just wanted to go and get this guy in jail and have nothing more to do with him ever again so she go to the hospital. She knew waiting, whether it be here or there would be the same no matter where she was, but at least if she was at the hospital, she could feel like she was there for her partner in some way. She felt useless here just watching everything.

Gibbs' calm exterior was cracking and Ziva knew an explosion was imminent as Dr. Jameson continued to blubber on. Finally, with a slap of his hand against the table, Gibbs got up angrily and headed for the door.

“He's said enough, Fornell. He's all yours if you want him. I've had all I can take of his crap.” He said as he exited the room and slammed the door.

“What happens now? Where are you going to take me?” Jameson asked Fornell, looking after the shut door.

“Where do you think?” The seasoned FBI veteran stated dryly.

“I can't go to jail, I just can't.” he cried, making Ziva roll her eyes.

“Oh, you're not going to jail,” Fornell assured him as he hauled him up and slapped cuffs to his wrists behind his back. “You're going federal prison, big difference. There's even a chance we could charge you with terrorism after that little stunt you pulled at the hospital and I hear Gitmo is quite warm this time of year.” Fornell grinned to himself in satisfaction as Jameson's eyes went wild with fear and he was taken out of the room and down the hall to the FBI agent's entourage.

Ziva took that opportunity to leave observation area and go out into the hall, finding Gibbs on his cell just outside the door. Maybe it was McGee with an update. Gibbs' face was unreadable as he listened to the voice on the other line. She made eye contact with him, trying to glean as much information from his expression as she could, but he gave her no indication of what was going on, just a finger raised to stop her from asking and interrupting his conversation.

“Alright....we'll be there in a few minutes, Ducky.” He slapped his phone shut addressing Ziva as he headed down the corridor, she following his tail.

“We're going to the hospital.” He explained. “Tony's out of surgery.”

OOOOO

It was dark when Ziva and Tony reluctantly broke apart. The crowds were gone and the ring had disappeared. In fact, they were no longer in the alley, but back at Nonna's apartment for some reason. The sudden change of scenery didn't bother Tony, he had come to accept the absurdity of this dream and decided to go along with whatever came his way. He was also pleased to see that his injuries from the fight had disappeared and the exhaustion that had threatened to overtake him had gone as well.

“Where are we Tony?” Ziva asked, looking around questioningly.

“Oh, it's just Nonna's place.” He said nonchalantly.

“Who is this Nonna?”

“My Grandmother. And by the smell of things,” He pulled Ziva by the hand towards the kitchen and smiled at the sight that greeted him. “I would guess that she is baking something delicious.”

Nonna looked up and smiled as she pulled a pan out of the oven. Tony went over to her placing a peck onto her cheek.

“Whatya got there Nonna?”

“Oh, I'm so glad you're back, Anthony.” She beamed “These are just some of those brownies you never got to have earlier, I thought you might like them warmed up.” She looked over to Ziva and gave her a welcoming smile as she placed the pan onto the countertop. “And this must be the Ziva your friends mentioned.”

“Yeah, Nonna, this is Ziva...Ziva this is Nonna.” He introduced them and Ziva held out her hand, but Nonna had other ideas, pulling Ziva into a bear hug and kissing her on the cheek for good measure.

“You take good care of my Anthony now, Ziva. He's going to need you when he wakes up.”

“Nonna...” Tony started, but Nonna held up a hand, interrupting him.

“Now, you listen to me, little boy. You are going to be pretty sore and tired when you get up and you're going to have to put some of that damn DiNozzo pride on the back burner and let this young lady take care of you for a while until you are all better.”

“Fine.” Tony sighed going to the pan and picking out a brownie and sinking his teeth into the gooey, warm chocolate, savoring it with a satisfied grin. “I just wish I could take some of these back with me.”

“Not to worry, Tony. Brownies are my best dish.” Ziva informed him with pride. “I will make you some whenever you want.”

“Really? You never struck me as the baking type, Ziva.”

“There is much about me you still need to learn.” She said with a playful wink.

“Well, I for one can't wait for you to teach me.” He came back with a devilish grin.

“Alright, you two.” Nonna came between them, facing Tony. “It's time for you to go now, Anthony.”

“What?” He asked “Already? But we just got here.”

“I know, I know....But you can't stay here forever my dear, especially when you have this nice girl waiting for you, now can you?”

“I suppose you're right.” Tony grabbed Nonna and hugged her tight. “Thanks for everything Nonna, especially the lasagna.” She laughed into his ears. “I'll miss you.” he added.

“I know, but we'll see each other again Hon, just not for a while. I promise.”

Tony broke off from Nonna, suppressing the tears that wanted to come to his eyes. He turned to Ziva and she smiled.

“Are you ready?” She asked.

“Yeah, now how do I go about this?”

“Just close your eyes, Tony and I will be there when you wake up.” He kissed her again before pulling back and looking deep into the light in her eyes. Then he closed his own.

OOOOO

Ziva woke with a start, massaging her cramped neck muscles from the awkward position she fell asleep in. It was dark in the room and she tried to shake off the last vestiges of the strange dream she had been having. Tony had been in it and so had an older lady. She recalled a feeling of warmth and love, but already the memory of it was fading. She stretched and yawned, noticing that she was the only one left in the room at the moment besides the sleeping form of her partner laying in the bed beside her.

The others must have gone to get something to eat or get some coffee from the cafeteria. She knew Gibbs, Abby and McGee wouldn't have left yet, but Ducky had been called home by his mother's nurse earlier in the evening, apparently there had been some incident with her dogs and a china cabinet that had the nurse demanding him return immediately.

She watched Tony in his sleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully, face bandaged from the broken nose the vagrant had given him. Its swelling left him looking far from his usually good-looking self, but at least he had been extubated and was breathing on his own now. She had been shocked at first to see him hooked up to the ventilator when she first saw him after surgery, but he was free of the tubes now and the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor reassured her that he was still there and was going to be fine.

All they could do now was wait for him to wake up. Since she was alone, she felt emboldened to take his hand into hers and feel his warmth. She ran her thumb up and down his, hoping that the contact might wake him and she scooted closer to his bedside.

“Tony...” She whispered. Maybe she could get through and he would wake up and assure her that he was still in there, that he would be the same cocky, playful and annoying ass that she had to admit she loved. “Come back....”

She wanted to say more, there was so much she needed to tell him, but that same lump in her throat that she had been fighting all day was back and she was too tired to keep it at bay anymore. The finger in the dike that held back her emotions was not enough to stop the oncoming flood and tears came to her eyes, spilling over and down her cheeks. Ashamed, but thankful that no one could see her meltdown, she laid her head on his bed, beside his legs and let go, allowing the day's fears, frustrations and ultimately her own reluctance to deal with the fact that she felt more for Tony than she could ever tell him and sobbed quietly.

As she cried, she felt a hand touch the back of her head, stroking her hair. She looked up through watery eyes to see Tony looking down on her.

“Ziva?” He asked, his voice weak and tired, but playing like music to her ears. She wiped her eyes and smiled.

“Tony...” She sniffed. “hey.”

“'Kay?” he asked. She nodded, touched that he was concerned for her when he was obviously in a lot of pain.

“I am fine....How are you feeling?”

“Pretty shitty.” He smiled weakly, his eyes barely open. “but better than being dead. ” She realized that she was still holding onto his hand.

“I should get a nurse....” She tried to release his hand, but he squeezed it tighter, drawing it closer to himself.

“Stay...” He whispered, opening his eyes all of the way and fixing his green-eyed gaze onto her face. “I need to tell you....but... ” He was trying to speak coherently, but she could see that he was losing a battle with drowsiness.

“It is okay, Tony. You can tell me later.” He sighed, his eyes sliding closed.

“Na...want to say....” His lips barely moved as he was pulled back into sleep. “love you...” He managed to get out and she was taken aback. Did he just say what she thought she heard him say? She had to know.

“Tony?”

“Huh?” He opened his eyes a crack, giving her a hint of a sly grin, answering her unsaid question huskily. “I meant it.”

She took that chance to smooth back his hair and plant a kiss on his forehead before resting her head on his.

“Love you too.”

To Be Continued.......

Epilogue

“That was a terrible movie, Tony.”

“What are you talking about? It's a classic.”

“I do not think of Die Hard as a classic movie.” Ziva swiped the remote from Tony's hand and flicked off the TV.

“Well, it beats the pants off of that last one you made me suffer through.”

“Hello Dolly? Now there is a great movie.” She rebutted.

“Way too much singing and way, way too much Barbra Streisand.” Laying across the sofa with his head in her lap, he sighed contentedly, enjoying his position while Ziva absently played with his hair. He thought about how much his life had changed over the course of the last six weeks and how much better it was now. He could honestly say that getting shot had been the best thing that ever happened to him. Of course, it had been a long road to recovery, he had endured a lot of pain in the process and he would always have that horrible scar down the middle of his chest, but it had all been worth it for him to be lying where he was now with her.

“Another brownie?” She offered, holding one up.

“Absolutely.” He opened his mouth up like a baby bird and she rolled her eyes and slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

“Sit up.” She ordered and he obeyed, grabbing the brownie from her hand, he kissed her on the cheek.

“Mmmmm, Ziva. This is great, really. You need to bake more often.”

“I have been baking non-stop for you since you got out of the hospital.”

“Like I said, you need to bake more often.” She shook her head and laughed.

“There is no satisfying you, is there?” He smiled as he chewed happily.

“These reminds me so much of my Nonna.” he spoke with his mouth still half-full of the baked good before he swallowed and continued. “She made brownies for me all of the time. You would have liked her, she was a lot like you, she didn't take crap from anyone, especially me.”

“You are right, it sounds like I would have liked her.” He finished up his brownie and leaned back against the cushions. Ziva settled in next to him. Laying her head on his torso, he was grateful that his chest had stopped hurting enough for her to do that now. He caressed her back and she placed a hand over his heart.

“Are you sure you are ready for tomorrow?” She asked looking up into his face. “You could probably use another week off.”

“Are you serious? I've been gone for six weeks. In fact, I'm surprised that the place hasn't fallen apart without me being there for so long.” He joked and she laughed.

“Somehow we have muddied through.”

“I think you mean 'muddled through'.”

“However you say it, we have managed without you, but it definitely has not been as much fun without you there. I think even Gibbs misses you.”

“Really?” Tony's eyebrows raised in hopeful glee as his face lit up and she grinned at his happiness from learning his boss might have missed him. Gibbs had been pretty pissed at first to learn about his two agents breaking rule twelve and dating each other, but he was unwilling to break up the team. However, he had warned them very severely of the consequences of letting their feelings for each other get between them and the job and he wouldn't put up with any hanky panky in his presence. With tomorrow being Tony's first day back, Gibbs was sure to have his eyes on them at all times to see how they behaved themselves.

“It is getting late and I think you should head to bed; we have an early start tomorrow.”

“I suppose you're right.” He buried his face into her neck and placed soft kisses against it, making her flesh rise in goosebumps as his hand moved from her back to around her side and under her shirt, sliding along her flank and over her stomach. “But we should go to bed.” Not only had it been six weeks since Tony had been to work, but his injury had prevented them from consummating their relationship and for the first time since he had been shot, he finally felt recovered enough to move them to the next level.

“Are you sure you feel up to it?” She looked up at him questioningly.

“Do dolphins like fish?” She smiled and he bent down to kiss her full on the lips as Ziva moved up and straddled him across the lap. He slid his hands up her side and under her shirt, feeling her smooth skin under his hands, exciting him and igniting the flames of desire in both of them. She moaned throatily, kissing him deeper, sliding her tongue against his and using her hands to pull his head closer to hers. Time flew by as they explored each others mouths. Her hands left the back of his head and headed for his tee-shirt, pulling it up and over his head, forcing them to break apart. Tony leaned in to kiss her again after he was bare-chested. However, Ziva had stopped and was tracing a finger down his sternum, following the tracks of his scar. She sighed, shaking her head, a sad look in her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Tony.....but, I ....”

“What's wrong? I'm fine. It doesn't hurt anymore, I promise. You can't hurt me.”

“I know...it is only that...seeing it reminds me of how powerless I was to prevent you from getting shot. What if somethings like this happens again? Can we really do this? Can we go back to work and keep our feelings separate? I do not know if I could stand seeing you hurt again...”

Tony sat up, wrapped his arms around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I have to admit, I've been thinking the same thing about you.” He sighed. “I know you can take care of yourself out there, but seeing you go off to work while I was stuck here was so frustrating. Not being there to have your back had me going crazy, but come tomorrow when we're out there together again, I know you'll be on my six and I'll be on yours and in case you haven't noticed before, we make a pretty damn good team.”

“We are pretty good, are we not?” She curled one corner of her mouth into a sly grin, coming face to face with him again.

“You betcha.” He pulled her close again and they met their lips together in a frenzy of passion, losing themselves in each other. Suddenly standing up, Ziva yelped and giggled (yes, giggled) in surprise when he threw her over his shoulder and carried her off upside down towards the bedroom.

“Put me down, you brute!” She laughed, slapping him across the ass while he hauled her off.

“Nope, bedtime!” Opening the bedroom door with his foot and making his way to the bed, he laid her down and kissed her deeply. Using his hands to learn every inch of her body, he wanted to know more than just her feel, but her smell, her taste and the sounds she made as they pleasured each other late into the night.

Later on, Ziva lay across his chest, deep in sleep. He knew he should try to get some shut-eye as well, but he was too excited. He was more than ready to get back into the swing of things again. He missed everything about his job. He missed the cases, the investigations, the interrogations and the excitement most of all. Hell, he even missed the paperwork. Okay, maybe not the paperwork.

Staring at the ceiling in the dark, he just couldn't sleep as he imagined stepping off the elevator and flopping into his desk across from Ziva, teasing McGee and maybe messing with his stuff a little, visiting Abby and her noisy, music filled lab and even listening as Ducky told one of his many, many, many anecdotes. Most of all, he couldn't wait for that first head slap from Gibbs that told him that he was truly back and whole once again. Yes, tomorrow may be a Monday, but he couldn't wait for it to come. God, I love Mondays.

The End