Tony was breathing hard by the time he made it from his car to the office and he'd parked right by the elevator. By some act of God, a parking space had been waiting for him when he made his usual rounds around the garage.

He allowed himself a moment, trying to steady his lungs into a semblance their normal rate of operation. As he'd come to expect, they fought him with every breath. It wasn't even the worst part of his recent brush with death.

The whole taking in air became a huge nuisance when he had to consciously think about it every minute of every day. Or the fact that it hurt as much as anything every time he had to do it. Even getting the plague hadn't been this painful. It felt like he was trying to breath through a straw with an ice chip in it and it really shouldn't be taking this much effort to do.

The numbers flashed and he straightened just as the doors opened. A quick glance showed the troops hard at work. He stepped out and put on his best everything's-alright-face. No one looked up from their respective work when he entered their little section of the bullpen. It wasn't until he'd dropped his backpack on the floor, and himself on his chair that he drew attention.

"Tony!" McGee exclaimed. For a moment, Tony was afraid Tim was going to come over and start cleaning his desk or – heaven forbid – try to check his temperature.

"McGee," he said as he pushed off from his desk, swirling to keep McGee in sight.

"You're supposed to be at home, DiNozzo, resting." Tony nearly jumped as Gibbs, per his usual, materialized out of thin air. His atypical coffee in hand, he sent a glare his way that added an extra chill to his bones, especially since he hadn't even glimpsed his presence in the bullpen.

"I feel fine, Boss." That would have been more convincing if his voice hadn't decided to fail him at the last moment.

Gibbs's glare went from icy to positively arctic. Penguins were probably making their way here seeking colder weather now that the ice caps were melting.

"You look like the stalking dead."

"It's the walking dead, Ziva, walking." Tony didn't take his eyes off McGee, though, no matter how tempting it was to send a glare of his own down Ziva's way.

"Walking, then, though why would a corpse be walking? If anything, it should be lying dead. That would much more sense."

Now, the temptation was getting to be too much. "Because a lying corpse would – you know what, never mind."

McGee made a motion toward him and Tony nearly slid into the file cabinet and through the wall trying to keep the distance between them. He pointed a finger at McGee. "You, probie, stay right there."

The probie, predictably, eyed Tony as though he was the one being stalked. And okay, maybe he wasn't being stalked, not like Abby and her psycho ex of a few years ago. Now, that had been freaky; but if the probie tried to take his temperature, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

"TONY!"

One minute he was sitting, calmly preparing to jump over his desk if McGee made any sudden moves, the next the breath was knocked out off him by a bullet known to those who love her as Abby.

"Abby," he managed to gasp out. The black spots were back again, dancing gleefully as though mocking any attempts to vanish them.

When they started to fade, he was staring into the face of a very worried goth. "Oh God, Tony, I'm so sorry! Please, not be dead – you're not dead, are you? Because that would be totally bad, really, really bad."

"Abby," he tried again, but this time it came out only as a squeak.

"It would help if you weren't sitting on him, Abby," Gibbs said, and right there and then, he really, really loved that man.

"Oh, right, sorry."

A moment later, there was sweet, blessed air. He took in gulps of it. "You okay, Tony, do you want me to get Ducky?" Abby muttered, stocking his back. She really was heavier than she looked.

"He needs oxygen." That was the probie, and Tony was so getting him for this.

Tony had been so focused on McGee avoidance that he'd completely missed the Abby missile as it had locked on its target and struck.

Sometime during all this, someone had called Ducky. As soon as Abby stepped away from Tony, Ducky was all stereoscope and annoying pen light. "You should not have come to work so soon, Anthony. Your body needs time to recover, and your lungs are not what they were before your bout with the plague. They, above all else, need rest."

Tony tolerated the touch, the freezing stereoscope on his chest and back, even the obnoxious light in his eyes, but when Palmer handed Ducky an oxygen tank with mask attached, Tony pulled as far back as he could given the small space.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, just got a little winded." He would had added that he would had been okay if Abby hadn't tried to relocate his spleen, but Abby looked miserable enough. Besides, he could always milk this for all it was worth sometime in the foreseeable future.

Ducky took the hint and backed down, but still gave him that exasperated-kindly-grandfatherly look of his. Tony gave him his pitiful-sickly-kid look in return. He figured they would probably cancel each other out.

"Actually, Tony, it's a good thing you're here. We'd managed to find the missing canisters." Hm, maybe McGee wasn't so bad after all. That little tidbit of information had Ducky backing off and handing the oxygen mask and all his doodads back to an angsty Palmer.

"We might not have found them at all if the gunny's dog had not started digging in the backyard." Ziva had a very self-satisfied look on her face as though having a dog solve their case wasn't just the most disgraceful thing that could happen to an investigator.

"Yeah, you should had seen it, Tony, Sparky –"

"Sparky?" Now there was an image. He could almost see it too; a buzz-cut marine barking orders and looming over an overly hyperactive terrier. Then he thought of Gibbs with McGee and 'nuff said.

"The dog, but anyway, he just went off and dug up the whole yard. The forensics team barely had to do any digging to get the canisters out." And Abby had gone from kicked puppy to jittery one in ten seconds flat, probably a new record for her. "I mean, seriously, who buries toxic chemicals in their backyards?"

"Um, the federal government?" McGee said.

"Major corporations?" Tony added. His breath was still a little thready.

Abby smirked widely. Before she could continue in her non-stop babbling, Gibbs slammed the phone on the receiver and got up in the typical urgency stance. "Just got off the phone with the naval yard."

Now, Tony was the one who perked up. "New case?"

Maybe he sounded a tad too hopeful because Gibbs deigned him with his best glare. Tony's eyebrows got a little singed – and he barked out his response without taking his eyes off him. "Not for you there isn't it." Then he strode toward the elevators with a "McGee, David!"

Ziva gave him a triumphed look while McGee eyed him in a half worried/half exasperated sort of way before all three disappeared behind metal doors. Then there were four.

"Well, my boy, we have a crime scene to get to." Ducky patted Tony's shoulder. He was about the only person other than Abby that Tony allowed to touch him with minimal fuss. "Mr. Palmer, ready the van if you please, and do try not to leave the gurney behind this time."

Tony's eyebrows arched. There was a story there that Tony was so going to coerce out of Palmer later on, but for now, he was just too tired to make any of the many, many jokes he could have at Palmer's expense.

"Oh, yes, Dr. Mallard." And Palmer too went away to a better place.

Tony almost picked up his cell to call his contacts at the Naval Yard to get the heads-up on the case, but then Gibbs would use his freaky powers of marine and find out that Tony had been striding where angels failed tread or something along those lines.

He was so distracted by thoughts of how to get the information without tripping Gibbs' marine alert that he didn't notice the pregnant silence to his immediate right. Out of the corner of his eye, he could practically see Abby vibrating in place. Eying him in that predatory way that never boded well for anyone in the near vicinity. Sadly enough, he was the only other person in the immediate vicinity.

Tony's escape routes were neatly blocked. Palmer had left the oxygen tank between his desk and the cubicle wall, and Abby was stood at the other one. His only other option was jumping over the desk, but the computer was on it and any attempt in his current state might result in the crushing of generations of DiNozzo's in one single swoop.

Tony opened his mouth to say something witty in a futile attempt to disarm the bomb that is Abby but instead what came out was, "Don't you have something to do?"

He cringed when he went over that sentence in his head, not his best by miles, "Not really," Abby said as she shrugged and leaned in until there were almost nose-to-nose.

"You know, Tony," she said almost conversationally, but Tony wasn't fooled one bit, "you really should let McGee off the hook."

Tony leaned back in his chair to give himself some breathing room. "When did I have him on a hook?" Worms came to mind.

"He's been really worried about you, you know?" And he did know, stalkers were demented people that felt justified to cram themselves into their victims' lives. "Not that he would ever admit it, or anything like that, but he was." Deluded; extremely deluded people.

"Yeah, Abby, I kinda got that." He had considered adding extra locks to his door, too, and maybe getting some kind of attack dog, though his complex didn't allow pets.

"I mean, if you really look at it, he did kinda save your life."

"Abby –" So, alright, McGeek had prevented that second bullet from ripping through his skull. And he did get it. He really, really did. McGee had been like a limpet since Tony had woken up in the hospital. Tony understood that sense of responsibility, of guilt. He was still reeling from Jenny, and even after five months, there wasn't a moment when his gut wouldn't freeze up and clench painfully when he thought about that major fubar on his part.

"And he spent all his free time at your bedside, which is kinda sweet and if anything, you should be thanking him."

"For getting me shot?" It was out before he managed to filter the thought through his brain first.

"Tony!" Abby said sharply, but there was an unholy grin on her face that ruined the whole effect.

"Fine, fine, I won't hold it against him," he tried to sound sincerely and abashed, but then he added with a grin, "too long."

Abby smile widened, "That's all I ask."

Then something occurred to him. "In fact, maybe you do have a point. The probie did shoot the guy that shot me, even if he did it after the gunny had shot me." Abby leaned back in, but this time, Tony followed suit. "Abby, how would you like to help me give the probie the kind of thank you he deserves?"

"Oh?" Abby had a glint in her eyes that probably matched his. "What did you have in mind?"

*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*

Tim couldn't wait for this day to end. He'd been forced not only to do his work, but Tony's – since DiNozzo couldn't take a hint and go back to his apartment to rest like his doctors had instructed. Gibbs had – after a lot of mopping and whining on Tony's part – allowed Tony to help out on their current case. Two dead sailors, their wives in interrogation, and the don't-ask-don't-tell had been at the forefront of their case. Worst of all, Tony – who looked like he was ready to drop – had made the critical connection between the two sailors despite his bouts of sleepiness and drugged induced grogginess.

It was still early – having been out all night and well into morning on a stakeout with Gibbs. They had finally gotten a break when the two women, who apparently were in cahoots, tried to sneak back inside one of their houses. The day had barely just begun but Tim felt every one of their all-nighters of the last year.

He entered the bullpen, but no one was there yet. That probably shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. After all, they'd all spent most of the night dealing with two very angry wives. In fact, most of the desks in the office were empty, only with the occasional agent busy at work on their computers.

With a sigh, he plucked down at his own desk, dumping his backpack at the corner, but not before he checked his chair over carefully. The last two days Tony had been at work, he hadn't made any attempts at getting back at him. Not that he was in much of a shape to try anything, but Tim wasn't taking any chances. Tony held onto grudges like most people would hold on to a million dollars.

Tim looked for the usual suspects; he poked carefully at his keyboard for superglue, but it was clean. Next were his drawers, but no exploding anything came out of them; under his desk, beneath his monitor, at the sides of his desk; nothing at all. He even checked his pockets – though he was almost certain Tony hadn't been anywhere near his jacket and he hadn't taken it off except at the crime scene – Tony was nothing if not creative.

"Good morning, McGee," Ziva came in looking rested and refreshed even though she'd been the one to process their suspects last night, and most likely hadn't had the time to do anything more than take a quick shower. At least that was how it had been for Tim, and he had left before Ziva.

"Morning, Ziva," he responded automatically.

The elevator dinged and Gibbs and Tony stepped off as soon as the doors opened. Gibbs's brisk stride took him by Tim while on the way to his desk, a good morning thrown out like an afterthought. Tony, on the other hand, was dragging his feet with each step, collapsing on his chair like a marionette with his strings cut off.

Tim wanted to ask if he had taken some pain pills, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Tony's eyes trained on him in a glare worthy of Gibbs. He's been practicing, he thought as he turned on his computer. He needed to check on the bank statements of Petty Officer Mark, who the women had named as the man they had hired to kill their husbands.

It didn't take long for his computer to boot up, but then he wished it hadn't when a loud, blast of noise screeched out from his speakers. He jumped, his heart followed, nearly ripping through his chest in the process. Tim's ears pounded with a rhythm lost in the chaos. His mind finally caught up to what was happening and his fingers flew over his keyboard just as Gibbs's voice made a tiny ripple in his ear. Something about shutting the damn thing off though Tim's fingers were already flying over the keyboard.

A few clicks was all it took to bring the sound down from a ear piercing level to a irritating noise and that was when Tim was able to distinguish the words within a solid beat:

I believe in miracles
Since you came along
You sexy thing

Where did you come from, babe?
How did you know I needed you?
How did you know I needed you so badly?
How did you know I give my heart gladly?
Yesterday I was of the lonely people
Now you lying crossed from me making love to me

.

He looked up out of some long honed instinct, toward the large screen next to Gibbs's desk and felt his mouth slacken. And that was before a burning started out from the tip of his ears to his whole face.

There, in full view, was a slide show running on the screen. With pictures of him dropping something, covered in mud, lying on the ground, soaked, and it went on and on. One humiliating moment captured on film after another. A few more clicks, done more sharply than necessary, the screen darkened and the music stopped.

When he managed to tear himself from the large screen, he glanced around enough to note that everyone in the office was openly staring at him. Gibbs was standing by his desk, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face before sitting back down and once again focusing his attention on his paperwork as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Ziva was in front of the other screen, looking thoughtful in her own particular way. Ducky, Abby and Palmer, who had appeared out of nowhere, where crowing by Tony's desk, with Tony staring blearily at Tim, head propped up with his elbow, a widening grin plastered all over his face.

Tim wished he'd called in sick today. He briefly considered going back to work at the basement, but he knew Tony would find a way to get him even there. There was no escaping a DiNozzo with a grudge.

The room went even quieter, if that were possibly, and McGee turned and froze. Director Vance was stalking into the bullpen, an intent expression on his face. He glanced at McGee thoughtfully then slid over to Gibbs's desk, "I take it this happens all the time," he commented with a casual air.

Gibbs didn't even glance up, "Yep," he said simply, and continued with whatever he was doing.

The Director didn't seem to take it personally, just looked around the room contemplatively. He stuck a toothpick in his mouth and walked back to his office, shaking his head along the way.

Tim watched him go as his heart stopped trying to punch through his chest. "I can't believe you did that!" he hissed over at Tony and his posse, who were all smiles; though Tony and Abby had a special glint in their eyes.

Before any of them had a chance to say anything, Gibbs's head popped up and glared at all of them. "If you ladies are done," Gibbs said. He didn't need to finish that sentence, so he didn't even bother.

Like rats they scattered, with Palmer saying, "I didn't think it was that bad." Then they were gone, leaving just the four of them and a heavy silence behind.

Tim purged the program – who had Abby written all over it – from his computer before getting the information he needed. But before he could get anything else done, something smacked him firmly on the head. He turned to the usual suspect, but Tony was already doing his own research on the computer and pretending he hadn't just thrown a paper ball at Tim.

With a sigh, Tim turned back to his monitor only to have a second ball hit him in the head. This time, he didn't bother turning, just kept typing even as the third and fourth balls hit him; followed by a fifth and sixth until a stern "DiNozzo!"

"Sorry, boss," halted the assault on his person.

Tim was seriously considering asking for a transfer when something heavy landed on his lap. With a glare at Tony, Tim grabbed it, expecting another paper ball, but instead he got something long and shiny. He eyed it incredulously, glanced over at Tony, "Don't let it go to your head, McGeek!" Tony said quietly, already focused on whatever it was he was doing on his computer.

"Uh, thanks, Tony." He eyed the dark paper, still unsure of what was this supposed to be other than the obvious, but maybe sometimes, it really didn't matter.

He glanced back over at Tony – engrossed in his work, or so he would have them believe; breathing, living, and here. Maybe it was that simple, so with an internal shrug, Tim ripped the paper and sank into chocolaty bliss. He supposed he could only hope that whatever Tony had put in the milkyway would wait until he'd a chance to grab more than a couple hours of sleep.

*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*

A/N: That's it. I really want to thank everyone that reviewed. I couldn't answer those of you that did not have an account in , but I read your comments. Thank all of you for taking the time to write to me. I hope this story lived up to your expectations!