Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing. :(

A few days earlier…

Something was wrong. Tony couldn't exactly put his finger on it, but something was out of place. He walked into his apartment, alone, expertly balancing his favorite pizza (sausage, pepperoni and extra cheese) in one hand. He glanced around the room, looking for signs that someone else had been here. His possessions in his living room were pretty much where he had left them, but…he could have sworn he had left Magnum, P.I. on top of the DVD player and not on his coffee table.

He dropped his dinner on the coffee table and pulled his gun, pointing the barrel to the floor. He crept along the wall, peeking into each room of his apartment before throwing himself through the doorway, gun trained at whatever he may have found. One by one he cleared his bachelor pad of a living room—complete with the black, plush leather sofa and 56" HD television flanked by two enormous bookcases stuffed full of DVD—his kitchen, his bathroom and his tiny guest bedroom. His bedroom was the last room in the apartment that he had not checked: if someone was here, this is where he (or she) would be. He stood silently outside the door, his back pressed firmly against the wall. With a deep breath, he gently turned the knob and sprang into the room…Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. He cautiously crept across the room and yanked open the closet door, relieved to discover that his Armani suits were still neatly hung up, miscellaneous Italian dress shirts still impeccably folded, and Zegna shoes still neatly arranged of the floor. The last time he thought someone had broken in, he discovered his closet was full of dog crap, a gift from a lovely ex after their permanent breakup. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Tony thumbed the safety and reholstered his gun, heading back to the front room.

A sharp ringing resounded through the small apartment, startled him into drawing his weapon again. He almost Gibbs-slapped himself when he realized it was just the phone. He sprinted across the room and snatched up the handset.

"This is an esteemed employee of Northwestern Bank. Are you Anthony DiNozzo?"

"Mr. DiNozzo is no longer with us: he was kidnapped by Papa Smurf," Tony snapped before throwing the phone back into its cradle.

Sighing heavily, he turned back to his apartment, unable to shake the feeling that someone had been there earlier. He quickly inspected the most obvious places to hide a bug, though he had no idea why someone would want to plant such an item here. He was Tony DiNozzo, a celebrity of sorts, but he hardly spent time in the apartment. Bugging his office, or even Gibbs' house, would be a much better choice. A smile ghosted across his lips as he imagined someone bugging Gibbs' house; it'd probably be safer to be locked in a cage with a hungry tiger or to climb Mount Everest without rigging equipment than it would be to intrude on Gibbs' private property and incur his wrath.

Unable finding any listening devices, he walked back to the front door, still grinning widely. He crouched in front of the lock and checked it for the telltale scrapes of a lock pick. After a few moments of careful inspection, he found no obvious marks around the keyhole and no sticky residue on the door jamb, meaning the alleged perp was either a professional lock-pick or he was invisible, which meant that Tony was going crazy.

He took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm his sixth sense, crediting the sensation to the last case they had been working. It was literally a carbon copy of the movie Eagle Eye. Some computer geek had hacked the Navy and was able to temporarily control the satellites and the security cameras. He had been arrested and was facing five to ten, but it was most likely he'd get out in two and be indebted to NCIS, forced to use his knowledge to better their security protocol. Sometimes the justice system sucked.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he stood up. He quickly glanced left and right, but he was the sole occupant of the hallway. He listened hard and couldn't even hear receding footsteps or doors had slammed shut, indicating someone had been watching him. This was too weird. Slightly spooked—not that he would admit that to anyone else—he walked back into his apartment, plopping down in front of his television to enjoy his now lukewarm pizza while watching the Airwolf episode that he had recorded. A door slammed down the hall causing him to jump slightly and reach for his gun on his side table. He swore under his breath as he fought to regain his composure. This was getting ridiculous—he was going to drive himself crazy if he kept freaking out at every little noise.

Forty-five minutes later, the pie was half gone and he still couldn't ignore that feeling that he was being watched. He finally clicked off his program, surrendering to the fact that extreme sleep-deprivation was causing his paranoia. As he got ready for bed, he walked around his apartment and checked to ensure all the doors and windows were closed and the locks were functioning.

The night hours passed slowly and uneventfully. Despite the fact that his loaded gun was in his nightstand, he couldn't relax enough to drift into sleep. He tossed and turned in an attempt to find a comfortable position that might earn him a little sleep, but every time he began to drift off, he heard a small noise that jerked him back to consciousness and had him reaching for his weapon. After that, he had counted sheep, drank some warm milk, and resigned himself to noticing patterns in his popcorn ceiling.

Around three A.M., it became clear that he wasn't getting any rest if he stayed at his apartment. Tony sighed heavily before throwing off the covers and getting ready for work. He would go to NCIS and work on paperwork until it was finished, or until boredom reigned and, hopefully, he fell asleep.

As he left his apartment, he looked over his shoulder, memorizing exactly where he had left everything. He even pulled on the door handle twice to make sure the lock was truly working. What was wrong with him? If he kept this up, he'd be sent to that white padded room Inspector Dreyfus had frequented, straightjacket and all!

The drive to headquarters was one of the most stressful trips Tony had ever been on, excluding any occasion when Gibbs drove. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white and constantly checked his rear-view mirror for signs of a tail, ready to engage in the erratic escape procedures at a moments notice. All his precautions were for naught, however, since no car followed him for more than a few blocks. After twenty of some of the most stressful minutes of his life, he breathed a deep sigh of relief as he passed the security guardhouse without incident.

As he parked his vehicle, Tony felt the hair on the back of his neck rise again. He glanced wildly around the garage, looking for anything that suggested he was being watched.

"This gives new meaning to 'not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse'," he muttered to himself, unable to find anyone or anything in the lot. He sighed heavily as he shut off the engine. First he thought someone had broken into his apartment, now he was talking to himself…If he started seeing imaginary people with the likeness of Paul Bettany or spewing complex calculus equations, he'd check himself into the nearest psych ward without argument.

He took a deep breath before throwing himself out of the car, locking it in record time, and practically sprinting into the building. He shrugged off his backpack and yanked out his gun and badge, practically throwing them on the X-ray belt. The security guard snickered at his heavy breathing and slightly glistening face before passing the gear through the machine.

"Rough night?" he asked with a grin.

Tony made a face at the guard before gathering his equipment and heading for the squad room. He sighed in relief as he sat at his desk, feeling himself completely relax for the first time in the last six hours. Completely at ease and with a genuine smile on his face, he pulled out his paperwork…not that he actually completed any of it, for he fell asleep within five minutes.

Gibbs arrived at work at 0600 after grabbing his usual cup of coffee and having a short chat with his favorite red-headed barista. He walked into the squad room, surprised to find Tony sleeping at his desk, his head resting on a massive pile of paperwork. He debated whether to wake the Italian but decided to let him sleep for a few more minutes; it had been a long week for all of them. He flipped through the pile of mail on his desk, observing the invitation to the Marine's Ball, the thank you letter from the Marine whose life they had saved a few days ago, and a plain white envelope with his name printed on it in block letters. He picked up the letter and was sliding his finger under the flap when the phone rang. He was forced to put down the envelope in order to write down the address the dispatcher was reciting. He tore off the Post-It and grabbed his backpack before heading back to the elevator. The unopened mail remained on his desk, temporarily forgotten.

"DiNozzo!"

"'M up, boss!" Tony separated his head from the file folders in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" Gibbs questioned, running an eye over his agent's severely disheveled appearance.

"The heater broke in my apartment at 2:00. It wasn't worth calling any of you guys, so I just got ready and came here," Tony shrugged. He wasn't about to let anyone know how he'd been spooked by…absolutely nothing. That'd be way too embarrassing.

"Grab your gear. We've got a body."

Of course they did. Tony hoisted his backpack, glad to retaining some sense of normalcy in his crazy life. As he left the squad room, he swore he felt someone's eyes on him. He shot one last look over his shoulder, meeting the gaze of the newest intern, who hurriedly looked away, as if afraid of the senior agent. Get a grip, Anthony! he mentally chided himself as the elevator doors closed. If you keep this up, you're going to be the most feared man in the department. Wait…make that second most feared, Gibbs still reigned in that category.

From across town, a man sat in front of a wall of computer screens, observing the conversation in the squad room. He leaned forward eagerly when Gibbs picked up the note, frowning and swearing when the Lead Agent abandoned the envelope for his backpack. He steepled his fingers, a wide grin coming to his face as he watched Detective DiNozzo shoot a final glance over his shoulder. This was only the beginning of his dastardly plan and DiNozzo was already exhibiting symptoms of full-blown paranoia.

This was going to be way too easy…

Reviews are the Caf-Pow! to my Abby, the sawdust to my Gibbs, the computers to my McGee, the toothpicks to my Vance, the English tea to my Ducky, the weapons collection to my Ziva, and the Armani suit and Zegna shoes to my Tony! :)