A/N: Well, I certainly have a burning question from last night's episode: What the heck was Tony's issue?!?!?!? *Takes deep breath, composes self* However, I have found Tiva fodder within the dark folds of Obsession and intend to twist it to my advantage :^). (Un)Fortunately, I have to write a prologue to explain how Tony and Ziva got over the whole 'Psycho Stalker' phase of DiNozzo. And this is the product of such. It is short, so I'm going to put it under my Random Papers, but the bigger, lighter fic will probably be a stand alone. That being said, keep the peace until next time, much love, Kit.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. It's sad, but it's a fact.

He sighs, leaning heavily against the balcony railing, filling his lungs with cool night air. Cars rush by on the street below, smears of red and white lights, moving too fast, always hurried. His thoughts are racing in his head, stirring and mixing and fleeing before his brain can even begin to fathom their murkiness. He's lost in his headspace and, right now, it is not the safest place to be.

"Tony?" a voice, soft and familiar, floats from behind him.

So he turns his head and sees her leaning in the doorway, gentle lamplight spilling across the concrete, illuminating her from behind like a halo. She cocks her head to the side, regarding him with the scrutiny of the federal investigator she is, her hair falling to the side still coiled in its loose plait. He watches her bit her lower lip in brief hesitation before stepping toward him with conviction. He looks away and soon finds her arms wrapping around his waist, the warmth of her pressing against his back comforting.

She lays her cheek on his arm and the smell of cinnamon and honey fills his nose. And her presence is so very solid and alive and it permeates the haze that has besieged him, scatters the poisonous thoughts away. He can feel the steady beat of her heart through her t-shirt and through his dress-shirt and she is so alive. He is alive.

"I'm sorry, Ziva," he whispers, voice vibrating through his back.

And he feels her nod, feels her quiet reply, "I know." Rule #8. Screw Rule #8.

"I messed up. Big time. Several times. I'm so sorry, Ziva."

She sighs, running her fingertips along his side, soothingly. "I know, Tony. I know. You just-"

"Went all psycho stalker crazy?" his voice is hollow sounding in his ears.

She shook her head in disagreement. "I was going to say that you care."

"I broke Rule #10. Again," he confesses, nearly silent.

"Because you care, Tony. That is nothing to fault you for," she tells him.

He shifts his weight, still staring ahead into the distance, still not meeting her eyes. "I broke it last June, when I started looking for you. I just . . . ."

"Cared about me." She squeezes his waist, presses her face into his shirt.

"I loved you," he said softly. "And I didn't even know Dana. I just . . . ."

They quieted for a while, watching the traffic below, the stars overhead. The moon was just a minute sliver, but still seemed so big in the silence.

Eventually, he rotates slowly, pressing his back against the railing, pulling Ziva to his chest. One hand settles in the small of her back, the other fingering the end of her braid. She rested against him, comforting him as best she can before craning her head back to look into his eyes. And she sees confusion and sadness swirling in the green, but there is a spark that meets her gaze and she knows her Tony is just under the surface. And she reaches up to cradle his face in her palm, rubs his cheek with her thumb.

And soon enough she's brushing away tears and murmuring calming reassurances as he slowly breaks down.