A/N: Okay, so I fail at multi-story-tasking, but only have a half day of school tomorrow, so I should have extra time to write, possibly update the Playlist and Fathers. . . . I thought this was an okay bridge between Chapter 1 and Chapter 3, something to set the scene of Ziva's apartment. And Tony's loopiness -because loopy Tony is oodles of fun. And to everyone who reviewed, thank you tank you thank you. 17 reviews for one chapter? That's just so happiness -it really made my day! So I've rambled on enough, on to Chapter 2 -Keep letting me know how I'm doing?
DISCLAIMER: And . . . . . Yeah, pretty much.
II.
Dark eyes fluttered open as the car lurched to a halt, blinking dazedly. She knew she was in a car, but couldn't quite remember why, though she recognized the muted voices of McGee and Gibbs so she refrained from panicking. There was a heaviness pressed against her thigh, the warmth radiating through her jeans. She lifted her fist to her eyes, rubbing vigorously like a child, coaxing reluctant feeling back into her limbs.
Why Tony was sleeping in her lap, she wasn't entirely for sure.
And then the car door opened and Gibbs had his hand extended to her, calloused palm up, but she declined his offer, dragging herself up and out of the car, unassisted. She swayed momentarily, steadied by Gibbs, whose lips pressed into a thin line. And then she remembered.
She had been asleep, napping fitfully on her couch, the ability to breathe through her nose having long been denied her eons -or so it felt- ago. There was a frantic ringing in her ear, an insistence that was both rousing and annoying to no end. So she was brought from the deep cover of sleep, drawn reluctantly to reality.
After searching for the irritable phone that was lurking under her pillow, ironically directly beneath her ear, she answered stuffily, "Hello?"
"Ziva?" and McGee's voice had crackled over the line and she had sighed, bracing herself for the worst: Abby's hearse had another flat, she was stranded and needed rescue assistance some ridiculous amount of miles away. Or Gibbs had changed his mind and needed her there at work, despite her hundred degree fever. Or-
"Tony's been shot."
Or that. That which was much much worse.
"Where are you?" she had demanded, head spinning but not from sinus congestion.
"Bethesda."
"I'll be there in twenty-"
"Ziva, he's fine," McGee assured hurriedly.
"Then I'll be there in thirty." And forty-five minutes later she arrived, nauseated, at the emergency room, McGee receiving her just inside the door . . . .
"Alright, Tony," McGee grunted, hefting his coworker's good arm over his shoulder. Tony leaned against McGee, eyes still unfocused, slurring, "Alright-y Timmy. Or Gemcity. Or Probie. Or McGoo. Or Rin Tim Tim."
"That's great, Tony," McGee deadpanned, glad that in a few minutes he'd be back at the Navy Yard, far away from Tony -who, respectively, was far away wherever the drugs take him. A slight pang of guilt lanced through McGee, though, as he remembered that poor Ziva would have to deal with Dopey for the remainder of the day.
"McGee? Ya coming?" Gibbs called gruffly from the base of the stairs that led up to the second, third, and fourth floors of the apartment complex. Ziva was already halfway up the first flight, pausing once to cough violently.
"Uh, Ziva?" McGee panted having just reached the second landing, supporting nearly all of DiNozzo, who had reverted to mumbling something incoherently.
She casted a quick glance over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow in fatigued amusement. "Yes, McGee?"
"Please tell me your place is on the second floor."
"Third floor."
McGee's grumbled reply was interrupted by Gibbs roughly bumping him out of the way and slipping his shoulder under Tony's arm. "Um, thank you Boss?"
Gibbs only grunted.
"Boss? Is that you, Boss?" Tony wondered aloud, craning his neck back to judge Gibbs' profile. Gibbs resolutely ignored him to the soundtrack of more coughing.
…
Ziva nudged the front door open with her toe, simultaneously withdrawing her key from the lock. Her fingers brushed blindly along the smooth wall until they located the switch, the lights flickering to life. Gibbs followed behind her, steering DiNozzo before him, a firm grasp on his good shoulder. McGee brought up the rear.
Ziva's home was sparse, but cozy. The walls were a neutral beige broken up with soft blue curtains framing a huge window that ran along the opposite. A couch sat angled before the window, facing a large shelving unit that held a blank television and assortment of books and objects. A large grey armchair interrupted the flow between the den and kitchen, and from what McGee could tell, both rooms were spotless. The carpet underfoot was plush and soft, the lighting bright and warm. The whole place seemed so un-Ziva, but yet, fit her perfectly.
McGee took careful mental notes of Ziva's new apartment for Abby's benefit later -the Israeli had not had any company since her return so no one had actually seen her new accommodations. . . . .
"Did you move the furniture?" Tony asked, scrutinizing the room with squinted eyes. "Because I definitely don't remember your chair being there . . . ."
"DiNozzo, you can't even spell your name," Gibbs said in exasperation, pushing Tony toward the couch, on which he collapsed, rather ungracefully. "Are you sure you're gonna be able to put up with him?" he whispered to Ziva.
She offered him a weak smile in reply, "You know how Tony is on pain meds -as soon as he's quieted down, he'll sleep. We'll be fine -" but whatever else she was going to say was stemmed of by a sneeze.
"Gesundheit."
"Danke."
Gibbs sighed, relenting, if only because he had just glanced at his wrist, realizing he'd been away from the Navy Yard for several hours where paperwork and a trigger-happy perp waited impatiently. "Fine," he growled, "I'll send Abby by later to check in on you. You call if you need anything, understood."
She nodded, suppressing a cough. "But I am unplugging my landline."
"Keep your cell on."
"Fine."
"And get some rest."
"I will-"
"Plenty of fluids-"
"Gibbs."
The silver-haired marine's lips twitched upward in wry amusement. "Let's roll, McGee."
And as McGee departed after Gibbs, the door closing to more coughing and Tony's slurred attempts at spelling his name, he realized something.
Tony had said she'd moved her chair. . . . But how did he know where it was originally?
…
Ziva straightened up, taking a cautious breath. "Alright, Tony. Let us go lay down, yes?"
He fixed her with the dazed expression she was rapidly becoming used to before chirping brightly, "I love you."
She favored him a small smile, offering him her hand, "So you've said. . . ."