A/N: Before I say anything, let me just thank everyone who reviewed, you are all lovely and fabulous and amazing! So now here we go and I apologize for the delay -and the lack of other updates to my other stories :^) I think I'm going to sober Tony up a little bit in the next chapter even though he is so much fun to write in pain meds! So, here we go, Chapter 3. Let me know what you think, Kit.

DISCLAIMER: And . . . . what? You think anything's changed from the last update? It hasn't, unfortunately. *Sigh*

III.

"Zee-vah."

Soft whispers were interrupting her dreaming of cold medicine induced apparitions that danced colorfully behind her eyelids. The imploring ceased, so she sighed, settling back into the kind mattress beneath her aching bones, drifting farther . . . .

"Zee-vah."

There was a heaviness beside her, an additional source of heat, warming the cocoon of sheets around her, something running at a slightly lower body temperature. A cool roughness brushed the arch of her foot and she jerked away, startled and annoyed. She felt Tony move his offending foot, murmuring, "Sorry."

She sniffled at him, curling around herself, keeping her back to him. He quieted next to her and she permitted to relaxing again, closing her heavy eyelids. And when she was just on the cusp of slumber . . . .

"Zee-vah."

She rolled over with a moan, keeping her eyes firmly shut, hoping she looked menacing enough to effectively shut her partner up. He didn't say anything, so she cracked one eye open, glaring spookily.

Tony was laying on his back, propped up on a generous amount of pillows -some that had been recruited from her living room couch. He held his hand up to his face, ocean eyes intensely focused as he studied his fingertips. His forehead was furrowed, the skin bridging his eyebrows puckered in his concentration.

"What," she hissed crossly, "do you want?"

Tony turned his attention to her, eyes flickering up and down her countenance. "Huh?"

"You woke me up and you better have a very good reason as to why."

"I do," he insisted.

And her waiting for him to elaborate proved futile, so she prompted him harshly with, "And?"

Tony's voice took on a solemn, almost reflective, quality.

"My fingers are all tingly, like vibrating tingly." He fixed her with a pointed stare, adding, "It's very annoying."

"I can only imagine," she snarled, shunning him once more.

He let her nap in peace for the next hour or so.

...

It was her headache that shattered her sleep an hour later. The sharp throbbing behind her eyes was unbearable, surely her brain was exploding inside her skull -she vaguely wondered if she should call Ducky, describe her symptoms . . . . She detangled her arms from the snarl of sheets that were incasing her, thin cotton sticking to the thin layer of sweat that glistened on her feverish skin. Her fingers were hot against her burning forehead, but the kneading of her fingertips against her temple felt good. She needed aspirin.

Pulling herself into a sitting position, she leaned over her bedside table, grunting as her brain slammed against her skull. Her fingers found the knob on the drawer and it slid out of its housing with a hiss. She rummaged around until she found the white bottle of ibuprofen, popping the lid off forcefully, only to find that to her dismay, it was empty.

And it was then that she realized Tony was no longer next to her.

"Tony!"

She sprang out of bed, swearing in Hebrew as she stumbled from another dizzy spell. Gathering her bearings and her balance, she began her frantic searching to the tempo of a rapidly hammering heart.

"Tony!"

She padded into her living room, wheezing, after a fruitless search of her bathroom and closet, only to find it too was absent of Tony. As was the kitchen. And the little balcony that opened off her living room. . . .

But her front door was yawning wide open.

"Tony!" she roared hoarsely, sprinting out into the corridor, panting and heaving, doubling over with vicious coughing.

"Ziva?"

She struggled to straighten up, succeeding with a withering glare. She stalked over to him, where he stood, barefooted, casting about in the fading evening sun, completely and utterly confused.

"What," she demanded, croakily, "are you doing out here?"

He looked down at her, ocean eyes unfocused, pupils seeming to dilate and shrink interchangeably. "I wanted a glass of water. I was thirsty. But I can't seem to locate your kitchen-"

"You're not even in my apartment anymore!"

He blinked, cocking his head to the side, "Reeeeeally?"

"Yes!"

"Oh."

"Ziva?" a timid voice asked from her right. She diverted her attention from her inebriated partner to her frail, elderly neighbor who was peering from around her front door in terrified wonder.

And they had to be quite a sight, with her curls matted and tangled against her neck, her olive skin pale and flushed, clad in a pair of baggy sweatpants and Navy issued hoodie, body nearly flush against Tony's. And then Tony himself, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and Ohio State t-shirt, his sandy hair tousled, eyes confused as he gazed down at the tiny Israeli before him.

"Shalom, Mrs. Peters," Ziva rasped pleasantly, backing away from her partner, shooting him a warning sideways glance. "How are you?"

Mrs. Peters squinted at the pair, debating rather to leave her neighbor alone or phone the police on a domestic disturbance complaint. The latter, however, she decided against, because, frankly, Miss David was an amiable young lady, helping whenever needed since she moved into the vacant flat in October. And the fact that, for some reason, Mrs. Peters had a feeling that if the foreign woman, who worked for the government even, intended to do harm to the handsome gentleman she was currently squared off with, he would undoubtedly be on the floor, bleeding. So she smiled uncertainly, closing her door, opting to drown out the bickering by turning up the volume on QVC.

As soon as Mrs. Peters wrinkled face vanished behind her door, Ziva's cheery façade was dismissed and she returned to glare up at Tony. However, the energy from his disappearance had retreated, leaving her drained and weary.

"Come on," she sighed, wrapping her hands around his good arm, guiding him back to her apartment. "Let's go get you some water. And me an aspirin."

"You okay?"

"Migraine."

Tony nodded sympathetically, "Whatever you do, don't use morphine."

She favored him a small smile, assuring, "I won't."

And after she had fixed him a glass of water and taken a generous dosing of Advil, she led him back to her bedroom, bestowing upon him the television remote before sinking back into her pillows, burrowing in the sea of blankets and mountain of tissues.

She drifted off to the sound of a Friends rerun, her fingers entwined with Tony's -just lest he decided to wander off again.

And from her foggy state of rest, she could have sworn he whispered something in her ear. Something that started with 'I' and ended with 'you' . . . . . .