Disclaimer: not mine.

A/N: First of all, my compliments for shirik, who saw the link wit Dark Angel :) That's the show where Michael Weatherly plays Logan, who is in a... wheelchair :P

Second, thanks for the reviews :) I really appreciate them - don't hesitate to add another!

And third - last but not least: many thanks again to NcisRulz for beta'ing again :)

Annabelle

'So, who gets the honors?' Gibbs asked, standing next to Tony in the elevator.

'How's Abby doing?'

'She is talking to moppet-Tony. Need to say more?'

'Abby it is then,' Tony nodded. They went down to the lab, and entered. Abby was nodding her head with the beat of deafening music, sitting behind her computer. She looked up and waved at Gibbs. Her hand froze in mid-air when she saw Tony. The next second Tony felt two arms around him, grasping him in a gigantic hug.

'Abby, that he can't walk that doesn't mean you need to cut off his breathing ability as well,' Gibbs smirked. Abby let him go, and smiled at him.

'I'm so glad you're back Tony! McGee and Ziva are cool, but I can't imagine us without you! And I've done a lot of searching already for treatments and stuff that will help you. I've found a great outfit, artificial legs, they will help you walk, but the hinky part of it is that you can't go into the water so maybe we shouldn't try it out and . . .'

Tony watched her walking up and down, talking about helping him, supporting him, searching ways to make him better. The reasons why he didn't want to go to the office faded away, like they never were there. Abby was already diving into every piece of information she could find that possible could help him walk again. She was so sweet. Not asking anything, just accepting, being her normal self. He had been afraid that things would be awkward. That they would look at him as if he was an alien or something. That they would treat him as if he could fall apart every minute. But suddenly he was convinced that that wouldn't be happening. Their visits to the hospital hadn't been different than Abby was acting now. That he didn't want to hear the solutions and treatments and all wasn't their fault. After one of his explosions of anger they stopped talking about it, but they still were there for him. Abby apparently had decided that now he was back in the office, it was time to make him walk again. He hadn't had the heart to yell at her for trying. With a cough he tried to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. It didn't help.

'Abby,' he said.

'. . . and there are some experimental surgeries but it will take a while before they have definite results of that so we should . . .'

'Abby!'

'Yes?'

'Thanks,' he nodded, and after that he left the lab.

'But I've got more!' Abby said, hesitant.

'It's fine Abs. He will come back for information, when he's ready,' Gibbs smiled. He had seen the way Tony looked when she was rattling about ways to get him on his feet again. He

had seen the teary eyes, and the blinking to get them dry again. The tiny glimpse of relief on his face. It was a start.

Tony rolled into autopsy, where Ducky was telling a story about to a body that lay on the table while he was sewing him up.

'It was terrible actually, he was a very good cricket player, but after that bat had hit him right between the eyes he never played as good as in that game again. Well, of course that is rather difficult if you can only see with one eye,'

'That had got to hurt,' Ducky turned around, and smiled when he saw Tony.

'Anthony, it's good to see you again! How are you doing?'

'Well, at least I can still see with both eyes,'

'That sure does count for something. My compliments on the way you followed that guy on the roof. It was quiet the run!'

'Yeah, too bad his buddy was hiding on that roof. He did a good attempt in trying to kill me,'

'But he didn't. And with catching him and his friend's death, you saved the lives of many children Anthony. You shouldn't forget that,'

'I won't forget it! I'm glad we get the bastards. Abusing children like that is just wrong. But it's just . . . '

'Yes?'

'It's not that I want to sound ungrateful. It's just that . . . if we didn't catch them, I wouldn't be in this chair. So sometimes I wish that we didn't caught them,'

'It isn't wrong if you think that, Tony. It's wrong if you keep thinking like that. Did you consider talking to a psychiatrist?'

'They assigned me to one in the hospital, but he kept going on and on about my childhood. Idiot. So I kind of fire him,'

'You fired him?'

'Well, maybe I fired myself. I just told him that he was being a prick so I took off,' Tony sniggered at the thought of it.

'You really should go talking to someone young men,'

'Maybe, some day. Thanks Duck, I'm going to see McGee and Ziva,' Ducky nodded, and went back to his dead body.

'So, he did try to play with one eye, the poor man. Once, he missed . . .'

In the elevator, Tony pushed the button for the first floor. He was anxious to go to the bullpen. He had imagined himself walking in there, after rehabilitation. Fully recovered, back on the job, back in the field. But it was after rehab. And he still couldn't walk. Gibbs had made him come to work, and somehow he did appreciate that. And going down to see Abby in her lab wasn't really that bad after all. But now he was heading for the bullpen. He wondered if they had stolen some of his stuff again, like they did the last time. But he doubted that, they hadn't thought he was dead. Then again: they knew he probably couldn't be a field agent anymore. Somehow that sounded a whole lot better than saying it in the other way: he was forced to be a desk agent. If he didn't quit, that was. After all, he was doing this job for about seven years. Longer than any other job he ever had. Maybe it was time to move on? Oh hell, who was he kidding? He wouldn't go down without a fight. But without his job, life didn't seem worth living.

Ziva's head danced up and down while she was reading a magazine behind her desk. She was listening to some music on her iPod, the report she was working on was forgotten. On the other side of the bullpen, McGee had his head leaning against the back of his chair, and he was snoring softly. Tony wheeled in, and looked at the sight of two lazy teammates. Former teammates. No, he hadn't left the team yet. Teammates.

Forgetting his thoughts earlier on, he got a glint of mischief in his eyes. Ziva would probably kill him, and notice him early on. But Probie . . . Probie was sound asleep. Sleeping like a little baby. An opportunity like that was impossible to ignore. He went over to Ziva and peeked around her magazine. Ziva dropped it, and took off her iPod.

'Tony!'

'Ssssh, look who's sleeping,' Tony hushed quickly. He looked over at McGee, who hadn't heard a thing.

'What are you up to?'

'Don't know yet. Do you have toothpaste or something?'

'Are you sure you want to do this?'

'It makes me feel good. So, any toothpaste? Shaving cream?'

'Shaving cream!? For what, shaving my moustache?'

'Do you have a . . . never mind, I do not want to know that. Hair gel maybe?' Ziva rolled her eyes, and Tony went over to the other side of her desk. He opened a drawer, but Ziva grabbed his wrist.

'Don't even think about going through my desk,' she hissed. Moments later she placed a bottle of hair gel and a tube with toothpaste in front of Tony.

'And now what?' she asked, looking curious after all.

'Yeah, what are you going to do with that?' McGee asked, stretching and yawning at the same time. Tony pouted.

'Nothing anymore, I guess,' he sighed. 'So how are things going around here without the Big D?' he asked jokingly.

'Much quieter,' answered McGee. 'But it's been boring actually. I can't remember the last time that I could sleep behind my desk in broad daylight with you around,'

'Everything to keep you sharp Probie!'

'We get a lot more desk work done without you around, DiNozzo,' Gibbs smirked, walking to his desk and grabbing his sidearm. 'Grab your gear, we've got a dead sailor! McGee, gas the truck, Ziva, inform Ducky. Tony, you're with . . . ' Gibbs broke of his sentence. 'Yeah, that would be kind of tricky, because he decided to get murdered in the woods,' Tony had an indifferent look on his face. He decided he didn't care. They got to do the dirty work in the woods, where it probably would be muddy and dirty and wet. So it saved him a trip to the dry cleaner. That was fine by him. Really. Just peachy.

'We will inform you with details, so you can look for any leads from here, okay?'

'Sure boss, I'll be. . .'

'. . . fine, yeah right. Join Abby in the lab if you want to!' Gibbs turned around and hurried after Ziva and McGee to the elevator. Tony clenched his jaws together, and went over to his desk. He pushed his old chair away, and sat behind it. It looked as if everything was still there. He opened the top drawer, and found his sidearm. He closed the drawer softly, and sat back. Waiting.

Jenny closed the door of MTAC behind her, and saw Cynthia standing at the balcony, some files in her hand.

'What are you doing?' Jenny asked, standing next to her.

'Oh, sorry Director. I was actually looking for you, but I saw him sitting there,' she looked at Tony, who was still sitting at his desk.

'What is he doing?'

'Well, that's what I was wondering. Apparently nothing.'

'Nothing? I know he has a habit of doing other stuff than his work, but nothing? At all?'

'I've been standing here for almost fifteen minutes, and he hasn't moved once. Should we warn someone?'

'No, I don't think that's necessary. I'll go down and talk to him. Did you have a message for me?'

'Ehm . . . yes I do. The director of the FBI called to confirm your lunch for next week. Oh, and here are those files you requested,' she handed them over.

'Okay, thanks,' Jenny answered distracted. It wasn't like Tony to sit still like this. She had gotten to know him as an active, eager agent. Doing nothing wasn't something he liked. She'd always thought he wasn't even capable of it. She walked down the stairs, and went over to his desk.

'Tony,' Tony woke up out of a trance.

'Director,' he said a wry smile on his face. Their relationship had definitely changed when his cover was blown. They were still friendly, but it had become less warm.

'Everything alright?' she asked. He heard genuine concern in her voice.

'Sure, why wouldn't it be?'

'According to Cynthia, you are sitting here for more than fifteen minutes, without doing anything,'

'So now you've got Cynthia spying on me? Director?'

'No, she was searching for me to deliver a message, but saw you sitting here. She is just concerned about you, Tony. We all are,'

'Don't be. I'm fine,'

Jenny sat down on Ziva's desk, facing Tony. She took a small, black stress ball in her hands, that Ziva had lying on her desk. Squeeze, don't yell was printed on it in white letters. The file lay forgotten on the desk.

'I said that all the time when I was in Cairo,' she started telling him, without looking up. She squeezed the ball in her hand.

'So?'

'The point is, I wasn't 'fine'. I was a wreck. Physically and mentally. Did Ziva ever tell you about Cairo?'

'She told me a few things. She saved your life when someone blew himself up, right?' Tony became interested. He had always wondered what happened in Cairo. It had to be big; Ziva didn't want to talk about it. Not that that was unusual, but whenever it came up, she got a strange look on her face. As if she was frightened, and Ziva wasn't someone who was scared easily. And he noticed how the Director was abusing the stress ball. He wondered why she was telling him this.

'Yeah, that's the short version,' Jenny looked up, and threw the stress ball to Tony. He caught it easily with one hand.

'I was in the hospital for almost six months. I needed to learn almost everything from scratch. I couldn't feed myself, I couldn't clothe myself, I needed to learn how to walk again, I wasn't even able to lace my shoes. The doctors had given up hope that I would have a normal life again. Ever. I always told everyone that I was fine. That I would manage. That I didn't need to talk about it. When Ziva had recovered, she yelled at me a few times. It didn't help, I was too stubborn,'

'I'm guessing you aren't telling me this because you are saying I don't need a shrink,' Tony said, tossing the ball back. Jenny smiled softly.

'No, I'm telling you this because you do need to talk. I needed it. And if you don't want to talk to a shrink, that's fine. But if you don't talk about it, you will never recover from it. At least not mentally,' she stood up, and placed the ball back on Ziva's desk.

'How did you do it?'

'How did I do what?'

'Getting through rehab and all?'

'The truth? I was angry. Angry at the doctors who said it would be impossible for me to recover completely. Angry at the suicide bomber, who shattered my life into pieces. And that anger made me determined. I wanted to show that I was stronger than they thought I was. So I showed them,' now she stood in front of Tony's desk, who didn't looked up. His hair was messy and he was wringing his hands together like he was the one who could use a stress ball.

He would not talk to her about this. No way. It wasn't her right to know what was going through his mind over and over again. He didn't need to talk about things. He wasn't like her. His lips where sealed.

'There was this one girl,' he suddenly blurted. The moment he started he wanted to smack his own head. Well, fine, he could talk a bit. It was about Annabelle, not about himself. Everyone should know about Annabelle.

Jenny looked surprised at him. 'I thought you couldn't . . .' she said somewhat hesitant. It took a minute before Tony got her point.

'Director. She was seven,' he clenched his jaws together once more. He didn't want to think about women. The doctors had told him that 'performing' would be practical impossible. So he had banned women from his life. No need to think about that. No dates, no sex. Who would date a man in a wheelchair anyway? He pushed the thoughts out of his head, and went on with his not-talking.

'Annabelle was the sweetest seven year old girl I've ever met. She was caught in a fire, in the middle of the night. Their house burnt down, her parents were dead, her little brother died in her arms, and she had burns in her face, on her arms and legs. . . And she was such a beautiful girl, I've seen pictures of her before the fire. And although she had a lot of pain, she was so full of life, joyful, happy. It scared the hell out of me, because I wasn't happy. And the only one who died when I got shot, was that sick bastard who enjoyed abusing and killing children. Every time she saw me in the hallways of the hospital, she came to me, and tried to cheer me up. She tried to cheer everyone up. Everyone loved Annabelle. But she got an infection or something. They thought that she had passed that stage, apparently she didn't. She just . . . died,' Tony stopped rambling and took a deep breath. Yes, talking about Annabelle helped, it made him feel better. As if some of the weight on his heart was lifted. He looked up at Jenny, who apparently hadn't moved.

'She was the only good thing about that whole damned hospital. She was able to let me believe in a good ending. But suddenly she was gone. I started to loath it. The people, the nurses, the doctors, the shrink, the gym. I hated the gym. I went in there every day, two hours in the morning, and two hours in the afternoon. It didn't work a bit. They poked me with things in my feet, but I didn't felt anything. If someone decides to cut off my feet in the middle of the night while I'm sleeping, I won't notice a thing!! And every time that idiot of a shrink walks in my room, and he is like: how are you feeling today Anthony? What are your feelings toward the person who put you in here Anthony? How do you cope being here without your dad visiting Anthony? Are you angry about that Anthony? Are you still angry about the things he did to you Anthony? And then they thought it was strange that I really got fed up with that moron, and I started yelling at him and he ran out like a little scared puppy. After that he wanted to speak with me, so I went to his room, said that he was a useless shrink and that I fired him. I went back to my room, never saw that moron again. After that it I got a routine. I woke up, ate some breakfast – which is, by the way, still the same old gross hospital food as ever – a nurse brought me to the gym, I worked my butt of for nothing, went back to my room, ate some of the gross lunch, went back to the gym, worked my butt of for nothing, got back in my room and waited for you guys to come visiting. And ate some horrible diner, of course,' finally he went quiet again. He didn't know where his talk about Annabelle changed in talking about his stay in the hospital. Somehow it just happened during talking. He saw that Jenny still hadn't moved.

'You really hated it there, didn't you?'

'Is it that obvious?'

'Well, your speech certainly didn't leave room for doubting that part. But didn't you talk with people? I heard you had some fans in the hospital?'

'That was different. After Annabelle died, some things changed. Don't know how really, at one point I was going to rehab, and someone stopped and talked with me, the next day I went all over that place and talked with everyone. At least I could let other people smile, although I didn't smile for myself much. I just tried to make things better for them, like Annabelle had done before she died,'

Jenny looked at him thoughtful. She wondered if he always thought it was his job to make other people laugh. Before she could ask, his desk phone rang.

'DiNozzo . . . I'm on it boss. Are you almost done there? . . . Okay, I'll get on it,' He started to write things down, the phone between his shoulder and head. Jenny grabbed her files, and walked back to her office.