Disclaimer: Still not mine

A/N: Guess who's back! Sorry for not updating sooner, but there was something that called a holiday. Had the the best holiday ever, really. Almost three weeks of camping, took my computer with me (yes you read that right) like almost 1100 other people did too (it's called Campzone, an outdoor LAN party of 11 days). Seen friends again, had very much fun, destructed my biorhythm (waking up every day at 10, going to sleep every night around 4, not the best recommendation), met new friends, relaxed a lot. Before I went away, I had a little bit of a writers block, but I've got the feeling that is gone too. So have fun with this next chapter, if you feel like it, leave a review - I wouldn't mind.

Many thanks to my beta-reader, NcisRulz, for trying to fix my errors. If there are any left, don't blame her, blame me :)

You should have told me sooner!

'Are you sure?'

'We've done three checkups on his body. We've put him through CT scans, MRI scans and made another series of x-rays. Everything shows us the same!'

'And that is?'

'Like I said before, physically his body is in perfect condition. There is nothing that blocks his ability to walk. If I didn't know any better I would say that the minute he wakes up, he could stand up and walk away!'

'But he won't,'

'You've seen exactly the same thing as I did. He fell down the first time; he crashed down the second time and the third time. . .'

'He smacked his head against the wall, I know.'

'There is a chance that he did work too hard on his rehabilitation. But there is also a chance that there is something mentally blocking his system. I've seen it before, we can nothing do about either of those.'

'Who can?'

'Only he can. And no, Special Agent Gibbs, I don't know how he can do that. There is no medical cure for this.'

Tony's brain slowly comprehended the words he heard. He didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to. He knew a few things for sure already; he heard Gibbs, who sounded mad, worried and frustrated at the same time. Worry wasn't something that he heard very often in the voice of his boss. If he was worried, things were definitely wrong. He tried to remember what had happened. The standing thing. Yeah, that was it. After the standing thing came the falling thing. They waited for a few days, tried again. Yep, he had crashed at that one too. And they had done tests and stuff. He had hated that part. And after waiting - again - there was the time that the whole world went black. He couldn't remember smacking his head against the wall, but it did not surprise him the least. It would surely explain the headache he had. Maybe it would stop if he just slept a bit longer. . .

It was late when Ziva arrived at the hospital. Visiting hours were over, but she didn't really care. Getting in without being seen was not that hard. Of course, the fact that this wasn't a highly guarded Hamas weapon depot certainly helped. Quietly she moved through the hallways, without being noticed. She slid through the door, and leant against it. Tony was lying on his side, fast asleep. He was probably warm; the sheets were kicked down to his waist. Without making a sound, Ziva sat down on a chair beside his bed. Suddenly Tony opened his eyes.

'I thought you were sleeping,' Ziva said, a little startled. Tony stayed silent for a few minutes, just looking at her. Ziva saw lines in his face that weren't there before.

'You know it's past visiting hours?' he finally said with a small smile.

'Those are guidelines, right?' Ziva's face didn't show emotions, but her eyes were sparkling. She placed her slender legs up Tony's bed, stretching herself out a bit and sliding down the chair until she felt comfortable.

'What is up with you and that movie?' Tony wrinkled his eyebrows.

'Maybe I have a thing for pirates, yes?'

'So if I come at your door with an eye pad and a wooden leg, you would dig that?' Tony gave her a cocky smile.

'When you are up again. . . try it, and you'll find out,' Tony looked away. With some difficulty he turned onto his back, and looked at the ceiling. It looked liked it could use a paint job.

'Well, maybe you need to look for another pirate, 'cause this one isn't going anywhere fast,' he sounded darker then he intended, but he couldn't help it. Ziva looked at him intently. It was dark in the room, but she could see the exhaustion in his eyes and on his face.

'You should sleep,' she said.

'I can't Ziva. Every time I fall asleep, I start dreaming,' Tony gave a wry smile.

'What's wrong with dreaming?'

'You never have nightmares?'

Ziva looked down, repressing emotions that tried to surface. She knew everything about nightmares. Ari standing in the basement, laughing manically, Gibbs on his feet, dead. Tali, yelling at her for letting her die. Sometimes she woke up, drowning in sweat, because she saw Tony or McGee getting killed.

'Sometimes,' she managed to say.

'I don't know about yours, but mine are. . . well my life at the moment sucks pretty much, and when I dream it's even worse,' he laughed hoarsely, but the smile didn't reached his eyes. 'It's like my body is saying, you know what DiNozzo, forget about your job, I don't feel like doing it,'

'What do you mean?' Ziva looked confused. Tony looked at her, searched her eyes. He thought Gibbs had told them already but apparently he hadn't.

'I'm done Ziva. Walking is impossible. So my job at NCIS is out the window. I'll be discharged pretty soon, and then I've got to go and find another job. Another life,' he said it in the most nonchalant way he could, trying to sound as if he was okay with that. Ziva's eyes widened with shock.

'They are sure about that?'

'I've been tested like some lab rat. They couldn't find anything, said it was probably some mental thing. Which is pretty dumb, because it's not that I like that wheelchair. So yeah, I'm sure about it. Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo will be pretty soon civilian Anthony DiNozzo. Disabled Anthony DiNozzo, to be precise,'

'You can't give up already Tony! You're . . .'

'What! I've been like this for more than six months. I'm done! Seriously, don't try to give me the 'it will be fine' speech, because this is how it's going to be! Forever! And if you can't accept that, Ziva David, then that's your problem!!' He sat up halfway, yelling at her, his face red from anger and frustration, his fists clenched as if he was ready to punch someone, anyone. Ziva looked at him, and suddenly became mad.

'You know what DiNozzo, when you're done feeling sorry for yourself, give me a call! I won't try to help you when you are the one who throws in the mop!' She got up, opened the door and closed it with a bang, leaving the hospital room without looking back. As sudden as the rage had boiled up in Tony, it was gone. He lay down, looking at the door.

'It's towel, Ziva. Throwing in the towel,' he closed his eyes again. He didn't want to be so mad at Ziva. Well, he wasn't mad at her. He was mad at the doctor who had talked about talking with a shrink. He was mad at his own body, which had abandoned him. He was mad at the guy who had shot him. He was just mad at the world, because everything had fallen apart. His life was over. If the doctors couldn't help him, what was the use in trying? He had tried. And he had failed. Keeping on trying and keeping on failing was harder than just accepting the facts. If he couldn't walk, fine. So be it. It wasn't as if he needed his legs to be happy. Or his job. Definitely not. Maybe, if he said it often enough, he would believe it himself one day.

The day after his 'conversation' with Ziva, he was discharged from the hospital. His doctor had suggested talking to a psychiatrist, and Tony had said he would make an appointment when he got home. He didn't. He did made arrangements to get a car that he could drive himself, so he wasn't dependent on the others. In his apartment he had some things changed, so that it was easier to live in. Bars in the toilet for support. A chair in the shower so he could use it without help. The kitchen sink was made lower, and the kitchen cabinets in the top were emptied, their contents shoved in a lower cabinet. Tony even went back to the office, and did desk duty. A week after his return the Director had suggested that he should get another desk, in another part of the building, but Gibbs had refused, even before she had finished talking.

'No way in hell Jen. Forget it. He stays at his desk. I don't care if he'll be on desk duty forever. You can reinstate a new field agent, but you will not take Tony away from his desk,'

'There is no point in letting him stay at his desk, Jethro. He is not a field agent anymore!'

'I know, Jen. I gave him the papers myself. He signed them. But if you move him somewhere else in this building, I won't be able to see how he's doing!'

'He is a grown up man Jethro. He can take care of himself,' Jenny gave Gibbs a stern look.

'If you think he can, Director, you really have no idea about whom or what DiNozzo is,' with those words Gibbs walked out of her office, leaving Jenny to her own thoughts.

At the same time McGee was at Abby's lab, they were working together to find a lead in one of the many databases they had access to.

'How is he doing Tim?' Abby asked suddenly. McGee looked up for a moment. Abby hadn't taken her eyes off of her computer screen, but she wasn't typing. He knew who she was talking about. She knew he knew.

'I don't know Abs. He looks fine, he acts normal, but something's . . .'

'. . . hinky?'

'Yeah, I guess you could say that. He looks different. And it's not his wheelchair,' he added quickly. 'I'm used to it now. He laughs, but he isn't happy,' McGee stopped talking again, and thought about it for a moment. 'Do you remember when Gibbs was in Mexico and when Tony was team leader?'

'Of course I do Timmy! Why do you ask?'

'Do you remember how Tony was? He had a . . . a drive or something. He pushed us to get better results. He pushed himself to be the best agent possible. Do you remember that?'

'Yeah I do. He was like a pit-bull on some cases, not willing to let go. But what has that to do with how he is now?'

'That drive is gone, as if he doesn't care about anything anymore. Do you know he traded in his Mustang?' Abby looked up, shocked.

'He sold his Mustang? But he loved that car! When he bought it, he didn't stop talking about it until Gibbs threatened that he would drive it off a cliff!'

'You get my point?'

'That's bad McGee,' Abby gave him a punch with her fist on his arm.

'Hey, what was that good for?'

'You should have told me sooner!'