A/N: Long time coming, I know. Sorry - hope it was worth the wait. Hope I didn't get too gooey with the Ziva/Louisa scene... the situation needed a resolution, somehow. That scene is what held up this chappie for so long. Couldn't resist throwing in good ol' Dean Martin here - love that song, it's so them! Google the lyrics...you'll see what I mean.

Warnings/Spoilers: The Usual.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

Sunday, June 6, 2010 10:22 a.m.

Pete Penachetti knew better than to let his sister drive. She was in a state of shock, and was unusually quiet as they proceeded down the Capital Beltway towards the NNMC. She was in the sort of condition that led to car accidents, and Louisa certainly didn't need that on top of everything she was already dealing with: guilt, fear, shame...

They had been driving for about 15 minutes, when finally she began spilling her guts to Pete, describing the unfortunate misunderstanding that had started it all, and its aftermath. Her brother rolled his eyes at the thought of Tony having a fling with his partner.

"Lou, I don't know where you ever got the idea that Tony could do that. He may have had lots of women in his life, but in all the years I've known him, he's only ever had one at a time."

"Oh Pete, I feel so stupid. How am I going to fix this?"

Her brother laughed. "Knowing Tony and painkillers, I'm betting he won't even remember. Don't fret about it. He'll just be happy to see you." He was silent for a moment, pondering the idea of his sister and his best friend, as a couple. "Just how serious is this thing with you two, anyway?"

She smiled, and looked absently out the window. "Well, I can't speak for him, but... he makes me feel... special... know what I mean?"

Pete glanced over at her, and realized that he couldn't ever remember seeing Louisa so serenely happy. He grinned. "I'm happy for you, Sis, I really am... I just... I didn't think you'd ever go on a date with anyone... let alone Tony."

She frowned, and glanced sideways at him. "He's nothing like you described him, y'know. You had me thinking he was this irresponsible, dissipated playboy..." She sighed, and gazed back out the window. "He was so kind to me. He believed in me, when no-one else did. He even came to visit me in that holding cell...and he brought me my rosary."

At this, Pete almost went off the road. "Are we talking about the same guy here?"

"Well, then, you see my point," Louisa shot back. "But... I think you knew all along what he was really like. I think that's why you and he are such good friends...that other stuff is all just for show. You're just looking to him to experience a bit of the wild youth you never had...and Tony's looking to you for a taste of the stable childhood he never had."

"So, when did you pick up the psych degree?" Pete mocked. He contemplated her words for a few moments. "You're probably right, though. I guess if I really thought Tony was that… casual… I never would've let him take you out."

She chuckled. "And how, exactly, would you have stopped him? I am a grown woman, you know."

"Yeah… sometimes I forget that. You're still my little sister, always will be. I've always felt kind of protective of you, especially since..." He trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. Louisa fell silent also, and gazed down at her lap. It was their little secret. The thing she'd confided to her brother, and no-one else.

They pulled in front of the emergency department at NNMC. "Why don't I drop you off here, Lou? I'll park the car, and I'll meet up with you."

She nodded, and hopped out, striding purposefully down the hallway to the triage desk. "I'm looking for Anthony DiNozzo."

"Are you a family member?" the nurse questioned suspiciously.

"It's ok. She's his girlfriend," a firm, yet soft voice intoned. Louisa looked up, and there stood Gibbs, a gentle smile on his face. "Louisa."

He held out his hand to her. She took it, and let him pull her into his embrace. She laid her head on his shoulder, and finally let go of all of the pent-up fear and distress she'd been stifling for the past hour. He led her around the corner, to a sofa in the 'family waiting room', and they sat and talked until Pete arrived.

"He's in I.C.U., Pete." Her eyes were red, her makeup streaked, but she was smiling. "He's gonna be ok."

Pete sank down onto the sofa next to his sister. Looking around, he noted that Gibbs' entire team was present (with the exception of Ziva – which was understandable, he thought to himself, considering someone had almost succeeded in killing her a few hours ago). McGee sat in a corner, fast asleep, with Abby next to him, her head on his shoulder, staring up and counting the dots in the ceiling tiles. Ducky was reading a medical monograph that had been lent to him by the chief E.R. resident. And Palmer was trying desperately to find that fly swatter again in that lovely dream of his, as he lay almost horizontal in a recliner, which happened to have a Shiatsu Massage gizmo built into it. Prime real estate, and he'd snagged it.

The autopsies would wait until Monday.

They sat and chatted for about half an hour, Gibbs filling in the Penachettis on the details of the shooting and what he had learned concerning Tony's injury. The bullet had initially hit his Kevlar vest in the upper right chest, had glanced sideways and embedded itself in Tony's clavicle, shattering the bone in the process. The surgeon had removed several bone fragments, as well as repairing a nicked artery (which had resulted in a fair bit of blood loss – the cause of Tony's shock) and a couple of torn ligaments surrounding the shoulder joint. He was very fortunate that there did not appear to be any serious muscle or nerve damage. Even so, DiNozzo was looking at 3 weeks of mandatory sick leave and at least 2 more weeks of desk duty after that before he'd be allowed in the field again. Along with this, there would be several months of physiotherapy required. He wasn't going to like it, and Gibbs was already trying to think up ways to keep him occupied. Louisa promised to do what she could to keep him in line. Gibbs smiled at the thought. So did Pete.

Trauma surgeon Dr. Jonas Henderson stuck his head into the waiting room. "Agent Gibbs? We'll be moving Agent DiNozzo to a private room in a few minutes. He's awake, but we've got him on a pretty strong narcotic, so he'll be a bit groggy for awhile."

"Can he have visitors?" Louisa inquired.

"I'll allow a very brief visit – keep it to five minutes. We're still transfusing him. He needs rest. One or two people only, please." Gibbs introduced Louisa to Dr. Henderson, and insisted that she be the first one to see him.

She approached his bed with trepidation. The monitors, the IV drip, the blood transfusion still in progress, the catheter, the nasal cannula feeding his oxygen-starved body... it all made him look so vulnerable. His eyes were closed, and she assumed he'd drifted back off to sleep. She moved a chair next to the bed, and took his hand, gently stroking the back of it with her thumb. With her free hand she ran her fingers through his hair, which was all askew and clumped together from perspiration. As she did so, a smile appeared on his face, and he opened his eyes slowly.

His expression gradually morphed from happy to confused, as he struggled to recognize the face smiling back at him. He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then closed it again. Louisa leaned in and kissed his forehead. He tried to speak once more, but she put her fingers to his lips.

"Shhh, Tony...don't talk. Just rest."

His smile returned, as he recognized the voice. "Lou..." He swallowed hard; the smile faded, and he gazed at her intently. "Are we ok?"

She bit her lip, and nodded vigorously. "Yeah, Tony. We're ok."

He grinned, and squeezed her hand. "My itty-bitty Penachetti."

Louisa blushed and chuckled. "What did you just call me?"

He continued babbling. "You're so cute."

"You better quit while you're ahead, DiNozzo." Gibbs was standing by the doorway, leaning against the wall with his ankles crossed, a bemused grin on his face. Then, turning to Louisa, "Doc wants us to clear out for awhile." She nodded, and turned back to the patient.

"Tony, get some sleep," she whispered. "I'll be back this evening. I'll bring Pete with me, and some snacks, and we'll watch the game together." She motioned her head towards the TV set mounted on the wall at the foot of his bed. Noting his confused expression, she added, "We have a date tonight, remember?" His smile broadened.

"Game five," he nodded in recognition.

"Close your eyes," she ordered. He complied, and calm and serenity graced his stubbled face. She stood up, leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. She pulled the blanket up around him. "Sleep well."

When they exited the room, they found Ducky in conversation with Dr. Henderson. He wanted to be kept up to date on Tony's condition, so that DiNozzo couldn't put one over on him when he returned to work. Pete and the rest of the team were disappointed they would not be allowed to see their friend, but when Louisa described his current state, they understood it was for the best that he be left alone to rest.

"Agent Gibbs? I left a tin of cookies on Tony's desk the other day. Would I be able to stop by your office on my way home to pick it up?"

Jimmy Palmer slumped down just a bit further in the recliner.

"Nope. Those were all gone by Friday night," the Supervisory Agent stated simply. Louisa's eyes widened.

"Food is kind of a communal thing with us," Abby explained helpfully. "What's yours is mine, and what's anyone's is Gibbs'."

Gibbs frowned and shot Abby a retort in sign language. She grinned and signed sweetly back to him. He rolled his eyes.

"They were delicious," McGee added with a smile.

"Oh. Well, I guess I know what I'm doing this afternoon, then." She glanced at her brother and winked. "Time to get home to your family, Pete."

McGee gave the foot rest of the recliner a kick. "C'mon, Jimmy, time to go." Palmer jumped out of the chair, and gave Tim a glare for so rudely interrupting his massage. Tim dangled the keys in front of Palmer's face. "Bus is leavin'."

Jimmy looked plaintively at Ducky. "Don't look at me, my boy, I'm leaving now too, and I won't be going home right away, I'm afraid." Abby and McGee exchanged curious glances yet again.

They all went their separate ways, satisfied that Tony was in good hands and comfortable at last.

2:07 p.m.

Ziva David awoke with an intense feeling of disorientation. It was broad daylight. What time was it? She glanced at the clock, flopped back onto her back, and slowly let the events of the early morning hours return to her consciousness. She lay there for some minutes, reliving the struggle with Noreen Jessop. The memory of the barrel of that gun pointing straight at her head sent a shudder through her body. Almost unbelievably, Jessop had fallen forward. And it had all been over. Just like that.

When she'd first seen Tony go down, she'd assumed, with horror, that he was dead. So it hadn't immediately registered that he had been the one to fire the kill shot, nor that McGee was trying to save his life. It was out of character for a Mossad assassin to have allowed Tony to live, but she supposed Jessop had been so intent on reaching her intended target that she'd gotten sloppy and hadn't bothered to check his condition before making her next move.

Ziva had been frozen in place, unable to react for a moment to the panicky orders McGee had been firing at her. How was it possible that he had taken charge of the scene, and not she? And why, when she'd recovered from the initial shock, had she simply done everything he'd told her to do? The truth was she'd been more shaken by the whole episode than she wanted to admit. Was she losing her edge?

She shifted gears, pondering anew the conversation they'd been having just before the whole incident had started. She tried to picture Tony in a settled, committed relationship. She tried to picture him as a husband. As a father. She shook her head. It didn't seem within the realm of possibility. Then again, she couldn't really picture Gibbs as a married man either. And he'd done it four times. Who was she to judge?

She had been truly taken aback by Tony's admission that he was lonely, that he was tired of the single life, that he actually envied his friend's domestic bliss. Maybe Louisa would be good for Tony? Maybe the very thing that made her seem 'not his type' was the very thing that made her his perfect match? After all, wasn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over, while expecting different results? At least this time he was trying something, someone, different. She chided herself for having been so judgemental, for trying to convince him that Louisa Penachetti was all wrong for him. And she wondered if, perhaps, the reason had been just a tinge of jealousy?

She loved him. She could admit that. But it wasn't a romantic kind of love. It had started out as pure sexual attraction. But over the years of working together, it had grown and developed into a mutually protective, deep understanding and caring for one another. They'd continued to flirt, (regardless of whether he had a current girlfriend or not), and sometimes they'd come awfully close to crossing the line. But it was just a thrilling game, and they both knew with certainty where that line was. Neither one would dare to cross it, because that would mean the end of their partnership as they knew it.

Gibbs was absolutely right – it was impossible to work that closely with someone you'd slept with, without endangering their life, and those of others on the team. Judgement would be clouded, hesitation would creep in when split-second decisions were required.

And in any case, Tony had stopped flirting. That told Ziva that he genuinely cared about Louisa's feelings for him. That told Ziva that, to Tony, Louisa was different… special. And if Ziva really cared for Tony, she had to respect that.

But there was trouble in paradise. Tony had even hinted that it was all over, before it had really even started. Louisa wasn't answering his phone calls, and he was genuinely upset about it.

Well, maybe she wouldn't talk to Tony. But perhaps she would talk to Ziva?

4:35 p.m.

Louisa bounced around the kitchen, bopping to the strains of Dean Martin crooning "Ain't Love a Kick in the Head?".

It seemed appropriate.

She had donned an apron, and was baking a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. The apartment was filled with the lovely, comforting aromas of chocolate and vanilla, mixed with a bit of hazelnut emanating from the freshly perked pot of coffee sitting on the counter. Whiskers kept a vigil next to his dish, hoping to see something land in it, but Louisa was studiously ignoring him. She felt incredibly light-hearted and joyful, now that all was right between her and Tony once more, and she had assurances that he was on the mend.

There was a knock at the door. She grabbed the remote and turned down the volume on the stereo, tossing her apron aside as she approached the front hallway. She wasn't expecting anyone, but she supposed it must be her folks, or perhaps Julia calling in to make sure she was ok. She peeked through the peephole, and her heart jumped into her throat as she undid the latch and swung the door open.

"Petty Officer. I don't know if you remember me – I am Tony's partner, Ziva David. May I speak with you a moment?"

"Agent David… I… um… please come in." Louisa was at sixes and sevens. How to react to this woman, who, in her mind, had gone from hard-nosed federal spook, to supposed romantic arch-rival, to almost-murder-victim, in a grand total of seven days? "I just made coffee. Can I offer you some?"

"Please, call me Ziva. Yes, thank you, I would love some coffee." Ziva flopped down on the sofa, and glanced around at the living room she'd previously invaded with Tony less than a week ago. Things certainly had changed quickly in that time.

Louisa brought in a tray with two mugs of coffee, cream, sugar, and a small plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out the purpose of Ziva's visit, less than 24 hours after someone had tried to kill her. She sat down in the arm chair across from her guest.

"Are you ok? I heard about what happened this morning. It sounded like a very close call."

"Yes, I am fine, thank you," Ziva responded dismissively. "Gibbs tells me Tony is resting comfortably. I was very relieved to hear that he was out of danger." Ziva took a sip of her coffee, and nibbled on a cookie. She smiled. "These are really very good," she muttered as she chewed. "I understand the batch you left in the bullpen did not last long."

Louisa rolled her eyes. "Yes, I heard all about your team's 'communal' eating habits… they were really meant for Tony, you know."

"Not good for him. He is, how do you say it, 'filling out'?"

Was it meant as a barb, or simply an observation? Louisa couldn't decipher the inscrutable look on her visitor's face. She chose to ignore it, and merely smiled sweetly. "Why are you here, Ziva?"

"He misses you." Louisa set down her mug and stared at Ziva in astonishment. The former Mossad agent continued, "Why have you not returned his phone calls?"

This was too much. "And why are you interfering? For your information, Tony and I are just fine, thank you." Then it dawned on her – Ziva was trying to mend the rift, not widen it. She softened her tone. "I mean… I went to see him this morning – we got it all sorted out." She didn't dare admit that she'd been jealous of this woman. But she supposed that Ziva could see right through her; she seemed to have a sixth sense.

"It was not my intention to interfere. I merely wanted to… intercede. He was quite distraught last night. I have never seen him that way before. You mean a great deal to him…" she trailed off, glancing down at her mug, almost embarrassed to be speaking this way.

Louisa got up from her chair and sat down next to Ziva on the sofa. They looked each other in the eye, and a mutual understanding crystallized in that silent moment. Ziva was actually rooting for her, she realized, and this was her way of letting Louisa know she would not stand in her way.

"I owe you an apology, Ziva," she said softly. "I misunderstood your relationship with Tony. I guess I'm still a little insecure; I feel as if he's out of my league."

Ziva chuckled. "If you only knew…"

"What does that mean?"

"Louisa… Tony is not the ladies' man you think he is. He is such a good actor, he even had me fooled, for a time."

"I know. He's not a playboy like everyone says…"

Ziva shook her head. "No, that is not what I mean. He simply finds relationships intimidating. He is the insecure one. Why do you think he was so upset last night? When you did not call him back, he immediately assumed he had done something wrong, and was searching for a way to fix it. I believe that his 'sex machine' persona is simply a way of disguising the fact that he is still seeking the love and attention he did not receive as a child. He is far more vulnerable than he wants anyone to see. In a strange way, I believe he actually feels he does not deserve to be happy."

Louisa pondered those words, which seemed to build on her own assessment of Tony that she'd shared with Pete earlier in the day. If what Ziva was saying were true, then she and Tony made quite a pair... a couple of injured, needy souls, who had somehow found each other. What if it turned out she had as much to offer him, as he could give to her? What if she had as much power over this man, as he had over her? An increased self-confidence swept over her, and the jealousy and insecurity she had harboured began to fade away.

She smiled. "Maybe I'll be the one to convince him that he does deserve to be happy."

"I hope so."

A Mona Lisa smile came over Ziva's features, and Louisa realized this was a very bittersweet moment for her. She took Ziva's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Ziva, I know you care for Tony a great deal. And I hope that never changes. You've been such a good friend to him. I won't ever stand in the way of that."

They nodded to each other knowingly, and the bond between them was cemented in that moment. They could both love Tony… each in their own way.

6:32 p.m.

Louisa donned her most comfortable hanging-out clothes: a pair of relaxed-fit Levis, socks and sneakers… and her Washington Capitals hockey jersey, selected especially for this occasion. She bagged up a selection of junk food from her pantry – pretzels, cheese doodles, salt & vinegar, BBQ and plain potato chips. None of it was coming back into the apartment; of that she was determined. If anything was left over after the game, it would either go home with Pete, or it was destined for the garbage. She had 20 pounds to lose, and having that stuff in the cupboard would only serve to sabotage her efforts.

At the very bottom of the bag rested a tin of freshly-baked, soft and gooey chocolate chip cookies, given the NCIS seal of approval earlier in the day by Ziva.

She put down a can of Beef Dinner for Whiskers, shut off all but the kitchen light over the sink, and locked the door behind her. She would pick up Pete on the way to the hospital.

7:20 p.m.

Pete and Louisa crept quietly into Tony's room, not wanting to wake him up until closer to game time. To their delight, however, he was already propped up in bed, watching SportsCenter. His right arm was in a sling, and he no longer sported the nasal cannula, signifying that his breathing had returned to normal. He grinned at them as they tiptoed into the room.

"Is this a stealth bombing?"

"Well," harrumphed Pete. "You're obviously feeling better." He tossed a heavy cloth bag onto the foot of the bed; it made a clinking sound.

"No thanks to the hospital catering service," Tony grimaced, pushing away the rolling tray on which sat the remains of a very lacklustre-looking dinner. "You ever try eating cardboard, with your left hand, no less? It sucks."

"Oh, quit whining, and open up this bag of chips for me." Louisa pulled out a bag of Salt & Vinegar and threw it at him, smirking all the while. He grabbed it and yanked it open with his teeth.

"Now you're talkin' my language! What's in that bag?" he queried, pointing to his feet.

"Shhh… top secret." Pete pulled it open just enough for his pal to peer in and catch a glimpse of six glorious bottles of Bud Light. Tony's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning.

"You'll never get away with that," Louisa chastised.

"Wanna bet?" Pete pulled out three stainless steel water bottles. "I came prepared, good boy scout that I am."

His sister shook her head in resignation. "You need only have brought one of those, brother dearest. One of us has to drive home, and Tony can't have any."

"Waddya mean, I can't have any?" Tony protested.

She ignored him, and continued lecturing her brother. "It's very dangerous to mix alcohol and narcotics. You could kill him. How would you like that on your conscience, Pete? Never mind the fact that then you'd have to deal with me."

"All, right, time out, guys. You're here to cheer me up, remember?" Tony interjected.

"We're not here to cheer you up. We're here to watch Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs." Pete gave him a stern look. "Which we could have been doing on my lovely 58", surround-sound, home theatre system, if you hadn't gone and got yourself shot." He winked at Louisa.

"See… this is why I like hanging with you so much, Pete. You have your priorities in the right place. Never mind the fact that I almost died this morning."

"Move over." Louisa hopped onto the left side of the bed and gave Tony a nudge with her hip. He grinned broadly and slid himself to the right to make room for her, wincing slightly as he did so. She leaned forward so he could sling his good arm around her waist, then sank back into the pillows and laid her head on his shoulder. Pete raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a word.

"You'll have to feed me now, you do realize that…?" Tony quipped, giving Louisa a cheeky sideways glance.

Her brother pulled up a chair next to the right side of the bed.

"Pete can feed both of us. That'll be his penance for being so mean to you."

"I can't reach from over here… sorry. Where's the remote?" He glanced around the room.

Louisa held it up triumphantly. "You can't reach it from over there… sorry." Tony guffawed, suddenly stopping himself as a wave of pain came over him, then subsided.

"Are you ok?" Louisa intoned nervously.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just have to remember not to move around too much. They gave me a pain pump – I can dose myself." He pointed to the pump, which rested on the blanket next to his leg. "But I'm trying not to use it too much, so I don't get silly."

"Have one of these, that'll help." Pete passed a beer in Tony's direction, safely disguised in a water bottle. Louisa reached across and took it from her brother, taking a long pull before setting it down by her legs so Tony couldn't reach it. Tony pouted, and she kissed him full on the lips.

"Thanks, Pete. You just nominated yourself as the DD for tonight," she smiled sweetly at him.

Eight o'clock rolled around, and they settled in to watch the game. With each commercial break, Tony and Louisa got a bit more cuddly, and Pete got a bit more uncomfortable.

"Maybe you two should get a room… oh, wait, you have a room… well, maybe I should leave the room…"

Louisa giggled. Tony grinned. Pete rolled his eyes. And so it went, until the final whistle blew, something after 10 pm. The Blackhawks were victorious this night, much to Louisa's delight.

When they packed it in, there was not a pretzel or cheese doodle to be found. Only one beer had been consumed. And Tony was sound asleep. Louisa slipped out from his embrace, put down the head of the bed slightly, and shut off the overhead light. She pulled up his blankets and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. He didn't move a muscle.

"Sweet dreams, my love."