A/N: It seems every time I take a break and come back to write I seem to change my style. Haha. Anyways I hoped you enjoy this,cause I had fun writing it.

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IV. Empty, Lonely, and You

9 Days before Valentine's Day

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He couldn't believe what he saw before his eyes. The empty abandoned warehouse was eerily silent with the occasional chirp from the infestation of insects in the dark corners. The echos made it all the more daunting as each singular sound ricocheted off the few wooden crates that were scattered around, rotting and decaying from years of abandonment.

He couldn't even reel his memory back to how he got to this place. All he knew was it was dark outside and somehow terrifyingly darker inside, where he stood, in front of another victim. But this time he knew the victim, and he cringed at the sight of the body twisting in such a dangerously painful angle that proves the human body was never made to withstand. A sudden rush of foamy liquid rose in the depths of his stomach and he pushed it down grudgingly, tasting the bitter flavor of half digested food as they sunk back down.

He blinked his eyes, and clung onto what could only be called hope that this was all just a sick dream or a whacked up hallucination, that the body in front of him was not sliced up and disjointed to the point where it nearly lost the form of a body. He rather he'd gone crazy because that would be a whole lot better than what presented before him. It didn't work though, and the brown eyes that stared back were dead as ever, but somehow it still seemed to plead for help and that made the guilt in him rise to an unbearable level, not taking into account from the fact that he didn't know how the hell this happened in the first place, but it just felt like it was his fault.

It just didn't make any sense, nothing made sense, this was a serial killer they were dealing with. What happened to the patterns and consistency? The killer had taken four males, why suddenly a female? The puzzle pieces didn't fit. Ziva was not suppose to be dead, he should've been.

And suddenly out of nowhere Gibbs and McGee crashed through the doors of the warehouse that presented itself more as a black hole. The steely blue eyes of his boss stared at him and inquired for an explanation. McGee was on his hands and knees and the lumpy liquid that was regurgitated out looked like clam chowder, but he could guarantee that it wouldn't of smelled a bit like it.

His eyes darted from his boss to McGee's retching body and finally to Ziva's dislocated form. As if being over-runned, the room began to spin around him and before he knew it he was flat on his back. His head met the concrete with a loud clap and it took a second later for the stars to register behind his eyes then altogether fading to a complete black that somehow seemed even darker than the world outside.

.::.

Sweat gathered around his forehead in armies and marched furiously down his face as he sat up in his bed. His heart was beating a hundred miles an hour and he was sure he was going to have a heart attack right then and there. He took gulping breaths for several minutes until all that was left was a cold, sweat drenched Tony DiNozzo in a king sized bed.

It had been happening for awhile now, these horrible nightmares, where everything seemed to go everywhere but right and it haunted him, left him vulnerable on the ground while it kept prodding and kicking him where it hurt the most; his heart. But it's been getting worse lately, and it definitely seemed to be coming from the day he both dreaded and desired. It was make or break.

He dropped his knees to the side of the bed; his body was still shaking but eventually settled down to a light shiver from the cold draft that wafted through from the gap under the door. He steadied himself up and stumbled towards the bathroom, where he slammed the door open and planted himself in front of the sink.

The scalding water felt like bliss on his skin and though it hurt, it felt gloriously good to know that he was still okay, that he wasn't numb. He turned off the gushing water and let out a sighing breath as he slid down the wall to a sitting position. His eyes wandered from the toothbrush that sat innocently by itself on the table top to the blank wall in front of him then to his right, where the door sat wide open showcasing a large empty room.

He ran his hand tiredly through his hair and even that brought back memories of when she touched his hair and how tremendous it felt for her little soft hand to play with the sandy brown strands then linger a moment longer. The feeling of loneliness was horrible as the room around him got bigger and bigger while the silence got ever more deafening. The water droplets that crashed onto the porcelain sink combined with the ticking of the clock and the wind that rivaled its way to his window drove him insane.

He stayed there until the first rays of the sun blemished the room, and as tired as he was, he stood with dark bags around his eyes and got dressed for work. Like always. Every single day.

.::.

"You're late and you look like crap DiNozzo," Gibbs glared at his senior agent, a flicker flashed through Gibbs' eyes when no witty remark came from the other end, not even a single sound. And though he didn't show it he was concerned for the younger agent and it was at times like this he wished he could show more emotion, or at least give a little advice but he'd done everything but right in this part of the heart. So instead, he grabbed his coffee and looked at the three then strode out of the bullpen, to somewhere less depressing.

All three agents sat silently at their desks as they resumed with their assigned tasks. It felt as if they were all competing to see who would last the longest, and soon enough the tension between the distance between Tony and Ziva's desk was well past overbearing and Tim stood to excuse himself.

"I'm gonna get some lunch, you guys want something?" He offered but was politely declined by both agents, which was weird in itself. McGee eased himself out of the bullpen knowing better to leave them alone because something was up and it didn't look like it was something to be caught up within.

After much debate with herself Ziva stopped her work and walked to the cabinet next to Tony's desk. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but such a question was dull, she knew he wasn't okay and he'd just lie anyways. So why ask a question she already knew the answer to? But before she could come up with another though, he spoke.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything I've done that hurt you," his eyes were glued to the screen. She stared at him, unsure how this all came about because he'd apologized before and she'd forgiven him. So why was he apologizing now?

"Did something happen, Tony?"

"Yeh, I got beat up," it was partly true, the emptiness inside him has been eating him up and it definitely showed.

"Just give me the name and I'll take care of it," he laughed but it lacked his usually buoyancy and that marked the end of their conversation when Gibbs reluctantly reentered the bullpen.

"Where's the Elf Lord?"

"Grabbing lunch." Ziva crossed back to her desk.

"It's 1100 –"

"I'm sorry about that boss, I think I might've scared him away," Gibbs gave him a look that somehow, miraculously gave the message of "don't apologize" and "ya think" all in one.

"DiNozzo go home, get some sleep."

"But –"

"You're doing more bad than good, go home, it's an order."

"Yes, boss." Tony packed his gear and walked unwillingly out of the office en route to the emptiness of his home once again.

"Don't make a habit of it DiNozzo!"

.::.

The apartment door squeaked open like a frightened rat scramming to its hideout as quietly as possible, and as it closed he was once again entrapped within the four walls he called home. He wandered over to his bedroom and sunk deep into the bed not caring for the bound to be wrinkles on his expensive suit. And he slept through the afternoon and into the night, until he could no longer.

It was the same dream again, or rather the same nightmare. But this time Ziva's eyes did not plead for him to help; instead they seemed saddened as if she pitied him, putting aside the fact that he was the one who stood and she, the fallen. McGee wasn't bent over hurling this time, no, this time he came in with a figure of a girl that he couldn't quite identify in the dark, and Gibbs came in with a redhead; but that was all he could see a mop of red hair over a shadow. And he can definitely understand what his subconscious has been trying to say, and the realization seemed to lift a heavy load off of his shoulders.

It felt like déjà vu because before he knew it he was flat on his back again, the stars flashed to its death and then he was gasping for air again. Sweat drenched his hair and the sheets and the repeat of the night before took place. But before he reached the end of his bed a familiar voice came from the corner of his room.

"So nightmares are what have been beating you up."

.::.

A/N: Just wanted to say thank you very much for all the reviews! Leave one on the way out. =)