A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for the awesome reviews yesterday. You make me smile.

Today's chapter gives you a look at how Tony's dealing with Ziva's death. This is where the story becomes its own, though the major developments haven't arrived yet, and those will really pull it into this whole new direction, one I think you guys will like.

Let me know what you think and what you'd like to see. Soon you'll see some action, so hang in there, but it'll get worse before it gets better, for Tony anyway.

Autumn

Oh, Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS and won't and haven't claimed to at any time in the past or future of this story. Not in the next chapter or the fifteenth chapter in the epilogue. That should cover it. Okay, and for the heck of it, even though it's completely unnecessary now, no copyright infringement intended.

Tony continued coming to work every day at six o'clock, often earlier, and leaving later than even Gibbs. He was given a stack of cold cases to go through, and he did so diligently, only taking time out of his day to go retrieve more coffee for Gibbs and himself.

He didn't notice, but Gibbs would watch Tony from his desk. Tony's eyes would drift off every couple of hours, his eyes distant and vacant and serious. His eyes were surrounded by dark circles, haunted and sad. He wanted to say something, to do something, but for the first time, he couldn't think of anything.

"It's not going to get better, is it?" Tony spoke for the first time in a week. He looked so vulnerable, sitting there alone.

Gibbs sighed quietly. "No, it isn't," He said as his mind floated to Shannon and Kelly.

Tony nodded in understanding. "Figures," He said softly, guilt overwhelming him. "I don't know how you do it, Boss,"

"Took me seventeen years,"

"Great," Tony said sarcastically. "Wasn't like this when Kate died. Or Paula died. Or Jeanne left. Or Jenny died," He snorted. "I've got quite the track record,"

"It'll get worse," Gibbs said.

"Wow. You're quite the motivational speaker. You should consider going into that line of work. Bet it pays a heck of a lot better than this," He said, an edge of sarcasm in his voice. But Gibbs didn't move, didn't speak. That could wait. Tony needed to take his mind of this. He'd deal with his crap later. "Don't know why I picked this job anyway. Pay sucks. I get to spend my days watching people dead. Shooting at suspects. Getting my best friends killed. It's a great gig," He continued.

Gibbs stood and made his way over to Tony. "That's what this is about, then? You think it's your fault?"

Tony looked up. "Isn't it? I made her go. Decided to complain. And that got her killed,"

"Do you even hear yourself, DiNozzo? Complaining never got a person killed,"

"Yeah, right," He rolled his eyes a little.

"This. Is. Not. Your. Fault," Gibbs said, his eyes of steel boring into Tony.

"Tell that to her!" He said, getting up.

"You honestly think she'd blame you for this? She practically volunteered!"

"She wouldn't have had to if I hadn't been so immature about it,"

"What's immature is refusing help. Refusing to deal with yourself. Letting yourself become a wreck. Pitying yourself,"

"I'm fine,"

"Geeze, DiNozzo. One second you're blaming herself for her death and the next your fine? You sound more bipolar to me than anything!" Tony looked away, hating that his boss was right. "You take the week. You do not come to work for seven more days. Understood?"

"Is this an order?" Tony asked, his voice monotone.

"Yes, it is," Gibbs, taking an authoritative step forward.

"If Mossad calls--"

"They know where to reach you, trust me," Gibbs said.

Tony sighed, then gave in. He gathered his things and drove himself to his favorite bar.

He ordered some Scotch, but when it arrived in front of him, he couldn't pull himself to drink it. All he could do was think of when Ziva had found him in autopsy, drinking the same beverage.

"You have not listened to anything I have said," For the past three days she had been trying and failing to convince him that it wasn't his fault. That he wasn't to blame for Jenny's death. She was wrong.

"Well it's only been three years, I'm a slow learner,"

"And a slow healer," She said, sitting down on the edge of Ducky's desk. She could always read him with such ease, seeing more of him than he saw of himself. "You're crying over spilled… milk,"

"It's not milk that I spilled," He replied.

"Do not to this, Tony," She warned him, knowing the destruction it could lead to.

"Do what, blow my protection detail? Blow my undercover assignment?"

"Those sound like apologies," He replied by pulling out a glass for her, motioning for her to take a drink. She accepted reluctantly, only pouring the smallest bit of liquid into her glass.

"She died alone," Tony said thoughtfully as he held the glass in his hand.

"We are all alone,"

"Yeah thanks for that. I just mean she never got married, never had any children; never even heard her talk about it… Paris," He looked at her, and for a moment their eyes met before he looked off again. "That's when it must have happened,"

"The two of them alone, in another world,"

"Putting their lives in each other's hands every day," He was looking at her again, but she wouldn't look back. His words spoke of Gibbs and Jenny, but he wasn't. He was talking about them.

"Not to mention the long nights,"

"It was inevitable,"

"Nothing is inevitable," She finally met his eyes.

He fingered the rim of the glass before him, ignoring the stinging of liquid guilt in his eyes.

"How could I not have taken that chance?" He knew that then, in the wake of mourning, it wouldn't have been the time or place. But before? That summer? He should have done something.

He could feel her eyes on him. He looked over, and there she was, looking up at him through her lashes the way she did. Her hair was not quite curly, and not quite wavy. It was wild. Natural. Swept to one side, she appeared more exotic than ever. But right now, all he saw was the woman who understood him better than anyone, reading his every move.

"What?" He said after a moment.

"You seem, ah, different," She said.

"Taller? Hotter?" He suggested playfully.

"Older," She answered.

"Well, it's been over four months," He had trouble getting the words out. He hated that they were true.

"Still beating yourself up over Jenny?"

"Not as much as I used to,"

"Drinking?"

"Not as much as I used to," He said, looking away. He couldn't face her. Not now.

She touched his arm gently, getting his attention once more. "You could have called."

Even after four months, nothing had changed. She still saw right through him. He didn't know how she did it, but she was amazing like that. It wasn't merely her skills of observation or Mossad training in lie detection. It was her. It was Ziva.

He couldn't drink.

Not tonight.

Abby sat in her lab, a photo of herself and Ziva displayed on her desktop. She had been staring at it for over an hour, her mind wandering from memory to memory, causing her to smile and laugh and cry.

"I miss you, Ziva," She said quietly to the empty room.

"Hey, Abs," McGee said as he walked in.

"Hey, welcome back," She said, embracing him. "How was your time off?"

"We had dinner every night, Abby," He said with a small smile.

"Yeah, a burger and fries," She said grinning a little.

"And Mexican," He said as he leaned up against the back of her desk beside her.

"And Chinese," She caved. "We missed having you around her. A little sanity would do us all some good,"

"Yeah, I know… How's Gibbs?"

Abby shrugged. "He's Gibbs," And that was all she needed to say. She looked at him, his expression undecided. "What?"

"How's Tony?"

"Losing it," She replied simply. "Gibbs ordered him to take the week off. He came in every day at six or even before, which is totally not like him, and staying really late. And the weirdest part is, he's only working cold cases,"

"He must be really out of it," McGee commented.

"He really misses her,"

"We all do,"

Abby nodded with a sad smile. "They haven't found her yet,"

McGee sighed. "Figures it'd be our luck,"

Abby was quiet for a moment. "I think he loved her,"

"Who, Tony?"

She nodded. "Yeah," It was all she said. It was a simple truth, despite the fact that the romance, if one could call it that, had been entirely unlikely and farfetched. Yet somehow, Tony and Ziva had been made for each other. Anyone could see it. It was in the way they bickered and bantered. In how they sat closer than necessary and gave each other these long, meaningful looks that said more than words ever could. It was in how when he was around her, he was different. He was better. He might try and joke around and cover it up, but the fact is, no one bought it. Not even him.

All this seemed to pass between Abby and McGee without a word. "Yeah," He finally agreed with the same word.

It was as simple as that.

As real as that.