A/N: Okay. So. I'm baaaaaack! (Please put down the rocks? Thank you!) Okay! Hi everybody! Geez, is anyone still following this thing? That was quite a (unintentional) break, huh? I just got SO incredibly busy! I started college, moved in the dorm (my roommate is wonderful, by the way), and got acquainted with the place I will live (hopefully) for the next four years. It was all so very perfect, and so very overwhelming, but that's okay. I'm settled and ready to tackle a degree in biology (or biochemistry –I'm still on the fence). I'm also ready to get to work on ALAWBSL because the season premier is twenty one (!) days away! Which is all kinds of awesome. So, hopefully, I will be updating this thing twice a week (don't hold me to that) instead of once (or, as has been the pattern this past month, never), if that's okay with everybody? Yeah? Good. So. Here we go! More angst! Much love, keep the peace, until next time, Kit!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own it.

IX

"What if this storm ends and I don't see you as you are now, ever again?" The Lightning Strike, Snow Patrol

He goes to Gibbs' after he and Ziva part ways. He hasn't spoken to his since the day before and even then it had all been about business. Palmer had started the autopsies of the nine NCIS employees who had passed away, not including Jonathon Cole and Harper Dearing. The entire Navy Yard had been temporarily relocated to Quantico while reconstruction is underway. Because, though headquarters didn't burn to the ground, it certainly sustained damage.

Rather or not the orange paint makes a reappearance is yet to be seen.

He doesn't knock on the front door because he knows it's unlocked –because Gibbs is, after all, predictable even when the whole world seems backwards. Quietly, he steps into the darkened foyer.

There are no lights on in the living room and Tony pauses for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the pale moonlight that filters through the windows and douses everything in an ethereal glow. Gibbs isn't on the couch where Tony suspects that Gibbs usually sleeps and he wonders vaguely where the older man has gone when something wholly out of place catches his eye.

A small black backpack is slumped on the bottommost step of the staircase, the tiny white skull-and-crossbones print seeming to glow in the darkness. He recognizes this particular bag, though he's only ever seen it in a completely different context, tucked away neatly in Abby's basement office, right beneath her carefully disorganized desk.

"You gonna stand there or come in?" Gibbs asks from the kitchen doorway, his version of a warm greeting.

Tony blinks twice before following the older man into the kitchen.

"Abby here?" he asks once he's seated at Gibbs' kitchen table, his fingers absently tracing the scarred surface.

Gibbs nods from his post beside the countertop where the coffeemaker gurgles and splutters like a drowning man. "Been a rough couple of days, DiNozzo," he replies gruffly.

"I'm surprised she's not at the hospital holding an all night vigil."

Gibbs shrugs. "She's tired."

And Tony completely empathizes because he, too, is exhausted regardless how much sleep he seems to get.

Soon the bittersweet smell of coffee permeates the small kitchen and Gibbs comes over to the table bearing two steaming mugs. He sets one mug before Tony with a thunk before sitting down across from him with his own cup, an old chipped U.S.M.C. mug that has seen many mornings. Tony wraps his palms around the warmth after reading the words printed on the side of the ceramic surface: Don't talk to me until I've had my coffee. It's the kind of thing Abby would give as a joke and Tony wonders if Gibbs gave it to him unconsciously or this is a deliberate message that should be heeded.

Regardless, it's sage advice from a coffee mug.

"McGee's awake," Gibbs says after several minutes of silence.

Tony sits up straighter, clutches his coffee cup tighter. "How is he?" he asks, not bothering to mask his concern. Gibbs offers him a shrug.

"He's awake," he repeats, and if this is supposed to be a comfort, it isn't.

"Boss-"

"He's in bad shape, DiNozzo," Gibbs says, setting his mug back down onto the table and fixing a steely gaze on his senior agent. "The doctors compared it to a stroke. Right now he's paralyzed on his left side."

Tony pales slightly. "But it's not permanent-"

"I don't know."

"Well, what did his doctors say?" And the follow-up comes out more biting than intended, but, frankly, Tony doesn't care: McGee is paralyzed and Gibbs is being cavalier and, damn it, he wants answers.

"They don't know," Gibbs says patiently.

It's the wrong answer.

"How the hell can they not know?" Tony demands, his fist hitting the table and making the coffee slosh out.

"Tony."

He deflates suddenly, shoulders slumping as he buries his face in his hands. "Sorry, boss. I just . . ."

"I know."

"Did you see him?" Tony asks, looking up warily. He wonders if he really wants to know.

Gibbs nods. "Briefly. He was confused from the meds and his eyesight might have been affected. He recognized Abby and he recognized me, which is good."

"What do we do now?"

Gibbs offers him another shrug. "Keep moving forward, keep rebuilding. It'll come."

It'll come.

"How's Abby?" Brilliant segue, DiNozzo. Brilliant.

"Abby's tough, she'll get through it."

Now it's Tony's turn to fix Gibbs with a look. "That's not what I asked."

"She's sad, DiNozzo," Gibbs says quietly. "Hell, she's heartbroken. But she's optimistic. As far as Abby is concerned, we'll all come out of this on the other side."

He's afraid that the other side won't look much like this side.

"Should I do anything?" And he needs a task, he needs a job. Something, anything to keep him busy –he's less destructive when he's busy-

"How's Ziva holding up?"

Ziva.

Tony pauses to consider this, only to have a steady montage of memories come flooding in: Ziva panicking in the elevator, wrist broken and forehead bleeding; Ziva sitting on the examination table at the hospital, her face unreadable, her façade firmly fixed. Her expression later that night when she needed help washing her hair; the way the whole bed shuddered as she sobbed into his chest after he told her about Dorneget. How her voice sounded so flat when he broke the news about Dearing; how her voice broke in the church three hours earlier when she told him about Sarah and Ari. But he can't tell Gibbs any of this; how could he? Not only is it all so very personal and sensitive, but how can he even begin to express the depth of emotion that his partner has experienced in the past three days? "How do you think? She's putting on her soldier face, same as always," Tony says carefully, trying to get the phrasing right.

Gibbs, though, can hear the hesitation. "But?"

And did he honestly think he could pull one over Leroy Jethro Gibbs? Tony sighs. "But," he amends, "there are cracks in her armor, Boss."

Gibbs doesn't seem surprised. "Cracks in everybody's armor, DiNozzo."

Tony nods in agreement. "Hers are bigger this time. I –I don't think she's gonna be able to hold it together this time, I think it's taking a toll on her." And this is one of his biggest fears, really, that Ziva David is burning out.

"She's not superhuman, Tony."

"I know that!" he says too loudly before remembering that Abby is sleeping somewhere above them. "I know that," he repeats, quietly. "It's just . . . She's tired, you know? Hell, I'm tired."

"We're all tired."

"Yeah."

And they really need to rest.