A/N: HAPPY PREMIER EVERYBODY!

DISCLAIMER: If I owned it, those poor actors would never get a break.

Chapter XII

"This is our last chance, so give me your hand, because our world is spinning at the speed of light." Animal, Ke$ha

Her office is in the very back of the building, tucked away in a quiet corner on the second floor. It's Saturday and many of the other offices are empty, the lights turned off and everything locked up. Her door is open and he can see her sitting behind her desk, her head bowed as she writes something in a file. He pokes his head around the door sheepishly, plastering his most charming smile on his face.

"You're late," she says without looking up, her pen making a scratching noise against the paper. The air-conditioner hums to life softly as he sits down gingerly on the nearest couch, his back tensing in protest. He glances around the room while he waits for her to say something first, even though he's the one that's paying to talk.

There's a coffee mug with one of the psalms painted on the ceramic to the right of her elbow. She's left her computer on and he can see the picture on her desktop of her and who he assumes is her husband, sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial with a smiling beagle between them. Last time he was in here and could see her home screen, she had a picture of the same beagle going cross-eyed at the Christmas ribbon that had been pressed to its forehead. He had commented on it then and she had told him the dog's name was Pavlov. He told her that was a weird name for a dog; she told him to Google it.

There's another photograph on her desk of her and her sister standing at the edge of the ocean, the sea breeze whipping their hair in their faces. Both women are laughing and smiling at the camera, their arms around each other's shoulders, the closeness of their relationship palpable. The first time he visited this office, he hadn't been expecting a lot of things, but he really hadn't been expecting that picture.

He's just finished studying the bronze nameplate at the edge of her desk, and the "Dr. Rachel M. Cranston, Ph.D. Licensed Psychologist" engraved across the polished surface in bold typeface.

Dr. Cranston sighs and sets her pen down, closes her file and leans back in her chair, balancing her elbows on the armrests and regarding her patient over her steepled fingers. "How are you doing?" she asks finally, giving him a small smile.

He shrugs –and immediately regrets the movement. "Sore," he grouses halfheartedly, but that isn't what she meant and he knows it. "I'm doing okay."

"Only okay?"

He tilts his head back to study the ceiling tiles. "Yeah," he answers after a moment. "I'm still processing, I guess. Everything's real jumbled."

"So your emotions are mixed up," she restates. "Do you find that overwhelming?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Duh.

She nods, "That's normal, though, Tony. You experienced a substantial emotional trauma; I'd be concerned if you weren't feeling overwhelmed. What have your last few days been like since I saw you Wednesday afternoon? Have you spoken with your colleagues?" And he notices that she doesn't say family because she is already aware of those circumstances.

He nods, "Spoke to Gibbs the other night, and I saw Ziva earlier. McGee's not doing too good." And then he tells her what Gibbs had told him, that McGee might have permanent damage, that things might not go back to the way they were. And somehow, he finds himself confessing that he's scared, and angry, and so damn confused. He admits that he's worried about his team, that he's worried about Ducky, and McGee, and Ziva because there are more cracks in her armor than there were before and that terrifies him. And he may have mentioned that the thought of not seeing her every day, just might kill him.

"And then," he continues, now fully entrenched in his rant, "I run into Ned Dorneget's life partner, and he's just lost the love of his life, you know? And I, I know exactly what it feels like –I know what having those regrets, those things unsaid –I know exactly where he's coming from! And it seems like the whole damn universe is trying to tell me something, and I know what it is –hell, how many life or death situations have we been in –have I been in? How many people have died right before our eyes? How many times have I thought to myself 'tell her' and then kept my big mouth shut? And we can't get it together? No –I can't get it together. I can't accept the fact-" and here his mind catches up with his mouth and he silences himself immediately.

Dr. Cranston regards him calmly from her desk. "You can't accept what fact, Tony?"

"The fact of life?" he says, coming up with the first thing that comes to mind –which is impressive, he thinks, since his mind is pretty messed up at the moment.

But Dr. Cranston shakes her, not letting him off the hook. "You what to know what I think, Tony? I think that you're too afraid to take a chance; I think you're coming up with any excuse you can think of to offset the fact that you are in love with your partner and it scares the hell out of you. These life or death situations, Tony? The ones that make you question your choices and rather or not you were right to deny yourself the knowledge of rather or not a relationship with Ziva would work? I can tell you right now, it would probably work out –it would probably be everything you've ever wanted it to be. But you'll never know because you won't ask. And I think that's really dumb. Life is unpredictable, Tony. You know that better than anyone. You've spent the last ten years avoiding commitment to the one woman who would make you work for it because you loved Wendy and she left you, and you love Ziva and she might leave you, but she might not. Ziva's not like Wendy, Tony. She's still here. You want my advice? Man up and tell her you love her."

He stares at her, dumbstruck, for what feels like several minutes. And he wants to tell her that he never loved Wendy like he loves Ziva, he never would have gone to the end of the Earth for Wendy like he did for Ziva. He just nods once, stands, thanks her, and leaves.

It feels like the something inside him has shifted.