A/N: Thank you to each and every person who is putting this on their faves and alerts! I really tried to style this story differently, and I hope Tony seems in character!

Tick, tick, tick.

Don't worry, Tony hears it.

Perhaps you would like to take a turn smacking him on the head? He and Gibbs can't do all the work themselves and it wouldn't be like he didn't deserve it.

We're getting to a turning point here. Remember all that shit about forks in the road earlier? One could metaphorically say that here was where he saw the sign.

Ziva pushed open the doors to the gym angrily; half-hoping she'd break something when they slammed shut again.

No such luck.

She spotted Tony in the back corner, lifting weights. Again. It seemed to be where he spent most of his time, if he wasn't with her.

Ziva didn't storm. It was unwise to obviously display too much emotion, so she strode forward, keeping a close eye on her target.

He was struggling. With no spotter. With what was obviously way too much weight for him to handle.

She frowned at the display, but dismissed it as Tony's own stupidity, and continued towards him.

He sat up in time to see her approach, and wipe the exhaustion off his face.

"Who do you think you are?" She demanded, as soon as she was within earshot. "Barging in on other people's business, when you haven't paid any attention to me or anyone else on the team for months. So caught up in your grand new love, as though you've completely forgotten what happened the last time."

"And I'd bother to make some elaborate death threat, but it seems there is no need. You seem determined to finish the job for me. What kind of an idiot lifts that much weight when there is no one else even close enough to hear him scream? Are you insane?"

"Are you finished, Agent David?" Tony asked, his voice full of mock-sweetness. Yep. This would be his day.

"No! I'm not! How dare you speak to the head of Mossad like that! I may not like the man, but his position deserves a certain amount of respect!"

"Wait," Tony interrupted. "Are you made because I didn't defend you sooner, or because I defended you at all? I'm a little confused. I think you're losing the point of your rant. Did you want time to rehearse how you were gonna bitch me out?"

It threw her off, just as Tony hoped it would. Her face dropped for a second, and that, as far as he was concerned, was one second closer to getting her to go.

Not like he wanted people to see him like this. Michael Cera didn't just magically transform into Cary Grant (comparing modern and 50's actors? Wow, he was really off his game).

"Both!" Ziva yelled, frustrated, and Tony's head snapped back to the conver – well, the lecture he was currently the brunt of. "You should have known something was wrong. You've stuck your ear into my business…"

"Nose."

"Nose into my business since day one, and now, when I needed you, you were nowhere to be found."

"The last time you needed me, you ran off to Israel, and got yourself taken as a prisoner of war."

She wanted to take this down into the gutter, he could work with that.

Anger was exhausting, but definitely easier.

"Do not bring that up now!"

"But Jeanne was fair game?" Tony came back instantly. He was still seated on the weight bench, not standing, as he normally would have.

Ziva noted idly that he must have overexerted himself. Not surprising, the idiot.

"And where do you get off talking to my Father like that?"

"Well, I was waiting for you to do it, but you seem to have left your spine somewhere. Do you want me to help you look for it?" Tony spat, deciding it was necessary, if a bit unwise, to take on the trained killer.

"Are you calling me weak?"

Tony rolled his eyes, frustrated.

"Ziva, the man is your kryptonite."

"My crypta-what?"

"Your…weakness. He's your weakness. I was just trying to take care of it for you. That's what you wanted, isn't it? Well now it's done."

With that, he got up and left, hoping futily that she'd leave it at that and not interpret it as him walking away from the conversation.

Nope.

Tony had made it as far as the changing room, the weight of the day crashing down on him, just ready to change and go home.

Now this is where Tony gets really stupid, because how could he just let her see like that? Although in retrospect, that was pretty much the catalyst for the rest of this shit.

Ziva stormed (this time really stormed) into the changing room after him, looking perfectly ready to strangle him with his own workout towel.

And stopped cold.

He'd taken off his shirt as he walked (he knows. Stupid), and she could now see how thin he'd gotten. It wasn't just due to the additional workouts – he looked nearly emaciated.

Kos och'tok.

Tony jumped when he saw her approach, having not seen her coming but she ignored the reaction. Should have known that if she had no qualms about sneaking all ninja-like into the men's room, men's locker room would have been a no brainer.

No wonder he'd been shaking on that last set, he could practically hear her thinking – he didn't look like he could support his own body weight any more.

Ziva approached him with a caution entirely unlike her, lifting a hand to Tony's rail-thin shoulders.

"What happened?" she asked in a hollow voice. Whatever it was, this was bad.

"What do you mean?" he asked, tugging his shirt back on quickly. Way to save your dignity, my man, Chandler Bing's voice rings in his head.

"Tony, you look worse than I did after three months in Somalia. What happened?"

"I've just been trying to lose some weight," he said, but Ziva's "spidey senses" noticed something very wrong. His tone…it was weak. He sounded about ready to collapse.

This was very bad.

"Did she do this to you?" she asked, murder in her voice.

Tony almost cracked a smile at the return of his protective partner. Felt nice for someone else to adopt the murder-voice for once. Still, defences being what they are, they don't just fall at the drop of a hat, like in countless movies Tony had seen. Not to mention, the DiNozzo man still had his pride. Barely, but still.

"Do what?" Tony demanded. "Nothing's wrong, I've just lost a little weight."

"Tony, there are corpses on Ducky's slab that look better than you. After autopsy. You can't think this is an improvement. Did Shayla make you do this?"

"Is it wrong for a wife to encourage her husband to work out?"

"You're married?" She demanded, grabbing Tony's arm and spinning him to face her way too easily. The bitch was dead. She just didn't know it yet.

"We will be. She loves me. And where am I gonna get anyone better?"

Yeah. That was a bad idea.

"The street corner? The bum that pisses on my building? McGee's dog?"

"Don't talk about her that way!" Finally grew a spine, that horrible voice in his head spat.

"Tony, she starved you half to death!"

"She did not! She never made me do anything! She just wanted me to be stronger, healthier." Believe me, Tony believed it. He's not an idiot. At least, not too much at this particular juncture.

Ziva pushed him lightly on the chest. It wouldn't have been enough to make Abby flinch, but Tony stumbled and grabbed on to the bench behind him. She raised an eyebrow critically.

"Stronger?"

Tony sighed, sitting heavily and breathing shallowly. Fuck.

"I didn't see that coming…" he stuttered. "I would have blocked that, but…"

"But you didn't know I was going to hit you. If a suspect does that, you're dead."

"I…"

"And whoever is with you is vulnerable. They'll be expecting you to be able to cover them, but you won't be able to stand."

They say there are several crystal-clear moments in a man's life. Oh don't look at him like that, this wasn't one of them. It was murky at best, but slightly clearer than two minutes ago. A memory forced its way to the front of his memory, one involving a tiny box, some fake money, and Ziva on top of him. Try as he might, when he was with Shayla, that feeling of...partnership, he guessed, just never came that easily. Maybe this was why. Otherwise, why would he be on the ground from a nudge, on the advice of his loving girlfriend?

"Ziva, I wouldn't…"

"I know you wouldn't endanger us, Tony," she said, sitting beside him so she wasn't towering over him and lecturing. "I've worked with you for more than five years, and you have never once failed to have my back. Even when you're obviously…" She stuttered, trying to find the right words to use. "In need of help, you're still there for me. But now, you have to let me have your back."

Warmth spread through Tony, a feeling missing for the last few months. He guesses that's why he allowed himself to be led to Ziva's car and force fed (some of which he threw up later, but she was right there then too).

Ziva waited till she had him safely tucked into her bed before she called Gibbs.

Screams. That's all hears, and all he sees is the flash of ambulance lights and the horrific smell of hospitals.

Don't worry. We're getting there.