22Thank you all for your kind reviews! I intended this to be a three or four chapter little jaunt that I started writing because I was jonesing for some good Tony whumpage. But I think there will be more action for Tony and Cat in future chapters. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and welcomed, as are suggestions/constructive criticisms/ cookies (virtual or otherwise!) Enjoy!
Catherine scrambled to her knees beside the prone form of the NCIS agent. She felt her pantyhose rip on the rough cement as she pushed at Agent DiNozzo's shoulder, rolling him so that he laid flat on the ground. He groaned, his head lolling as she moved him. Even after such a short time knowing him, she knew that being still did not come naturally to Tony, and it scared her. Pressing two long fingers against his neck, she breathed a small sigh of relief when she found a pulse—fast and thready, but there.
"We need an ambulance over here!" she shouted, looking back at the dark-suited Secret Service agents. In the mix now were the uniforms of the metropolitan police officers, badges gleaming in the spotlight. One glanced her way and held up a hand as he spoke into his radio, acknowledging her shout for help. Two of the suits were approaching the prone body of the shooter, weapons drawn. The Secretary of Defense was being hustled up the steps into the building.
Looking back down at the agent lying prone on the cement, Catherine hurriedly unbuttoned his suit jacket, her stomach dropping at the flood of crimson that greeted her eyes. She quickly loosened his tie and didn't bother with the buttons on his grey dress shirt, taking two firm handfuls of his shirt and ripping. Buttons flew in all directions, and she tore off her white gloves, pushing down the nausea at the sight of bright red staining her fingers. Tony jerked and opened his eyes, raising his head in confusion. His eyes settled on her.
"You…all right?" he gasped out.
"I'm fine," she replied tersely, pushing aside the tattered remnants of his dress shirt. "But you're not." Blood soaked the plain white crewneck under Tony's shirt. She muttered a string of curses that she hadn't used since her Academy days.
"That…bad, huh?" Tony said, trying to get a look at himself. With a gentle hand, Catherine pushed him back down.
"Stay down and don't talk until the ambulance gets here," she said, her voice tight with worry. She quickly untucked the white cotton shirt, pulling it up and baring the agent's surprisingly muscular torso.
"You move fast," Tony wheezed, grimacing at the chill breeze on his bare skin. "Buy a guy…a drink first…why don't you…"
"What didn't you understand about not talking?" Catherine said. "Shit." There was so much blood she had trouble seeing where it was coming from, and she shrugged off her uniform jacket, using it to wipe the blood away until she saw the bullet-holes. One was in the muscle of his right shoulder, and she gently rolled Tony onto his side to look at his back. Sure enough, there was an exit wound in the back of his shoulder, dribbling blood in a steady stream just like the hole in his shoulder. "Sorry, this will hurt," she said, pressing her palm firmly onto the wound to stem the bleeding as she searched for the second bullet-hole—he had jerked twice when he'd tackled her, so there was certainly another wound. Agent DiNozzo went even paler, his skin ashy and his lips beginning to acquire a blue tinge.
Cat found the second bullet wound between two of Tony's ribs, also on the right side. She cursed even more expressively when she couldn't find an exit wound. "Where the hell is that ambulance?" she yelled, pressing hard on the shoulder wound and laying her ear against Tony's chest to listen to his breathing. Sure enough, there was a bubbling sound accompanying each of Tony's breaths. Her heart dropped. If he didn't bleed out from the shoulder wound, he would drown in his own blood, his lungs filling from the gunshot wound to his side.
"Son of a bitch!" shouted one of the Secret Service agents examining the shooter's body. "The bastard's got a bomb-vest with a timer!"
"Clear the area! Twenty seconds!" bellowed the second Secret Service agent, holstering his sidearm.
"Tony, you know that thing I said about not moving?" Cat said quickly, urgently. "Forget that. The shooter has a bomb-vest. We need to go." She tried to keep pressure on the shoulder wound and lift Tony at the same time. She was strong, but not strong enough to get him to his feet by herself, not when he was half-conscious. After a heartbeat the gravity of the situation seemed to penetrate the fog of pain cocooning the agent. Tony heaved himself up with a sound that was half a growl of determination and half a moan of pain.
They started hobbling away, Tony's motions horribly stilted by pain, weakened by the blood loss already inflicted in the minute since he had been shot. Cat knew with a terrible sinking feeling that they weren't moving fast enough. Goddamn it, why wasn't one of the Secret Service agents helping? And then she heard a gruff voice that was music to her ears, accompanied by heavy running steps.
"Move your ass, DiNozzo!" Gibbs growled, seizing his Senior Field Agent by the scruff of his neck, grabbing Tony's arm heedless of the younger man's cry of agony. Cat threw Tony's good arm over her shoulder and they ran for all they were worth, pelting headlong down the pavement. After a few strides, Tony went limp, becoming dead weight in the blink of an eye. Cat tripped at the sudden change in equilibrium, her black pump catching on an uneven crack in the sidewalk. Her ankle twisted painfully, the pop and snap of tendons and ligaments vibrating through the rest of her body; but she gritted her teeth and kicked off her other shoe as they ran, ignoring the white-hot shards of pain shooting up her leg. It was nothing compared to what Agent DiNozzo was suffering…because of her.
Twenty seconds seemed like an eternity of desperation, of pulling and pushing and praying that they were far enough away from the blast— maybe three more steps would save their lives—
"Down!" shouted Gibbs, sliding beneath Tony to take the weight of his agent on his own body, rather than let him hit the pavement unconscious. Catherine pressed herself tightly over the top of Tony's unconscious form, one hand still putting pressure on the shoulder wound and the other curled over her own face and neck, her ankle throbbing. She panted into the wet bloody cotton of the agent's shirt once, twice and then there was a sound so deafening it almost wasn't a sound at all, it was a feeling, a vibration that ripped through her body an instant before the heat enveloped them. Then she stifled a cry as hot metal hit the back of her legs—shrapnel, she realized, probably loaded into the bomb-vest to inflict the most damage. One shard hit her back and she bit down hard against the sharp pain, but it was the hot bright pain of a superficial wound, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to truly harm.
A leathery hand gripped her arm. "Lieutenant Everett!" came Gibbs' voice, as if through a railway tunnel.
She lifted her head from Tony's neck, blinking against the spots in her vision. Gibbs' mouth was moving and the words warped, like he was speaking underwater. With a frown she shook her head, and then swallowed and her ears popped with small bursts of agony. She gasped and put a hand to one ear, but the pain receded quickly, sound rushing back all at once.
"Are you all right?" Gibbs shouted.
"I'm fine," she answered breathlessly. "I can hear you now."
"Good," Gibbs said in his normal growl. He slid himself out from underneath his unconscious agent and rolled Tony over. "What happened?"
"When the Secretary of Defense was coming up the steps, a man with a gun ran across the street. I…I ran toward the Secretary and then his detail saw it. Tony saved my life. He tackled me and he was shot instead of me," Catherine explained quickly. "He was shot in the upper right shoulder and in the side. I think he has a punctured lung."
Gibbs' silence, and Tony's stillness, terrified her.
"Is he breathing?" she asked as the ex-Marine probed his agent's body with practiced hands.
"Barely," Gibbs grunted.
Running steps, and then a horrified voice. "Oh my God, Tony!"
Catherine looked up and saw a young-looking man with an agent's badge on his belt, firearm drawn, a slight sheen to his pale face. Behind him, the woman she had seen earlier stared down at the scene with grim dark eyes.
"Boss, what…is he going to be all right?" the younger agent stuttered, kneeling quickly by Tony's feet.
"I don't know, McGee," Gibbs replied tersely. He spared a glance for his two uninjured agents. "Ziva, take McGee and find the Director. Escort him home and then go get Ducky and Palmer. I want crime scene photos of that bomber."
Ziva stood frozen, staring down at Tony's immobile form. What she wouldn't give for him to open his eyes and tell her it was only a flesh wound…She drew her eyes away from her teammate's pale face and looked hard at the naval officer with Tony's blood all over her hands. The young woman met the former assassin's gaze resolutely. Gibbs glanced from the former Mossad operative to the naval officer, and then looked down at Tony again.
"Ziva," he said sharply, breaking the stare-down between the two women. "I want to know the bastard who did this to DiNozzo. I don't care that he's smeared all over the pavement, get Ducky and Palmer here now! You aren't doing him any good by just standing there!"
Ziva caught the lieutenant's green eyes with her own hardened dark gaze again. Catherine looked down at Tony, back up at Ziva and nodded. The older woman clenched her jaw and gave the barest suggestion of a terse nod in return. Without saying a word, Ziva took McGee's arm and pulled him away from Tony. Catherine saw the pain in her face as Ziva silently walked away, ignoring McGee's protests.
"Come on, DiNozzo, open your eyes," Gibbs said, tapping Tony's cheek. To Catherine's surprise, the agent frowned and then his eyes slowly fluttered open.
"Boss," he slurred in a weak voice. Then his gaze turned to Catherine, and sharpened. "She's…hurt."
Cat looked down and saw the lacerations on the back of her legs from the shrapnel, blood sliding in slow rivulets down her calf, staining her pantyhose darkly. "Don't worry about it, Tony, I'm fine," she said quickly. She saw Tony's hand spreading on the pavement, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against the hard surface as he fought the pain. On impulse, she slid her hand under his, and he gripped it reflexively as his body arched.
"On a scale of one to ten, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, pressing his own weight against the wound in his agent's shoulder.
"Seven," Tony gritted out. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe.
"Seven?" Gibbs said dryly. Catherine had the feeling that this was a game they played often.
"O…kay. You got me…boss. It's an…eight."
Catherine fought a wince as Tony's grip on her hand increased to bone-crushing intensity. She heard sirens in the distance. "They're coming, Tony," she said encouragingly. The back of her legs stung mercilessly. She watched helplessly as Tony arched again, his body fighting another spasm of pain. He gasped for breath, suddenly going limp. Gibbs put his full weight on the shoulder and Tony gave a small gasp of pure agony.
"Listen to me, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, his voice firm and urgent, his eyes sharply focused on his agent's fading gaze, "you stay with me, now. Breathe in, breathe out."
"Got it…boss."
"Don't talk," Catherine said, her voice almost pleading. Gibbs glanced at her, and the pain in his lined, stoic face took her breath away.
The sirens were closer, but not close enough. Cat looked down as Tony's grip loosened on her hand. She leaned over him, watching helplessly as his lively hazel eyes dulled.
"DiNozzo," Gibbs said sharply, shaking Tony's shoulder. Tony's head fell to the side, and his lifeless eyes chilled Cat to the core. She felt a rush of tears and panic and hurt, her heart clenching, but she took a deep breath and pushed the emotions down.
"He's—" she started in horror, but Gibbs cut her off.
"He's not gone yet," he said firmly, interlacing his hands and placing them on DiNozzo's chest. "Breathe for him."
Cat watched as Gibbs counted out the compressions, willing the sirens to come closer, willing Tony's heart to beat, willing him to live. At Gibbs' nod, she leaned over Tony, pinching his nose closed and sealing her mouth over his, pushing air into his lungs. His lips were so cold…Gibbs counted out compressions grimly, his eyes fixed on his agent's ashen face.
"Dammit, DiNozzo," he growled as Cat gave Tony another breath, "I didn't give you permission to die." He launched into another set of compressions with renewed vigor, not even wincing at the dull crack of one of Tony's abused ribs giving way under his ministrations. An ambulance screeched around the corner, leading a fleet of police cars and other ambulances, lights flashing and sirens blaring. As Cat gave Tony another breath, Gibbs stood and flagged down one of the ambulances, flipping open his badge.
"NCIS, I've got an agent down!" he shouted.
The back doors of the ambulance swung open and two blue-jacketed paramedics leapt to the ground, one carrying the emergency medical response kit and the other toting a bright yellow case—a defibrillator, Cat recognized.
"He's in cardiac arrest," she said as one of the paramedics cut away Tony's white t-shirt with a long, practiced stroke of his scissors. "Shot twice, once in the upper right shoulder, exit wound, and once on his right side, no exit wound." Her basic first-aid knowledge from SERE school came rushing to the front of her brain—if American pilots were shot down over enemy territory, they knew they had to evade capture and treat their own wounds. She hoped she never had to use those skills on any of her crew members or her co-pilot.
The male paramedic looked up at her and nodded tersely, checking the wounded agent's vital signs for himself. Cat sat back dazedly and watched as the two medics worked in perfect tandem, a flurry of wires and pads attached to Tony's bare chest in the blink of an eye.
"Intubating," the female paramedic said, tipping Tony's head back and gazing down in concentration as she threaded the tube past his vocal chords. "Got him." She snapped on an ambu-bag and began pumping air into Tony's lungs.
"Charging to two hundred," said the male paramedic, pressing buttons on the defibrillator. "Step back, please, ma'am," he said to her over the whine of the charging machine.
Cat wasn't sure if her ankle would hold weight, so she settled for awkwardly pushing herself backward, still on her knees. The male paramedic took the paddles of the defibrillator and held them over Tony's chest, barking, "Clear!"
The shock raced through the agent's body, his chest arching up off the ground before he fell back limply. The female paramedic straightened his head and began her rhythmic pumping of the oxygen bag again.
"Pushing an epi," said the male paramedic. He inserted a wickedly long needle directly into DiNozzo's chest, and looked up at Cat as he compressed the syringe. "How long was he down?"
"About, um, maybe a minute before you got here," she said, her voice hoarse.
"Ma'am, are you hurt?" asked another paramedic, touching her shoulder.
Where was Gibbs? Cat looked up and saw the senior NCIS agent staring down at the prone form of Agent DiNozzo. The older man's hands were loose at his sides and Cat could only describe the look on his face as…lost. He looked lost, watching the paramedics try to revive one of his team members.
"Ma'am?" prompted the paramedic.
"Shrapnel in the backs of my legs, and I twisted my ankle pretty bad," Cat answered distractedly. "A piece in my back, I think, too."
Gibbs ran his fingers through his silver hair as the paramedics working over Tony charged the defibrillator again. The shock lifted Tony's body from the ground, but this time, the paramedics paused, peering at the monitor as one small peak appeared, then another, then another in a slow but steady rhythm. Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing one hand over his face.
"Let's get you to the hospital," the paramedic said to Cat.
"Can I ride with him?" Cat said. It was more of a request than a question.
"You should really ride separately, if you're not blood-related," the paramedic answered, using gauze to sponge away some of the blood along Cat's calves.
"He took those bullets for me," she said fiercely. "I'm riding with him."
After a pause, the paramedic nodded. "All right."
Within minutes, they had Tony in a cervical collar, and Cat's paramedic went to help lift him onto the backboard. They lifted the backboard onto the stretcher and began loading him into the ambulance, leaving Cat still sitting on the sidewalk and Gibbs standing a few feet away, gazing down at the vivid smears of blood on the pavement, the pool of crimson that had come from his agent.
"Agent Gibbs," Cat said, using her good leg as leverage as she tried to stand. "They're letting me ride with Tony—Agent DiNozzo."
Gibbs grabbed her arm and steadied her as she hissed in pain, the movement pulling at the lacerations on the back of her legs. "Easy, ma'am," he said gently.
"Catherine," she said, gripping his forearm with a white-knuckled hand. She gazed up at him. "Your agent saved my life, and I'll make sure they take good care of him."
With his other hand, Gibbs reached into his jacket pocket and gave her one of his cards. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he said. "If anything…if there's a change…" He stopped and visibly gathered himself. "Call me with any news."
She nodded. "I will, sir."
A small smile touched the corner of Gibbs' mouth as he replied, "Don't call me sir. I work for a living."
That time-worn reply—uttered by Navy chiefs and Marine Corps gunnery sergeants—elicited a wobbly smile from Lieutenant Everett. She asked one of the paramedics to pick up her uniform jacket, and her cover. Gibbs handed her up to one of the other paramedics in the ambulance, who promptly wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her upper arm.
"Gibbs?" she called out as the last paramedic hopped up into the back of the ambulance. The silver-haired NCIS agent turned in response to her call. "Tell Ziva and McGee that I'm watching out for him. Tony's a hero."
Glancing at the flurry of activity around his senior field agent, strapped to the gurney in the ambulance, Gibbs nodded once. "And someday," he said softly to himself, "being a hero just might kill him." Then the ambulance doors shut and the siren blared to life, leaving Gibbs standing in the smoke and ash of the bomber's destruction, fervently hoping that today wouldn't be that someday for Agent Anthony DiNozzo.