Nikki

I try to continue to apply pressure to Gibb's abdomen – and to keep her talking and calm, but now I have the added inconvenience of pain – and a wound of my own that urgently needs pressure. I decide to try and ignore mine – despite the blood that's spurting and making me feel queasy. As a pathologist, I'm used to the sight of blood and the gory bits that come from people's insides – but it doesn't usually come from me. Still, I have my doctor head on and I'm absolutely determined to remain focused on my patient – though this repeatedly requires me to lean forwards and breathe through the pain.

It's one such occasion, when an arm wraps itself around my waist, pulling me upright into a sitting position. His other hand closes tightly around my upper arm – applying the pressure it so badly needs, for with neglecting my own needs in favour of helping Gibbs, I can feel myself getting weaker as the gushing blood saps my energy.

"I...told...you...not...to!" I hiss crossly between gasps. "Why...didn't you...listen?"

"You didn't listen to me either," He counters. "So-"

We hear Thomas sigh and I can imagine Clarissa rolling her eyes.

"You two, this is not the time for a domestic!" The former retorts loudly.

"Right. Sorry." We both mutter – considering ourselves suitably told off.

Jack momentarily releases his grip on my arm and rips a piece off his forensic suit to tie around the wound. It makes me gasp when he ties so tightly – and then for a moment, I want to cry. He loves his forensic suits – they're a sort of 'rite of passage' in his job – and he's just ripped one. It's silly really, but then I'm a bit emotional due to the pain.

I gather myself and refocus on my patient.

"I need to put more pressure on the wound." I tell her – and prepare to do just that, but Jack stops me and does it instead. Gibbs groans again as he does so. It's not pleasant – but hopefully it means it's working and stemming the blood flow.

"What's your name?" I ask – intent on keeping her talking.

"It's...Jen...nie." She answers.

"Jennie." I repeat.

"I'm sor-sorry you got hit." she manages to stammer.

"Armed command are on their way, Nikki." Jack tells me – apparently having heard it over the comms. To be honest, I haven't been paying much attention to the voices in the background.

"I need you to hold it." I tell Gibbs – aware that armed command will want Jack and I out the way when they arrive. "Can you put your hand here?" I indicate where Jack's hands are.

"They're here. Come on Nikki, we've got to go." He says.

"Is there anything else you can do?" Jennie gasps. "Am I going to be ok?"

"You are." I reassure her. "You are."

"Shots are coming from that direction" Jack yells at the armed officers, waving his arm. "There's an officer down in need of urgent medical assistance and Dr Alexander's been shot in the arm."

"This...Christmas...was going...to be...different." Jennie gasps.

"It is." I state firmly. "And one that you'll remember!"

"Yeah. Yeah." She agrees.

"Nikki, come on!" Jack repeats urgently.

As we get up, keeping low and turn to run into hiding, another gunshot ricochets. We both cry out this time and collapse on the ground, but only briefly as Jack manages to scramble to his feet, pulling me with him.

"Go. Go!" He hisses pushing me in front of him – and into the house where we think we're out of harm's way.

All I can hear is ringing and I know that I've been shot in the hand this time. Judging by the way I felt him tense up as I landed on him, Jack's been shot to.

Inside the house, we collapse against the wall, panting. We stay there a while and it's clear by his face that all Jack can hear is ringing to.

Once the sound begins to die down, we both realise that our ear pieces are as dead as a dodo. We can hear no one on them. Jack is about to throw his away in disgust - the whole thing, when I stop him.

"No wait. We can't hear them – but maybe they can hear us." I explain, indicating the mic and the camera. "That hit you, didn't it?" I add, ignoring the pain in my hand and not looking at what I know deep down, is fresh blood. I'm pretty certain there was only one bullet released that time, and it definitely hit Jack. I can't see how one bullet could have hit us both – so I tell myself that I'm imaging it.

"I don't want to talk about it." He mumbles, hauling me to my feet. "Come on, we'll be safer further in."

"Thomas, Clarissa – if you can hear us, we're going further into the house where it's safer." I repeat – just to make our position clear.

We're running on adrenalin at the moment and neither of us dare to stop and check the fresh wounds. We creep through the house, describing in soft tones what we find – just in case the information gets through. There are more bodies in the house – including a teenage girl, who would appear to have been in the process of making a drink. She must be one of McMorris's daughters. A young girl – what a sad waste of a life.

We go down some stairs as another shot rings out. We both crouch down at the bottom of the stairs.

"Shit They're getting closer." I whisper. "That sounded like it was in the house."

"It'll be ok." Jack whispers back – obviously wanting to reassure me. "I know where we can go." He adds, suddenly spotting something. He leads me out an open door, cautiously looking around to make sure we don't come face-to-face with the gunman. "They won't find us down here." He beams, removing the drain cover. "Can you manage with your arm?"

"I'll be fine." I insist.

However, going down the ladder is easier said, than done, for it becomes apparent as we climb down, that the second bullet went through my hand and is now in Jack's back. The blood oozes freely from a wound just below his shoulder, soaking through his forensic suit and I wonder how on earth he's still even standing.

The place goes really dark as he pulls the cover back over above him and we have to continue by feeling our way down – though once our eyes adjust to the darkness I can make out his silhouette above me.

"Jack!" I hiss as we reach the bottom of the ladder. "I saw before you closed the drain again - you're bleeding really badly."

"So are you." he answers, unconcerned by his own injury. "And you've been shot twice!"

"Oh. Well thanks for the reminder!" I mutter as he leads me along the sewer tunnel. What is it about Jack and sewers?!

"Can we stop?" I beg, finding myself exhausted as the current adrenalin rush comes to it's end.

He stops and turns to me in fright. I don't need to see his face to know that he's frightened by the perilous and potentially fatal situation we've found ourselves in. I know he's frightened before he even speaks – and when he does, his accent is barely intelligible. He speaks too fast when he's scared. "Areyougoingtocollapse?"

"No, I'm not going to collapse." I reassure him. "I just need a little rest, that's all." He seems relieved. "And I need to examine your back." I add. "Have you got a torch?" He always carries a torch in his pocket.

I can just about make out the outline of his head nodding. "Well, we should be safe enough here for now, I should think." He says, helping me through the water to perch on a pipe. It's not the most comfortable seat – but it will have to do for now. He unzips his suit and fumbles about before pulling out a little pocket torch.

"Lean forward a bit." I instruct, trying to help him out of his forensic suit. I have to stop, because I fear that it's causing more damage to the wound – and what with the dim torchlight and the forensic suit, I can't get a very good look – but I don't like what I can see. "Jack." I say in almost a whisper. "It looks really bad. With the amount of blood I can see, I can't imagine how you're still upright!"

"I'm fine." He responds with a shrug – one that he obviously regrets, because he grunts in pain.

"Ea-sy!" I warn him. "I can't see well enough to know how close to your heart the bullet is – so please, be careful and don't move too much. If the bullet catches your heart, I don't have the equipment to save you down here!"

"If I die, I die." He mutters – again unconcerned for his own well-being.

I shake my head at him in the darkness of our current prison. "If I dared to say something like that, Jack, you'd yell at me!" I point out tearfully. "I don't want to lose you any more than you want to lose me."

"Hey, hey. I'm sorry." He whispers softly, offering me the comfort of his other arm. "I shouldn't of said that. I'll be careful – I promise."

"Good. - and please let me know if you start feeling worse, ok? None of that 'macho' stuff you like to do." I add firmly.

"Ok, I will." He answers. "But that goes for you to, Nikki. You always say you're fine when you're not."

"Ok."

"Otherwise...I will retract the offer of spending Christmas at my Dad's with you!" He chuckles. "And no pizza for three weeks!"

I can't help giggling at that. I turn to lift my mic with my good hand – deciding suddenly that I ought to offer further information on our current situation. "Thomas, Clarissa, if you can hear us, we are down the sewer-"

Jack gives an involuntary snigger – apparently finding the funny side to our predicament.

"Shusssh!" I chide him. "Anyway, we went down the drain at the back of the house. We need medical assistance – Jack's been shot in the back and I don't know how serious it is but he's losing a lot of blood-"

At this point, Jack chooses to interrupt – intent on pointing out that I'm also losing blood. He leans down to my mic, despite having his own. "Nikki's been shot twice – once in the right arm and the other bullet went through her right hand! She needs help more than me!"

"Jack!" I reproach him – he just can't help himself and is starting to act all macho, playing down his injury.

"Sorry." He mutters and then appears to decide he needs to try and put things right, adding. "We're both in a bad way and we both need urgent medical assistance."

I'm not sure that was particularly helpful, but he is trying!