A/n: Sorry for the wait. I'd have held back lucky chapter 13 if I'd known FFN was going to slip into a coma and prevent me from uploading documents for a week.

The sound of the first gunshot took Gibbs by surprise. Still, he was already sprinting for the basement when the din of further gunfire erupted. Taking no notice of anything but his path to the basement door, he nearly slipped when his foot lost traction in the blood pool surrounding Dr. Franklin's body. He didn't even take a moment to recover his balance, careening forward with increased rapidity. The shooting had stopped, but he was even more worried now. There were no shouts, no sounds of movement. Just silence.

He skidded to a stop in front of the door. The body of a man was sprawled at the foot of the stairs, his glassy eyes staring vacantly toward his unattained escape. A gun was loosely gripped in his right hand.

As he descended the stairs, Gibbs relaxed slightly; he could now hear both Tony and Ziva's voices.

"Tony, don't."

"I'm trying to help."

"I know. Don't. Just hang onto this for me."

Gibbs tensed as he realized something was seriously wrong. "Gibbs, coming down," he called. He couldn't see his two agents until he awkwardly maneuvered himself over the dead body to reach the floor.

"Boss, call an ambulance." Tony didn't look at him but stayed focused on Ziva. She was doubled over, clutching her stomach. Tony had one hand under her jacket, somewhere on her lower back. His other covered both of hers, pressing her abdomen. Bright red blood seeped between his fingers, trickling down to soak into the cream-colored carpet.

Gibbs scanned the basement fleetingly as he dialed. He grabbed a stack of dishtowels from behind the bar and tossed them to Tony. He swore as his phone failed to connect. "I can't get a signal down here."

Tony didn't seem to hear. He was trying to get Ziva to sit back, gently pulling up on her shoulders. When he had her sitting against the wall, he unzipped her jacket. He carefully pulled it away from the wound, murmuring for her to stay still. The amount of blood that had stained her light gray sweater prompted Gibbs to head for the stairs.

He paused just after scrambling over the dead shooter. Someone was moving around upstairs. He raised his gun in anticipation. A voice carried down the stairs, "Hello? This is Rosslyn PD. Agent Gibbs? Are you here?"

Gibbs holstered his weapon and shouted, "In the basement. I've got a wounded agent."

A uniformed policeman appeared at the head of the stairs. His radio crackled as he rapidly demanded aid. "Request assistance at one-one-eight-seven Orchard Drive. Officer down, repeat, officer down."

Gibbs jumped back over the corpse. He raised his camera and snapped three pictures before seizing the man's ankles and dragging him off to the side. The officer had come halfway down the steps. "Bus is on the way, sir, ETA ten minutes."

"Good." He turned back to his agents. Tony had managed to remove Ziva's jacket completely and apply the dishtowels as temporary compresses. Her face was ashen, but she was still talking. Gibbs couldn't hear what she was saying, but it drew a smile from Tony.

"You're gonna be on all Jell-O and ice cream for a while, I think." He turned his head as Gibbs approached. "Help coming, boss?"

"Yeah." Gibbs eyed the stairs, imagining trying to get a gurney down then back up. "Can you carry her?"

"Yeah, boss, but you'll have to keep pressure on the wounds."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," she said in a near-whisper. "I can walk."

She struggled weakly to rise as Gibbs took Tony's position, pressing the towels against her stomach and back. He tried not to notice that the ones in front had already soaked through. "You're not walking anywhere."

She gave him what would have been a withering look if not for wince that followed it. "Gibbs, I'm not…"

"Ziva, we're the last people you need to convince how tough you are."

Tony grunted as he lifted her into his arms. "Besides, how many chances do you think you're gonna get to question my strength and conditioning as I carry you up a flight of stairs?"

Her shaky laugh quickly changed into a cough. They stopped talking as the moved up the stairs, Gibbs ascending backward in order to maintain his hold on the makeshift bandages. As they emerged from the back hallway, he heard a familiar voice.

"I'm the Medical Examiner, officer, and Agent Gibbs will not be pleased when he finds out…"

"Ducky, get over here!"

"As I said, officer, my presence is perfectly…Oh!" Ducky exclaimed as he rounded the corner and caught sight of Ziva in Tony's arms. "My dear, what happened to you?"

"Gunshot," Gibbs replied for her. "Paramedics are on the way. Do whatever you can until they get here."

Ducky replaced Gibbs at her side, gingerly lifting the saturated towels. He grimaced, saying, "Mr. Palmer, fetch some dressings from the van."

Jimmy stood back a few paces, wide-eyed and staring. "Is she going to be okay, Dr. Mallard?"

"I don't know, Mr. Palmer, but I do know that, unlike most of our patients, she cannot wait while you satisfy your insatiable curiosity. Dressings, now!"

Gibbs watched the young assistant race out the door. He tried to wipe his hand on his coat, but found he was only smearing the blood around. A siren wailed in the distance. He sighed and rubbed his hand hard against his pants before taking his cell phone from his pocket. He had a signal now.

Cynthia stared at the closed door of Director Shepard's office. The Undersecretary of Defense and Director of the CIA had been inside for more than two hours and she was getting tired of fielding calls from their functionaries, demanding to speak to their bosses, posthaste. She didn't know why they couldn't accept that no, she couldn't interrupt the meeting and no, she didn't know when it would be over.

The phone rang only once. Her tone was less cordial that normal when she answered, "Director Shepard's office."

"Cynthia, put me through."

She sighed with frustration knowing that, of all the people who had called the office that night, he was the least likely to be deterred. "I'm sorry Agent Gibbs, but she's in a meeting and asked not to be disturbed, not even by you. Or maybe she said especially not by…"

He cut her off, "Officer David's been shot."

Cynthia inhaled sharply. This wouldn't be considered an intrusion. "Hold while I put you through." Out of habit she waited for the blinking red light to assure herself that she hadn't unintentionally hung up. She took a deep breath and buzzed the Director. Not surprisingly, the summons went unanswered. Rather than trying again, she walked quietly to the door. She knocked and entered without waiting for an acknowledgement.

Shepard was seated at the head of her small conference table, looking at her expectantly. Cynthia proceeded directly to her. She leaned forward and quietly stated, "We have an emergency. Agent Gibbs is on the line." At an incredulous look from Shepard, she lowered her voice even further. "Officer David has been shot."

"Gentlemen!" Shepard declared, abruptly standing. "We'll have to continue this at some other time."

The two men chose not to argue with the finality in her tone and begrudgingly collected their papers. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Cynthia pressed the speaker button of the SoundStation on the conference table. Shepard didn't question her continued presence as she addressed Agent Gibbs. "Jethro, what happened?"

"The short version, Jen? We got jumped at a crime scene. Ziva's been shot. Paramedics are just walking through the door."

Cynthia knew Shepard wouldn't be wringing her hands the way she was if Gibbs were standing in front of her. "It's serious or you wouldn't be calling me so promptly."

"She's lost a lot of blood. But we've got another problem."

"The shooter got away."

"No. He'll be returning with Ducky. It's just that I've got an active crime scene and I need my team here…"

Shepard was nodding knowingly. "I'd have met her at the hospital anyway. Which one?"

Gibbs called to someone, "Hey, where are you taking her?" The reply was indecipherable, but he repeated it. "Georgetown. I'll let her know you're coming."

"Thank you, Jethro." Shepard pressed the disconnect button herself. "Cynthia, I'm sorry to have kept you so late. If you could just arrange a car for me…"

"Of course, Director." She paused in the doorway. "Shall I get Tel Aviv on the line?"

"No. Not until we know her condition." Shepard sat heavily in the chair behind her desk, sweeping some papers into a drawer.

"I'm sure she's going to be fine."

"Of course she is, Cynthia. My car?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Something seemed off to McGee as he slammed the door of the truck and jumped out of the way of an ambulance that was pulling away from the house. Ambulance? That was weird. Gibbs had given him the impression that Franklin was dead enough not to merit a visit from the paramedics. He shrugged his shoulders; the local cops might have called them in.

He grabbed four bags from the rear of the truck and schlepped them up to the house, wondering why no one had been keeping an eye out for him. Plenty of neighbors in various states of dress had managed to gather outside. He could certainly use some help with all the gear. A uniformed officer at the door nodded him in. "You're NCIS, too? Guess you're late for a hell of scene."

He knitted his eyebrows and frowned. "Yeah, wish I could have been here."

The officer regarded him strangely as he passed.

McGee dropped the bags in the foyer and looked around for Gibbs. Pulling protective booties over his shoes, he listened for voices. Gibbs and Tony sounded like they were talking somewhere off to the right; Ducky's accent was audible from further away. He decided to follow the muffled conversation, pausing in the doorway of a living room. With his notebook out, Gibbs was sitting in a wooden chair in front of Tony on the couch. "What happened then?"

McGee was stunned to see that Tony's hands appeared to be covered in blood. Why hadn't he gone with the ambulance if he was hurt? McGee remained silent, listening. "There was a, a, I don't know, a cubbyhole under the stairs, like a little storage space where you shove the Christmas decorations. We didn't even see it. We were looking at the safe and we had our backs to the stairs. We never even noticed it was there. I mean, the side of the stairs have that paneling on them and it blended in, couldn't even see the hinges."

"Tony…" In his head, McGee thanked Gibbs for trying to get Tony back on track. He'd heard enough to know something bad had happened, but not enough to find out what it was.

Tony rubbed his chin, leaving a wet red mark. He wouldn't be so careless with someone else's blood, would he? McGee wanted to clear his throat, let them know he was there so he could find out what had happened, but something stopped him as Tony began to speak again. "The safe looked like someone tried to force it and we were looking at that and he just popped out. We thought the room was clear." His voice conveyed none of its usual confidence. "We should have thought to check…I should have…do they even have those cubbies in Israel? Maybe she didn't even know it could have been there and I just didn't think to check it and…"

McGee had finally heard enough. "Boss, what happened to Ziva?"

Gibbs didn't turn away from Tony. "Bad guy shot her, Tim. She's on her way to the hospital."

"But don't worry, Probie." McGee was taken aback by the odd glint in Tony's eyes. "He got the worse end of the deal." The amusement in his voice had an awful gloom in it. He looked back at Gibbs. "He aimed at her first. I turned and he was aiming at her. Why didn't he shoot me first? I was right there. You'd have shot me first, right boss?"

"Yeah, Tony. Just for different reasons." Gibbs smiled kindly and placed a hand on Tony's shoulder.

His demeanor changed slightly. "Thanks, boss."

"Right then. Let's get to work. McGee, there's a smashed CUP on the back patio."

"CPU," he amended automatically. He wanted to ask how badly Ziva had been hurt, if she was going to be all right, who had shot her, but Gibbs' tone declared the topic closed for the moment.

Gibbs had ignored his correction. "Bag it so you can take it back to Abby and put it back together. Once you've done that take the office upstairs. Tony, go clean up in the truck, then take the kitchen. I'll take the basement."

"Boss, I should probably take…"

"The kitchen, DiNozzo. And the bloody footprints leading from the kitchen to the basement are mine."

McGee turned in the direction of the smashed computer on the back porch and mentally amended what he'd said to the officer earlier. He did not wish he could have been there.