Mmkay. Here we go. Chapter number 10, which I wrote like, two months ago and it's been sitting in my notebook while I've painstakingly worked my way up to it. By no means does this mean the story is almost over...but I believe we have reached some sort of turning point in the way things go.

Happy New Year to everyone, by the way. Yay 2009! Haha...that's my apartment number. :D Sorry, off topic, i know. But that's why you love me, right?

Has anyone seen the previews for the upcoming episode? It looks very McGee-centric, which is AWESOME. I love episodes about McGee.

Alright, well, I'm going to go back and continue my browsing of old Whose Line Is It Anyway episodes.

Chapter 10

I don't know how long I was out; it could have been hours or merely seconds that I lay there in the ditch along the empty highway. But as I gradually regained my senses, I tried to take stock of my predicament. I was outside the city limits, definitely, along some unknown highway at who knows what ungodly hour of the morning. It made the chance of my being discovered quickly very slim indeed.

There was no will in my muscles to move, so I continued to lie in the soft grass. I could tell that they had removed my phone, badge, and my ID, because in the position I was in I should have been able to feel them digging into me. My entire left shoulder was soaked in blood, labeling me as a possible maniac to anyone I should happen to flag down, therefore killing my chances of hitching a ride.

So I guess I just needed to figure out which direction D.C. was in and start walking, not that I liked the idea of moving right now. My other choice, however, consisted of continuing to lie in this ditch and bleed to death…another unappealing option. It was only a matter of time before animals started coming by to use me as breakfast or something.

But maybe Gibbs would come for me. Maybe if I just stayed put he would be able to find me soon and I wouldn't have to move. However, I knew this was a foolish idea. I remembered the identical vans that had left the house. The other one must have gone off in the opposite direction; Gibbs wouldn't have any idea where to look for me. I would have to help him out.

It was with that in mind that became the final motivation for me to actually move. Groaning like an old man, I managed to bring myself to a sitting position.

Goal one: accomplished.

What now?

Now that I was sitting, it was easier for me to see the problematic issue of there being no cars on the road. If only Ziva or Gibbs had taught me their crazy military sense of direction, then I would know which way to start walking. I could almost hear Gibbs' voice in my head, like Obi Wan Kenobi did to Luke Skywalker…only I wasn't being told to use the Force.

"Start walking. If you end up in Nebraska then you've gone the wrong way."

A lot of help that old man was.

Headlights suddenly came into view from around the trees, bathing the surrounding area with light for a few brief seconds. I didn't have the time or physical ability to react to the abrupt appearance, so I just sat there on the ground stupidly.

You're a fucking retard, DiNozzo.

I know.

Why do you get yourself into these situations?

Life hates me.

You need to take better care of yourself.

I've tried. It's boring.

Another half an hour and another car came and went as I sat there in the cold, dewy grass. I really needed to stand up.

I wondered if it was worth the risk to stand in the middle of the road. Maybe someone would see me then…but I doubted it. People driving this time of night were either cab drivers or drunk, and neither of them had a high rate of missing road obstructions. Though it would be an easier way to go. If I was hit just right, it would be less painful than my current path of bleeding to death.

I almost felt Gibbs slapping me on the back of the head for that. I sighed. Well, I wasn't going to get anywhere just sitting here like an idiot. With another loud groan of agony as pain shot through my entire body, I pushed myself up off the ground. Blood trickled down my arm, warm and unpleasantly sticky. I swayed when I finally managed to stand upright, teetering on the impulse to just fall back down and not get up. It would be so much simpler and less painful.

But I remained standing; I don't to this day know how I did it. It must have been a miracle. I was insanely dizzy from the massive amount of blood that I had already lost, but I was still able to maintain consciousness. That was good. You can't do anything helpful when you're passed out on the ground like an imbecile.

Headlights appeared again in the darkness, illuminating the dark, unlit highway. Using the remaining shreds of adrenaline my body had left, I did the stupidest thing I could think of. I ran out into the road, holding my uninjured arm up. I knew that it was going too fast to not hit me before it stopped, so I closed my eyes and braced myself for the impact. There was a screech of tires, however, and at the last moment I jumped to the side and let it slide past me.

It was a cab, and was thankfully unoccupied by anyone but the driver.

"What the hell is your problem?" the driver demanded, after he had pulled over to the side of the road, overcome his momentary shock and launched himself out of the front seat of the car, slamming the door behind him. "Are you trying to get yourself killed or something?"

The guy sounded like he was from New York City. That was good…that meant he was less likely to be a gypsy and more likely to take a bleeding federal cop where he needed to go, no questions asked.

"I need a lift," I said quickly. "To NCIS, Navy Yard, Washington D.C."

"How do I know you're―"the man started to say, then broke off quickly, catching sight of my less-than-pristine condition. "Oh no," he said, backing away. "Whatever it is, I'm not getting involved."

I sighed. I guess I didn't really blame him. If I had been asked by a guy in the middle of the night on a deserted highway, covered in blood and claiming to be a federal agent to ride in the same vehicle as me, then I would have gotten straight back in the car and driven very fast the other way.

"Listen, I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I'm working a case and I need a lift back to D.C."

"You're a Special Agent, huh? Let me see your badge then."

Damn.

"Badges? We ain't got not badges! We don't need no badges! I don't have to show you any stinking badges!"

There was something seriously wrong with me if movie quotes popped into my head even in situations such as these.

"I'd show you a badge, but the last ride I was on stole it from me," I said, knowing how feeble that statement sounded.

"How do I know you're not like, an axe murderer or something?" he questioned, raising a valid point.

"I'm not carrying and axe, am I?" I pointed out. "And if I was, then why would I ask for you to take me to a federal building?"

"So you can blow it up?"

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. "Am I an axe murderer or a suicide bomber?"

"You tell me."

I sighed again. I was definitely not going to be able to keep this up much longer. My body was running out of the ability to remain conscious. "Listen, You take me to where I want to go, I'll pay you triple when we get there."

That seemed to get his attention. Money was always a good way to conquer fear…I just hoped we weren't too far away from D.C. or this guy was going to end up with half my paycheck.

Apparently, I was offering to give him more money than he thought an axe murderer or a suicide bomber should have, because I saw the faint glimmer of acceptance in his eyes.

"Alright, get in," he mumbled, gesturing to the car. Thankful to all of the higher powers in existence, I stumbled to the ugly yellow slice of heaven. The cabby hung back, unsure if I needed help or not.

I didn't at first, and was very proud of myself for this, but halfway there the world swayed and caused me to lose balance. The cab driver caught my uninjured arm to prevent me from crashing into the pavement.

"Are you absolutely sure you don't want me to take you to a hospital instead?" he asked. "You're in pretty bad shape."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding. Did you get shot?"

"Stabbed," I replied as I leaned against the side of the car. "And two days ago a real suicide bomber blew up a warehouse I happened to be standing in front of. I'm still sore from that."

"The warehouse…by the docks? On the other side of town?"

"Yeah. You heard about that?"

"They said it was a gas explosion on the news."

"Because that's what we told them to say," I groaned. "Don't you read any crime fiction novels?"

They guy was silent. "I did read one…" he said. "called Deep Six. By Thom E. Gemcity."

I stared at him for a long second. This could not be happening to me.

"I love his books, and so does my wife. They just seem so realistic..."

"You have no idea," I muttered.

Gently, the driver set me in the front seat ―very unorthodox―and proceeded to drive on into the darkness.

"Where exactly are we?" I asked after a moment when things still didn't look familiar.

"About forty miles outside Washington, on the Virginia side," he responded.

No wonder I couldn't see any city lights. That car ride must have been longer than I thought.

"I'd lend you my phone so you could call somebody," he said after a moment. "But the battery's dead." He held the thing up for proof.

"That's fine…"I said quietly, leaning back and closing my eyes, trying to ignore the pain in my entire body.

"Hey, hey, hey," the man said anxiously, noticing my closed eyes. "What am I supposed to do if you die?"

"Take me to NCIS and tell someone."

"You seem awfully untroubled about it."

"I'm thinking that death would be less painful right now."

"Are you absolutely sure you don't want me to take you to a hospital?"

"Yes. Drive."

I floated in and out of consciousness as he continued on, listening only vaguely to the driver rambling on. I could tell he was trying to keep me talking, afraid that I would slip off and die if he let me fall asleep. I mostly concentrated on trying not to move.

After a long while, we slowed and came to a stop and the cab driver rolled down his window, letting in the chilly morning air. The sun was starting to come up now and the darkness was fading away.

"We're here," he announced, turning to me, and I opened my eyes. "At NCIS. What do I say to the guards?"

"The truth."

I saw the two guards at the gate come out and walk to the cab, their boots crunching loudly on the gravel.

"I've got a wounded man here who says he's a federal agent," the driver said before the guards could speak or draw any hasty conclusions. "He told me to bring him here."

"Name?"

The question was directed at me. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," I responded, and I felt a flashlight being waved in my face.

"Your ID please, sir."

"I was on a mission on Special Agent Gibbs' team and it went screwy," I explained. "The guys we were chasing took it from me."

The guard sighed, not wanting to be too difficult in case their need to be thorough caused me to bleed to death before I got help. "Is there anyone in the building that could verify your identity?" he asked finally.

"Call Abby Sciuto, the forensic scientist," I said, saying the first name that came into my mind. I knew that none of the team would be back yet; it would be very un-Gibbs like to not to at least try and follow one of the vans. Plus, there was the whole issue of Michelle's body in the basement of that house; a crime scene that needed to be processed. I shifted in my seat, then instantly regretted the decision. "On second thought, call Doctor Mallard. If he's in."

The light left my face to shine on my blood covered shoulder and arm. Swift orders were given to find Ducky. I leaned back against the seat again and let the voices wash over me as I closed my eyes once more. I heard the guards talking to the cab driver and gave him instructions to slowly pull forward into the Yard. After an undefined amount of time, I began to hear Ducky's Scottish accent on the edges of my consciousness.

"Oh, Tony, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" he said, sort of like a parent gently scolding a child who had come in the house covered in mud.

"It's just a scratch, Ducky. Just give me a Band-Aid and I'll be right as rain before Palmer can say 'blood loss'."

I opened my eyes and saw Ducky and Palmer, taxi door open and a hand inspecting my injured shoulder.

"Get the gurney, Mr. Palmer," Ducky ordered.

"I don't need that!" I protested quickly. "My shoulder's hurt…not my legs."

I attempted to get out of the car, but swayed slightly. Palmer stepped forward and prevented me from crashing head first into the pavement. "Although I am a little dizzy. Maybe I can just borrow Palmer here to keep me on my feet."

Ducky sighed, and I could have sword the words "Just like Gibbs" had escaped his lips before going ahead to prepare Autopsy. Palmer, thankfully, didn't pester me with questions as we followed the ME at a slower pace. I was glad of this; visions of Agent Lee's death kept coming up…and I really did not want to be the one to break the news to him.

"Set him in my chair, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said as the doors swished open.

"Yes, Dr. Mallard."

"And call an ambulance, would you please."

"I don't need an ambulance," I said as Ducky began prying away my lame attempt at bandaging myself up.

"You should have gone straight to the hospital," he told me, setting down his white First Aid kit on the desk. "Now, tell me what happened," he said, sitting on a stool and with the help of Palmer began to cut my shirt away from the wound.

"We were chasing a suspect, and then all of a sudden he turns around and stabs me with this huge knife. It must have been seven inches long."

"And he shoved it all the way in, then pulled it out?"

"How did you know that?"

"The amount of blood loss and shape of the wound, Tony. And the absence of a knife remaining in your shoulder."

The entire left sleeve of my shirt was gone, and I could see the semi-clotted blood had created grisly streaks all the way down to my hand.

"You're going to need stitches, I believe," Ducky pronounced. "Can you move your arm at all?"

As I tried to lift my left arm from its limp position at my side, I discovered that several things didn't work like they should have. The pinkie and ring finger on my hand were numb and didn't seem to want to move.

"Ducky…" I said. "Half my fingers aren't working."

"I noticed," he replied thoughtfully. He reached over and squeezed them. "Can you feel that?"

"They're numb, but I can sort of feel it. I'm numb all the way up to my shoulder."

"I believe your ulnar nerve is in distress," Ducky pronounced. "That will take surgery to fix."

"Ambulance is on its way," Palmer said, interrupting. "And Gibbs and the rest are back."

"They are?" I said, getting up out of the chair. "Okay."

"Tony, you stay here until the ambulance arrives," Ducky said firmly, pushing me back down. "Mr. Palmer, did you tell Gibbs that Tony is here?"

"No…he hung up before I could. But he and the others are coming down anyway."

"Alright then, let's see what we can do about cleaning Tony up as much as we can before the EMT's from Bethesda arrive."

As Palmer busied himself on the other side of the room, I began to think.

"I think I'm going to do something crazy, Ducky," I pronounced, an idea forming in my head.

"My dear boy, I don't think your body can take much more of that from you today."

"You remember that problem I was discussing with you before? That I needed your advice on?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's not a problem anymore."

I saw a small smile cross his features. "Congratulations, Tony."

"Yeah, and up in the office earlier we―"

I was interrupted by the doors swishing open. Gibbs strode in, followed closely by Ziva, McGee, and Abby.

"Ah, Jethro," Ducky said. "You're just in time to escort Anthony here to the emergency room."

"Tony!" I heard Ziva shout as soon as she noticed me in the chair. I stood up, ignoring the protests from both Ducky and my injured arm, and ran to meet her halfway across the room. She looked like she was about to fling her arms around me, but stopped halfway through the motion when she saw the blood, her eyes widening in shock and distress. I didn't care, however; I took two steps forward and used my good arm to bring her closer to me. The possible threat that I might not have been able to see her again had turned on a light bulb inside my brain. What if I had been stabbed in an area that was much worse? What if I didn't live past my time in the ditch on the side of the road? I realized that I had come very close to not seeing her again, and that was something that sent cold shivers down my spine. After a split second's hesitation where I pondered the pros and cons of this being witnessed by Gibbs, I leaned down and kissed her.

After she got over her initial surprise, I felt her throw herself into the kiss. I was starting to get dizzy again from the sudden movement, but holding onto Ziva with the one hand was keeping me upright for now. She put her arms around my neck carefully, not wanting to hurt my shoulder too much, and pulled herself closer to me. I guess she didn't mind getting blood all over her shirt. I kissed her fiercely, with all everything I had left in my body―which was not much. I didn't care what Gibbs thought right now, I really didn't. He could fire me, and I wouldn't mind.

Of two things, however, I was absolutely certain: one, I could have died tonight, and never have seen Ziva again. And two: I had finally come to understand what Paula was saying that time, about life being too short not to say what you feel.

Life seemed incredibly short to me right now, as unending blackness came at me from all sides. My knees buckled, and there was the sensation of falling. I heard someone call my name urgently.

And then I heard nothing.

Oh, and by the way, the quote in italics that Tony was thinking of about badges is from the movie The Treasure of Sierra Madre, 1948. In case you were wondering. It's pretty famous.

QUESTIONS?

COMMENTS?

CRITIQUE?

EPISODE DISCUSSION?

IDEAS FOR A ONE-SHOT I COULD DO?

BURNING DESIRE TO SEE GIANT TALKING IRISH MUSHROOMS IN HOT PINK DRESSES?

Feel free to leave a review, and I can help you with 5 out of the 6.