Title: Memento Mori

Summary: Can Tony keep himself and Gibbs from dying?

Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

Spoilers: Nothing specific.

A/N – Good News: This story is complete and a chapter will be posted every other day with the exception of tomorrow and no postings on Saturdays.

A/N – Bad News: Some chapters are cliffhangers. I have no medical or weapons knowledge and am not that great at coming up with case details, so please be kind if you review those parts. And last but not least, I had no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

Dedication: Blame this fic on GibbsRules. I offered to write her a something for her birthday and all she had to do was supply the plot bunny.

To GibbsRules: Happy Birthday, my friend! I hope you like your story! :D

ooooooo

Chapter One: Nightmare Coming to Life

I'm dreaming. I have to be otherwise this is my worst nightmare coming to life.

Gibbs and I are in a dark, musty warehouse by the train station tracking a suspect. We hear a noise and Gibbs signals for us to split up so we can flank the guy. I start to protest saying that there wouldn't be anyone to watch his six but Gibbs, impatient to have this case be over, 'politely' insists.

I follow his order but do so reluctantly. If we were somewhere more secure I could and would argue my point, but now is definitely not the time. I'm just afraid, and my gut agrees, that we're walking into a trap without adequate back-up. Our suspect has already killed at least one person and we have no idea if he has any accomplices.

I understand Gibbs' impatience – Jackson is coming to visit today for a long weekend, and he is really looking forward to spending time with his dad. I feel a twinge of jealousy over that. My dad just calls or shows up whenever it suits him or he needs something from me. Knowing this is definitely neither the time nor the place; I push the angry, jealous feelings aside and continue my search of the warehouse.

So far there's no sign of the guy our tip said was holed up in this ancient-looking place and no additional noises have been made or heard since that first one. Right now the sound of my breathing is loud compared to the near silence of my surroundings. From outside, I can hear the very faint sounds of a train in the distance.

Suddenly the silence is broken by two gunshots in quick succession from a gun that is definitely not Gibbs' SIG. Then in answer, there are three evenly spaced gunshots from a SIG – Gibbs'. I release the breath I didn't know I'd been holding. If Gibbs can return fire, then he's still reasonably OK – for now.

I hightail it towards the sounds of the gunfire. As I'm running back towards where I last saw Gibbs, I hear more gunshots. This time, besides Gibbs' SIG, I hear the sound of two possibly three weapons echo across the warehouse.

I knew it was a bad idea to split up! Why didn't Gibbs' gut warn him of the impending danger? Was it because he was so impatient to have this case over and done with?

Earlier today I thought I'd heard Gibbs talking to his dad on the phone – something about picking him up? Gibbs is always a little off, a little bit different when his dad is in town. Maybe that's why he didn't pay attention to his gut warning him of the danger he – we – are now in.

I finally approach the area where I thought I'd heard the gunfire come from. From my vantage point behind some crates, I can see Gibbs is using several other smaller crates as cover. Unfortunately though my cover is preventing me from getting eyes on our attackers.

I see Gibbs glance my direction and we lock eyes for a moment before gunfire erupts once again. Gibbs ducks the first volley, but then as he stands up to return fire, I hear a gunshot just before seeing Gibbs' head snap back and to the right.

No! My head screams as I watch my worst nightmare play out before my eyes.

Gibbs has been hit in the head… O God. No. He can't be…

Not like Kate! Please not like Kate…

Suddenly all rational thought leaves my brain and I break cover to run towards Gibbs' fallen body. I hear gunfire and as I run, I return fire, feeling nothing but my adrenaline flowing as I make it to Gibbs.

Out of breath, I crouch behind the crates for a moment as I stare at Gibbs' crumpled form. I'm afraid to touch him and am dreading having to see the damage done to my mentor and friend. And, I'm also hoping beyond hope that he is somehow still alive.

From somewhere ahead and to the left of my position I hear someone curse so I'm pretty certain I hit one of the bad guys, but I still don't know how many of them there are in total.

And, right this minute, I don't really care because all I can think right now is Gibbs needs me – even if he may be…

I shake my head roughly to dispel my morose assumption. First things first, I need to get Gibbs back behind cover. As he fell, part of his body landed out in the open leaving him lying directly in the line of fire should the bad guys choose to shoot at a man down.

Gibbs is lying on his right side with his arm outstretched and still holding his weapon. I grab his legs and pull Gibbs back behind cover just as more gunfire erupts around me. Multiple rounds hit the crates and cause splinters to fly out and dig into my left cheek. I can feel a trickle of blood running down my face, but I ignore it. The first thing I do is to secure his weapon as back-up in case of prolonged attack, but as I do so my eyes fall upon the pool of blood slowly spreading from underneath Gibbs' head.

Spreading? Dean men can't bleed, can they?

I reach down and check the pulse point at his neck then put my hand in front of his nose. Sighing in relief at finding both a pulse and signs of breathing, I turn and move Gibbs so that I can better care for him.

Reaching into Gibbs' pocket I find the handkerchief I'd hoped he was carrying like usual today and press it to the wound on his forehead. Lifting it after a minute, I can finally see that it's not a penetrating head wound, but a deep graze along the right side of his forehead.

So, at best, a severe concussion and, at worst, it's the head wound the doctors warned us about the last time he was in a coma. I pray it's the former situation as I replace the handkerchief on the wound and apply pressure to stop the bleeding.

After a few minutes, I realize there's been no gunfire since I made my mad dash to Gibbs. Either the perps have left or they're lying in wait hoping to pick me off as well.

My lower back begins to ache at the way I've been crouching so I shift positions, but the ache remains and I can feel something trickling down my back. I tentatively reach behind me and discover a graze along my lower back, but there's not much I can do about it now, so I ignore the pain and focus on Gibbs.

Right now protecting Gibbs and keeping him alive is my top priority. My comfort is secondary – tertiary? Whatever. Way down on the list in comparison.

Finally my thoughts clear enough to remind me of my phone. I dig it out of my pocket, but clench my teeth in frustration for the lack of cell phone reception.

Would a text be able to get out? I quickly text "SOS. Under fire. G needs Dr. ASAP" and the warehouse's address to McGee, Ziva, Abby, Palmer, and even Ducky in hopes one of the messages will get through in time and back-up will come along with an ambulance.

I lift the cloth from Gibbs' wound and see the bleeding has finally stopped. I strip my coat off and cover Gibbs' upper torso with it in order to help prevent against any shock that might be trying to set in due to the blood loss. There's not much else I can do but defend our position and wait for help to arrive – if it arrives.

Can Gibbs wait that long? He's had two severe head traumas in his life – could this bullet to the head be the one that kills him? I'd never forgive myself if I was too late to get him help.

A minute or so later, I hear what sounds like a door opening and closing from my almost completely unprotected rear position. Reinforcements? Already?

Shaking my head at that unlikelihood, I get ready to defend myself and Gibbs against the new threat. Oddly enough, I swear I hear only one maybe two sets of feet slowly shuffling along, coming closer, before I hear a voice softly call out:

"Leroy?"

ooooooo

A/N: Memento Mori is a Latin phrase that literally means "remember you must die". Several dictionaries say that it's also a "reminder of death or mortality" or "a reminder of human failures or errors".

Thanks for reading!