:NCIS: Regret - Part 2

Tony hung his head in his hands, letting one more tear escape his red-rimmed, lusterless eyes.
Flashback:
"Put your weapons down!" A masked man yelled. Tony glanced at Ziva, placing his gun slowly on the concrete. Ziva did the same.
"Now kick them over to me." The masked man added, visibly calming down but still in a gruff and slightly loud voice. Tony sighed and did so, for he and another masked man had guns trained on Ziva. Ziva mimicked him. A slight sound in the crates of the warehouse they were in startled one of the men. He pulled the trigger. Tony dove for his gun, successfully grabbing it from where the man had forgotten to pick it up and put three holes in the man's chest. He rolled over onto his back and shot the other man, who fired off a shot at him but missed.  Tony crawled over to Ziva.
"Ziva? Come on my crazy little ninja chick! Zee-vah!" He tore off an arm of his shirt and wrapped it around the wound near her chest. "Stay with me... Stay with me, my crazy little ninja..."
He dialed Gibbs and 911, and not too long after he was standing there, covered in Ziva's blood, watching his love be loaded on a stretcher into an ambulance.
He couldn't help but think it was all his fault.
And to think that noise was a raccoon.


A laser trained on Tony's back, tracing back to  a sniper perched several buildings away.

Gibbs slammed down the phone.
"McGee!"
"Boss, Tony isn't answering his home phone or cell."
"C'mon, then!" Gibbs said, grabbing his gear and gesturing over his shoulder.

They arrived a few minutes later, McGee climbing out and feeling the need to fall to his knees and barf. Gibb's driving had more than rivaled Ziva's - it was worse. The two men briskly ambled into the apartment building, not bothering to take the elevator and instead sprinting the stairs, Gibbs far ahead of McGee. They reached his floor and moved over to his door.

The sound of a gunshot rang out, catching a more than unsuspecting Tony off gaurd. Gibbs motioned for McGee to go inside Tony's apartment, while he ran up the steps to the roof. He spun around, looking for any sign of a shooter, gun in hand, his finger on the trigger. He saw a limp hand splayed out from behind one of the skylights, and ran over, not knowing what to expect, but hoping for the best.