I'm moving - running- before I even realize it. Sliding in the thick, burgundy puddle staining the floor, I grab him under the arms and use the momentum of my slide to get us both to safety behind the boxes. I force myself to ignore the groans of pain that escape his lips as I gently lay him down and quickly tear the bloodied shirt open.

There is so much blood covering his chest it is, at first, impossible for me to find the wound. I tug out my handkerchief and quickly wipe away the gore to expose the small jagged wound. The blood loss is great but not so much to cause the pool of blood that is quickly surrounding us, soaking the floor and my pant's legs as I lean over him.

My chest tightens as I realize what this must mean and I mumble an apology, warning him of what I must do. He closes his eyes and nods, biting down on his bottom lip as he somehow endures the agony of being moved.

I roll him as gently as I can, cringing when I hear him cry out, pulling up his blood-drenched shirt in the same movement. The exit wound is large and ragged, much larger than I have ever seen before. I freeze, momentarily shocked and terrified at the sight, my hand hovering just above the wound as my mind tries desperately to remember what I need to do.

"That…bad?" The weakly spoken question breaks through my shock and I look down at the face that I have come to know so well.

I force a smile as I press my hands against the wounds, trying to not show him my true emotions as I swallow back the sob that is sitting in my throat as he cries out again and pulls away. I shake my head and force myself to speak, trying desperately to keep my voice from breaking.

"No, just a scratch. Seen worse from kids falling on the playground."

He grunts a reply that ends with a gasp as my hand continues to apply pressure to his wounds. I know he is trying his best to stay still just as I know how much pain I am causing. Yet I can still feel his warm blood trickling through my fingers no matter how much pressure I apply. I search my mind for something to say, of some way to apologize. I‘m supposed to watch his six and I failed. Now it is me who bites my lip and tries to hide my pain.

He looks back up at me, his normally vibrant blue eyes now tired and dull. "Not… your fault…DiNozzo!" He whispers as his eyes close, reading my mind even now.