Insanely expensive Italian leather soles slapped against the rough concrete of a back alley somewhere in D.C. Heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears, Tony DiNozzo pushed himself even harder.

Flash of blue to the left – Tony swerved sharply, reaching a hand out to push against the opposite wall as he turned into another, narrower alley.

There was a loud clatter behind him and DiNozzo vaguely registered that McGee was out of the pursuit.

He was on his own.

And he was closing on his target.

Tony grinned fiercely – he was gonna catch this son of a bitch.

More blue and he was swinging to the right. Tony's grin broadened when his brain finally understood what his eyes were telling him. The perp was desperately trying to climb a wobbly chain link fence and doing a poor job of it.

Without conscious thought, Tony whipped out his gun and called for the criminal to freeze.

The perp twisted around, still halfway up the fence, and reached into his coat pocket.

Tony shouted again, warning the man to put his hand where he could see it. The suspect ignored him.

Feeling a strange depression in his gut, Tony squeezed the trigger twice, somehow knowing that something bad was going to happen regardless.

The bullets hit the intended target, but didn't stop him from pulling … something out of his pocket. Tony wasn't able to get a good look at it, but he could tell that it was small – too small to be a gun. It didn't seem to be shiny enough to be a knife.

Before Tony had a chance to blink the object was lobbed toward him –

And then pain.

He felt wet running down his chest, arms, and legs. The overwhelming pain drove him to his knees.

Looking down, he saw red. Heard his gun drop. White and gray edged his vision.

Straining his neck muscles, the agent managed to lift his head again.

Flash of blue streaking away.

And then it was black.

** * ** * ** * **

Warehouse 13 – South Dakota

Agent Pete Lattimer was bored.

After the incident with Lewis Carroll's Mirror, he wasn't allowed in the warehouse without 'supervision'. Apparently, neither Artie nor Micah trusted him not to 'play' with any 'potentially harmful' artifacts. Claudia's opinion didn't count.

So, here he was, in the office with Artie, bored out of his mind.

He sighed.

"Alright! That's it, I've had it!" Pete started at the unexpected outburst, but Artie didn't seem to notice. "Since you obviously can't find something to do, I'll do it for you!"

Pete blinked. Wow – Artie was really upset.

And he didn't even do anything. At all.

He'd just been sitting quietly, thinking the depressed thoughts of the utterly bored.

"Artie –"

"No! You have been driving me insane for the past week!" The stocky agent fished through the piles of papers on his desk. "An agent in D.C. was chasing a suspect when, boom, he woke up in a hospital, covered in burns and gashes."

"Um, Artie…"

"No! I don't want to hear it!" He shoved the rumpled file at Pete. "You will go check this out."

"But Artie –"

"No! Out! Go find Myka, you're going to D.C." Artie jabbed a meaty finger at him. "Which, thankfully, is many, many miles away from here. Now shoo!"

A cough had both men swinging around to the door that led out into the main space of the Warehouse.

"Ooh, look who made him grumpy." Claudia aimed a sly sidelong glance at her mentor. "I'm annoying. Can I go, too?"

"No." Artie glared at her. "You have chores."

"Rats." Claudia sulked for about two seconds, then brightened. "Pete, totally bring me back a souvenir. And not some cheesy over-priced doo-dad from a museum gift shop, either. I want something cool and authentic –"

"Okay, okay he gets it." Artie interrupted, looking like he was ready to forcibly shove Pete out the door.

"Right!" Lattimer raised his hands defensively. "I'm going, I'm going. I'll have Myka call you when we get there."

"You do that," Artie responded darkly.

Survival instinct finally kicking in, Pete hightailed it out the door, hoping that Myka wouldn't be too pissed at him for getting them sent off on some bogus assignment.

Well, it could be worse.

He'd just think of this as a forced vacation – back to a place he wasn't so eager to see again.

Right, this should be fun.

** * ** * ** * **


He came to slowly, at first only vaguely registering the steady, familiar blip of a heart monitor.

With a monumental effort, he prized open his eyelids.

Blinding white.

Groaning, he snapped his eyes shut again.


Well, there was no mistaking that voice.

Gibbs. Shit. If Gibbs was here then he must be in really, really bad shape.

His Boss hadn't even stayed with him when he caught the plague. Well – he hadn't until after they'd caught the bad guy.

Wait a minute – how long had he been out?

"G'bss." So, okay, his voice was sort of broken. The plague had been worse. Doggedly, he continued. "D'ja catch 'em?"

Tony turned his head towards his boss, still keeping his eyes tightly closed.

"No, Tony, we didn't catch him."

"Erg." He meant to protest, but decided he didn't have the energy.

Unable to fight, he slipped back into blackness.

** * ** * ** * **

After alerting the nurse on duty that his agent had briefly regained consciousness and then being reassured by three nurses, one doctor, and Ducky that Tony had not just slipped back into a coma, Gibbs allowed himself a gusty sigh of relief.

Tony was going to be okay.

McGee had found the agent lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood three days ago and Gibbs' heart had nearly stopped.

He would never get used to seeing his agents down.

Ducky had said that the wounds appeared to be consistent with a low yield shrapnel bomb. Abby informed him that it would have been detonated less than thirty feet from his injured agent.

It was a very straight forward explanation.

Too bad it wasn't valid.

There had been no sign of any shrapnel in Tony, nor had there been any at the scene. Abby hadn't even been able to pull any explosive's residue off of anything at the crime scene.

Ducky maintained that only a shrapnel bomb could have delivered the same type of damage – jagged cuts and punctures, augmented with widespread first and second degree burns – all at once.

But there was no evidence.

What if it was some type of prototype explosive? Something that couldn't be detected by forensics yet?

That was a frustrating thought – the suspect was a petty officer wanted for low level drug trafficking and possible murder.

This new development had everybody questioning themselves – trying to figure out what the hell they'd missed.

Clenching his fists, Gibbs looked over at his sleeping agent.

Tony would be okay – Gibbs could go back to work.

He was going to catch the son of a bitch that nearly killed his agent.

** * ** * ** * **

A/N: Okay, so this is my very first crossover – I hope you enjoy it. Please drop me a review – I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.