A/N--This "What if?" oneshot was inspired by a set of "Rule 51" behind-the-scenes pictures I found online. So, technically, I would call this my first all-out fanfiction. My other pieces all pertained to scenes that have already happened in the series. As this deals with an episode that hasn't yet aired, this is ALL my own fiction. I'm not sure how in-character this is, though I tried to stick to it as much as possible. Also, my writing style in this piece is drastically different from my previous ones. Whereas those ones primarily focused on the minds of the characters, in this story, I mainly wanted to display a scene. So, naturally, there isn't as much "thought" from the characters; the physical actions of this scene take center stage. Though, rest assured, this is not just an "action" piece; there will always be more to it than that. And one final thing: I have to give credit where credit is due (if only I could remember where that credit is due). The idea of the Rule 51 in this piece is actually something I came across on the IMDB NCIS forums (if I remember right). Unfortunately, I've been unable to track down where exactly I read it and by who. So if you recognize the Rule in this piece and know who originally posted it, please let me know; I promise I do not mean to steal anyone's ideas. So, now that this long forward is complete, lets move on to the story :)

"It appears our intel is correct," Ziva reported, peering intently through the scope of her rifle. To her right, Tony only gave the slightest "Mmm" as recognition that he heard her. She glanced over at him as he, too, was looking into the distance, a pair of binoculars to his eyes. She studied him, noting the worry etched on every bit of his face that she could see. Slowly, she lifted her hand to his shoulder and felt him relax, if only just a little. "It is all right. We will get him back." He lowered his arms, the smallest smile playing across his face as he turned his head toward her.

"I hope so. Otherwise, he'll never let us live this down. Can you imagine being haunted by the head-slapping ghost of Gibb-". His eyes wide, he suddenly stopped, realizing what he was saying. He abruptly turned away, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead on his binoculars. Breathing deeply, he said simply, "We can't lose him. I can't..." He paused, attempting to collect his thoughts. He once again faced Ziva, only this time, his eyes displayed only a deep sadness. "I don't know what I'd do if he was killed."

His partner looked him full in the face as she shifted her hand from his shoulder to his own tightly gripped around the binoculars. Ziva firmly grasped his hand and repeated, "We will get him back. Trust me. We will not let him die. I will not let him die." She gave his hand a final squeeze and returned hers to the rifle in front of her. Tony continued to look at Ziva as she again resumed her vigil though the scope. The corners of his lips curved upward into a sad smile. We can do this. We have to do this. And with that, he once again turned his eyes toward the hanger they were surveying.

There, in the mouth of its large open doors, sat a private jet, the words "First Defense PMC" decorating the fuselage. It was waiting there for the same reason Tony and Ziva were waiting on the roof of a truck on the fringe of the tarmac: It was waiting for its cargo to arrive.

As the minutes ticked by, Tony turned his attention to the surrounding hills. Everything was silent, black as the predawn darkness swallowed up anything that might be out there. He turned on his belly, facing the opposite direction of the hanger as he attempted to survey the land behind them. As he peered into the distance, he caught just the slightest movement discernible from the rest of the dark that filled his lenses.

He blinked a few times, willing his eyes to focus more. Yes, there was definitely something moving out there. And the movement was coming toward them. As the shapes began to define themselves, Tony realized they were pickup trucks. Many of them. Seven of them drove across the desert floor, their headlights off as they sped toward the airfield. And as they drew even closer, Tony saw that in the beds of these trucks sat six men each, armed with assault rifles.

"Uhhh. Ziva? I think we have a major problem here."

"What is it?" she asked slowly, keeping her attention focused on her scope.

"There are a bunch of trucks approaching our six-o-clock. And they're not empty. I'd make a rough estimate that they've got about 40 armed men with them." Ziva tore her eyes away from the hanger and quickly flipped herself around, facing the same direction as Tony. She reached for his binoculars and peered into the distance.

"Oh no. I would think that that is the Reynosa Cartel." She lowered the her hands, a look of alarm crossing her face. "We have to change tactics. Fast. They will be within firing range in about two minutes." She once again spun herself around to grab her rifle. As she glanced up, she saw the plane was no longer in the bay doors of the hanger. It was now on the tarmac, a car speeding toward it.

"Tony! The car is here now!" She lowered her eyes to the scope to attempt a quick shot. After a few seconds of frustration, she realized even this part of the plan was not going to work. "There is too much light reflection on the car. I cannot get in a clear shot without possibly hurting Gibbs!"

"Crap!" Tony muttered, hastily sliding off the roof of the truck.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, startled by his sudden movement.

"We have to get Gibbs before he's put on that plane or we'll never get him back. There's really only one way to do this. Those men in the trucks are approaching as a diversion for them to get Gibbs in the air. We've gotta switch things up a bit. I'll take care of Gibbs while you take care of the Cartel." As he jumped into his car, he asked, "Can I trust you to keep those guys off my back?"

Ziva stopped in the middle of repositioning her rifle and looked him straight in the eyes. She gave him a small smile and said, "I will always have your back, Tony." At that, he gave her a grin and sped across the tarmac. As he drove off, he heard a succession of shots from the top of the truck as Ziva took aim at the men, now no longer so far off.

He returned his attention to the car that was already parked by the waiting jet. And there, being dragged up the steps, was the unconscious form of Gibbs. Urged on by this new sight, Tony rammed his foot on the gas peddle, accelerating through the last fifty yards.

As Alejandro Rivera heard the sound of the gunning engine, he yelled into the aircraft, giving orders to the pilot. "I want this plane in the air now! Get going!"

Gibbs disappeared from view just as Tony slammed on his breaks and came to a screeching halt, thirty feet from the jet as it began to roar to life. He jumped out of the car and raised his weapon. "Don't even think about moving!" he ordered, his face livid as he aimed his gun for Alejandro's chest. Shrugging lightly, he raised his hands above his head in a form of surrender.

Smirking, he said simply, "So you really will do anything for this man, this murderer, Gibbs."

"Yes. He taught me everything I know, and I owe more than enough to him."

Alejandro shrugged again. "That's a shame. He was the only one we wanted, but you two decided to force yourselves into this matter as well," he said, nodding his head toward the truck where Ziva lay as she continued to pick off members of the Cartel.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I mean is that your partner back there is about to be killed." And, as if on cue, Tony heard the sound of rounds landing themselves in the truck at his back. He fractionally turned his head to Ziva in the distance. And that was all it took. Tony saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, and by the time he returned his gaze to its original place, Alejandro had already raised his own weapon and opened fire.

As she heard the sound of gunfire behind her, Ziva felt her heart sink. Before she could formulate any thoughts on Tony, a bullet grazed her scalp, sending a sharp instant pain rolling down her spine. I have to focus on this right now. This is the task I have. At that, she took out another Cartel member. Though the truck below her took many rounds, she was fortunate and somehow avoided what they fired at her.

Suddenly, she began to bleed profusely from a new wound on her left hand as a bullet skimmed its surface and just barely missed hitting her once again. Ignoring the pain and focusing on her good hand pulling the trigger, she continued to fire. After she took out two more men, Ziva was surprised to find the remaining Cartel jump into their pickups and speed back the way they had come. She exhaled heavily as she lifted her eyes from the scope. The world was silent except for the low hum of the idling jet behind her. No gunfire, she thought, spinning around quickly to see what had happened in her absence. There, lying on the tarmac, were two bodies. Dread filled her. Tony! She jumped down from the truck and ran full tilt toward the jet.

As she approached, Gibbs stumbled down the stairs and moved toward the body furthest from the plane. They reached Tony at the same time, relief spreading through them as they saw him begin to stir. But the good feeling was short-lived as blood pooled around him, gathering on the tarmac. Gibbs and Ziva bent over him to examine his wounds. Two bullets had entered his body, one in his left shoulder, the other lodged itself deep in his side.

"Whoa..." Tony breathed in surprise, locking eyes with them.

"We must stop the bleeding," Ziva said desperately as she removed her jacket and attempted to staunch the hole in his side, the blood from her own wounds dripping onto his body. Gibbs worked to tie another tourniquet at Tony's shoulder. Though this appeared to work, blood continued to flow forth from his right abdomen. Frantic, Ziva remarked, "This is doing no good. You need medical attention immediately." Turning to Gibbs, she said, "We need to get him in the car."

She tied her jacket around his midsection as tightly as she could, looking all the time at his still-shocked eyes. Then, more gently than they ever thought possible, they removed Tony from the tarmac, Gibbs heaving at his shoulders, Ziva carrying his feet. After carefully laying him on the rear seat, Ziva rushed to the driver's side, ready to go. But as she buckled herself in, she realized Gibbs wasn't moving from the open door at Tony's head, a look of pained sadness on his face. "Gibbs? We have to get to a hospital now!"

Staring into the wincing features of his senior field agent, he slowly shook his head, quietly answering, "You two do. I don't." He turned to Ziva, his eyes pleading. At this, Ziva jumped from the car to stand next to him, looking him square in the face. "I do not understand your meaning," she said, panic and confusion evident.

Almost inaudibly, he said, "I can't go with you. The Cartel still has Amira and Leila. I can't let anything happen to them. Not because of me."

"What about Franks...?" she asked uncertainly.

"He's gone." And at this, Gibbs set his jaw and hardened his eyes in a way she couldn't quite understand. So she set her stance and firmly asserted, "I will go with you. You will need help."

Again, he shook his head and said quietly, "No. This needs to be taken care of immediately, and you need to get Tony to a doctor. You can't have both."

"But Gibbs, they will kill you! You cannot do this alone," she shouted, fear mingling with her frustration.

He placed his hands on her shoulders in a calming gesture and looked deep into her eyes. "Do you trust me?" She was taken aback by this, but she quickly set her features and replied, "Yes. Always."

"Then trust my judgment now. This is not an order, it's a request. Leave now. Please. Not just for his sake," he said, nodding toward Tony's upturned face, "but for yours as well. I can't let either of you two sacrifice more than you already have."

"Gibbs," she said softly, yet forceful at the same time. "We came here to rescue you. You. We cannot just leave you in the bear's den."

He smiled at that quirk of hers that he loved so much, and said, "And that's why I have to invoke Rule 51 starting now." Both Ziva and Tony, who had been quietly watching this exchange from the back seat, gave him a look of confusion.

"Boss? I don't think I'm familiar with that one," Tony said through clenched teeth, his face scrunched-up in pain as he finished.

Gibbs lowered his eyes and firmly grasped Ziva's hands. "That's because it's a new rule: When your team takes a hit because of you, you take a hit for your team." He looked into Ziva's face and saw her eyes begin to glisten. "Gibbs. Don't do this...," she said desperately, her voice small.

He gave her a smile and pulled her into a tight hug. He whispered in her ear, "Be the strong woman that I know you are and do this for me. Do this for him. He needs all the help he can get." Ziva gave a small laugh through her wet eyes and returned his hug.

He released her and looked toward Tony whose face had become rigid, pain, not just from his physical wounds, painted on his face. "Boss..." Gibbs smirked and lowered himself level with Tony's head and whispered, "I'm more proud of you than you'll ever know." Tony looked up into his eyes, voiceless words passing between them. He raised his arm as Gibbs did the same, clasping hands tightly. "Good luck, Boss."

He smiled at his second-in-command and stood only when he heard the sound of approaching engines. Ziva turned toward the now-lightening desert beyond the tarmac as the sun began to rise. There, she saw the pickups of the Cartel moving toward the airstrip once more.

"It's time to get going. I'll do what needs to be done here. You get him to a hospital. I know you've got the driving skills to outmaneuver anyone chasing you," he grinned.

"You will be back safely," she said. "That is a promise that I will hold you to," she smiled slyly. She turned for the driver's door once more and buckled herself in, ready to go. Gibbs took one last look at Tony, now visibly paler, and closed the door, tapping the top of the car. Ziva gunned the engine and raced across the vast concrete span.

Once she rounded the corner of the hanger, Gibbs turned toward the approaching trucks, his hands in his pockets. He stood calmly, awaiting their arrival as the rising sun illuminated the blood-stained ground at his feet.

A/N--Thank you for your patience throughout this piece. And as always, reviews, comments, and criticisms of any kind would be greatly appreciated. Until next time, happy reading and enjoy the real NCIS season finale!