The gravity of what had gone down was immediately apparent to Tony. Once he and Ziva stopped pointing guns at each other, she'd been screaming for someone to call an ambulance even as she did it herself. Tony knew it was pointless, he'd put four rounds in Rivkin's chest, but he wasn't in any condition to try and calm her down.
There was no fucking way she'd listen to him anyway.
As Ziva dropped next to Rivkin and attempted to staunch the blood and do CPR all at once, Tony dragged himself across the glass-strewn floor to sit against the wall, cradling what he strongly suspected was a broken left wrist. He dropped his head onto his knees and tried to catch his breath.
It seemed like mere seconds later that the ambulance showed up with the requisite Metro cops. They shoved Ziva out of the way and loaded Rivkin up. Just as they were leaving, Gibbs, Ducky, Palmer and McGee came in.
Ducky took one look at all the blood on Ziva and steered her to a chair where he began to fuss, no matter how many times she told him it wasn't hers. Tony tried to be unsurprised and unaffronted when she didn't try send Ducky towards him. She had to have realized he'd been hurt in the fight, but all she would say was that she was not hurt and that she needed to get to the hospital to check on Michael. Gibbs demanded a report and Ziva had rattled off that she'd been on her way in and heard a gun shot; she'd run in to find Tony on the floor, shooting Michael.
Tony watched as Gibbs' head snapped up, scanning the room as if realizing for the first time that Tony was somewhere in the apartment. Gibbs eyes narrowed as they found Tony, huddled and looking miserable. "DiNozzo, you hurt?"
Tony knew he should probably mention his wrist, but all he was able to say was, "Nothing serious."
Gibbs stepped carefully through the detritus that McGee was photographing to stand over Tony. "Report."
Tony winced as he pressed his back against the wall and forced himself up without putting his weight on either arm. He leaned back and carefully, in a monotone, recited his account of the assault. By the time he was done, his wrist was throbbing and his head pounding. He hadn't realized he'd started to list until Gibbs caught him by the shoulder.
"McGee, call Vance and get him to send you some help. Ducky, is she wounded?" When Mallard shook his head, Gibbs continued, "Then let her go to the hospital to check on Rivkin. DiNozzo, you're with me."
"Where?" Tony asked without opening his eyes.
"Hospital. That," Gibbs said pointing at his wrist, "Is not a natural angle for your arm."
Ducky, of course, shot over at the sound of trouble, but Gibbs grabbed his arm. "I'm going to take him to the hospital. I need you to follow and one: tell their M.E. that this body's ours and two: try to keep Ziva away from Tony for a while."
"It's not that bad, boss," Tony protested.
"Good, then the doctors can clear you quickly and you can come back and get your report done." Gibbs handed off the scene to McGee and led Tony to the sedan.
A quick phone call told him which hospital Rivkin had been taken to and Gibbs drove slowly to that same E.R., careful not to make any hair-pin turns that would have Tony trying to brace himself on his broken arm. He wanted immediate information on Rivkin's condition – though he knew Tony's marksmanship – so he was pretty sure he knew Rivkin's condition. Which meant that there wasn't anything urgent, other than getting Tony seen to as soon as possible.
A small smile quirked on the corner of Gibbs' lips as they pulled into the parking area of Georgetown's E.R. Some wiseguy had nailed up a sign on one lamppost that said "Are you wearing clean underwear?" complete with a picture of a pair of men's briefs under it. He shook his head. "You wearing clean underwear, DiNozzo?"
Tony cocked his head at Gibbs. "In all the time we've been together, have you ever known me to wear underwear?"
"Don't know how you can be comfortable that way," Gibbs muttered.
"This is the discussion you want us to have right now?" Tony snapped.
Gibbs pulled into a spot and killed the ignition before turning to look at Tony. "I sent you there. I know you and I trust you. We may have disliked the guy, but you would have never pulled your weapon if your life hadn't been threatened. I'll get the details from your report. What else do you need to say?"
"I told him not to… I practically begged him not to come at me with that glass shard. I didn't want to…" he sagged against the car seat, jolting his arm. "I've destroyed the team," he whispered. "Ziva will never forgive me."
"And you aren't sure if you'll ever trust her again," Gibbs said when it became clear what Tony wasn't saying.
Tony stared at his useless arm. He hadn't wanted it to end this way. Frankly he couldn't give a flying fuck what happened to Rivkin, but he couldn't live with what his having to kill Ziva's boyfriend would do to the team dynamic.
"I'm not sure if I can either. Won't know until we get to the bottom of the whole thing. Think about this: I chose you. I chose Stan and Kate and McGee. Jenny gave us Ziva and for a long time Ziva proved herself, but I didn't vet her or spend any time with her before she was suddenly one of us." Gibbs gripped Tony's good wrist gently. "I want to find a way to fix this. But if anyone asks me who I trust?" Gibbs shrugged. "I chose you. And I have never once regretted it."