Unbreakable by ceilidh

A/N: Hello, all, and welcome to my latest 'missing scene'.

Now, this is a first for me - I've written this story without seeing the actual episode! In fact, I won't see the opener to season seven for another two weeks. But the photos I've seen from it were still enough to send my famous plot-bunnies into hyper-hop.

I'm sure that more stories will follow from this amazing episode. In fact, there's another in the works already. But for now, here's a very brief 'missing scene' story, set immediately after Truth Or Consequences, as the newly reunited team Gibbs fly back home.

Spoilers for Truth Or Consequences, of course, and also references to season five's In The Zone and season six's amazing Caged.

As always, I hope you enjoy!

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Unbreakable

Trying, with little success, to stretch the cramp from his legs, Gibbs scowled with appropriate disgust. Damn, he'd forgotten just how long, and tedious, and uncomfortable, transatlantic flights could be. Eight straight hours of inedible food, unwatchable movies, and – yeah, worst of all, undrinkable coffee.

And that was on the comparative comfort of a 747 - not the cramped confines of a military COD.

Then again, when you'd been through what these three battered figures beside him had been through – hell, sleeping, as they were, in these butt-numbing bucket seats would still feel like five star luxury.

Studying each of those bruised, bloodied faces in turn, Gibbs felt his frown inevitably deepen. For what that bastard had done, so brutally, to his kids, to Tony, to McGee, and to Ziva especially – hell, if he'd had the chance, and the time, he'd have started on his toes, and worked his way upwards.

Really, really, slowly.

That single bullet had been too easy on him. Too merciful. That bastard should have suffered.

There'd been no time, either, to get his team any of the medical treatment they'd all sorely needed. When you were on search and rescue in enemy territory, you didn't exactly stick around to say goodbye. Bundled onto this transporter, and pursued by gunfire along the runway, there hadn't even been time to break out the Band-Aids.

Silently furious at this cruellest of denials, Gibbs then pushed that anger and bitterness out of his mind. He'd never lived on 'what ifs…' and 'if onlys…' before. He was too old, too damn tired, to start now.

Instead he rested back against the bulkhead behind him, focussing on the only things that did matter.

Saleem was dead.

His kids were safe.

Ziva was back where she belonged.

And they were going home.

For every one of those reasons, and for those last three especially, Gibbs could now let himself smile.

He'd never be that naïve, of course, to think that getting her out of that hellhole would be easy, but – well, against all odds, against every brutality they'd endured to achieve it, his boys had still done it. Without a shred of military service between them, they'd still kept one of its most sacred promises.

You never left one of your own behind. Whatever it took, however hard, you brought them home.

So yes, these filthy faces beside him still bore the scars of battle, their desperate fight for freedom – but Gibbs felt his own lift now, in a smile of pure pride, for the courage they'd shown to win it.

Damn, but he was proud of them. From now on, he'd make sure he told them that a bit more often.

In cruel irony, that thought caused his smile to fade now, as cold, hard reality re-occurred to him. All that would depend, of course, on what happened when they finally got back to DC -the juggernaut of events which had led to this life-or-death mission still painfully recent, and raw.

When they'd left Ziva in Israel, that crucial trust between her and Tony had been at an all time low. As Gibbs now worriedly noted, not even his determination to save her life had healed the damage.

Her back turned, so tellingly, against him, she'd curled herself instead into Tim McGee's side – cradled by his arm, her head pillowed by his shoulder, while her hand gripped the front of his shirt.

Every so often, just as they were doing now, her fingers would spread themselves over his chest – circling around its centre, in an unmistakeable pattern, until they found what they needed to feel.

A soft, soothing heartbeat, Gibbs realized, watching in silent relief as she settled back to sleep – the fear and helplessness that had creased her face, just seconds earlier, thankfully vanishing. All the time she could feel that heartbeat, that precious proof of life – yes, she knew she was safe.

She was even smiling now, if still so faintly, as her arm crept a bit further across Tim's body – the movement causing his eyes to flicker, to almost open, before exhaustion reclaimed him.

Whatever she'd just mumbled into his chest had been sadly lost to an already oblivious mind. Gibbs had heard it, though. Now he smiled again, for what those whispered words represented.

He wasn't exactly as you'd stereotype one to be, but for all that… yes, Tim McGee was a hero. The best kind, too, Gibbs reflected, still studying the boy who never ceased to surprise him.

'And that's gonna have to change-' he berated himself through a ruefully dry head-shake.

It was hard to accept, of course, especially with that chubby-cherub face, but – no, Tim McGee was not a boy. He wasn't their stuttering probie any more. He was a fully fledged, and blooded, field agent.

When he woke up, he'd be told, in heartfelt length, that he'd more than earned the faith and belief that Gibbs had placed in him.

For now, though, oblivious to this silent pride beside him, he just needed this healing sleep – left to his peaceful dreams now as Gibbs stood up, and went in search of remotely drinkable coffee.

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It didn't quite meet those famously ruthless standards, but – no, for all that, Gibbs wasn't complaining. He'd found coffee. Hot coffee. Even some cookies to go with it.

Things were finally looking up.

Returning to the passenger hold, he stopped, smiled, then turned and headed back to the galley – leaving it a few minutes later with another cup of coffee, and a pocketful of those sustaining cookies. One of his kids was just starting to stir awake, and – yeah, that kid was gonna need some nourishment.

Some fatherly assurances too, Gibbs noted, returning a faint smile through his own niggling concerns. Beyond their lingering glassiness, Tony's eyes still held an unmistakeable, and worrying, strain – some of that anxiety at least easing now, as he glanced across at the still sleeping figures beside him.

Even in silence, Gibbs could still sense his senior agent's anger for what they'd been through. He'd known what this mission to rescue Ziva would involve. He'd known what he needed to do.

McGee had too, of course. He'd been fully aware of the risks. What that mission demanded of him. But this had been McGee's first experience of special ops, and that had been a crucial difference.

Selfless courage regardless, he was always going to be vulnerable. The weaker, more susceptible link. Their captors would always know that. The result, as Tony now quietly recalled, had been inevitable.

"Saleem started on McGee first. I guess he saw him as the easier of us to break-" he said at last – fury filling his eyes again, as he recalled the sickening crack of fist across unprotectable cheekbone.

He'd watched Tim McGee's head snap backwards. Seen the blood spray out from Tim McGee's face. Five interminable seconds of silence had passed. Five more. Then he'd heard a voice of pure courage.

"That the best you can do? I've been hit harder by my mother-"

Inevitably, his head had been brutally snapped to his other side. He'd needed fifteen seconds then.

But beyond the blood, sweat and filth that had dripped into them, those green eyes had stayed clear – defiance staying within them, staying right to the end, until he'd finally yielded to blessed oblivion.

Little wonder, then, that Tony's next words held such pride, and satisfaction, as he re-met Gibbs' eyes.

"That was his first mistake-"

"Yeah, I bet-" Gibbs agreed, following Tony's glance back to that still bruised and brutalised face – letting what he knew he'd be thinking now run through, in judicious silence, until Tony said it himself.

"Guess I misjudged him too, boss-"

Taking the tactful fifth on that point, Gibbs just smiled back and shrugged while sipping his coffee.

"We've all done that, Tony. We've all failed to appreciate that he can take care of himself-" he said at last – knowing, from the way Tony smiled back at him, and nodded, that he didn't need to say any more.

As he'd proudly expected, his senior agent did it for himself now as he watched Tim sleep – carefully stretching his arm behind Ziva so that he could reach, and gently squeeze, his probie's shoulder.

The bond between them was still as strong as ever, maybe even more so after this, but a year earlier – well, tricking him out of that mission to Baghdad, however well intended, had still been wrong. Not only had it made him look bad in front of their new Director, it had left Tim McGee hurt, humiliated - and angry.

He'd understood, eventually, that Tony had done it to protect him from his own, needless insecurities.

You did not need to go into a war zone, the senior agent had gently explained, just to join some swaggering 'been there, done that' club.

But losing out on that crucial assignment had still stung him, denied him the chance to prove himself.

So yes, despite everything he'd shown instead in that prison siege, Tim McGee had needed to do this – the courage he'd shown, both then and now, prompting another exchange of silently proud glances.

In the middle of that exchange, of course, was Ziva – bruised, battered, but now blessedly safe.

Even in her dazed, traumatized state, she could still sense that her horrific ordeal was finally over – her head lifting now, consciousness returning, for just long enough, to recognize who was holding her.

So slowly, so painfully, her eyes drifted along the faces that she'd once thought she'd never see again.

Her sweetly chivalrous McGee. Her fiercely protective Gibbs. And, most miraculously of all –

"T – T'ny?"

– her unlikeliest soulmate, whose nervous uncertainty now lifted into a smile of pure, beautiful relief.

Blinking rapidly, as if unable to believe that he was really there, Ziva just stared back at him.

So much still had to be said, of course. So many painful, and difficult, issues still had to be resolved. But that could wait. All Gibbs cared about right now was this simple but precious sight beside him.

Their bodies and spirits might have been broken, but the bond between these three, incredible kids – yes, in the faint, hesitant smiles that now lifted two cruelly bloodied mouths, Gibbs knew it was still there.

It would always be there.