Erm...not sure about this drabble either. It STILL feels...weird. This has always been a little sketch in the back of my mind, though, and connects to a lot of my other stories. Basically; if I ever have Jenny mention Cairo, this is what she's talking about. Now that that's settled; enjoy! :)

-Alivia

In an old motel somewhere in Cairo, there was silence.

It's strange, knowing that just hours prior everything was alive, moving at a pace practically unstoppable. Traffic had filtered out now, the tourists gone somewhere else for the night. Here, white carpet was beige and there were mites in the pillow cases.

The silence of the room was broken apart intravenously by almost inaudible whispers; maybe a grainy whimper here and there.

Lighting was dimmed in the room, occupied by two females now that the sole male had left. He had to tie up some loose ends.

Bloody ends.

One is of Israeli decent; made obvious by her darkened skin tone and thick accent, because she wouldn't loose that until a few years later. This woman's deep brown eyes are guarded, weary, as she looks upon the other being with a sense of pity.

No one enjoys almost losing a comrade. A partner.

She looks upon the other woman and thinks that this is the first partner she's ever had that she's not slept with.

The redhead-the American- lies near the mite-infested bed, on a chair, with her legs propped up on a wood table. She is pale, paler than normal, and her eyes are closed in pain.

She is naked; save a set of undergarments and a large white bandage that occupies most of her upper torso. The white of the bandage is brighter than the carpet, almost mockingly.

The redhead attempts not to recall the feeling of the knife piercing her pretty skin almost three hours prior. Or the feeling of fear, of not being able to escape her captors.

She tries so hard to forget the way they made her scream; their sick smiles.

It's strange; how these feelings and thoughts were so similar to that of only four years ago, in a European city not far from here.

Then; he's saved her.

The term 'knight in shining armor' was cliche, not at all her, but fitting. He'd had a shining gun. He'd had armor as tough as any material that could equally pierce it. That shining armor had been what destroyed them; in the end. His inability to take it off.

She remembers the way he held her. The way he promised to never let her go.

Dead promises, just like the jarred, dead skin that hung from the wounds on her back.

Her nails bite into her own palm, and she bites her lips so hard she draws a coppery liquid. Red liquid. She tries not to scream, right there in that old motel room.

The Israeli sensed her tense intake quickly, and was at the other woman's side in nearly a second. She said nothing, but offered a hand.

Jenny opened one eye and stared at it before taking it firmly.

Ziva just ignored the way the redhead's grip was so tight it was almost painful.

Almost.

The women don't say much; there is nothing to be said.

Ziva has watched the older woman scream in nightmares the past few weeks they've worked together; she has seen the way Jenny calls out for a man named 'Jethro'. She understands, in a way.

Ziva David tries very hard to understand.

"You saved my life," the redhead says tightly.

It's just a statement; nothing else. No 'thank you'. Because that's not Jenny.

"I know," Ziva sighs, and relaxes her hand into Jenny's.

It was always a strange friendship.