Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anything NCIS...
A/N: This is probably only going to be a twoshot. Second chapter should be up soon, but until then, enjoy. My first try at something like this (and first person in general), so... Constructive criticism and reviews in general are absolute love!

Chained.

Chapter 1: Going Under

"How long have I been in this storm?
So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form
Water's getting harder to tread
With these waves crashing over my head"
- "Storm", Lifehouse

I sit here and I watch these shadows on the walls. Sometimes I talk to them. Sometimes I pretend they talk back, and we have conversations, just me and the shadows. I know that they really don't talk back, that they can't, because they're just shadows. I know that my voice is the only sound that fills this room, that my words are the only ones that echo back at me. I know.

I just need something to know that I'm still alive. Some people would hurt themselves, go get high, whatever they can do. Sitting here, chained to this wall, there's not too many ways that I can do that. No way but to talk. To talk until my voice starts to get hoarse and cracks every time I say a word. To talk about anything that pops into my mind, anything about my past and my memories and the people I used to know, because I know that I have to. I have to, or the thoughts won't leave me alone.

Sometimes I talk to them about being here. How long it's been (I have no idea, and neither do they). How long I'm going to stay here (until I die? they think so, too). How hungry I am. How weak I've gotten. How surprised I am at myself.

I've never been strong. Not as strong as I've tried to show everyone, at least. So I'm surprised. I'm surprised that I've been able to pretend this long, been able to keep my mind focused and from turning on me. I'm surprised that hallucinations haven't overtaken me, that my past hasn't tried to become my present, that I'm not screaming and crying and trying to kill myself. I'm surprised that I only shake when I'm cold, I'm surprised that I only sweat when I'm hot. I'm surprised that the dark doesn't bother me. I'm surprised that, yeah, I've gotten used to it. I'm not completely crazy yet. Yet. Because there's not much more that I can fake, and I know it. I know it and the shadows know it.

I miss the world. I miss light and I miss color and I miss the smell of fresh air and grass. I miss being able to walk and run and drive and just move. I miss being able to hear somebody talk to me, somebody I want to talk to. Somebody real. I miss the sky and I miss the clouds and I miss the sun and I miss the rain. I miss it. I want it back, more than anything I just want it all back.

But I can't have it back.

I make myself stand. It's hard. I have to hold onto the wall and push myself up with everything I've got, but I stand. I hear the footsteps coming from... Wherever. I really don't know. I used to know, I think, but I've forgotten. When I first got here, I think I figured out quite quickly where he came from, how he got in and out. But as time drug on, I forgot. It doesn't matter, really, because I'm not getting out of here any time soon. But I've pushed myself up, and I'm standing, my hand still holding onto the wall, making the chains that keep me in my place rattle. It's the only way I can stay up. My knees are bent, ready to give way. It takes everything I've got to keep standing, and to keep my head up as high as it is. I still don't want him to see me broken. I can pretend for a little while every now and then that I'm still strong, and I can pretend for a little while that he believes it.

He comes in. I try to see how, but I can't. I can't give up too much concentration to seeing him come and go, not if I want to stay up. He puts my food down in the corner, like he always does. Then he looks at me and he smiles. He smiles and then he chuckles. He laughs at me, standing here. "It's sad, really," he says, his voice so low that I can barely hear him. My ears actually hurt at the sound of his voice. He shakes his head, pushing my arm down and watching me fall onto the ground. A sound escapes me as the pain shoots through me; I should have kept quiet, because now he knows that I'm hurt. He's done worse. He knows it and I know it, but this still hurts and he still gets satisfaction from it.

That's all he wanted. He turns and exits. I'm still waiting for the day that he'll stop before he leaves and he'll look back at me, and he'll say, "Goodbye, Caitlin," and then he'll leave, and never come back. I'm still waiting for that day that he decides to leave me for dead. But today, I guess today's not that day. Maybe it's just not that day the way I imagined, maybe it really is that day. I don't know. But he leaves, either way. He leaves the same way he came, I guess, but I still don't pay attention because now I'm scrambling for the food. It's just a few pieces of bread and a couple glasses of water but I'm dying for it anyway.

He's right. It's sad. I'm sad. Pathetic. I know it and he knows it and the shadows know it. I'm broken. He broke me. I've been broken for a long time now and I've been pretending that I'm not, that he hasn't broken me, that I'm strong and that I'm not crazy. I am crazy, I think. Maybe not. But I'm getting there. My mind is unraveling as the days go on and I've been ignoring it. I've been pretending that I'm strong, that I'm okay, even though I'm not. I've been ignoring the facts because I don't want to lose. I don't want this to be the end. I can't do a damn thing about it and that scares me, it scares me so much. My life is in his hands now and I'm like his slinky. He holds me in one hand then drops me, watching the way I fall until he picks me up with his other hand. All for his enjoyment.

But soon, he's going to drop me for good. The kids always drop their slinky eventually, right? What's different? Soon they get bored, or it's dinnertime, or the slinky breaks and it's just not fun anymore. I don't want to be a slinky. I don't want to be a slinky but I don't want to die, either. I'm not doing much living right now but I still don't want to die. I don't know why, because sometimes I just want nothing other than to die.

Death isn't something new. I am dead. To everyone else, I'm dead. I have been dead for God knows how long. I've been shot in the head, killed by my captor, and I'm six feet under the ground in some cemetery. Am I supposed to be in D.C., or Indiana, or where? Where would they want to bury me? I look at my hands, my dirty, weak hands. Who did they bury, how did they not know I wasn't in that casket? Tony, Gibbs, Abby, McGee, Ducky. Did they not do an autopsy?

I'm not dead. I want to tell them that. I want them to know, somehow, that I'm not really dead. It's all just a big misunderstanding, sort of. It's not what they think because I'm not dead. I'm right here, breathing just like the rest of them, blinking just like they do. I'm right here, blood pumping through my veins as my heart beats. I'm right here. I don't know where here is, but I'm here, and they're there and I'm still alive and they're still alive. No. I'm sitting here dying and they're sitting there living. At least I think they're alive; I hope they're alive. I can't be alive and them be dead, not now, not after all of this.

"I don't want to keep thinking." The shadows don't say anything back to me. "I just want answers, I just want to get out of here." They still don't speak. Are they ignoring me? "Are they okay? They have to be okay. They don't know what's going on, they've got to be over me by now. They have to be okay." They don't confirm this. They don't make me feel better. "I remember. I remember how Tony used to throw things at me, how much he used to annoy me." I hold onto the wall beside me, and the shadows seem to move away from me. "I remember the way Abby used to hug me, the smile she'd get on her face when I walked through the door." They've heard all this before; they have nothing to say to it anymore. "I remember the way McGee just tried to fit in, even with us constantly teasing him." They can't make me feel worse about it than I already do, and they don't bother trying. "I remember Ducky, always telling stories. I don't... I don't remember listening to a single one of them." They know how much I want to hear one now. "I remember Gibbs, always right, always knowing what to do next. Always saving somebody. Everybody." Just not you. I blink. They're right. "I remember watching Gerald get shot." Because of you. "I remember nearly stabbing Ari." The shadows fall silent once again.

"Gibbs was right. Eyes lie. His eyes don't hold the kindness anymore." Because they never did. "They did. I swear they did." Even as the words come out of my mouth I realize I can barely remember the day in my head. It's been too long, the darkness has been too much. But they did, didn't they? I had said it myself. I hadn't stabbed him because of it. "Right?" Maybe not. Maybe I was just afraid. No. I hadn't been afraid. I had felt bad for him, hadn't I? Hadn't I? "How did I let this happen? I had it all. I had everything I ever needed... wanted. Now, nothing."

I lean my head against the brick wall and I close my eyes. The shadows won't talk back. I hate this silence, I hate how it's filled with nothing but my own voice. Unless he speaks, and I hate that even more. I hate him, I hate everything about him. I hate having to be here, and it's all because of him.

My hands clench into fists on the ground. I know that I just lied to myself. It's not because of him, no. It's because of me. I could have said no. I could have chosen not to come here, and I know it. It was my choice and I chose this. I swallow. "It was this or them," I whisper. We know. I've never said it before. How would they know? How would the shadows know, if I never told them? I hate this. They know everything. Nothing is just mine anymore. It's mine and it's theirs and it's his. You saved them. I know that. They don't have to tell me that. I know that I saved them and I don't regret coming here, not if it saved them.

But what if, what if it didn't save them? What if he lied to me, and he did it anyway? Maybe he did. Maybe he broke our deal, just like he broke me. No. No, he didn't. He wouldn't. He doesn't have any kindness in his eyes but he's still not a monster. He still wouldn't do that, I know it. I hope.

~~~~.~~~~

It takes me a moment to realize that I've actually opened my eyes, that I'm not asleep anymore. Sometimes I'm not sure if I actually fall asleep or not. Not much goes on here; there's no way to tell how long I've been sleeping, when I feel asleep, anything. The only way I can keep track of time is by my conversations with the shadows.

And I remember every one of them.

Every word I've ever said to the walls, I remember. I've said a lot, I think, but I'm not sure when I started. It feels like a long time ago, but at the same time, it feels like yesterday. But when was yesterday? It easily could have been yesterday, for all I know. It could have been three years ago. I don't know. I don't even know how old I am anymore. How old was I when I came here? (The shadows tell me they know. They know, but they won't tell me.) How old will I be when I leave here (if I leave here)? I wish I knew.

I take another bite out of the bread Ari brought yesterday. Ari. He's ruined my life, but he keeps me alive. What's the point? What does he think he's achieving, doing this to me? Is there some perverse pleasure he gets from torturing me? I figure so. Otherwise, wouldn't he have just killed me already? Unless he has a reason.

I really must be going crazy. Either the shadows now know my every thought, or I'm saying words aloud and not realizing it. I'm not sure which one I'd rather it be.

"What.. What reason would he have?" I make sure that I speak out loud. I'm not going to push myself over the edge. I'm going to try to stay sane just as long as I can. I can feel it, the sanity, ebbing away at the edges of my brain, threatening to disappear completely. I'm not sure when. I don't know if it's just now starting to leave me or if it's been fading away for a while now, and I can't say that I know which would be better. Maybe, once I go crazy, I won't know what I'm thinking or feeling. Maybe it'd be easier than being sane.

Then again, maybe it'd be harder. Maybe I'd know what I was doing without being able to control it, and I'm not sure if I'd be able to handle that. Being a bigger mess than I am now? It's hard for me to imagine, and I know for a fact that I don't want to.

It takes me a moment to realize the shadows don't say anything back. I know why. I always know why. There's only a handful of reasons the shadows don't reply. They never reply if the answer hurts. They never reply if they don't know, and they never reply if they know that I couldn't handle it.

I'm thinking it's the former or the latter.

~~~~.~~~~

When it's all over, when you're on your deathbed, what are you supposed to think about?

I'm laying here. It's been too long since I last ate, since I last had a drop of water. I can't move. If I had food, if I had water, I doubt I would be able to get to it. I'm laying here, still with nothing but my thoughts. I don't even want to open my eyes and look at the shadows. They won't tell me anything I want to hear. They're too honest, way too honest for that.

So I'm here and I'm thinking. I'm thinking about how hungry I am, how much I wouldn't mind some real food, something more than just bread. A salad, a steak, it doesn't matter. Something substantial, anything at all. I'm thinking about how much I wouldn't mind something other than water, either. A soda, some Kool-Aid, anything. I'm thinking about the shadows, how much I wished they could really speak, how much I want them to call Ari in here to give me something. Because this is hell on Earth, but I still don't want to die. Not yet.

I'm thinking about how I'd always wondered how long I'd be stuck here, and now I just might find out.

And now, now that I've realized it, I'm thinking about those things I'd forgotten to think about. Those things usually in the front of my brain, usually right there, that I completely forgot about. My memories. Tony and Gibbs and McGee and Abby and Ducky. I haven't thought about them yet, about how they're doing, about what all I'd been through with them. And now that I've remembered them I feel nothing but guilt. Because that's what you're supposed to think about on your deathbed, isn't it? Your friends, your family. Your whole life is supposed to flash before your eyes, right? I haven't had that. I can't make the images flash in my brain. I can't make them, and I feel nothing but guilt for that.

You've been on your deathbed for years.

I swallow, but nothing goes down. I have no saliva to go down now. My mouth is dry, and the shadows are right. They're always right. They've never been wrong, never failed me yet. I've been on my deathbed for as long as I've been here, and they've flashed before me all that time. I've thought of little but them. Why should I feel guilty, when I've thought of them forever?

It helps, a little bit, what the shadows said. But I still can't shake that small feeling of guilt that's still eating at me.

~~~~.~~~~

My eyes open slowly, just to be burned by a small light shining directly at me. I gasp, closing my eyes and covering them with my hands, my chains rattling as I move. It hurts to move my arms. They ache even without moving, and I nearly cry out from the pain. But I can't make myself make any other noise.

"Holy shit."

It's a slightly familiar voice. I've heard it before, I'm sure. I think. Maybe it's a voice I've given to the shadows, a voice that has only ever resonated in my head.

The light shuts off, and I'm glad. No. Glad isn't the right word. Glad is when you're happy, smiling. I'm relieved. I slowly, carefully move my arms from my eyes, but I don't open them. Not yet. Someone is bending down beside me, but they won't speak. I feel someone cutting at the chains attached to the walls. I hear somebody, seemingly far away, call for an ambulance. I open my eyes, but everything's spinning, so I close them again. Who are these people? What do they want from me? Maybe... Maybe they're hear to help.

Who's ever really trying to help, Caitlin?

I wince as the shadows speak to me. They're always right, after all.

I try to speak. I open my mouth, but I can't get anything to come out. Nothing. My heart is pounding, and I just want them to leave, to leave me alone, to let me die here in peace. I don't want them to be here, to nurse me back to health. One of them is Ari, I guarantee it. He's moving me, he's going to make me get better so that he can do it all over again. I know it. I just.. I just know it.

"Kate Todd?" It's a man's voice, but it's not Ari. It's not the man calling for an ambulance. It's somebody else, and I know that I've heard the voice before. It's the same voice that cursed when the light shined at me. It's the same person who's kneeling beside me. I want to tell him to get up, because he doesn't know what he's getting himself into, he doesn't know what he's standing on, who he's talking to, but he knows my name. My name. It feels weird to hear it again, after all this time. Ari never used it. I never use it. The shadows, they've only used it once, and it wasn't until they showed up. I think that I'd almost forgotten it.

Suddenly, somebody's picking me up, and I'm leaning against them as they're carrying me. I don't know where I'm going, and I really don't care right now.

"You're supposed to be dead." It's whispered, almost muttered, said in passing and almost like I'm not supposed to hear it. But I do.

"I'm... supposed to be a lot of things," I manage to croak out, and I can feel his eyes on me. We're still in the room, I think. It still smells like it, unless it's just me.

No, it's not just me. I can't smell it anymore. We're outside, I think. I can feel the light shining down. I can hear the shadows, back in that room, still calling out to me -- telling me these different things, what's supposed to be and what's not supposed to be and all these last-minute pieces of advice -- but they get quieter and quieter the closer to the light that I get, until finally, I can't hear them at all.