Author's Note-I don't know where this idea came from but please Review!

I found no pleasure in watching him bleed. I always thought I would, tit for tat, hate for hate. The man loathed me-possibly more than anyone else, not that I was ever worried about his hate causing me problems, he was made harmless by his morals. I certainly never thought something like this would ever happen, but it's a small world and it happened.

I'm not sure how it happened. All I know is that I was assigned to turn and handle a dangerous smuggler and Con Artist. Everything was going fine until NCIS, once again, screwed it up. I didn't know what to expect, I had never seen the man so pleased in my entire time with him. I knew that didn't bode well for the rest of humanity, but since I didn't hear any bombs go off I thought perhaps he may have taken some of drugs-there is no honor among theives. I wasn't prepared for what really happened though, not much throws me off guard, I usually have a good handle on things.

I asked him what had pleased him so, he just beckoned me to follow him. And when he threw open that bedroom door, I expected to see heaps of drugs or weapons. Not NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo strapped to a chair, with blood covering him. Thankfully my training kicked in and I didn't show my surprise, or my disgust. It was a horrific sight. He was naked, and bruised from head to toe, cuts covered his body, and he had quite a few broken bones. The smell of piss made me gag. I stepped into the room cautiously, wondering just when this had happened and why I hadn't known right away. I guess that didn't matter either-it happened.

He looked up at me, for a few seconds I thought he'd give me away, there was such relief in those eyes, suddenly now that he needed me I was considered trustworthy. I nearly laughed. What could I do for him? We were stuck in a terrorist camp a million miles away from home. The only help I could offer was a quick death. When I looked up they seemed oblivious to the silent conversation DiNozzo and I had just had. I sighed in relief. I circled the chair and acted stupid, curious to find that I felt nothing at the capture of one of the people who would rejoice at my funeral.

They believed my act, like they always did. And I went to my room to think this through. I spent ages trying to figure out NCIS motives for wanting in on my turf. But that got me nowhere's. I was avoiding the real question, what was I going to do about DiNozzo? There were three options, one let him reap the consequences of what he sowed, two kill him quickly, or three help him escape, jeopardizing my life and the mission. I laid awake that night, blocking out the screams of pain, trying to find peace. I didn't find any that night, not even after the screams ended, and silence reigned.

I tried ignoring DiNozzo's presence the following day, tried pretending he wasn't being tortured for the fun of it only doors down from my room. I used every excuse to run errands for my target. I didn't know why I was doing this, why I felt so terrible. It hadn't been my fault he got himself caught and there was nothing I could do to get him out of it. But the question kept popping up, two in fact, Why did I want to do something? Why did I feel so guilty? I hadn't done anything wrong.

I hadn't done anything 'right' either. But when you live my life, right and wrong become real blurry shades of grey and nothing is as it seems it should be. Good and bad, either become one or are completely obliterated and made obsolete. So depending on how you viewed the situation, what your intentions and motives were and who you were, this little dilemma could be seen as good or bad. But to me? I had no idea where I stood. Which was strange I had never before doubted my position, my stance, my country and job. Of course, I haven't ever seriously considered jeopardizing a mission for any reason either.

And that was what I was doing really. I would find myself subconsciously-without even realizing it-plotting a way out with an injured DiNozzo. Would find myself looking at possible exits, memorizing the hallways in this labyrinth, measuring up the guards, looking for possible weapons. Mine had all been stripped away upon enterance. Only the target himself and his guards were allowed guns or knives of any sort. Which is why at night when I couldn't fall asleep I'd find myself making a Shank.

This was absurd, even if I got out of this alive-and mind you it was a big IF, the Agency would either retire me in their own fashion or charge me with treason. My life would be over regardless. The only way to stay alive was to be selfish and turn my back. Something I had had no trouble doing before. I didn't understand, and still don't, what had kept me awake at night, even when it was quiet and even peaceful. It was only a week later that my sleep deprivation was coming to the attention of the person I was handling. I knew I had to do something or I would slip and fall. Very painfully.

And as I concocted my own sleep medication my heart grew heavy when whimpers softly travelled to my ears. He could no longer scream, his voice was so raw every breathe he took brought up blood. It must have been the sleep deprivation because there was no way in hell I felt bad for him, not for one second. But even after taking the medication I didn't fall asleep. Instead I spent the night making a feast for our prisoner, knowing they hadn't fed him. I didn't know how I'd get past the guards but I needed to do something to alleviate this unjustified guilt I felt. Pretending I had orders I slipped in the room and untied him leaving the plates on the floor. It had been a week, all hope of me rescuing him had drained out of him.

Which was a good sign, but also very disheartening. I could tell how weak he was, I sensed he was at death's door, I tried to leave but I felt just as trapped as he was. I was disgusted with myself, willing to put myself in harms way just cause DiNozzo lost his annoying little spark. Grumbling I remember snapping at him to hold on. That night I made for an escape. And succeeded, DiNozzo had been shot but not severely, I carried him to safety, hid him and turned my cellphone on and speed dialed gibbs and left the cell on DiNozzo's body so they could trace it.

It was too late for me, by the time I turned around to get a cruiser they had me surrounded, thankfully they didn't find him. I reside in the room DiNozzo just vacated. And there is no hope for me. I know I will die here, I've spent the last few weeks in pain, reliving all my mistakes. All my regrets I went over meticulously, I played out the 'What if's' in my head repeatedly. I did my best not to scream. My dignity has been stripped away, my pride disolved and any will to live completely destroyed. Now all I want is to die. I pray every night now that I know the end is near. Mostly for DiNozzo's health ironically enough, but also for my own redemption. After many days thought perhaps that's what I was trying to reach this entire time.

Redemption from all the sins I've commited. I won't lie before I went on this mission things weren't good. I began having doubts, second-guessing everything I had been trained and brainwashed to believe, think and feel. It only intensified when I went overseas. My target thought I was depressed, so I played on that, if he ever knew the truth he'd probably flip. I should have known immediately that this one wasn't going to turn no matter what, but I wasn't at my best. And now it's too late. I don't know how long I've been in here for, I have no idea how long they've been torturing me, I'm sure when Doctor Mallard performs my Autopsy he'll tell you exactly what has been done to me.

Everything seems to be blurring together, I only write this because I know my time is coming soon. I can feel it, I almost feel my heart slowing down. I've never loved anyone in my life, I have no family to speak of. I was raised in foster homes, one right after the other. No one wanted me, and that never changed throughout my life. I was worthless to everybody, I was a nobody, so I made myself into somebody, a somebody you couldn't ignore. A thorn in your side. But even then I was nothing, not really. I could say I changed the world-and I did, but did I do any good? I don't think so. I helped myself along alot but alot of good that's done me now. Who knew just a few days, weeks, maybe months of torture would do me good. Perhaps I just needed an attitude adjustment the entire time.

Now I'm sitting here, with no chance to change all the wrongs, about to die. Longing to be forgived and then killed. I wish I hadn't joined the Agency. I wish alot of things. I don't want to die, so many things were left unsaid, too many things were left damaged and broken. Mends need to be made, bridges rebuilt, wounds need healing. Responsibility needs to be taken. I will never get the chance to say I'm sorry. To say I quit. To say Semper Fi. Because Gibbs and his team were the closest to friends I ever had, and I know how pathetic that sounds but I don't care anymore. I always imagined I'd go out in a blaze of bullets or with some sort of dignity, but I just want to die.

I can't undo all the harm I've done or take back all the mistakes, I just hope this helps someone out there.

The Last Will and Testament of Trent Thomas Kort.

I, Trent Kort, leave $200,000 to Anthony DiNozzo Junior.

I hope DiNozzo you can use this money to replace your car that I did indeed blow up. And I know money can't heal the emotional ramifications of my actions but it's all I can do now. I'm sorry about Jeanne, but your car was necessary.

I, Trent Kort, leave $500,000 to Ziva David.

To be used at your digression. Your Father would wish me dead. And so I wish you well.

I, Trent Kort, leave my personal belongings, along with $300,000 to Doctor Donald Mallard.

I know what it's like to suffer at the hand of Marcin Jerek, I believe what you will find at my place will be helpful to you, it helped me. If you need anything Doctor, don't hesitate to use my name to pull strings. You'd be surprised at how many people owed me a favor.

I, Trent Kort, leave $100,000 and my books to Timothy McGee.

Use it well, Perhaps to torment DiNozzo. There is much to be learned from books, It's amazing what you can find hidden in books. Just Like condoms.

I, Trent Kort, leave my closet full of things and $200,000 to Abby Scuito

I believe you would appreciate this.

I, Trent Kort, leave $300 million dollars to Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Actually Gibbs, I kept the money from the Siravo case. I did have to put up with DiNozzo after all, I thought I deserved it for not killing him. Just do me a favor and don't try to get rid of it.

If you're reading this I am dead. Dead before my time. Dead before I could make things right. Dead before I could feel what love is. Dead before I knew it. I've been having weird hallucinations lately. I think I'm dead but then Gibbs bursts through the door and saves me. Never relied on anyone else, never will. But to see Gibbs face would be nice. It's like a tease. I think they drugged me. Can't last much longer.

Today I started talking to myself. I seem to be sane only when I write. Gibbs is talking back. He even smiles. His wife Shannon and daughter Kelly is there too. They are beautiful.

Gibbs has magic hands, he touches me and I'm healed. It's amazing. I don't even feel them beating the shit out of me.

Gibbs is gone. He left me here. I miss him so much. My only friend. I think I'm experiencing a broken heart. Maybe I'm not exactly sure what they feel like. Never had a heart before.

Definitely drugging me.

Bugs, spiders and pincher bugs, they are under my skin, they burst forth like they run through my veins. Oh god, I can't even scream.

Somebody help me.

Gibbs is back. He is blaming me. DiNozzo is dead. Ducky is dead. Abby is dead. Ziva is dead. Everybody is dead. I think he's going to kill me. He's shot me in the head.

But I wake up. And I'm sitting in front of my mother. She's tripped up on acid. She won't shut up. Where's my gun when you need one?

You know her death was ruled a suicide. Well technically a murder-suicide. My father shot my mom and then shot himself.

The Medical Examiner was terrible at his job, but who would suspect a little boy of killing his parents?

Then they thought my foster parents died in an electric fire.

Still, no one could possibly suspect a seven year old boy, could they? Not that they'd miss the two thieves.

Then my next foster parents well, they just gone got themselves in a car accident.

Surely an eight year old boy wouldn't know how to cut the brake lines could he?

And then the next foster parents, oh they did enjoy selling me to the highest bidder for his or her pleasure. Don't ask, Don't tell. It was their policy. You can do anything you want to the boy so long as you give us plausible Deniability. It was amazing how many respectable men in the community had a taste for little boys. Unfortunately Mister and Misses Hansen were killed by carbon monoxide poisoning. What a shame.

Now they were beginning to pay attention.

Finally someone was listening to me.

Hearing my screams for help.

Because asking them politely not to shuffle me from abusive foster home to abusive foster home wasn't working.

Someone had to help me.

Someone had to save me.

It was always Gibbs.

No one noticed. No one cared. Back then or now.

But now that I died for one of them, perhaps someone will think I'm good enough. I can't feel my body anymore. I can't feel anything. My pleas for help, they go unanswered. Surely when they found DiNozzo they'd look for me? But how would they know I was here? I'm starting to write my thoughts on paper. Somebody help me. Please, this isn't over yet. I don't want this to be the end.

I know I must pay for my sins but not like this. This won't help anyone. Please.

I think I'm about to die. Can't keep awake. Gibbs promised me he wouldn't leave. Better me than someone else. I deserve it.

Goodbye.

Semper Fi, Gibbs.

Trent Kort

Anthony DiNozzo read outloud, the bullpen was silent as a graveyard.