Hopeless Chapter 1, a cause of death fanfic

Disclaimer:

I do NOT own the names Natara Williams or Mal Fallon. Nor do I own the setting of San Francisco. Aside from that, everything in this fictional story DOES belong to me. No copyright intended. Natara Williams and Mal Fallon belong to Electronic Arts company.

This story is purely fictional. Any similarities to anyone, living or dead are strictly coincidental. The only piece of this writing I do not own are the names of Natara Williams, Malachi Charles Fallon, Amy Chen, and LT. Charles Anders. Everything else is from my original creativity, and has not been copied off anywhere else.

Also, the original story is written by Vivere Sine Timore. I enjoyed it so much, I decided to write my own little story based off of hers. I haven't read her version in over 7 months, but I feel like I used many of her own quotes from simple memory. :) I hope you don't mind Vivere Sine Timore.

ALSO, We all know that Natara isn't part of mossad... BUT... If you watch NCIS then you will know who is part of Mossad... I'll admit, I have a girl crush on Ziva... I mean come on, not only is she gorgous, but she can kill someone 18 ways with a paperclip! So I just had to include that. :) Enjoy!

Chapter 1

*You are now Natara Williams*

I was in so much pain. I felt like a broken, abused animal, trapped in a cage. I suppose that isn't far from the truth. I was in an enclosed room, with no windows, and the only item connecting me to the outside world was a heavily bolted metal door. I was a prisoner. I tried to think of how long I have been held captive, I lost track after six days. I was so stupid. Well, I mean I was smart to go after the lead I received about the Senan Miller case. It is my job, after all. But it was stupid of me to not tell anyone where I was going. Even if I told my partner, who is also my boyfriend, Mal Fallon, where I was going, he would at least have a hunch of where I was. My mind drifted back to Mal. God, he must be going through hell trying to find me. I just hope my FBI level profiling skills rubbed off on him.

We met two years ago, and it was very clear that we were two very different people. Malachi Charles Fallon, head detective of the San Francisco Police Department. He was notorious for following his gut and using his "street sense" to take down suspects. And then, you have I, the logical FBI profiler, who can use psychology to get into the heads of killers and break them down via psychological warfare with their mind. In addition, I spent four years in Israel, working undercover in Mossad for the FBI to try to track a mole. It was a very deep cover operation, so deep that I eventually took the training the average Mossad agent would undergo. After basic training, I was placed in the sector known as Metsada, which, to put bluntly, deals in assassination, spying and psychological warfare. In addition, they are commonly referred to as the "Secret Service" of Israel. While there, I learned how to defend myself, and how to kill. I learned how to be a spy, and how to not be spotted. I came back to America three years ago, after successfully terminating the mole in the system.

I mentally kick myself. I had Mossad training; I was trained to kill, spy, and was taught to always keep my guard up. As Mal jokes, I was trained to be a ninja. However, I guess that saying isn't far from the truth. I let myself get caught. And now, I am paying the price.

I slowly, painfully, roll over onto my side, the smell of fresh blood floated into my nose. I must look truly horrifying. I can feel my dirty, tattered shirt drenched in blood cling to my back. As I turn, I accidently put weight on my fractured wrist, and I cry out in pain. Well, my mouth opened, but no sound comes out. Probably due to the few bouts of strangulation and over use. Laying there on the cold, damp, cement floor, I close my eyes and feel a sensation that is particularly rare to me. I feel… I feel weak. I feel, hopeless.

Suddenly, a loud shout from the hallway brought me back to my senses. Great, Miller brought a friend for this round. He already dragged me out to torture me earlier today. Or maybe it was yesterday. I was knocked out halfway through that torture session, I could've been knocked out for a day and not know.

Abruptly, the shouting stopped and a gunshot rang out. I instantly snapped back to reality and my body jolted upright, resulting in extreme pain to run through my entire body. I heard running feet, and the locks on the door being cut off, dropping to the floor. The door eventually was kicked in and I snapped my eyes shut once more to find shelter from the seemingly extreme bright light that now flooded the tiny enclosure I was in. When I opened my eyes again, I saw a shadow standing next to me, and then heard the shadow speak.

"Natara?" The shadow gently whispered. I knew that voice from anywhere. It was Mal. He found me. "Natara, if you can hear me, blink your eyes. Please?" I complied and he let out a sigh of relief. I was still cold, and it was made obvious by my constant shivering. Mal took note of this, and immediately took off his jacket and was about to toss it over my freezing body. My mind, still in defense mode, immediately forced my body to shrink back and left me cowering in fear. A look of pity and sadness washed over Mal's face, his deep cerulean eyes darkened in rage.

"Shh, Nat it's just me. I won't hurt you I promise." He spoke gently. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lightly placed his jacket over my shivering body and held me close. It hurt so bad when he held me, but I didn't show it. Honestly, I was more grateful for his touch and body heat to worry about the intense pain.

"Captain, we need an ambulance, ASAP!" Mal called out to our boss, Captain Lieutenant Anders.

"Ambulance is already en route, it should be here soon!" Anders called back. Good, I can finally get out of this hell hole. I felt Mal's grip tighten against me, and I buried my bruised face into his chest, taking in his intoxicating aroma of his Axe body spray. I thought I would never smell that again. Even though I would normally find that scent disgusting, at least it was better than the stale smell of the fresh and the dried blood, the only scent I could smell for the past several days. Not only that, it proved that this, the events that are occurring right now, wasn't in my imagination. It was real, I was really being rescued.

I close my eyes and exhale loudly, so thankful that this whole ordeal was over. Or so I hoped so anyway.

Eventually, I heard new voices enter the room. I am assuming they belonged to the EMT's, but honestly, it was such a blur. I can't even remember their faces. I felt being rolled onto a backboard and having my neck strapped into a neck brace. I recall momentarily shuddering and attempting to cry out in pain. I remember Mal heading into the ambulance with me, holding my hand tightly. Then someone slipped on an oxygen mask over my face, as the ambulance started and I heard the wail of the sirens as it headed to the hospital.

When we were about three minutes away, they placed a different mask over my face, and instructed me to count backwards from 100. I think I reached 91 before I lost consciousness.