Two weeks. That's all it had been; yet it had felt like two years. She was sure that the passage of time was insignificant information for them to give her. Saleem's men had been talking slightly too close to her prison, complaining that he had yet to break the woman in that time. Ziva was almost positive that they'd be shackled right next to her had the man known of his subordinates complaints.

She looked out across her barren prison. It was small with only the single door. A threadbare blanket lay on the floor beneath her while the crusty block of a pillow had been thrown across to the wall over a week ago. The room smelled; her bathroom was nothing more than a metal can with no lid. She was sure that if Saleem didn't kill her, the putrid smell of her own waste would. Around her was evidence that she was not the first to be held in the room. Long scratches decorated the wall across from her as if someone had tried to claw their way through, she'd found moldy bread that was rock hard and crumbled in her hands from previous meals eaten in the room and a lethally large area of concrete had been stained red from blood.

The door suddenly opened, basking her in florescent light. Ziva raised her hand to shield her eyes as she heard the familiar metal clunk and scrapping sound of her evening meal being served. She lowered her hand and turned her face away from the door. The first time they'd presented her with food had been days after her capture and subsequent beating. At that time she dove for the tiny tray only to receive a heavy boot to the face. Ziva had woke almost an hour later to find only a morsel of the dry sandwich and a cup that barely had the bottom filled with water. After that she had seemed uninterested in the bologna sandwiches they'd bring her twice a day, eating them only after the door was shut and the heavy lock slid into place.

Ziva pulled the tray toward herself and did her best to control herself from eating the sandwich quickly. She was only given two sandwiches a day with a tin cup of water. A week-and-a-half of little to eat had taken its toll; she no longer felt the intense hunger pains, her body having grown accustomed to the meager portions. She ate almost half of the sandwich before forcing herself to save the rest and picked up the cup to take a long drink.

"I kinda thought that Mossad put you through some sort of torture training."

Ziva froze as she heard the familiar voice, her lips still wrapped over the rim of the cup. Slowly she lowered the cup to reveal the figure in front of her. He stood leaning against the door, his ankles crossed and his hands shoved in his pockets.

Sitting the half empty cup on the tray she blinked rapidly a few times though never taking her eyes off of him. He had always looked nice in the suits he'd wear but she'd secretly preferred his jeans and sports jacket look.

"McGee?" Her voice came out rough from little use over the two-week period.

"You look like hell, Sweetcheeks." McGee smiled, still leaning casually against the door.

Ziva scoffed in response, "I feel like hell."

Realizing what she'd said her eyes found his once more, searching for any kind of emotion. She simply wasn't weak as far as anyone knew. Tony had coined her as a ninja assassin; few people were able to breach her inner shell, to be allowed to see her in those moments when her walls would drop to expose her raw self.

"Understandable," McGee stated. Without moving, his gazed raked over the room. "I think you need to fire your decorator."

Ziva continued to stare at him. "You... are not real."

"Of course I'm not real." McGee finally pushed himself away from the wall and walked toward her.

Ziva shook her head subtly, dropping her gaze to the concrete floor. Crouching down in front of her, McGee reached out and cradled her jaw in his hand, "Doesn't mean I'm not here."

"I am going crazy," Ziva chuckled bitterly.

McGee shifted slightly, sitting beside her on the blanket. "Let me guess," He spoke, reaching up to his neck and loosening his tie. "You expected to see Tony."

"I had not expected to see anybody," Ziva admitted. "The mere fact that I am seeing you proves that I am crazy."

McGee chuckled as he pulled the tie from his neck, folded it up and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "You're not crazy, Ziva. Your mind brought me here in an attempt to cling to your sanity. Only you would know why you're seeing me and not Tony."

Ziva picked her head up, turning slightly to gaze at her former partner. Normally, when being compared to the senior agent, McGee's voice would take a defensive tone and his eyes would fill with inferiority. However, sitting next to her, his posture was lax as he leaned against the cold, hard wall. Almost as if he were comparing himself to a toad. The corners of his mouth twitched in the way she'd noticed when he'd figure something out that was extremely important in a case. It made Ziva curious; what was it that he knew about her present situation?

"I do not."

"You do, you're just not willing to admit it to yourself." McGee smiled. "It's alright; I'm not going anywhere."

Ziva scoffed as she shifted to lay down. For a moment she considered laying her head on his legs before deciding against adding fuel to her hallucination; she laid down, her head only inches from his thigh before closing her eyes. "I don't."

"You do," McGee whispered as she drifted off to an uneasy sleep. She wouldn't admit it but she could have sworn she felt his hand rest against her shoulder before sleep took her.

Fifty-two sandwiches had been delivered since McGee showed up with a smirk on his face and a claim that she knew why her mind had created him over Tony. Nothing had changed however; twice a day she'd be presented with food and between those visits, Ziva would be taken from the room- a bag thrown over her face to block her view- and thrown into a chair for Saleem's interrogations. The only thing that had changed was her figure.

The door of her room opened and she was relieved of the bag over her head and the binds from her wrists before forcefully pushed into the damp room and bathed in semi-darkness again as the door closed.

"Are you alright?" McGee asked from his position on the blanket.

Ziva slowly made her way toward him and sank down to the floor. "He was so close today."

"Close?"

"He's not asking about Mossad anymore," She finally confessed. "Two weeks ago... he started asking about NCIS."

McGee waited patiently. It had taken some coaxing at first to get to Ziva to talk about Saleem and her experiences before McGee showed up. For reasons she couldn't quite figure out, McGee never showed up when Saleem was in the room.

"He has been asking about the people I worked with." She glanced down into her lap. "I have never been so close to succumbing to torture."

"What stopped you?"

Ziva looked down into her lap, her fingers laced together as her thumbnail scratched at a smudge of dried blood on the webbing of her opposite hand. She still wasn't any closer to being able to answer the mystery of why it was McGee sitting next to her. Every night had been spent thinking over memories in search of a reason.

"Do you remember my first case with NCIS?" Ziva asked instead.

"How could I forget?" McGee said. "Finding a mummified hand in a safe deposit box isn't exactly routine. Why?"

Ziva's gaze lifted until she was staring at the wall opposite her. She swore she could almost see the two of them standing close, looking down at the rolled up map. "I made a reference to Harry Potter."

McGee chuckled, "I remember; it was the first time you made fun of me."

"I have read them, McGee. Ever one of them."

Silence filled the room as she waited for his reaction. He had seemed so excited learn that they may share an interest in the novels but she had played his question off, as if she would chew off her own arm before admitting to reading the series. After a few moments of silence Ziva chanced a look to her left. McGee sat smirking at her.

"So you're a closet geek, huh?" McGee joked.

A soft smile found it's way across her features. "Don't tell anyone."

Ziva was instantly aware of the fact that had she been talking to anyone else, a threat would have followed her command. A barrage of memories flew through her mind like someone flipping through channels on a television.

...McGee attempting to make her feel better after a suspect died while alone with her in the elevator.
...Kissing him on the cheek in an attempt to hide the fact she and Tony had been caught going through the photos on his iPod.
...Answering her door to find him with a bottle of Merlot and a Strawberry Cheesecake.
...McGee turning his back and lifting his jacket as she took a long look at his ass.
...Smiling against his shoulder as he announced his name as Thom to a club bouncer.
...Finding the photos of her on McGee's computer and semi-threatening him about possessing them.

It was at that moment that Ziva realized she didn't mind McGee having the bikini photos after all. She couldn't describe what was coursing through her mind at the moment. He would only have those photos if he... but he couldn't possibly.

She suddenly lowered her gaze once more. McGee sat next to her, a growing smile on his face.

"Only you know why you're seeing me and not Tony." He echoed his own words.

"I know," Ziva whispered after a moment.

"Maybe you should tell me sometime." He spoke softly.

"I know," She said again, looking up at him. He wasn't truely there- nothing more than an over active mirage. "Perhaps I will."

"When?"

Ziva paused. After nearly two months of being held prisoner and interrogated, she'd readily welcome death. Now, however, she realized that she had something to live for... someone to survive for. She reached out and held her hand against his cheek. Again, she could have sworn she really felt his warm under her hand; at the moment, she didn't care that McGee wasn't truely next to her in the dimly lit room.

"Maybe after you rescue me. Physically."

McGee looked at her with confusion. "You have already saved me mentally"

With that, Ziva laid down against the threadbare blanket and closed her eyes. A small smile formed on her face as she spoke again, "Dont tell anyone."

McGee chuckled, "Wouldn't dream of it, Sweetcheeks. Wouldn't dream of it."

END