Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or the characters.
Well hello. This is a new idea I came up with; you can probably get the gist of the plot from the summary. This is the start, and it is set later in the story, so the next chapter will really be the start. Make sense? I think I'm confusing myself.
Anyway, if you read can you pretty please review, just so I know how many people are interested and if it worth continuing with this idea. Otherwise I'll scrap it.
Leave me some feedback. Thanks.
Stockholm Syndrome: a psychological response seen in an abducted hostage or prisoner, in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty or forms an emotional attachment to their captor, regardless of danger. It is thought that this response is triggered as a survival mechanism, with the belief that the perpetrator will provide better treatment and protection, and stop any intention of harming or killing the hostage.
Surely not. It was impossible. Completely, totally, and utterly impossible. These kinds of things didn't really happen. It was the stuff of movies, stories, fiction. It was that really cool horror movie with the unforeseen twist at the end.
But it never happened in real life.
Except it did.
He just couldn't understand how it could have happened to her. How anything could have happened to her. She was so smart, so well trained. She spent her entire life doing this sort of thing, participating in these kinds of operations.
Where did it all come undone?
No. There was no way.
It couldn't have happened.
Except it did.
Tony,
He stared at the piece of paper in his hands numbly, his eyes tracing over the familiar handwriting. It was like a dream. A trance that he couldn't snap out of. He read the first line aloud, testing the words out, feeling them roll over his tongue.
I do hope that you are well.
It was wrong. It wasn't her. He tried it again, adding a slight accent to the words. No. That wasn't it either. Add a coy undertone. Definitely not. He took a breath, moved onto the next line.
I am very much enjoying myself here.
Enjoying herself? Unconsciously, he clenched his fists. Enjoying herself? What the hell was going on? Where the hell was the strong woman he used to know?
Jason is a good man. He treats me well.
"Dammit!" He swore, bringing his fist down onto the kitchen bench top with a loud bang. "Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit!"
His name brought a sour taste to his mouth and suddenly all he wanted to do was wretch. That bastard. That goddamn bastard.
I am very happy that he lets me write you these letters.
Again, the formality caught him off guard. As did the tears that he had been so effectively holding back. They pricked at the back of his lids, threatened to pour out. He blinked twice and swallowed. Not now.
I would write more, but right now Jason is taking me fishing at the lake. I am very excited.
At first, he had thought that those details were a clue, a way to find her. But all the details were vague and indecipherable. He'd given up after a while, accepted that she was gone. He eyes fell to the last word on the paper, printed neatly and carefully.
Goodbye.
And that was it, the same way she signed every letter. It was so final, so abrupt, as if she knew her fate was sealed.
But that was impossible. She was delusional, living in a fantasy world created by the unsatisfied. She actually believed Jason; she had actually fallen for him. There was no other explanation.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifted the paper to his face and breathed in, hoping he might catch the faintest whiff of jasmine, any kind of trace that she was still the same person.
There was nothing there.
A/N: So there you go. Confused. Tell me if you want more. Otherwise I'll pull the story. Thanks for reading.