So don't hate me for this, okay? I've had it floating in my head for a while and with some encouragement from friends I have decided to post it. Thanks to Nicole & Kelly for helping me name this thing and looking it over! Going to be a multi-chapter fic, most likely around 4-5 chapters depending on how I choose t end it! Please leave a review and tell me what you think!
Xo
-Toucheblye
To her, the world was just black. She tries to squirm her hands but is stopped by the feeling of coarse rope against her skin. She tries to move her feet, and she feels the dirt beneath her boots, she then realizes her feet are bound. Her head is pounding; there is a dull ache residing in the back of her head. As her eyes start to regather focus she soon realizes there is a thin fabric covering her eyes, she won't be able to see anything no matter how hard she tries. As she regains control of her senses, she feels the cold Afghanistan air that sends chills down her body. She's bound and blindfolded, and by the little information she can gather she's being held in a dark room.
She hears voices in the distance and she knows that somewhere along the line her mission went horribly wrong. The status of Granger and Sabatino are unknown, the last thing she remembers was being up on that hill, the rifle loaded, the supposed target marked in the peep hole, and her finger wrapped around the trigger waiting for the "go" from Granger to take the shot. She recalls the sound of footsteps slowly behind her as she spoke to who she thought was Sabatino.
"Sabatino, we are clear. Waiting for grangers go ahead."
She spoke, but never received an answer. The rest is all a blur- she remembers a blow to the back of her head and waking up where she resides now.
She wiggles in the chair and notices she has been emptied of all her weapons, but that was bound to happen. She feels her head throbbing, some soreness in her ribs, her right thigh feeling like it's been set on fire. He obviously roughed her up, searching for some kind of answers. She's not sure of how long she has been here: it could be minutes, hours, or even days. As she takes mental note of the pain throughout her body she can assume it's been more than twelve hours. As she wriggles around in the chair she can feel the bruises on her hips and thighs, possibly some bruises on her lower back. She tries to note her injuries, but she's so dazed still it's hard to register everything. Her stomach grumbles and her throat is dry, she's unsure how long it has been since she has consumed food or had something to drink. The burn in her throat is strong, she aches for water. Dehydration is going to start to over come her shortly.
The footsteps and voices that were once distant become louder and more clear, the sound of a metal door being swung open and footsteps approaching her.
"She's awake." A husky voice says, he smells of alcohol.
"Ah agent Blye, nice of you to join us." A second voice says as he follows the first man. She does not quite recognize the first voice, but the second voice has a husky tone to it, something that is somewhat familiar. She can't quite place the sound of his voice though.
It takes everything in her to mutter a response. "Don't hurt him." Her defense mechanism is to protect him, even when he is thousands of miles away. He is her partner, no matter where she may be.
The husky male voice responds: "Don't hurt who?"
She doesn't respond. She knows he isn't here but it is her natural reaction to protect him. He is her partner no matter how far apart they may be.
"Ahhhh you think your beloved one is here. Assuming he will rescue you I see." The second male voice says as he laughs in amusement.
Again she doesn't respond, she doesn't know what they want, but stays static in her chair. Her gut tells her they want information, and they will use any means to get it- even if it means beating her.
"Tell me what you know about NCIS. " The husky voice says, and she hears the lighting of a flame. She cannot find the strength to dignify a response to him.
"AHHH… You are still not going to answer my questions. Two can play this game." The husky sounding voice says. He bends down close to her and her senses are full of smoke and alcohol.
The flame hits her skin and burns against her bare shoulder. She gasps as she registers what he is doing to her, yet she remains as stoic as can be. She doesn't know what he wants to know, who he is, or how he knows her identity, but she does know one thing: Her mind is thousands of miles away on a beach watching her partner surf his favorite waves.
She pictures him shaking that shaggy blonde hair right after he comes in from the water, how he runs his hands through it when he is frustrated. She pictures his huge grin when they talk food, or his smile when he sees Monty after a long day. She pictures his ocean blue eyes that always give her a sense of reassurance when she questions the world. She pictures his smile he gives her when she shows up at his doorstep, and she hears the sound of his laugh when he laughs at one of her bad jokes.
"Your smile, your laugh, everything. It's the only thing that got me through." All those months ago the roles were reversed. He was protecting her, protecting the team. He confessed she was the only reason he was able to sustain the torture-the only thing keeping him moving forward. She had been flabbergasted by the admission, the partners each carrying heavy burdens of the past and ultimately she felt undeserving of him, undeserving of the way he cared for her. But now she was in the same spot he once was. It all was becoming clear.
She sits blindfolded and bound in the chair recalling his confession. At the time she didn't know how she was enough to get him through… But now, she fully comprehends. The man asks another question and she just remains as she has been, stoic and not responding.
She waits as he places another burn to her arm, and thinks of the first morning it felt like to wake up in his arms. The shaggy blonde hair that she loved to tousle while he slept, and the tiny smirk he had on his face that morning are the only relief she can fathom.
And she waits as he moves to down her arm: Her thoughts remain on him, the one source of good, and she has hopes that he will be coming to her rescue
Feel free to leave a review on your way out :)