Sorry for the delay, everyone. I actually wrote three versions of this chapter before I decided on the right storyline. This is a short one, because I'm planning big things for the next chapter.

"So that's the neighborhood," Adam Wright said to his friend as they walked down the dirt road. "It's not much, and I can't say I'll ever call it home, but I do feel like I'm making a difference to these people," he said.

"I'd say you're definitely making a difference," responded Owen Anderson. "It's really great to get a chance to see all of this. We're usually in and out of an area so quickly that we don't see much of anything. At least not during daylight," he said with a wink.

"Well, I'm glad your job brought you here, at least for a little bit. It has been convenient for the aid workers to have a U.S. military installation so close. A little bit of added security, I guess you could say, even if it's all in our heads. Plus it makes it a whole lot easier to get supplies shipped in."

"And yet you're still living in little huts miles away," Owen laughed.

"Oh come on, like you haven't slept worse places. Oh wait," Adam grinned. "You can't tell me, can you?"

"Sorry, classified," he responded, the joke familiar to both of them.

Owen noticed her first. "Is that...?" he asked pointing. On the far side of the street, there was a body crumpled on the ground. The figure was huddled up against the building and barely moving.

"Oh God," Adam responded, rushing over. "It's a woman," he said, brushing her hair out of her face. The woman groaned softly and opened one eye to look at him, the other swollen shut. He could see the panic on her bruised and bloody face. "It's okay. My name is Adam," he said, and then repeated himself in the local dialect.

"With that skin tone, I don't think she's a local," Owen commented, as he scanned the area for any onlookers. "And whoever left her here might be coming back for her."

"Help me get her back to the camp," he said. "She needs our help."

"Help..." the woman managed to croak, grabbing at Adam's arm. "Can't..." she broke off, her breathing ragged.

"Well, she speaks English. That's something," Owen said. "My name's Owen," he said, leaning over her. "We'll help you, but we need to move you. Can I carry you?" he asked.

"Please," she responded weakly.

"Wait," Adam said. "Let's make sure she doesn't have any injuries that could be exacerbated by carrying her."

"Look," Owen said sharply, sounding like the SEAL he was for the first time all day. "Someone did this to her. This wasn't just a random act of violence. This was torture," he said, pointing out the varying stages of healing wounds on her arm. "And for all we know, they're coming back for her." He brushed her ragged hair out of her face. "This was personal," he said, looking her in the eyes. He paused a moment and furrowed his brow.

"What?" Adam asked.

"She looks familiar," he said. "I feel like I know her from somewhere."

"One of your many conquests?" he laughed.

"If only," Owen responded. "Help me lift her," he said as he gently slid his arms under her body. Adam shifted her ragged clothing out of the way and Owen fairly effortlessly lifted her into his arms. Her head lolled against his chest as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Owen looked around them again and then started down the road at a faster pace. "Let's go."

*****

"I can't do much for her here," the nurse said, having examined the woman moments after they got back to the aid camp. "I don't know who did this to her, but she's been tortured, and it's been going on for a few weeks. She's got burns and knife wounds and bruises all over her body. Her arm is very clearly broken and it may have started to heal improperly. She'll probably need surgery on it. And I'd say she's got a pretty severe concussion as well. We can rehydrate her and deal with the cuts, but she needs x-rays and an MRI and a real hospital."

"Did she say who she is? Or who did this to her?" Adam asked.

"She didn't. I don't think she knows how she got here."

Owen paced back and forth in front of them, lost in thought. He knew this woman, but he didn't know why. But he could clearly see her with a knife in her hands, playing with it, using it to trim her nails. Where would he have encountered a woman like that?

Suddenly, his head snapped up and he walked into the tent. Adam and the nurse frowned, but followed behind him and found him standing at the woman's bedside.

"I know you," he said. "You questioned me when one of my buddies got himself into a little bit of trouble. You're NCIS."

Even through the bruising and the swelling, Owen could see the surprise on her face, and he knew he had gotten it right. "I'm sorry, I don't remember your name, but I'm Chief Owen Anderson, and we're going to make sure that you're safe." He turned to Adam. "She's an NCIS agent. She was part of the team investigating O'Connor as part of a drug smuggling operation. Turns out he was clean, but we all got pulled in for questioning," he explained. "And since she's NCIS, that means that getting her treatment on a military base shouldn't be too much trouble. I hope, anyway." He gestured to where his Humvee was parked. "Want to ride along? I could use some help keeping an eye on her. I bet we can send you back with some supplies," he offered.

"You know I'm in, even without the supplies. Plus I have to admit, I'm curious about this woman now. I want to know her story."

"Me too," he said, looking down at her swollen face. "Me too."

So now we know what happened to Ziva... sort of, anyway. Stay tuned for Gibbs and Tony's arrival.