This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.

Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)

I hope you enjoy!

A/N: Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews so far! totally made my day.

Warning: This chapter contains an instance of torture. Read with discretion.


"I think we'd remember killing someone McWorrier." Tony said sternly from his desk. Gibbs was up in MTAC, allowing the three agents to vent their worries in private.

"I know, Tony. It's just that, I don't remember anything." Tim said, his tone wrought with concern. "I mean, nothing. Just that I think I slept with som-" McGee, for the second time that day, clapped his hand over his mouth.

"Whaa-? McNo-more-virigin? Could it be true?" Tony teased, raising himself from his seat and moseying over to McGee. "Who was the lucky lady McGee? Or unlucky." McGee, knowing that it was too late to begin backpedaling, sighed, and readied himself for Tony's teasing. This is gonna last months, he thought to himself.

"I don't know Tony. She left in the morning."

"Oooh hoo, you got burned eh? You're growing up! I'm so proud of you Probie! But you didn't have the DiNozzo touch" he said as he massaged McGee's shoulders, his face quite close to the junior agent's.

"Tony, now's not the time. You can tease me when we're in the clear about the murder."

"Oh no, there's no better time than now McCasanova. Did you woo her with your technobabble? Or no!" Tony's face lit up. "Maybe, you seduced her with your sexy typewriting skills! Ziva, you're not gonna get in on this?" Tony giggled as he wagged his fingers in the air, imitating typing before replacing them on McGee's shoulders.

"McGee, I'm sure you made this woman very happy." She said smiling.

"Thank you Ziva. Tony, please stop touching me."

"You heard him DiNozzo. Stop touching McGee."

Gibbs had returned from MTAC, and swiftly took a seat at his desk. Tony retreated, but glanced back as he heard Gibbs answer his phone. His brow raised slightly, turning and boring holes through McGee with steely blue eyes.

"Yeah, got it." Gibbs snapped his phone shut. "McGee, with me. Abby's lab."

McGee hardly had a chance to stand as Gibbs forcibly grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet, hurrying him along. Tim was horrified. It reminded him of the case where Landon was killing people according to Rock Hollow, Tim's second novel. No, that was my fault. All my fault. I deserved Gibbs being so mad at me.

Tony didn't have the heart to joke as Tim was drug away, seeing the fear and humiliation in the younger man's eyes. Tony simply looked down at his desk, for once wearing his feelings on his sleeve, the way McGee did.

"Tony?" Ziva asked sympathetically.

"Nope." He whispered, shaking his head.

Tony knew what was going on. He wasn't stupid. He acted childish and teasingly towards McGee and Ziva because of the sorry excuse for parenting he received from Tony Sr. (and poor decisions by himself). It was something he was running over with his therapist. Obviously he couldn't let the Probies know he saw a therapist... Or how much he cared about them. But Tim… he liked to call him Tim when he thought about him. Tim was something special. Tony had never met anyone like him; someone who always tried to do the right thing. From picking a snack from the vending machine or making sure he spent a good amount of time with Abby, even though she too treated him poorly. Well, maybe not poorly, they just wanted different things. Why does he put up with us? Tony thought, wondering if a man like Tim ever reached a breaking point. He wanted to confess to Tim how much he meant to him. How much he wished that they could call one another brothers. Or maybe go visit his family, and be introduced as 'my friend Tony'. He admired the young agent, trying to 'do one thing like Tim a day', as his therapist suggested. Sighing, Tony bunched up a piece of paper, tossing it into McGee's trash can, silently wondering what he'd do if he ever lost McGee.


"So just tell me what in the hell, your NCIS card was doing on the murder victim?" Gibbs yelled after the evidence had been brought back from the scene.

"Uh, I, um, we, um-" McGee was stunned

"Today! McGee!"

"Tony and I gave out our cards to some girls Saturday night. That's it. You can take a look at what we were wearing. There won't be any blood" McGee, sensing the potential severity of the situation, became as he had when his sister had been accused of murder. He knew this was Gibbs, a man he was terrified of, but he wasn't going to back down.

"Look, Boss. I don't remember much of that night, but I know we didn't kill Firestine. There's…" McGee paused, knowing his next statement was a conflicted, not wanting the older man to be disappointed in him (not like he could avoid that anyway, now).

"Boss, Ton-"

"Boss! I can prove we didn't do it!" Tony called as ran into Abby's lab, nearly running her over, waving the phone in the air. Gibbs stared questioningly, then nodded a mere millimeters.

"Can we, uh, do this, uh somewhere quieter? Interrogation?" McGee stuttered.

Gibbs shook his head in mock frustration.

"Ok, let's go".


McGee: Bye Big D, I, I, I love you.
Ziva: Night Tony
Tony: Love you too, my maaain man.
*Very Sober Tony Voice*
Tony: End transmission

"So? You believe us?" McGee pleaded. Tony, McGee, and Ziva sat in chairs on one side of the interrogation table, while Gibbs reclined on the other, fighting to hold back a smile. He knew that, while this wasn't enough to fully clear their names, it was enough to ease up any thoughts otherwise. He'd only ever experienced a tiny handful of times where his agents had become drunk, but nothing like this. Oddly though, the most disturbing of the recording was McGee saying the "F Word". There were other parts of the recording that he wanted to address.

Why did McGee wish he was his father? Didn't he have the 'perfect' family? Was McGee seeing someone? Tony's gotta have an STD by now. Was the breakup between McGee and Abby that bad…? Sober thoughts equal drunk words...

"Boss?" McGee was trying to remain serious as Tony was playing footsie with him under the table. Gibbs pulled McGee's card from an evidence bag, placing it on the table. One of the corners were soaked with the Staff Sergeant's blood. McGee looked at it carefully. Gibbs slid his knife under it, flipping it over. On the back, was a message in tiny handwritten scrawl. McGee had to squint to read it.

As-Salam Alaykum Agent McGee,

You and I are not that different. I know what it's like to be consistently second guessed. Do they feel you're inadequate? I will help you transcend them. Through Fire. I expect you soon. Arm yourself. Saleem should have ended you, for the damage you can do. You are a worthy adversary, Katîb.

M.S.

Saleem. It was just name. It was just a title, of someone deceased. Someone who should never be spoken about again. Someone who's wrath was over. A name that evoked fear in the four agents' hearts. A name; with it, conclusion.

Silence. More silence. McGee began to speak as Gibbs cut him off, answering his question.

"There were no fingerprints on it. No significant forensic evidence at the crime scene as of yet. Abby is still processing it, but nothing in relation to your card. We'll figure it out. Figure out M.S.'s connection. I'll get all the information on any undeclared persons from the camp in Somalia. Well, the other team's gonna figure it out, but if I get names, you'll track it, McGee. And what you all said in the recording can clear you, it won't do any help finding this guy." He stood, retrieving the evidence, and left. Tony had stopped playing footsie with McGee, but rest his hand on his shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze as McGee stared at the wall.

"Come on buddy, don't worry 'bout what that psycho says. Prob just some drunk guy thinking it would be funny." Tony gave him a warm smile, but anxiety showed in his eyes, knowing damn well that it was not 'just some drunk guy'. "We'll figure this out, I'll uh, go help Gibbs." Tony also stood, leaving Tim with a blank stare and Ziva, who had her hand on his forearm in support.

"Seriously?" McGee finally breathed. "Me? Again? Wasn't the whole ordeal with my book enough?" He dropped his head onto the desk, arms folded. Ziva sat by quietly, rubbing his arm.

"I do not know McGee. Katîb. In arabic, means 'writer'. How would he know that?" She sighed, trying to rid herself of the thought of Somalia. She ended the conversation quickly, keeping in check the rising emotions and pain within her.

"But I'm sure everything will work out. You have nothing to worry about." She then stood, pausing for a moment, to look at him, a feeling passing through her that she passed off as concern, and exited. As she walked down the hall, she, almost involuntarily hurried to the women's restroom and cursed herself, leaning up against the wall. She slid down, till she was seated on the floor, fighting to keep weakness from spilling from her eyes again. But she failed to contain the tears as she wondered why it was so hard for her to be there for McGee, as he had been for her some time ago.

Xxx Flashback xxX

Timothy McGee had been seated comfortably at his desk, drumming his fingers lightly on the keys of his typewriter, but not allowing the keys to go far enough to imprint ink upon the page. Ziva was still in the process of recovering after her rescue from Somalia, and all he could think about was how she was holding up. After all, it had only been weeks since they'd all returned together. Tim smiled, then winced. He had been ready to give his life to bring Ziva from the hell she was in.

You'll never tell them,will you? He asked himself.

Or, at least if they don't ask. No, it was all about helping Ziva forget; helping her mend. It's not about you. Don't be selfish. She endured worse than you. Forget it. She's dealing with much worse than you. You're weak. Forget it.

But he couldn't.

He winced again, remembering how an unknown man, under direction of Saleem had drug a knife, heated over flame, across his back. He'd twist it and wiggle it, inscribing permanently upon the young agent's back lines that would forever remain. It took hours before the young agent finally made a noise, to Saleem's delight. His mouth erupted open as the unknown man whipped his back with a red hot pole of steel, tears and saliva pouring from his contorted face. Saleem spoke words of encouragement to the unknown man. McGee had almost been more startled at the noise he made, than the pain, hearing his voice; a half-scream half-cough animalistic noise echo through the compound. A sound heard by Ziva and Tony both, but knew from the tone, it could not be any one of them, especially McGee. But, it had been. And only one knew. The unknown man continued.

Although McGee couldn't see him (as he faced the corner of the cell) he could hear Saleem speaking arabic to his counterpart. McGee's analytical nature (even in the face of torture) detected that Saleem's tone was that of encouragement, yet condescending. Perhaps teaching the other about torture.

The man whipped McGee's back with moderate force, but eventually became more confident, slinging the whip (or whatever it was) across the open wounds with reckless abandon. After what seemed like hours, the duo drug Tim to the cell that he would lay upon the ground as Saleem and Tony conversed. But, not before the unnamed man stepped in front of McGee, locking eyes with him, and whispered "you are strong, Katîb."

Tim burned incense in his apartment now, because the smell of his own burning skin sometimes tore him from his sleep.

He never forgot that face. The scar running through his left eyebrow. The mole on the side of his nose. The deep brown eyes; sad, yet tormented, like a starved frightened dog that is willing to fight to the death. McGee never forgot that face.

He never told them what happened to him there, after he and Tony had been captured. He never would. Tony had bragged how nothing, aside from the truth drug and a few punches, had befell him in Somalia. Lucky you.

McGee had reached beneath his shirt and was running his fingers over the scars on his back. He couldn't feel them all, but he knew they were there. He traced them slowly, recalling the sights, smells, and feel of everything about each moment tied with each scar.

He had thought for a moment, when his hands were bound above his head to a pipe in the corner of the room, that he was like one of Gibb's boats. Instruments, wielded with surgical accuracy, or emotional frustration; gouged, cut, filed, split, snapped, tore, and bored into his flesh. No one ever saw his scars.

Then, there was a knock at the door. Quickly pulling his hands from the scars and assuring himself that they were well hidden by his shirt, he glanced at the time as he strode to the door. 12:56am. Looking through the peep-hole questioningly, he simply saw dark hair and red eyes. Eyes that should have been a beautiful brown.

"Ziva, what are y-" he stopped, his mouth agape as she stood, tears still fresh on her face.

"Come in!" He demanded, as he put his arm around her, pulling her in to the safe apartment. Closing the door and locking it, he led her to his couch, helping her sit. He fell next to her, seating himself toward the hurting Israeli; taking hold of her hands in his, stroking them slowly. Even socially awkward McGee knew that if anything was to be said, it would be from her. Years of glares and awkward stammering on his part had taught him as much about his friend. Whatever had the typically strong, stoic, even cold woman looking so… vulnerable, was a subject that must be dealt with tenderly.

After some time, Tim slid back next to her on the couch, where she instinctively wrapped her arms around his right one, her tiny nose sniffing on his shoulder. An hour passed, and not a word was spoken. Then, Tim broke the silence, simply stating, with the truest compassion for his friend and tears in his eyes, "I just want you to know Ziva, that you're not alone. It's not your fault. And I'll always be here for you. No matter what." So few words, but so much meaning. McGee felt Ziva nod against his now thoroughly wet shoulder as a new wave of tears came. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, cursing himself for not being a stronger man.

Xxx End Flashback xxX

Sitting in the women's restroom at NCIS, Ziva remembered that night. The night few words were spoken, but all was understood. McGee had waited till she'd fallen asleep against him, then lifted her softly, placing her tiny frame easily onto his bed. She remembered the tenderness with which he had tucked her in, stroking her cheek softly, like a concerned brother. And, as the gentleman that he was, he'd readied himself for bed, but slept atop the covers, as to not cause Ziva to be self conscious in the morning.

It was the single most touching, and meaningful moment she'd ever experienced.

It had helped her see that she wasn't alone. The rebuilding began soon after that night.

She sighed to herself, splashing water on her face, exiting the restroom with telltale Ziva confidence, but an unusual softness to her eyes.