VII. Familiar Face

.::.

It may as well have been death.

But this was worse, well at least she expected it to be worse.

Her feet sagged under her weight as Saleem lugged her along, forcing her to support herself on her broken ribs that threatened to collapse any second. Her breath grew short and heavy and she could feel unconsciousness begin to overcome her frail body, but amongst all things she heard a little voice from the direction she was being dragged towards.

The voices faded, and the sand that brushed against his boots and her legs became a silencer and she thought she must've really gone crazy.

The sound of a creak gave her heads up that she was indeed entering a new cell, this must've been where they had decided to behead her, she really didn't mind where. But it'd be easier for them if they did it in a cell they no longer needed, cleaning up wasn't a big thing in the desert, she knew that from experience.

She was surprised when she felt the coolness of a chair underneath her lap, and yeah, that really got her worried, what had they planned for her that gave her the luxury of a chair?

The sunlight that beamed through the gap of the cell was much larger, the light penetrated through the canvas-like cover that showered over her head. When Saleem began to speak, she could hear the words that formed from his sick mouth, but for some reason she couldn't pull them together to actually listen and understand what the hell he was going on about.

All of a sudden the deep tone of his voice stopped altogether and she thought that was it, this was it. Her time had finally come. And indeed it did. Her face jerked back with the black cover as it was removed roughly from her head like a magician revealing some sort of trick that really was just an allusion, a scam. And she felt just like it, a scam.

The light was a welcome and her eyes darted up but then was stopped short, the journey to the opening never completed. And suddenly her confidence and yearn for death earlier seemed to be the greatest fear she could ever have dreamt of.

"One of you will tell me everything I need to know. The other will die." Still shocked, her head couldn't process what was in front of her. What was he doing here? Didn't he know she hated his guts like how cats hated water? Didn't he know she was supposed to die?

Her head was spinning with thoughts as the information loaded through her rusty brain, she saw his lips move but none of the sound ever reached her ears. It was strange and somehow comfortable, she wanted to slap herself, in the midst of deciding who would die and who would live, all she could think about was… nothing, it was ridiculous!

Instead, all she did was stare at him senselessly, taking in his longer-than-usual hair, the cuts and bruises that he didn't deserve and the smile that he shouldn't have been wearing. Not for her.

"You should not have come."

"Alright then, good catchin' up. I'm going now," the chair stood strong, not a single squeak of protest to Tony's weight crashing back down on it, "Oh yeah, I forgot. Taken prisoner."

His laugh was unexpectedly enough for her to consider forgiving him. No. That would've been a lie. She'd forgiven him the moment he first told her what happened, he was her partner and of all things she knew he wouldn't break Gibbs' rule. But it was her pride, her stubbornness that had swathed her and when she said what she did, she just couldn't admit to herself yet alone anyone else that maybe she was wrong.

She didn't know whether she should've apologize, or whether it was even an appropriate time to, their life hung in the balance and for once in her life she found herself stranded in a corner, like a trapped mouse. There were no other alternatives, she could not let him die, not after all he had done and to be completely honest with herself she wasn't ready either, despite her words earlier.

The dusty corner to the left of her peripheral revealed a shallow breathing McGee, and suddenly the urge to get them out of hell on earth was the only thing on her option list. There was only one problem. She had no idea how she would do it, she was weak, nurturing several fractured, broken bones and she just couldn't go up against this many men.

Then from nowhere, they were talking and she replied, but heck she didn't even know what she was saying, had she agreed to putting her hand up to knock on death's door she didn't even know. And for the first time she really considered the thought that she'd messed up her head big time with all the pain and trauma that she'd put it through.

Everything came as a strike of lightning after that, her perception of time was completely screwed. One second they were all talking, the next Saleem was in the room with a knife wielded in his hands. Then in a blink of an eye, a pool of blood streamed from beneath her captor's head, his eyes wide and drained.

And yeah, she was pretty much a walking zombie by the time they'd somehow managed to free and move themselves and her towards the door.

It was a great feeling, to know that she was going to be alright, but then it hit her like a slap on the face. She didn't have anywhere to go to, they'd bring her to DC, then what?

.::.

A/N: Yes, that's it… I'm thinking of doing a sequel that will cover the first half or so of season seven (see how Ziva adjusts back to NCIS), but leave a review for a yes or no. Thanks all for reading and reviewing hugs and kisses to you all!

Special Thanks to:

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