Tony swallowed past his gag reflex, wondering what the odd clump of Jell-o-like material now on its way to his stomach could be. Things in his head had been a little hazy since the first forceful hit of the gun butt. It wasn't a tooth. Teeth didn't turn to jelly if they got knocked out, did they? The one he'd lost during a game against Purdue and their beast of a center had just kind of clattered against the gold and black at the end of the court, sending cheerleaders, even the ones he hadn't dumped, into a panicked retreat. He coughed as one of Safad's goons released the cloth gag that had been forcing him to swallow anonymous globs for the past few minutes and said, "At least Brutus Buckeye was nice enough to pick it up and give it to the trainer."

The goon looked at him with a furrowed brow for a moment before deciding it wasn't worth asking about. If their little trip to the bathroom had been any indication, the guy didn't speak much English, anyway; he probably wouldn't understand about cheerleaders or mascots or even basketball, either. Tony had a sneaking suspicion that terrorists probably weren't big sports fans. He focused on feeling around for unexpected holes in his gums where a tooth should have been and was pleased to find that none were AWOL.

Premolar. The team dentist had told him it was a premolar just before he'd removed it from a solution and shoved it back into Tony's jaw, sending him back out on the floor just in time for a comeback in the final three minutes. He'd needed a root canal, but the tooth was still there today. He couldn't even be sure which one it was. Maybe Ziva would like hearing the story while they calmly waited for Gibbs to rescue them.

He turned his head to look at her just as the goon was leaving the room, but only had a limited view. His right eye hadn't taken long to swell shut and his left was opening only halfway. From what he could see, she looked a little pale, but unhurt. Aside from a scary moment when Tony had thought Safad was going to cut her with the knife he had used to cut through her gag, she had made it through Hostages, Part 2 unscathed, which made her silence a little unsettling. In fact, she hadn't made a sound since Safad had made her beg for their lives, which had been kind of freaky in itself. Catching himself before a comment about how she had nothing to be ashamed of could pop out, he asked, "How you doing?"

"Better than you." Her tone expressed much more concern than her words; he had a strong feeling that he wanted her to hold him until the drugs he imagined her giving him took effect. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Ask me again next week." He made an effort to smile, but found that his face was too tight to produce anything but a puffy grimace. "I don't know why he had to keep hitting me once he hung up on Gibbs and Jenny. And who was that Mr. Nozzle he was talking about?"

"Nozdryov."

They name sounded familiar somehow. "Someone I should know?"

"Not exactly." She looked away, toward the area she'd said was a window. "Dmitri's father."

Rather than responding, Tony expressed himself by spitting out the latest unexplained blob suddenly drifting around his mouth. As it hit the off-white sheet on the floor, it broke into several smaller blobs that left red splotches as they bounced. He shuddered. "Ugh."

"Was that from your nose?"

"Mouth. I'd say I've never seen something like that come out of a person's nose before, but I've never seen anything like that come out of a person's mouth either."

Ziva sighed. "It is a blood clot. I think your nose is broken."

An attempted series of twitches allowed him to feel that it was possibly not the only fracture; his right cheek wasn't moving correctly. He was about to complain about it when he contorted his face into an angle that allowed both of his eyes to open for a moment, revealing a more complete view of Ziva. He couldn't remember her shirt having an abstract pattern of…his swollen eye refused to stay open any longer. "You're bleeding!"

"So are you."

"Yeah, but…but…you knew I was bleeding." It must have happened when Safad had cut the gag away, out of Tony's line of sight. He was disappointed with himself for not noticing earlier. "Where are you hurt?"

She grunted and inhaled sharply as she tried to lean toward him. Her head never made it to his shoulder, where he thought she was aiming. "It's just a small cut on my neck."

"Your whole shirt's a different color!"

"And you're in polka dots."

He allowed his chin to drop onto his chest, a position less comfortable than he would have expected as it was making his breathing more difficult, but he was able to see what she was talking about. "Huh. I think it looks more like splatter paint. I still don't know why they had to keep it up after…maybe he was just recording some stock footage?" He took a welcome deep breath as he leaned his head back. "Ahh. Sorry I wasn't paying attention. Here I was feeling sorry for myself when…"

"Don't do this, Tony. It is not a competition."

"I just meant…"

"I know."

Keeping his head back, he allowed his mind to drift for a moment. The pain in his face proved a strong deterrent to daydreaming. Much as he would have preferred the image of Ziva in a bikini that he'd been trying to conjure, he turned to the real thing at his side. "I liked what you said."

"What?"

"About going home." Smiling suddenly somehow became easier. "I'm gonna sit in the tub with a beer and just…sit there with the jets on. Maybe put on that stupid sports radio station you hate and listen to idiots talk about how irrelevant our baseball teams are. Then I'm gonna lie in bed."

"And?"

"Well, you'll be there, and we'll just…lie there. And I'll invade your space and you won't push me away and we'll…be there. And it'll just be nice to be home and together and not kidnapped."

He kept his eyes closed, listening to the creaking of the room around them and Ziva's quiet breathing until she whispered, "That does sound nice." After a beat she added, "Will there be Tylenol?"

"Babe, there'll be a couple filled prescriptions of Tylenol #3."

"Tylenol #4 has twice the codeine."

He could almost feel the analgesic effects. "I love you."

"Gibbs and Jen will find us."

He was slightly disappointed. "Oh."

"Don't pretend you were talking about me and not the pills you were thinking about."

"Oh." He allowed his head to loll for a moment. Much as he would like a painkiller at the moment, he much preferred Ziva's company – which made him feel guilty. The situation would be much better if it were just him, bleeding and tied up in some anonymous room, waiting for Ziva to bust down the door like some Viking berserker, instead of… He managed another glimpse of the bloodstain on her shirt, wishing he could do something – anything – to help her in a meaningful way. "How bad is it?"

"Safad said that NCIS has twelve hours, so I think we may have that long, at the very least."

He spit another blood clot onto the floor, not watching to see what it did this time. "I meant you. Where are you cut? How bad is it? Is it still bleeding?"

"It's nothing."

"Ziva…"

"If you had a mirror, you would realize that I am not the one you need to worry about."

"Ungh. And I was so pretty, too."

"You will look fine once the swelling goes down. And the bruises fade. And the cuts heal."

"Geez, you could at least pretend I still look good."

"You are demonstrating concern for me in spite of your own serious injuries. Any woman who would prefer looks over that is a fool."

He tried to pout. "Don't I usually give you both? I provide eye-candy and adoration."

He was surprised by how close her words were to his ear when she said, "You are only perfect for me."

"I love you." This time, he was sure he wasn't speaking to pills available only in his mind.

"I love you, too." The pressure of her body against his shoulder was welcome. "They're going to come get us."

He strained his ears, but couldn't hear anyone moving outside the room. "Think they're gonna move us soon?"

"Not them. NCIS."

"How can you be sure?"

Her voice dropped to a barely audible hiss. "Because I told them where we are."