A/N: I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.

Ch. 10 – still switching for the POV. It was how I wrote these chapters originally – then when I checked it recently I wasn't convinced but wasn't about to rewrite it.

Same on this case + the usual for background details….

"…to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show

Virtue her feature, scorn her own image,"

William Shakespeare

July 2010

Ziva had no intention of falling asleep. She had stayed awake for longer and under harsher conditions. However, an hour or so before dawn, she did succumb to stress and exhaustion. Her mind seeking a break from constant evaluation of the situation - against her will. For the most part she formulated possible escape methods. The likeliest chance would be if she could persuade Miller to free her from the pipe and release her arms. There was a favorable argument for such action – despite sweating in the heat it would not be an unreasonable claim that she needed to pee. Miller didn't seem the type to refuse that request – it would depend on how paranoid he was in acquiescing.

Ziva wondered a little about rescue and pondered any efforts which she could make to alert people to her location. She also thought about Tony and the discussion in the squad-room – before she found out firsthand what sort of person Miller was. They had been separated like squabbling children in the back of a car. The quarrel seemed so pointless now and Ziva was struck by the dispiriting notion that their arguments were usually inconsequential in substance. Part of the combustion was undoubtedly caused by the fuel of opposite personalities. Nevertheless, she conceded to herself, most of the trouble was the result of tension and emotion - all the unasked, unanswered questions which remained.

She awoke, with a start, to the smell of coffee and Miller's thoughtful stare. Ziva didn't need to see the expression on his face to know she must have been dreaming out-loud. Her clammy skin had little to do with the prematurely heavy heat of the day. The rapid pulse was a definite give-away.

"I made coffee." Miller didn't comment on whatever he had seen. "Want some?"

Ziva hoped her sense of waking before the nightmare became very bad, was accurate. "Yes, thank you." She wasn't a huge coffee drinker but tried to seem enthusiastic – giving the impression nothing was amiss. "Never mess with a Marine's coffee if you want to live."

Miller looked quizzically at the remark. "My boss has rules; and that one is…" She paused whilst recalling the order. "Number 23." - Smiling at him as she explained. "He was a Gunnery Sergeant before becoming an NCIS Agent."

During the night, Ziva had decided to alternate two approaches with her abductor. One possible connection would be through the Marine Corps; he had seemed interested in her service and perhaps Gibbs' previous life in the Corps. might be helpful in securing her release. She opted for omitting Gibbs' other skill for the Marines. The wisdom of informing her kidnapper one of the men looking for him was an expert sniper was questionable.

"Your partner ex-military too?" Miller had noticed a distinct quality in her manner whenever Ziva referenced Tony. The brisk, rational delivery softened slightly and she sometimes looked as though on the verge of a faint smile. This made Miller curious. Apparently no-one, not even criminals, were immune to their antics.

Ziva shook her head. "No, he was with Baltimore P.D."

Miller moved closer, bringing her coffee. Ziva fidgeted, implying real discomfort – the other angle. Bizarre as it might seem, her captor was concerned for her welfare – she could use that sympathy as a weapon against him. Ziva was exceedingly well-trained in the art of manipulating others. For the moment, whilst giving her a drink, Miller was oblivious to this approach. The coffee was dreadful and Ziva rejected all but a few sips. Miller was improvising admirably - experience gained in the field – without the necessary equipment to make the endeavor especially rewarding. Living rough had acclimatized him and he was unaware of the fault.

"Why are you holding me?" Ziva tried not to sound half-hearted in the repeated phrase – yet he hadn't given an answer earlier and there was no reason to believe he would this time.

The premonition proved correct. He retreated to his corner of their shelter without response; and restarted one of his private muttering sessions. Straining her ears, Ziva could only make out the occasional word – none of which helped in discovery of his possible motives. From her position she watched the skies slowly become overcast with heavy, ominous clouds. Although the disappearance of the sun made no difference to the temperature; the atmosphere was suffocating and oppressive. In the distance thunder could be heard and Ziva dispassionately concluded the building wouldn't be waterproof. She hoped it was structurally sound.

Hours dragged past whilst Ziva attempted – without success - to connect with Miller. At times, she battled to subdue her mounting annoyance with his lack of engagement. And she uttered a string of oaths when he allowed her privacy but not unrestricted movement for the bathroom break. The stunned look on his face when Ziva furiously launched into Hebrew would have been amusing under different circumstances. Surreptitiously she struggled to free herself – only aggravating the already irritated skin. Ziva noticed Miller was becoming more agitated and eventually realized the imminent storms were the source of his trouble. Each progressively louder rumble or brighter flash produced more muttering and jittery movements.

He suffered from a childish fear - just like she did. Hers was of the dark; her captor's fear was thunderstorms. Ziva was startled by the similarity and her anger gave way to empathy.

"What happened to your leg, Will?" - Suddenly choosing a line of questioning away from his actions as an aggressor; natural sympathy in her tone.

Miller seemed surprised by the sound of her voice; as though he'd forgotten Ziva. "Iraq." The one word answer was impassive but he jumped at the next loud crack.

Ziva already knew the background. "Yes but how? Were you on patrol?" Distracting him might ease his obvious distress and aid in the achievement of her goal.

"An I.E.D." He looked at Ziva. "We'd been fishing, Ben and me and…." Miller halted the tale. "When it happened…we wanted to get out and weren't paying attention."

Another very loud discharge sounded – very close – and he hunched up against the wall, shaking.

"Was that the mistake?" - Carefully avoiding any personalization of the issue; not his mistake, the mistake. Ziva was hesitant to mention the topic after the last reaction provoked by the word. She gambled Miller couldn't deteriorate much further and it at least they were communicating. Furthermore, direct was her natural state and, often worked.

He didn't say anything immediately but shot her a hunted look and began the two-way but one person style of talking again.

"After the fishing trip, there was a mistake?" Ziva prompted gently.

Miller laughed at her remark. "Fighting-In-Someone's-House. FISH-ing." He shook his head in amusement – the storm temporarily relinquishing its power over him. "We were in a hurry 'cause…."

Again he left the story unfinished but this time the inner turmoil didn't return. Instead he sat watching Ziva intently before commenting. "You're like me."

She frowned at the odd observation. "Because I was a soldier?"

"Something bad happened to you." Miller shrugged. "You have nightmares. I saw you." He expanded his theme. "You were scared last night. You're hurt too."

This was unexpected. In reality, Ziva shouldn't be caught off-guard because Miller had proven he was very observant. However, she had hoped the issue wouldn't become relevant.

"I was held by terrorists for a short period." Tony would instantly recognize her voice and manner. Practical, matter-of-fact and indicating she would supply no additional information.

Miller – not possessing Tony's ability - seemed disappointed in the lack of detail. "That it?'

Ziva nodded. "In a nutcase." She refused to elaborate further. And with no Tony around for a translation of the English error, Miller was left unenlightened and vaguely confused.

Ziva's assessment of the building's ability to withstand the weather had been partially correct. The torrential rain was pouring through numerous holes in the roof; cascading off broken debris, splashing into huge pools. Fortunately their corner was relatively dry and wind-proof. The first storm rolled along its path, away from the neighborhood – the next one could be heard approaching. There was a lull in the conversation. Ziva was trying to think of a new way to extract Miller's story. She was interested and, more importantly, she was certain the answer to her predicament lay with accessing Miller's past. There could be no doubt he was somewhat unbalanced but she was firmly convinced at this point he would not harm her – deliberately at least.

"Charles Scott was in your unit." Ziva opened with the little she knew of the current case details. "Did you know Sgt. Joe Roberts?"

Miller tensed at the mention of Roberts' name but he nodded. "In hospital. Did Scott kill him?"

She and McGee hadn't suggested such an outcome to Miller the previous day. "Why would he do that, Will?"

"Because I told him." Miller answered cryptically.

She was puzzled; briefly wondering if her assessment of him as not dangerous should be amended. "You told him to kill Roberts?" - Seeking clarification before categorizing him as an unpredictable adversary again.

"No." Miller sighed. "I told Joe about…Iraq. We were friends." There was authentic sadness reflected on his features; he was telling the truth.

Ziva pressed her advantage. "Tell me, Will." She smiled in encouragement. "Remember you believed holding me captive might help you." Not everyone would be willing to remind their abductor of wrong-doing. However, Ziva took a risk and employed logical honesty.

The next storm was rattling the area and Miller wearily surrendered. Very slowly, haltingly he solved the mystery for her. Sometimes rambling disjointedly and, at others, he ground to a complete standstill until nudged by Ziva. She kept interruptions minimal – only if absolutely necessary.

Scott had been a useless Marine, disliked by his fellow soldiers – who didn't trust him either professionally or privately. The precise details were unclear; somehow Scott became involved in the misappropriation – stealing by any other name – of artifacts and antiques. He viewed it as a reward for being stuck in a war and a chance to make easy money. One night, he asked Ben MacIntyre to accompany him on a buy in a dangerous part of the town. Ben agreed hoping to make some extra money to impress a girl back home. As MacIntyre's friend, Miller went too – although he was not a participant in the overall scheme.

The two friends had waited outside the house. Gunfire erupted and after rushing in they discovered the deal had gone awry. More importantly, Scott appeared to have killed his smuggling contact and, in the crossfire, gunned down two children. Chaos and panic reigned in the bid to escape before deciding what they should do in terms of reporting and explaining the incident. Their vehicle had struck the explosive. MacIntyre was killed outright and Miller had lain trapped by his leg whilst a firefight raged around him – bequeathing him the fear of loud noise and bright light. Shattered both mentally and physically he dropped off the grid. Roberts kept tabs on him as best he could; tracking down Miller through outreach centers whenever he was in D.C.

On this last visit, Scott's run for office cropped up as a topic. Miller confessed the events to Roberts – who was angry with what he perceived as Scott's abuse of his war record for an electioneering gimmick. He considered it a slur on the Corps. and an insult to Veterans. Roberts arranged a meeting with Scott and planned a confrontation. He would expose Scott's crimes unless he withdrew from the election. Miller, worried about Roberts, gave him a gun. When he didn't hear from Roberts after the appointed hour, Miller knew something was wrong. The arrival of the NCIS agents created further alarm and he kidnapped Ziva in unreasoned panic.

When he finished the story, Miller glanced at Ziva. "It was wrong. We were wrong." He twitched as more thunder crashed overhead. "None of it should've happened." He looked lost and broken. "And it should be fixed."

Ziva remained quietly considering the possibilities. She was haunted by two realizations. Miller was like Tony in trying to take responsibility for the actions of others. Attempting to correct errors that were not of his making and carrying guilt he didn't deserve. The second thought was even more upsetting; Miller was right. In a way, he was a mirror image; she was like him. It was distressing to watch him flinch in fear, agitated or muttering – bedeviled by his past. And the recognition she would have appeared exactly the same way in Paris – that Tony would have witnessed her battle – was truly heart-breaking.

She returned her immediate attention to Miller. "You should contact my boss."

Miller stiffened, viewing her with renewed suspicion and guarded once more. "No."

The sky was darkening as night crept nearer and the lightning flashes were more visible now. Sirens were wailing in the distance as Ziva took a deep breath.

"Gibbs will help you fix it, Will." She was preparing for a long, dark night of persuasion. "If you release me, he can help you. He is a former Marine."

A huge thank you to if you've posted a review – they're helpful and appreciated. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read. If you can please post a review; tell me what you liked, what you didn't or that you're bored…