A/N - And we come to the last of the mostly prewritten chapters. Updates are going to be slower from here on in. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, you make me a very happy person.


- Chapter Ten -


Dark…

Yep.

Dark dark dark.

I know, you said.

Oh.

Is that a problem?

It's not your biggest. Don't worry.

Oh. Okay then.

So, how you going?

Kind of tired…

Don't.

What?

Don't sleep.

Why?

They're coming.

Oh.

What? What is it?

I think she's dead.

She's not. Can't you hear her breathing?

I don't know.

The voice goes quiet for a time. He blinks. He can see the hollows of the room, and there's two of him looking down. One drifts off to the right. The other speaks again.

They're coming.

Who?

Don't you remember?

Boss…

The voice seems to changes. Gibbs barks down at him with long dog teeth.

Tim, don't you dare.

Sorry…


His eyes twitch.

It's dark. He's not sure if he's still dreaming.

Where is she? He can't—
There.

Are they dead? He squeezes his fingers, and pain shoots up his arm. Distant electricity.

No, not dead.

The sound that woke him up comes again, the scratching at the door. A skinny beam of light appears in the darkness, then explodes outward.

Light shoots to the back of his skull, and his spine arches as it rockets around his head. His scream never makes it out. Ziva whimpers, face pressed into the dirt.

A shadow drifts like smoke through the light, hands reaching. McGee flinches out of the way.
She isn't fast enough. A hand gets her, tears her away.

"No—"

He jerks forward.

For a second he thinks the world has exploded. There is a flash of light; he thinks his ears are bleeding. A bullet snaps his shoulder. Then the door slams; he is in darkness again, and alone.

No, no no….

He scrabbles weakly at the door.

No, they can't kill her. Can't leave him here in the dark and kill her, they can't!

He falls back, sobbing for breath. Staggering to his knees, he throws his shoulder against the door. It shudders slightly.

Again. More. His shoulder goes numb, starts to burn. He already tried this with her, back when there was light and they could stand. The door was too strong then, and now it just mocks him. But he cannot stand this place any longer.

He looses count. Then there is a pop in his shoulder at the point of collision. He is speechless in agony.

He falls back silently, swallowed by black.


Tim…

What?

Can't you hear them?

Go away. Leave me alone.

They're almost here. Hang on.

I don't--


He wakes, moaning. His shoulder feels like a lump of meat, deformed and aching. Blood slides down his throat, sticky and slippery all in one; Must have bitten his tongue…

Something pricks his palm. He shifts, grips it clumsily. It bites into his fingers.
The little gear from Ziva's watch.

He's still gripping it when the door opens again. A hand gets him by the collar, drags him through the dirt.
It's bright. He shuts his eyes, struggles weakly as he's dragged along. His legs feel atrophied and only twitch at his command for them to kick out.

He's dropped to the earth, bound roughly. There's only two of them, he can't see Screamer...

Dazed, his eyes roll uneasily in the head. There's the camera, the computers, the giant who stares down at him with dark eyes.

Is there anyone in there? he wonders. Those eyes are holes into somewhere else. They gaze at him blankly.

There is an odd smell in the air. He turns his head and sees Ziva, splashed across the earth and unmoving. The stink of fuel hits him, but he doesn't understand.

"Are you ready to die?" a voice asks. He stares up at Cabbie, towering above him. He's changed since the last time they made eye contact. The sense of power is gone, and his face is a skin-covered skull. He shakes with impotent rage.

McGee stares at him, and wonders why he never picked him as the dangerous one.

A flicker in that gaunt face. Mad light in the eye.

No time for him to be afraid.

Cabbie kicks him in the side. He cries out. Again. Wounds split open, and ribs fracture. He curls, can't dodge the foot that breaks his nose and nearly throws him back into darkness. He might be screaming, but he can't hear over the shrieking of his flesh.

But his hand remains bunched tight, and the gear is still there. He focuses on the sharp spikes into his fingers as pain rolls over him.

An alarm shrieks into life, and Cabbie turns away.
He vomits into the dirt, and it's mostly blood.

For a moment he hangs suspended between two worlds. He knows something has changed, because the pair of them are shouting. There's a gun on the ground, close to his cheek. But it's beyond him to ever be able to reach it.

They are going to kill them. He supposed he always knew, but now it's certainty.

At that thought, the quiet, exhausted part of him turns away; all that's left is agony and the taste of blood.

The gear in his palm is cold.

He starts to saw at the rope.

They're talking to each other, moving about; the gun is picked up.

No matter.

The gear slices his fingertips. His hands are shaking.

The rope goes limp.

At the freedom, he is suddenly uncertain. The rope coils in his hands, still caught around his left wrist. Cabbie's feet walk past, and he can see his own blood crusting on those hard boots.

Inside, there is darkness.

His legs obey this time. They jerk out, and Cabbie falls backwards. He throws himself on him, yanking the rope tight around his throat. Face to face with bulging eyes, hands clawing his eyes. He is vacuum with matter splayed about the edges, outside of thought. He sees Cabbie's face turn purple and feels nothing at all.

Tighter.

He squeezes, and there is the sound of choking.

The sound is like a trigger; something inside him snaps, and--

No, no, no, oh God…

"Tighter, tighter!"

Fingers tightening, eyes rolling up to all whites—

The memory hits him like a fist; he freezes, bewildered.

In that moment of hesitation, Cabbie's arm jerks free and smacks into his jaw. There is a moment where his vision gutters, and he is thrown hard against the wall. He drops, winded.

A dull thump smacks into his ribs, like being punched.

Feeling seems to rush out of him. Drops away as he floats, weightless. Beneath him the ground is rumbling, and he hears shouting. His hand reaches, touches his chest. Dark stickiness like tar covers his hand.

It hurts. He thinks it with wonder. The roof above shudders, cracks dancing like ripples through the concrete.


For the shortest of moments, he sees halos of light.