Wow, this one was out fast!!! Buuuut, it's short, so it wasn't particularly difficult. It does leave me with some explaining to do, though, because I've brought in a character nobody knows. Two, actually. So, I shall explain; forgive me the long author's note. Pendergast is an FBI agent, property of the authors Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. My friend and I have long been planning a story where he has to work with NCIS, but as of yet, it has not come far beyond the planning stages. I am working on it, but I'd like to finish this one first, because it'll be another big project that will take up a lot of time. But, all that needs to be known for the purposes of this story (that I won't explain in the story itself) is that Pendergast is an FBI agent who has worked with NCIS before, that he is ridiculously rich (family inheritance), and that he and Abby have known each other for a long time and are very close. Now that that's explained, I'll add my normal 'Please review!!!' and go on with the chapter. Thanks!

Chapter Fourteen

Gibbs was pacing once again. Of course, the elevator did not leave much room for pacing. But he'd been managing it for the past five minutes, walking from corner to corner of the stopped elevator, staring at the cell phone he held in his hand. It was 1615 - 4:15 PM. The next call would come at 0100 - 1:00 AM. So he had time to wait. But - maybe - he had another call to make.

He stopped pacing and leaned against the metal wall. No. He couldn't make that call. Of course he couldn't. He shouldn't even be considering it! What the hell was he thinking?

But Abby was so sick. If she'd gotten that bad in just over 28 hours… the terrorist had said she had 72. He could have lied. He easily could have lied. And if he had… she was already so weak… what would they do? So he had to call.

Hadn't he just finished telling Kate this? They couldn't even consider the option of giving in to what he wanted. They did not give in to the demands of terrorists! HE did not give in to the demands of terrorists! EVER. He just did not. He would not. He couldn't call.

But she was dying. God, Abby was dying. Her fever wouldn't go down, she could hardly breathe without coughing, her pulse just would not stay steady. How much longer could she hold on? This call could save her.

He couldn't do what a terrorist wanted. No call. He couldn't let Abby die. So yes, call. But it went against every rule in his book. He couldn't call. His Abby was dying. He had to call. He'd never forgive himself if he broke this code. But, God, he could not lose Abby.

He flipped the phone open, pressed the speed-dial button, pressed it to his ear, clenched his free hand into a tight fist and listened to the rings. Maybe he wouldn't pick up. He'd better pick up.

And on the third ring, the phone was answered. "Agent Gibbs!" The familiar soft, southern-accented voice was both a relief and an annoyance to hear. "If it weren't for caller ID, I would not have answered. You don't usually call during business hours." There was a short pause. "Actually, you don't usually call."

Gibbs sighed. "Pendergast." He could hardly believe what he was doing… calling an FBI agent for help. "I normally don't call you, no. But… we kind of have an emergency."

"You usually have Abigail call me," Pendergast replied lightly, his tone a bit teasing.

"That's the emergency."

The pause this time lasted a long moment, and when he spoke again, all sense of jollity had disappeared from his tone. "What happened?"

Gibbs poured out the explanation in a rush; he had to get it all out before his brain caught up and convinced him to hang up the phone. There was another long pause when he finished, and then Pendergast asked, "What do you need?"

"He…" Gibbs stopped, sighed, almost hung up, but the mental picture of Abby lying on that autopsy table spurred him on. "He wants $1 million."

"You'll have it," Pendergast promised. "I cannot come myself - I am currently preoccupied - but I will send Agent DeMedici with it." He paused thoughtfully for a second, then added, "I assure you he will be made to understand the gravity of the situation and will arrive post-haste."

"We probably won't even need it," Gibbs hurried to tell him. "I mean, it's just for a decoy, if it comes down to that. We're not actually going to give him the money."

He could picture Pendergast's small smile by his tone. "Of course not. But it is always good to have a back-up plan in such instances. I understand completely, and I will handle the matter accordingly."

Gibbs was silent for a long moment before admitting, "I owe you one," and snapping the phone shut. He stood still for a long moment, staring at the phone, then spun swiftly and hit the metal wall of the elevator as hard as he could with his fist. The loud BANG that resulted echoed in the enclosed space and he leaned his forehead against the cold wall and took a few deep breaths. But by the time the echoes had died down, he had regained his composure, and he pressed the button to start the elevator again, resuming its trip down to autopsy.

Of course he'd never use the money. It was merely a precaution. He could use it to his advantage, a false bargain, that's why he wanted it. He'd be returning it to Pendergast as soon as this was over, likely untouched. No matter what, he would not hand it over to the terrorist. That rule was too important, more than any of the others. That was one rule he would NEVER break… no matter what the consequences.