Purgatory

Chapter 7 - Tormentor

Gibbs said nothing, continuing to stare at Rathburn, unmoving.

"You seem very tired, Mr Gibbs. I know you must also be experiencing a great deal of pain – that is, if my men are doing their jobs correctly," his smirk widened.

Gibbs continued his silence.

"Your plight is hopeless, Mr. Gibbs. There is no escape and no one is looking for you. The helicopter crash - and your assumed death - that my men staged was quite convincing." Sarcasm dripped from his voice, "I even have pictures from your funeral. It was a sad affair. Would you like to see them?"

Rathburn turned his attention to grooming his hands as he pushed down the cuticles of his fingernails. "There is no need for you to continue to suffer like this. I only ask for a very minimal amount of cooperation. The information I seek is hardly that important and certainly not worth the price you are paying," his tone had turned matter-of-fact, as if he was discussing something mundane.

Gibbs shifted slightly in his chair and immediately regretted it when a sharp jolt shot up his side and his breath hitched. As he stilled the pain subsided and he continued his silent scrutiny of the man in front of him.

"The information I desire about NCIS investigation protocols clearly is not that important or damaging. I find it all rather interesting. I'm just a … curious man with an obsession. Call me a 'fan' of NCIS, if you will. Why on earth would you continue to subject yourself to these 'attitude adjustment' sessions when it really is unnecessary? Be reasonable, Mr Gibbs."

"Fuck you," Gibbs said, his voice raspy and hoarse.

"He speaks," Rathburn said sarcastically, turning his attention from his hands back to Gibbs. "That's good. That's encouraging. We're starting to communicate, you and I." He leaned forward in his chair. "Please, let's continue. I think we're making excellent progress."

Gibbs wanted to lean forward and spit in his face to show the contempt and disgust he felt for the man, but his throat and mouth were parched and knew it would be a futile gesture.

"Glad you're happy," Gibbs retorted, continuing to stare at the man.

"Mr Gibbs, I am a patient man. I have been extraordinarily patient with you over these past many weeks. I've allowed you to move along at your own pace as we have engaged in this lengthy and …," he paused, lifting his eyes upwards, thinking for the correct euphemism, "… challenging endeavour."

Gibbs snorted loudly and now it was his turn to smirk. In this moment Rathburn was completely full of himself, his ego and eccentricity oozing out in his words and mannerisms. His behavior was so obvious that even Rathburn couldn't help but grasp the absurdity of his pompousness.

Rathburn snapped his head back down and glowered at Gibbs, his breathing grew labored, seething. His veneer of sophistication and eloquence disappeared in front of Gibbs eyes. A dark scowl replaced his smirk, his eyes flashed with anger and his voice was slow and menacing, "I will break you. You will tell me what I want to know."

"Like hell," Gibbs growled back, his own scowl meeting Rathburn's.

As quickly as Rathburn had lost his composure, he regained it. He stood up, walked around behind his chair, turned facing Gibbs and placed both hands on the back of the empty chair. His face had calmed, the rage in his eyes subsided.

He looked thoughtful again. "Mr Gibbs, I have considered our current situation carefully and, although I am hesitant to pursue other persuasive options, I find that my time is fleeting and I must resort to other strategies."

Now that Rathburn was standing Gibbs had to position his upper body back into the chair so he could lift up his head in order to see the man. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain at the effort. His stomach started to churn and he wasn't sure which would happen first, puking his guts out on the floor or passing out in the chair. Still, he struggled to keep his attention focused on Rathburn. Clearly the man intended to add another threat to the current mix of torture and Gibbs wanted to know what to expect next.

"You know," Rathburn drawled out, "it is not only you that might suffer as the result of your lack of cooperation." He locked eyes with Gibbs.

The meaning of Rathburn's implied threat to his friends was clear. He waited for Rathburn to continue, to go off on another of his egocentric tirades. But his tormentor said nothing more. Instead he summoned the thug just outside the door, directing him to return Gibbs to his cell.

As Gibbs was lifted up from the chair he continued to lock eyes with Rathburn until he was turned around and escorted out the door, back down the hall and thrown into his cell.

He laid on the floor curled into a fetal position to conserve his body's warmth, thankful for the respite from sitting. Laying on the hard floor was not the most comfortable of positions, but his muscles were able to relax, which they could not do sitting in the chair, and he was relatively pain free as long as he didn't move. They had let him keep his jumpsuit – for the moment anyway – and he was grateful for the minimal protection it provided against the cold concrete.

Gibbs considered his predicament. He had known for some time his situation was dire. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that eventually Rathburn will kill him, whether or not he extracted the information he wanted from Gibbs. Up to now, Gibbs' knew his only chance to stay alive was to endure the torture and look for a way to escape. Time had been on his side.

But now…! Now, things had changed; the situation had been redefined. Rathburn said his time was 'fleeting'. He needed the information about NCIS soon and Gibbs was certain that whatever information he wanted would result in the death of others. As with any information, there comes a point in time when it is no longer valuable and Gibbs guessed that point was fast approaching regarding the information Rathburn wanted from him. Rathburn had just changed the rules of this game. Now, the longer he stayed alive without divulging the information Rathburn sought, the more his friends were at risk of death. And he had no doubt that Rathburn would kill them to get what he wanted. Time wasn't on Gibbs' side any longer. Time had become his enemy.

He considered the new information obtained from Rathburn and his cold and calculating sniper training kicked in as he analyzed the situation. No matter which way he looked at it, no matter how many combinations of variables he tallied, he came up with only three options.

Option one: continue to resist – fighting off the torture from Rathburn and his thugs. Results: information protected and lives saved; some of his friends would be killed in Rathburn's attempt to make him break; he would eventually be killed by Rathburn.

Option two: give Rathburn the information he wants. Results: information in Rathburn's hands would most likely result in the death of others; his friends would be safe and spared from Rathburn's death sentence; he would be killed by Rathburn.

Option three: suicide. Results: information protected and lives saved; his friends would be safe from Rathburn; he would be dead.

He wasn't surprised at the results of his analysis. In all three options he was dead. There was no other way out for him. The chance for an escape had not presented itself and probably would not, no matter how much longer he waited. And waiting was not an option any more.

In options one and two, not only did he end up dead, but so did others. In option one it was most likely that innocent people would die as collateral damage from whatever use Rathburn had for the information he wanted from Gibbs. In option two Gibbs' friends would end up dead. Only option three protected both unknown innocents and his friends while his death was inevitable, no matter which of the three scenarios played out.

Gibbs' thoughts filled with a vision of EJ. He opened his eyes which welled with tears. He murmured a silent apology, begging for forgiveness and confessing the depth of his love – wishing that she could hear him, could know what was in his heart at that moment.

He swallowed hard, steeling his resolve as he made his decision.

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