She was alive but didn't understand why.

Abby curled up as much as she could in the corner of the room – an attic, she suspected, due to the closeness of the ceiling to her head and the fact that it never seemed to get too cold. A small mercy, she decided with a rueful sigh.

There were handcuffs around her wrists, which were in turn chained to the top pipe running alongside the wall. The pipe got very hot at times, making for an uncomfortable experience – and making it impossible to rest her head against it when she was trying to sleep. Her legs, thankfully, were left unrestrained, which not only kept them from getting too stiff but also made it easier to fend off the advances of some of Branley's smarmier guards.

She couldn't figure out why she was being kept alive.

Her first days – maybe weeks – had been spent in another room, tied to a chair as Branley inflicted his own brand of interrogation on her. Her heart had broken when he'd been joined by a few she knew from the NSA, one an agent she'd worked with years ago who looked at her with remorse and another an agent she'd only ever seen in passing, who seemed to enjoy her torture even more when he was the one allowed to dish it out.

When she'd refused to give Branley the information he'd asked for – data that would put her colleagues at both NCIS and the NSA in danger, information that he could exploit and use to his advantage to get past the safeguards in place on both networks and systems – he'd taken pleasure in making her suffer.

Her ribcage was a multi-coloured patchwork of cuts and bruises and she was certain her skin was sporting more than one new scar thanks to his fascination with making her bleed. His favourite weapon, after his fists, was a pocketknife he'd had especially sharpened, he told her, for particularly stubborn guests.

She thought she'd made it clear that she had no intention of answering his questions, just as he'd made it clear he had no intention of answering hers. He'd laughed when she'd asked for names – more when she'd pointed out she wouldn't have a chance to use them even if he told her.

The door to the room opened and Abby found herself wincing at the light that suddenly fell over her. Her eyes took a moment to adjust and in that time, her visitor had crossed the floor and dropped to his knees in front of her.

Relief and apprehension went through her in equal measures as she recognised the man kneeling in front of her as John – she didn't know his last name and wasn't going to ask. One of Branley's henchmen, John was a familiar face. He'd stood in the background as she'd been beaten more than once but the sympathy on his face and the way he'd clenched his jaw and fisted his hands told her he didn't enjoy being a witness to the show of dominance.

He was an unlikely ally, often sneaking food and water to her outside of her allotted meals. They didn't speak much out of fear of being overheard but he was the closest thing she had to a friend in Branley's empire and it made her feel better if not a little suspicious to see him again.

"Drink," he told her quietly, lifting the glass of water he'd brought with him to her lips. She did so eagerly, her throat parched. "Branley's going to come and see you again tomorrow."

Taking a moment to swallow the offered water, Abby grimaced. "Great."

"You could just tell him what you know," John suggested after a moment, the concern in his eyes doing little to ease the sudden suspicion she felt.

Turning her face away when he offered her more water, Abby narrowed her eyes warily. "Is that what this being nice to me has been about? Earn my trust then suggest I give him what he wants for my own good?"

He sighed and shook his head, setting the glass of water down beside him. "No. I was going to say you could make it up if you have to. Just tell him something so... Save yourself, Abby. You can't keep living like this."

"If I tell him what he wants to know – even if it is a lie – he'll have no use for me and he'll kill me. At least this way..." She shrugged a shoulder, leaning forward to let her head rest on her hands, careful to keep her face away from the hot pipe. "My friends won't give up on me. I know the case itself has no doubt gone cold but they won't give up on me. It's only right that I don't give up on them."

"Abby." John ran his hand through his dark hair in evident frustration. "He's not a tolerant man. I don't know how much longer his patience will last..."

"I don't know why it's lasted this long," Abby interrupted, raising her head. "I don't know why he hasn't just killed me already."

"You're not the only one he wants to suffer," John admitted after a long pause. At her look of confusion, he sighed once more. "Your Agent Gibbs pissed him off. He knows... He's had people watching you, gathering intel. He knows you're together and he thinks the longer he keeps you here alive, the more Agent Gibbs and your colleagues at NCIS will endure when your body is found and they realise how long you suffered and how long they had to save you." He waited for a moment for his words to sink in. "I'll try and help you get out of here but you have to keep yourself a live long enough for me to figure out how to do that. Cooperate or make him think you're cooperating. It'll buy me time and save you from being hurt any more than you already are."

"Why?" Her question was a whisper, her earlier confusion returning to mingle with the dread she felt at his answer. "Why are you doing this?"

His smile was faintly bittersweet, his eyes shadowed. "We have a mutual acquaintance," he told her quietly. "Someone I care about. Branley... He knows about her, has her under his thumb now because of her involvement with me. Once I've got you out of here, I'm going to ask her to leave with me. Get her as far away from him as I can."

"You could go to the police, to NCIS." Clinging to the hope his words had revived, Abby looked up at her earnestly. "Go now and tell them everything. They'll offer you protection and you can tell them I'm here. Please, John. It's the best chance either of us have to survive this."

His short laugh wasn't a pleasant sound. "No offence, but the last people NCIS offered protection to didn't exactly get their happy ending, did they?"

A shadow passed over her face before a thoughtful expression arranged her features. "So I finish my job first and find out who the NCIS leak is first. I could bait him some more..."

"He'll kill you," John protested.

"He's going to kill me, anyway," she pointed out in resignation. "Even if he does... You could take back what I learn and save yourself and who knows how many others." She gave him a one-shouldered shrug, the determined expression on her face telling him that to argue would be pointless.

He sat behind the wheel for a few more moments, trying to compose himself. Telling people their loves might have been found dead was his least favourite part of the job, more so when the people involved were ones he cared about.

Tony swallowed the lump that rose in his throat at the thought of the body on the way to the coroner's office, found only a few hours ago behind a dumpster not more than five blocks away from Branley's office.

He tried to tell himself it couldn't possibly be Abby but the description had matched her almost perfectly.

He blinked back the stinging moisture in his eyes and squared his shoulders as he got out of the car, glancing up and down the street before heading up the path to Gibbs' front door.

The others had volunteered to come with him, or to break the news themselves, but Tony had resisted. With the exception of Ducky, who was already on his way over to the coroner's office, he and Gibbs had known Abby the longest and he felt he owed it both to his boss and to his friend to be the one to deliver the potentially devastating blow. Abby would have wanted him to do it, he told himself firmly, she would've wanted him to be there to support Gibbs even if the man himself didn't appreciate it.

Tony reached out for the door handle, unsurprised to find the front door unlocked. He had a feeling that, had Abby been around, he would've found he'd needed to knock for entrance but without her... Shaking his head, he let himself in, following the sound of running water through to the back of the house.

He stopped in his tracks, eyebrows shooting upwards at the sight of the woman sitting at the dining room table, a plate of toast in front of her.

"Agent DiNozzo." Allison greeted him cautiously, her smile uncertain.

Gibbs moved through from the kitchen at the sound of her voice, pausing when he noticed Tony.

"She's barely cold and you're already screwing someone else?" The accusation dripped from Tony's tone, his eyes flashing in anger – and in hurt.

"I'm not..." Gibbs' denial trailed off as Tony's words registered in his mind. "What..."

"Y'know, I actually thought you cared about her. I thought Abby was someone special but I guess she was just someone to warm your bed, right? Someone to keep you company when got tired of being in the basement by yourself all night?" Tony shook his head, his jaw tense, and turned on his heel.

"DiNozzo." Gibbs followed him, grabbing his arm before he reached the front door.

Looking down at the hand on his arm before looking up at his boss, Tony let the betrayal he felt show on his face. "They found a body this morning. The description matches Abby." Glancing past Gibbs to where Allison had come to join them, he pulled his arm away. "Part of me hopes it is her," he said quietly, his gaze returning to Gibbs' face. "At least then you won't get to break her heart."

There was a tense moment. Gibbs stared at Tony silently. His face was pale, his expression distant. Starting to feel guilty, wondering if he'd misread the situation, Tony opened his mouth to apologise but stopped himself when Gibbs pushed past him, heading for the door.

"Boss?"

"I need to see her," was all Gibbs said. His shoulders were set stubbornly but the look on his face sent a surge of concern through Tony.

Forgetting about the woman still inside the house, Tony followed him out onto the drive, taking his keys out of his pocket. "I'll drive."