Author's Note: Hey guys. It's been about a month or so since I last posted. I'm still not currently set with my moving out of state, but I've got a lot of time on my hands these days. I figure I better jump back into things-especially with this fic. I left this fic is a tough spot-Gibbs and McGee held by Mossad. Tony, Ziva, and several of her new friends are on a mission to finding them. Abby is still being stalked by an unknown person. Still a lot of things to settle/establish. Anyway, here is chapter 20. I really hope that anyone that is still reading likes it-and if you have time, let me know what you think. I had to refresh my memory on all that is going on, but I did it as quick as possible, so let's hope I'm still on my game. Later Days. -Geek (Sabrina)
Chapter 20: Losing Sight
Sticky. Wet. Shimmering. Deadly.
Blood on the walls. Blood on the floors. Blood in his eyes.
The Marine can barely cough as his throat tightens from the dryness. Next to him, a stream of blood drains from a metal container that is on the opposite side of the wall he is leaning against.
The blood had been given to him-to drink. Given to him to be his own source of liquids; a substitute for water.
His red fingers leak with blood that is not his own and blood that is. His instincts told him to check what they had offered him before consuming it.
Still, the blood fills his brain like an ever-growing tumor. He questions the whereabouts of his partner, but nobody answers back.
He is alone. Four walls. Silence. No lights.
He is becoming tired.
His body is beginning to tremble.
His vision is starting to blur.
His hopes are slipping away from him; so much blood all around him, on him, coming from within him, making it impossible to hold on to them…to anything.
Metal against skin. Thick silence. A dimly lit square box.
A wooden chair sits properly with all four legs on the ground as the man tied to it tries to clear his throbbing head.
His stomach growls, he is hungry. His stomach jumps; he is sick.
Droplets of contaminated water stain his muddy t-shirt.
The silence is consuming him. The loneliness dancing around him like demons.
He is unsure. He is near panic. He is scared of each passing second.
Gravel scraps against the bottom of his shoes. The former Mossad stalks his American prey for the very first time. The feeling is enthralling, yet insatiable.
Michael growls low in his throat. His stomach as stern as his enraged fist. His target is slumps forward; begging for a source of light so he can see his visitor.
"Agent Gibbs."
It is hard to speak now. His mouth is dry. His taste buds prickly. His breath stale.
"Do you know who I am?"
His burning knuckles, cut with a blade and seasoned with kosher salt. The raw flesh still feeling as if acid is eating its way into his body.
"I suggest you answer me, Agent Gibbs."
He feels weak. The feeling cuts him like a knife. His sharp-wit is no more. His ability to play the game no more. His strength to carry through with this ordeal skims the surface of being no more. He can hardly take it. The darkness. The blood-all that blood.
Michael kicks him in the stomach. The tip of his boot still embedded into the fold that Gibbs has now created with such an impact on his body.
In seconds, Michael kicks him again. The lack of food in his stomach makes him heave. Sweat trickles down his forehead. The heat surrounding him.
"ANSWER ME!" Michael's voice echoes inside the damp room.
With an attempt to stay alive, Gibbs makes a sound small enough to send whatever pride he has left, dwindling down to the depths of nothingness.
"Are you not able to speak properly to me, Agent Gibbs?"
"…I…" He stops to heave.
"Should I come back later?"
"…no…" He painfully swallows. "…you…you want to…finish me?" He grits his teeth as best as he can, but the pain never stops. "…do it. Do it now…finish me…"
Michael draws lazy circles on the broken concrete, a lazy smile playing on his lips. He squats down to grab the back of Gibbs neck. Blood that has drained and dried from deep scraps on the sides of his face crinkles and rubs on to his hand.
Gibbs' shoulders are tense. The pressure to the back of his neck making it even harder to catch a much needed breath.
"I am nowhere near finished with you, Agent Gibbs." He squeezes tighter. "…nowhere…"
His hand tightens once more causing Gibbs to cringe.
Michael lets him go, then stands tall. "There is something you have that I very much want."
"…I'm not…talking."
"That is what they all say, Agent Gibbs. That is what they all say…"
He hovers over him. He likes the feeling of power. His stamina makes Gibbs reflect back to Kyle Branson. Another lowlife that loved the sweetness that came with control.
Gibbs cringes for the second time since Michael's arrival. It makes Michael curious, but there are other questions on his mind.
"How can you be so 'special' if all you want to do is die without knowing if your partner is still alive?"
"…couldn't…get to…him…if…if I tried…"
"So you are truly giving up, then?"
"I…" He stops to catch his breath. "…argh…"
The legs of the wooden chair drag against the floor; the wood so old it could break.
Gibbs prepares himself for new wounds. A swift slice in the air creates a pool of his blood surrounding him. He already knows. He can taste the silver. He can smell the metal.
A latch is unleashed, but as it nears him, another object he is unaware of makes contact with the tip of what he knows is a blade.
The smell of something sweet; something crisp fills his nostrils. His stomach comes alive with raging hunger.
Michael bites into the apple. It is red and it is oh-so-delicious. As his mouth chews the sweet juice from the particles of the apple, he even feels the smug control over the helpless fruit.
"There is something that I want from you, Agent Gibbs. Something more important to me than what is more important to Director David." He stabs the apple once more with his switch-blade. "I want you to make me understand why my beloved wife decided to leave me."
"Maybe…you're a fucking bastard." Gibbs feels slight victory at being able to say what he wanted to say without falling short of breath.
Michael grins; leaving the blade in the apple for a few moments.
"Do you know who my wife is, Agent Gibbs?"
"No." Gibbs shrugs.
"Then, do you know what her reason was for marrying me?"
"She fell-knocked herself on the head-lost her senses." He mentally pats himself on the back for getting in a hearty line.
"Ziva wouldn't be so foolish."
Gibbs feels a tightness in his stomach as well as something else. He heaves again, then cringes once more. The memories are coming back in spurts now. He never lost them, but he buried them as deep as he could.
"I took her into my life. All her flaws-all her wrong-doings. I made her understand that I could and that I would love her no matter what she did, but this…this was not part of the plan. This goes against our vows."
At the mention of 'vows', Gibbs is down-again. This time he is bleeding on the inside.
"…and I can't figure it out, Agent Gibbs. I can not figure out why on earth Ziva, my…my beloved wife would spare her life for the Americans…especially the one that had killed her brother."
His eyes are a dingy blue and they are wild. Regret is swallowing whatever senses he reserved for any means of survival. He is slipping farther-deeper into a world he is not prepared for.
"You…must know the answer, Agent Gibbs." Michael cuts a slice of his apple. The atmosphere falling into an uncomfortable calm. "After-all you take great pride in shaping the Agents under you."
Gibbs shakes his head as if the words 'Agents' and 'under' begin to haunt him. He feels a burn in the pit of his stomach.
"You are putting Ziva at great risk."
"…how?" His voice is raspy.
"The longer you keep the truth from me, the more pain she will endure before she reaches her death."
"…you'd do…that? To your…your…" Gibbs hates the foul taste in his mouth. "…your wife?"
"I'd do it to my mother…if she were alive." Michael chuckles. "I take vows importantly, Agent Gibbs. I hold them close to me-I live by them. When someone takes my expectations and they do away with them as if they never mattered…the only way to fix the problem is to make them pay for their wrong-doings."
"That's…not how we do it…in America."
"Another reason why I find your kind to be scum." Michael chucks the core at Gibbs. It hits his head, falls to his lap, rolls from there and lands into a tiny pool of blood. "Aren't you curious as to whom all of this blood belongs to?"
"It isn't McGee's." Uncertainty is clear within his voice.
"…is it Ziva's?"
The reality of this possible truth makes Gibbs cry out in blinding pain. The unexpected outburst even startles Michael, and it begins a new series of question he never even imagined.
"What was she to you?" Michael slowly stands from the chair. His heart pounding so loud he can hear it in his ears. "ANSWER ME!"
Gibbs catches his breath as best he could, "A fine Agent. One of the best…partners any team could ever have."
"There's more." Michael takes his blade and swipes at Gibbs face. The impact cuts through a previous cut that had developed an ugly scab. "Ziva wouldn't return for that reason alone."
"I'm telling you the truth!" He holds his breath; his stomach twisting with the image of the new wound.
He swipes again, this time catching his bottom lip and slicing it open near the corner.
Gibbs yells as blood trickles down his chin and onto his dingy and bloody t-shirt.
"How far does your knowledge of Ziva go?"
"She…she was only an Agent! She was only there to do her…job." Gibbs takes another slash to the other side of his face. "DAMN IT-FUCKING KILL ME ALREADY!"
Tears begin to blur his darkened vision. He catches his bottom lip in his mouth to stifle himself, but the fresh cut is making the blood pool into his mouth. He is drinking it in; its metallic flavor reaching the pit of his stomach and making it churn.
"…I…I can't take this…I can't…do this…" His face twists. "…just…please…don't hurt my people." He stops to swallow; more of his blood filling his insides. "…they don't deserve to pay…they don't deserve to die…not for my mistake." He shudders. "I killed him. I killed Ari…you know…she knows…and her father knows…" He inhales with a shaky breath. "…kill me…just don't hurt my team…please."
Michael cleans his blade and properly closes it. In a matter of seconds he is out of the room.
Gibbs wails in pain and in regret; not caring that whatever energy he has left is being wasted on his tears.