Trigger Warnings! Mentions of rape, PTSD, panic attacks, anxiety, mental breakdowns, disassociation, self-harm.

Morgan was put on medical leave for at least a week after what happened and thanks to Dr. McNeil, possibly longer due to the potential "mental trauma" caused by the effects of the drug. She was unfortunately required to have Dr. McNeil sign off on her return to duty and already things weren't going well.

"Enough," she snapped, frustrated as Russell whined at her side.

He'd been overbearing for the last few days given her fractured state of mind. The drug had done a number on her by bringing up her past and despite how quickly the antidote helped to pull her out of it, the memories remained. She hadn't slept much the last few days, a few hours here and there. The pain in her body was constant and no amount of vigorous exercise was helping. Her hands were shaking, her head throbbing, and what's worse was the nightmares were happening all the time. Even during the day, she heard gunshots and her own screams. She'd resorted to keeping music playing loudly all the time. She didn't care if she pissed off the neighbors. She planned to move out as soon as she had a new place anyway.

Not only that, but she'd dropped into a bad habit from her early days in the military. She'd never been one to follow trends or get coerced into trying things she didn't want to but there were bad days in the military and despite the health risks, she took to cigarettes to help calm her nerves. She hadn't used them for long, just a few years maybe, and with nicotine patches she'd been quick to give them up when she'd managed to handle her issues. She'd gotten back into using them after her capture as well but again, for no more than a year thanks to the military keeping her busy.

She needed to stay busy because when she wasn't, her mind fractured and cracked. The army had always kept her busy enough to not get bogged down by dark memories or bad habits like smoking, alcohol, and hard drugs. Then, she joined NCIS and it felt like every break she had, every time she was forced to take leave, the memories overwhelmed her. This time though, nothing was working. Her usual tricks weren't helping. She'd run nearly ten miles the night before to get some relief from the pain and her haunting past, and all it did was leave her in more pain and gasping for breath. She'd gone to the gym and wore herself out until even the staff there forced her to go home.

This left her at home on her own with Russell constantly trying to help get her to relax—very quickly getting on her nerves even though she loved the dog for trying. She was attempting to cope in every way she knew how but nothing was working. She'd taken pain meds to no effect—her pain was psychosomatic so they wouldn't do much anyway—and her sleeping meds just left her more exhausted than before. They helped get her asleep but didn't help her stay asleep and given the restrictions on how many she can take within a certain amount of time, she couldn't just keep taking them. The temptation was there, of course, but she instead turned to cigarettes for the first time in a long while and was doing her best to keep Russell away when she did smoke them.

It was fine to her to ruin her own lungs in her pain but not his. He didn't deserve it, so when she got up to make something to eat—having to force herself to even do that with how her stomach churned and all food tasted like ash in her mouth—she shut him in her bedroom so she could smoke. The nicotine barely took the edge off things, enough to stop her hands from shaking as she cut up some vegetables at least. She hated having to smoke again but it was the only thing working, even if it wasn't much.

Her head ached though and the memories were loud in her ears as blaring rock music blared from the radio in the living room. Every passing second had her growing more and more tense, like a cable ready to snap at any given moment. Then, someone knocked on the door, making her jump and spit out a sharp curse. She dropped the knife and hastily grabbed it before it could hit the ground, grimacing as the knock came again. She tightened her grip as she took a shuddering breath before putting the knife in the sink and going to the door. She expected it to be a neighbor coming to complain about the music and opened the door with a sigh, reaching up to take the cigarette out of her mouth to not offend them further.

"Look, I know the music's loud. I've just…" Her voice trailed off as she took in the figure standing in front of her as he raised a brow. "...had a bad day… Gibbs?"

"A bad day?" He questioned, eyeing her. "I didn't know you smoked."

"I… I don't," she muttered, glancing at the cigarette and correcting herself. "Didn't. Not… Not for a long while. What… What are you doing here?"

"Checking on you," he replied, eyeing her. "Ziva said you weren't answering her calls."

She didn't look good at all. Her eyes were rimmed with dark bags, her body tense like she needed to run at any moment, and as she glanced back into her apartment with furrowed brows—she couldn't remember where her phone was—he noticed something else. Blood dripped onto the floor and he took a quick step forward and grabbed her wrist. It startled her and she jerked harshly at the contact but he didn't let go.

"What the hell were you doing?" He demanded sharply, turning her hand over to show her the deep gash across her palm.

She stared at it in mild surprise. She hadn't even realized she'd grabbed the wrong end of the knife earlier, hadn't noticed the pain with the rest of it still very present in the back of her mind. It took her a second to even realize where she'd gotten it from as she attempted to respond.

"I was… cooking," she muttered, and seeing that she was not at all in the right state of mind, Gibbs was quick to make a decision.

He pulled her to the kitchen sink, quickly putting the bloody knife aside as he turned the water on, holding her hand under it.

"First aid kit," he said gruffly, frustrated with the situation and the condition she was in. "Where is it?"

"It's, um… under the sink in the bathroom."

He nodded and let her wrist go, grabbing a hand towel off a peg nearby and pressing it firmly to her hand. He reached over and grabbed her other hand, forcing her to drop her cigarette in the sink and he put it on top of the towel.

"Hold that on there, keep pressure."

"Gibbs, I'm fi—"

"Shut up and do what I said," he snapped, and for once, she didn't argue.

She didn't have the energy to.

Gibbs went toward the bathroom, turning off the blaring music, but stopped when he heard whining and scratching, turning to the bedroom and opening the door. Russell hurried out, fussing at his side before heading for Morgan. Gibbs hadn't even realized the dog wasn't there and seeing that she'd shut the dog away, he knew this wasn't good at all. He pulled out his cell phone and called up the Director, knowing she would have the number he needed.

"Director Shepard."

"Jenny, I need you to patch me through to McNeil."

"Gibbs? What for? What's this about?"

"Frost," he said simply. "It's not looking good."

"Is she okay?"

"No. Just patch me through to McNeil. I need some sort of clue as to what I'm dealing with," he replied before realizing how that sounded. "She's physically fine. It's the rest of her I'm worried about."

"Alright. I'll transfer you to her."

It took only a minute as Gibbs glanced around the corner toward the kitchen, seeing Morgan had dropped into a chair at a small dining table, still keeping pressure on her hand but not even looking down at Russell as he fussed at her side.

"Dr. McNeil," the woman finally answered. "How can I help you?"

"It's Gibbs," he said, turning away and moving into the bathroom for the first aid kit. "Mor—Frost is having some sort of mental break. I went to check on her after Agent David mentioned missed phone calls and found her bleeding from a gash in her hand without even realizing it."

There was a muttered curse on the other end as McNeil called out for someone to postpone her next appointment.

"I need as much detail as you can give me. Other injuries, general condition, state of her apartment, anything."

"She's tense—wound up—like she's in pain or is just constantly on edge. She could be hiding other injuries without me knowing. She's got bags like she hasn't slept in days, exhausted, unfocused. She had Russell shut in her bedroom and said she was cooking. Hasn't explained the gash but there was a bloody knife in the sink and chopped celery on the counter."

He wanted to say it could have been an accident while cooking but that didn't make sense with how deep it was and the location. He didn't like the implications of the injury but grit his teeth and continued.

"She didn't realize it was there until I pointed it out. I'm grabbing her first aid kit now. She's rather out of it, slow to respond to questions, and… she's smoking."

"Smoking? Cigarettes?"

"Yeah, said she didn't smoke then said it had been a while. She's got music blasting too. Thought I was a neighbor when I showed up," he said, getting the kit out and staying in the bathroom for a moment. "I don't like this, McNeil."

"I don't either. It's most likely a combination of the drugs that were in her system and being forced to go on medical leave. She doesn't handle breaks well."

"I've noticed," Gibbs muttered.

"Whether the injury was accidental or not, we need to treat this situation very delicately. She shouldn't be alone right now. What you've said has me seriously concerned for her mental well-being. Lack of sleep, possible auditory hallucinations, disassociating, and returning to old vices are not good. Her getting injured means that she is currently a risk to herself at the very least. A risk to others is also a possibility. We don't have a lot of options right now."

"What options do we have?" Gibbs said sharply, a twist in his gut telling him he wouldn't like the answer. "I'm not locking up one of my best agents because some jackass drugged her and caused her to fall into a mental break."

"We need to do what's best for her, Agent Gibbs, and sometimes that means making the hard decision of sending someone to a facility that can help them even if only temporarily."

He ground his teeth so tight that a dull pain radiated up his jaw. He glanced around the corner again and saw Morgan at least petting Russell now, if only for a moment before going back to putting pressure on her hand.

"Last resort," he bit out. "That will be the very last resort, understand?"

McNeil sighed on the other end of the line. "Yes, I agree. I feel it would make things worse before they get better and would put her position at NCIS at risk. Not that it isn't already but I feel what's happening now is due to circumstances being out of her control. I know she is stable and capable while on the job but people might not see it that way if she continues to spiral the moment she's not working."

"What do you suggest?" Gibbs asked, knowing he was running out of time before Morgan would become suspicious about how long he was taking.

"For now, don't let her be alone. Try to figure out specifics as to what's going on and manage them. You know how to handle panic attacks?"

"Yes," Gibbs muttered, remembering those he'd had to deal with himself. "She'll be at my place. I'll keep an eye on her."

"You shouldn't need to… to lock up anything unless you see something concerning. Knives, medication, drugs, alcohol. I… She hadn't told me about the smoking but—"

"I'll see what I can do," Gibbs replied simply, not a fan of smoking either but knowing that Morgan was in a very difficult position right now.

He couldn't just take them from her and he needed to figure out how this situation was going to work, but for the moment, all he needed to do was get her somewhere safe. Safe from her nightmares, her memories, anything he could do.

"If anything more comes up—"

"I'll call," he said, hanging up and moving toward Morgan.

She glanced up at him, exhaustion evident but still having just a hint of her usual self tucked away. "You took a while."

"Had a phone call," he said, setting the first aid kit down and checking on her hand. "It might need stitches. We can go to a hospital or—"

"No," she muttered, grimacing as he began to clean around it. "No hospital."

"I'll have to call Ducky then," he warned her, glancing at her as he placed gauze over the wound before bandaging it. "How did you cut yourself?"

She glanced away a little sheepishly. "Dropped the knife when you knocked. Reflexes kicked in and… I wasn't paying attention."

He tied off the bandages, already seeing a hint of red beginning to seep through and he stood, nodding toward the door to her bedroom. "Go pack your things."

"Gibbs, I'm really—"

"Morgan," he said sternly, making her stop as he faced her. "You're not fine."

She almost went to argue, some part of her hating that he thought as much but… he was right and for once, she couldn't counter what he said with any form of argument. So, she quietly nodded and got up from the table, going into her bedroom to grab some spare clothes and other things for her stay at Gibbs's home.

Gibbs had called Ducky the moment they made it to his home, sending Morgan to the spare room and answering the door as soon as the man had shown up. He looked as grim as Gibbs felt, having gotten a brief description of what he was about to walk in on.

"How is she?" He asked, taking off his hat and setting it aside as he walked into Gibbs's home.

"Better than she was," Gibbs muttered. "Calmed down a bit from whatever set her off. I don't know if she'll talk."

"I'll still try," Ducky offered, giving his shoulder a pat as he went to the spare room and knocked on the door.

Gibbs watched as he went in, closing the door behind him and cutting them off from the rest of the house. Gibbs wanted answers but knew he wouldn't get anything from Morgan if she wasn't ready but he got the feeling he was going to have to push for them this time. If she insisted on closing herself off like she usually did, he would have no choice. He needed her to trust him, however, he didn't have the time to wait and be patient in this situation.

He went and grabbed a drink, ordering some takeout since it was late and he hadn't eaten. He just ordered whatever he thought she'd want, remembering the things she'd refused or picked out of her food the last time he'd shared a meal. Ducky was taking a while so he hoped that the man was getting something from her, or at least understood what was going on more than he did. He understood her past was shit and haunting enough to result in her having issues but the thought of that injury being on purpose made him feel sick. She always acted so strong…

He was drawn out of his thoughts when the bedroom door opened and Ducky finally came out after being in there for a good half an hour. Ducky spotted him standing in the kitchen and headed over solemnly.

"It's not going to be easy, Jethro," he warned.

"What's not going to be easy?"

"Getting her to open up," he explained. "What she's dealing with is… It's the kind of trauma that I don't think anyone is prepared for. She's trying to handle it as best she can but there comes a point where relying on others is important. I just don't think she knows how."

Gibbs was silent, knowing how independent she was but having hoped that there was a chance to be that support she needed. He just wasn't sure she would take it right now.

"I've put stitches in her hand, so do try to keep her from using it as much as possible," Ducky informed him as they headed to the door. "She's informed me that she's not currently on any medication. She took pain medication over eight hours ago and attempted sleeping medication over twelve hours ago."

"Attempted?"

"She claims it's not working," he offered with a small shrug. "Either she's built up an immunity or…"

"Or it doesn't stop the nightmares," Gibbs concluded, earning a nod from him.

"Yes, unfortunately."

"That injury…" Gibbs muttered, hating to have to ask but he needed to know.

"From her account, it wasn't self-inflicted," Ducky informed him. "And from what I saw, it wasn't caused by her dragging a blade across her palm. She dropped it, caught it from the wrong end, and possibly gripped it tightly without realizing it. Given her mental state, it wouldn't surprise me. All you can do is be there for her. Let her talk if she wants to and listen."

"Thanks, Doc," Gibbs murmured, earning a nod from the man as he stepped out and to his car, leaving Gibbs to sigh heavily and wonder what he was going to do about Morgan.

Morgan sat on the bed in the guest room rather dazed, staring at the bandages on her hand as Russell whined softly in front of her. His head was on her thigh and after a moment of her staring, he took a step forward and nudged her elbow to draw her attention. She glanced down at him, feeling guilty for how she'd been treating him lately, and lightly patted his head before there was a knock on the door. She'd calmed down enough to not jump at the sudden noise but still tensed slightly as Gibbs pushed the door open.

"Food's here."

He stepped back out of the room, saying nothing more and Morgan hesitated before getting up; pulling out two dog bowls and some food for Russell from her things. Gibbs had set the food down on the kitchen table and watched her as she went through the process of making Russell's food first. Once the dog was eating, she went over to the table and dropped into a chair, idly picking up the chopsticks to eat as Gibbs went toward the fridge.

"You want a drink? Beer okay?"

She nodded and he went to sit across from her, doing his best to focus on his food and not push things right away. After a moment, right when he'd started to consider asking about what was going on, she spoke.

"Sorry," she murmured, drawing his attention. "I know you don't like apologies but…"

She went quiet and Gibbs turned back to his food.

"It's fine," he replied, surprising her a bit. "Between friends. Sometimes it needs to be said."

He didn't elaborate more than that and silence settled on them again, though Morgan was no longer eating and just picking at her food now.

"I don't…" She paused with a frown, bringing her injured hand up to run through her hair in frustration as she tried to figure out how to say what she wanted. "I-I don't mean to be this way. I should be over it. It was a long time ago a-and even with that drug reminding me of it, I shouldn't—"

Russell whined, having headed over upon feeling her frustration and Gibbs could tell that right now, he wasn't helping.

"Morgan," Gibbs cut in before she could get frustrated with the dog. "It's fine."

"No, it's not fine!" She shouted, though her expression had crumbled as the pain and hurt finally slipped through her usual mask. "It's… It's not. I shouldn't be… I-I shouldn't need you to babysit me and I shouldn't be like this all because of some stupid goddamn terrorist bullshit!"

She dropped her head into her hands, struggling to rein in her fractured emotions as Gibbs hesitated. As much as this felt like an opportunity to get closer to Morgan, it felt dirty. Now wasn't the time for that. She was vulnerable and exposed. She needed his support, not him trying to set aside her problems by bringing up relationships. So, he got up and grabbed her hand, drawing her gaze to him.

"Come on."

She didn't fight him as he led her downstairs, grabbing a block of sandpaper and placing it in her hand. He led her hand to the skeleton of the next boat he was building and ran it along the wood.

"With the grain," he instructed, stepping away as she watched him for a moment.

Didn't take long for her to start sanding the boat while he dumped out a couple of jars and poured some stronger alcohol into them. He passed her a glass and went to take a seat on the bench in front of it, sanding his own section. Already, the tension was leaving her shoulders with the mind-numbing task and after a moment she spoke again.

"You don't think it's stupid?" She muttered as Russell found a place to settle under the bench near Gibbs.

"Nope," Gibbs replied easily. "I think you've been through a lot of shit and when you don't have a distraction, it all comes right back up to the surface. I think you're stubborn as hell though," he offered, giving her a look as she eyed him almost hesitantly. "Takes a lot of guts to deal with what you did and come out alright."

She turned away, not looking reassured. "I'm hardly alright."

"Yeah, but you're alive, aren't you?" Gibbs hummed. "There's a lot of people in the world who would've taken the easy way out but you don't even consider it. Drives you a bit mad but I get it. It's tough and you're doing your best."

Morgan was quiet for a moment. "How do you plan to get this boat out of here when it's done?"

Gibbs cracked a smile. "That's a secret."

Morgan glanced at him. "Mann said there was a different boat down here. One that was nearly finished."

Gibbs glanced at her. "There was and now there's this one."

She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and downing her drink. "Could I…?"

"Help yourself," Gibbs offered, waving at the bottle on the work table.

She filled her glass again, sipping it this time, before going back to sanding. After a little while though, Gibbs could see her sifting uncomfortably with a small grimace. Her body was tensing up again and he knew she needed sleep.

"You wanna head upstairs?" He offered. "Get some rest?"

Morgan didn't move, keeping her exhausted gaze on the wood in front of her. "I haven't been able to sleep in days."

"Then, we won't sleep," he offered with a shrug, abandoning his spot and going to grab the bottle of alcohol. "Come on."

Morgan sighed, but followed him upstairs with Russell and Gibbs grabbed what was left of the food and started to pack it up before pointing to the sofa.

"Go sit down. See what's on."

Morgan glanced at the TV, not really wanting to see what was on it but begrudgingly dropped onto the sofa and grabbed the remote. Some old, black-and-white western was on, and since it was better than the news, she set the remote aside to watch. Gibbs came back with the bottle and refilled her glass, settling down beside her and restraining himself from closing the gap between them. The most he did was lean over her slightly to grab the remote and turn up the volume, seeing her tense slightly when he did. She soon relaxed though and he sipped at his drink and waited.

It didn't take long for her to drift off; the tension rolling off her in waves and finally leaving her relaxed for the first time in God knows how long. Her head drooped toward her chest and Gibbs reached past her to pull over a blanket, shifting her so she was lying down instead of awkwardly seated beside him. With her head on his thigh, he sighed softly and lightly toyed with her hair, finishing off his glass of alcohol and silently wondering what possessed him to pursue someone like Morgan.

She wasn't like other women and she certainly wasn't easy. He'd be lucky to get her to even realize what was going on—though he suspected she had some idea given how she was avoiding him before. That, and she was broken. She'd been torn down to nothing and built herself back up again as strong and closed off as she could. Getting past that defense wasn't something just anyone could do and he wasn't her therapist. He wasn't trying to fix her. He just wanted to be able to support her when things got too much because she'd done it for him. Even when he got upset about it, she'd been honest and didn't back down from her choice. There had only been one other person who got through to him like that and he wouldn't be able to see her ever again.

Morgan was different and he wanted even just a taste of what life might be like with her around. He just needed to be patient and perhaps a little more blunt. Gibbs dropped his head back with a deep sigh, turning off the TV and turning his gaze to Russell as the dog eyed him curiously.

"Your owner is far too much trouble."

Morgan slowly drifted into consciousness as the gentle smell of bacon tickled her nose. She shifted on the bed, mind still very much dazed and fogged after the first actual night of good sleep she'd had in a while. She rolled over toward something warm and reached around it, curling into it and dragging her fingers through dark fur. She didn't want to get up.

Russell hadn't minded the sudden contact, simply perking his ears for a moment before drifting back to sleep himself. He too had had some long nights and was enjoying the time off. That is until there was a knock on the door. He lifted his head, alert as the door opened a crack. Gibbs poked his head in, faintly amused at the sight of Morgan wrapped around Russell like an oversized stuffed toy.

"Rus, breakfast."

The dog immediately jumped off the bed, abandoning his owner and bounding out the door to get to the food that Gibbs had placed down for him. This left Morgan sporting a disgruntled frown as she finally peered her eyes open and spotted Gibbs in the doorway.

"I've got food on the table if you want it," he told her. "I suggest you get some after drinking last night."

She certainly did feel a bit hungover with how fragmented her memory of the night before was. She couldn't quite remember how she got to this bed or what she and Gibbs had discussed. Hell, just being at Gibbs's house felt like something she should really remember but between her light headache and how terrible she'd felt lately, she couldn't bring herself to really figure it out.

The smell of food was tantalizing though, and again her wishes to stay in bed for longer, she begrudgingly pushed herself up to sit on the edge. She dragged a hand through her hair and wrinkled her nose at what she was wearing. Gibbs hadn't dared attempt to get her to change before tucking her away and the shirt and jeans felt disgusting after sleeping in them for a night. That and she could see blood on her pants which reminded her of the injury she'd caused herself.

She didn't want to think of how ridiculous she'd acted and what Gibbs might have thought. The shame was already twisting in her gut along with the gnawing hunger that drifted in with the smell of food in the other room. As it was, she'd been silent and staring into space for a moment too long, drawing Gibbs's attention and concern. He'd been hoping she'd feel better after some sleep but nothing could be that easy.

"You alright?" He asked; a stupid question but he wasn't sure what else to say.

She turned to him, snapping out of it, and nodded as she got to her feet. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just wondered if I should shower first."

"Your food would get cold," he replied, stepping out of the room with her following. "You can shower after. Then maybe get some more sleep. It's early."

It wasn't too early but early enough that Morgan was surprised she'd gotten up at all. Her first good night of sleep and it had only been six hours tops.

She sat at the table where a plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and some fruit sat waiting for her alongside a glass of water and a packet of medication for her headache. She glanced at Gibbs as he sat across from her and started eating himself, silently surprised by his courtesy and kindness. Not that he wasn't nice at times but with everything that happened the night before—that she was still trying to piece together—it was a wonder that he was treating her this way. In her eyes, anyway. If Gibbs had his way he'd have done more but he was being patient.

Morgan began to eat and was soon devouring the food with a bit more vigor. Somehow, this meal tasted so much better than what she'd had thus far at home. She suddenly felt like she was starving and hadn't realized how much she missed actual flavor. Gibbs took one look and cracked a small smile, glad she had more of an appetite than last night when she barely touched her food. His smile fell though as he checked the time. He needed to head off to work. He finished his food and got to his feet, gathering and cleaning his dishes as he spoke over his shoulder.

"I'll need to head out in a minute. You good here or do you want to come with?"

"I'm fine," Morgan muttered. "I… I should go home."

"Stay," he pressed, setting the dishes aside and heading over, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "For a few days at least. I don't mind the company."

"But you shouldn't have to—"

"Morgan," he said firmly, giving her a soft look. "Whether you're fine or not, I want you to stay."

She glanced away with a wince, hating that she was stuck in this position where he had to keep an eye on her; not knowing that was only part of why he wanted her to stay. The fact that she had even gotten to this point left her feeling frustrated and… small. She never wanted to feel like that again.

A tingle of unease and a small ripple of pain laced across her spine before she shifted away from Gibbs's hold and looked back down at her food; which suddenly didn't look so appetizing.

"Okay," she offered him, picking up her fork and prodding at what was left. "You should go before you're late."

Gibbs frowned slightly, sensing her shift in mood and he didn't need to see Russell heading over to know something he'd said had upset her.

"I'll bring you some lunch later," he offered, expecting her to fight back on that as well but she just nodded and took a small bite of her food.

She knew what he'd meant. It was a subtle warning that he'd be back to check up on her… or so she thought.

Gibbs let out a soft sigh and stepped away, gathering his things and giving Russell a pat when the dog headed for him at the door. "Be good. Keep an eye on her."

Russell leaned into the pets before he left and then turned his attention to his owner as she set her fork down and dropped her face into her hand. Things were not turning out how she'd like.

She shouldn't have gone to sleep.

She'd become so concerned over her own actions that she'd told herself she would just sleep today. She didn't want to stand in Gibbs's home and hear the noise of her memories in the silence. She was hoping that trying to sleep would help the burning pain that had started up again after he'd left. Her head had begun to throb and she took some medication for it, then grabbed her sleeping medication not too long after when the headache hadn't subsided. She forgot that Gibbs said he'd stop by for lunch. She was just so exhausted physically and mentally. She either slept and wished for a decent rest, or she paced in Gibbs's home and risked her frustration causing damage to herself or his home. Those first six hours she'd gotten the night before had been so good that they'd tricked her into a false sense of security.

The medication swept her away quickly, moments after her head hit the pillow, but despite the hour of peace she got, it felt as though she'd instantly been swept into another nightmare.

She was exhausted and barely conscious. Her face was swollen and her head throbbed from where her hair had been grabbed and her skull bashed against the wall and floor. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor from her broken nose and busted lip, and her back burned as though it were on fire from the lashes that were slowly seeping into her shirt. She couldn't even breathe properly with her bruised and cracked ribs, and her fingers fumbled at the knots holding her to the chair she was tied to. They too were slick with blood and a few were broken, sending pain up her wrist and arm with every movement but she needed to try.

They weren't going to save her, after all. She was alone in this dark place, fear trickling through her as she waited every moment for that door to open and one of her tormentors to return. She didn't have the information they wanted and as a woman, she honestly wasn't worth much as a hostage in their eyes. She feared that the moment they got bored or realized she was useless, far worse would happen before they'd kill her. They'd already tried once and didn't expect her to fight back as hard as she did. The longer it took to hear a response from her country, from anyone, the more frantic she felt.

The door opened then, and her heart lept into her throat. She didn't move, didn't even breathe as the dark figure approached and reached for her. She lunged, somehow freed from her bonds as she tackled him to the floor. Her fist reared back but they twisted underneath her, swinging her off and switching their positions as he pinned her hands above her head. He was shouting something but she couldn't hear over the ringing in her ears, the fear enveloping her at the thought of him trying to rape her again.

She tried to bring her knee up but he grabbed it to stop her, fingers digging into her thigh as she struggled. He leaned forward and she half expected the sickening feeling of their tongue on her neck but it never came. Something distracted the figure enough for her to jerk an arm free and punch him solidly in the jaw. She threw herself at him, pinning his legs under hers as she straddled his stomach and grabbed him around the throat with one hand as she went to hit him with the other.

There was something wrong though. A persistent noise barked loudly in her ears before something shoved against her. She turned with a snarl, baring her teeth only for the dark blur to shove its way between her and the man she held. Russell grabbed hold of her arm in his jaw, not biting but holding it enough for her to realize she needed to stop. Morgan jerked back her hand slowly starting to come back to herself as Russell's presence started to draw her back into reality.

Her breaths were still quick and sharp; the pain still very real. Yet, it was dulled and her head was muddled from medication and sleep. Her body quaked in the aftereffects of her panic as Russell pushed and shoved at her as he crawled over the figure she was sitting on. Her gaze finally shifted to him, clearing up and seeing the salt and peppered hair instead of the dirty, dark-skinned face of a terrorist wearing a kūfiyyah.

Gibbs let out a harsh cough, bringing a hand up to rub at his throat. "C-Christ, Morgan."

It was like someone dunked ice-cold water over her. She'd attacked Gibbs. She'd lost herself in the daze of her nightmarish memories and went after the one person she trusted most. She felt sick, nausea twisting in her gut alongside guilt as she got up off him and faltered back; hitting the ground with a thump as the reality of what happened dawned on her.

Gibbs pushed himself up with a wince, reaching up to rub at his bruised jaw that would surely purple and swell alongside his neck. He hadn't expected that sort of violent reaction when he'd gone to wake Morgan up for lunch. A panic attack he could handle but this was a whole different level of fear. What the hell did they do to her?

"G-Gibbs," Morgan breathed, voice tight and he lightly waved her off.

"It's fine. I'm alright."

"No! No, it's not—" Morgan started, lowering her voice as her expression crumpled into something pained. "I-I… What have I done?"

Gibbs shifted toward her, making her scoot as far back against the wall as she could as if it might swallow her up to hide her from him.

"Morgan, it's okay," he pressed. "It was a nightmare."

She shook her head though, fingers digging into the carpet as she stared at him with the most fear he'd ever seen. "No. N-No, it w-wasn't."

Gibbs wanted to get that look off her face. He wanted to fly to Afghanistan, locate the people who did this to her, and tear them all limb from limb. They had taken this woman and torn her down to nothing. She was so strong and intelligent and now she looked at him as if any small movement would send her into a panic. Tears were welling up in her eyes and she brought up a hand to hide some of her face as she turned away.

"I-I-I'm sor—" She choked on the words, breath hitching as she fought to take another gasp of air. "I-I didn't mean to—I-I hurt you."

"You weren't aware of it," Gibbs pressed, being sure to move slowly as he came closer. "Morgan, this isn't on you."

Her face crumbled as she curled up in a ball, bringing her knees to her chest and reaching up to hide her face and pull at her hair. Russell whined from beside her, unsure what he could do but surprisingly keeping some distance to allow Gibbs to come up before her.

"Morgan, look at me," he muttered, carefully reaching out and placing a hand on her leg.

She flinched but didn't fight him pushing it down out of the way.

"Morgan, please."

His fingers brushed against the back of her hand, lightly prying it away from her face. Still, she kept her gaze turned away and he pressed a little more.

"Let me help you."

"You can't," she breathed, looking at him finally with exhausted and pained red eyes. "Nobody can. I just—I-I just attacked you." She grabbed hold of his lingering hand, clenching it tightly. "I-I tried to kill you! I shouldn't even be on your team. I'm a risk. A threat. I—"

Gibbs couldn't do it anymore. He'd tried so hard to hold back and handle things the way he should but this was what broke him. Seeing her suddenly so insecure, frightened, and somehow still caring about his team and how this might affect them had finally snapped his last restraint. Gibbs surged forward and pressed his lips to hers, cupping her face in his hands and ignoring the slightest taste of salt from her tears.

She'd gone stiff under his touch and he pulled back to stare at her shell-shocked expression. He dragged a thumb across her cheek to wipe away a stray tear as her eyes scanned his face for some sort of understanding.

"You," he breathed, "are not going anywhere. Do you understand?" He asked, holding firm to her face as his own eyes stared back solidly. "You are vital to this team. Vital to me. I get that you have some issues that you need to work out but you are not alone in this, Morgan. You could hit me a dozen times and that won't matter. I need you here and I will help you deal with whatever this is because you are better than this. You can get past this and if I ever find out who put you in this position, you'll be damn sure I'll pay them back ten times the shit they did to you."