One Last Mission

"Anything can be endured for a moment."

"I am sorry, Gibbs." She said the words again, even though she'd said them before. Their current situation was her fault, and she was willing to accept the blame for it. Over the past six hours and twenty three minutes, her voice had grown hoarse. No light filtered through the small window in the basement, and she could not see anything in the darkness. She figured night had fallen. It'd been dark when they'd been thrown into where they were, and it was still dark. She hoped for light soon. Light could provide them with more options.

"Don't apologize. Sign of weakness." The words were oddly reassuring, slurred and weak as they were. Ziva David's own injuries were of no concern to her. It was Gibb's concussion that bothered her, and his lack of coherent responses. Training as a Mossad officer had always taught her to look out for herself, taught her to handle capture and torture – but none too many had taught her how not to just survive, but to get the man next to her to survive as well.

"We are up a creek without an oar, Gibbs." She said, speaking not for herself, but for him – she spoke the idiom wrong on purpose, to hear him correct her. Perhaps if he corrected her, things were not as bad as they seemed. She couldn't see her own hands – she felt them tied behind her back.

If he corrected her, Leroy Jethro Gibbs would not die.

The silence dragged on …

TBC

Author's Note:

Welcome to the newest story – my first NCIS one, but here's something new: this story is going to be written by three people. Myself, RukiaDeathKutchiki, and LegacyoftheDawn. The next chapter will be written by Rukia. Obviously, this is a prologue: the next chapter will continue where this took place, but will include flashbacks and such.