Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. If I did… then… well, it probably wouldn't be successful.

a/n: The end of Aliyah made me sad. Crazy seeing as it was such a happy episode, right? [/sarcasm] This is what I did to appease my anxiety. Should be a multi-chaptered fic from a couple POVs.

First up: Ziva:

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"Why does NCIS interest you?" The words come out as a hoarse whisper, the unfortunate and painful result of twenty-eight hours without water.

"That is not information you need to know." He adds a slap across my already bruised face for extra effect. I feel no more pain then I did a second ago; I am not sure it is possible to.

"I don't think anything I know will be of importance"

"And what makes you say that?"

His breath reeks of cigarette, a stench I know I should be used to by now.

"I probably know as much as you do. You would not be questioning me if you didn't have intel already." Every word hurts to utter, but I know I have to talk. It is my only semblance of control. He lets out a dry chuckle before turning around and walking away slowly. I am not sure how far he goes before stopping; one eye can only give me so much depth perception.

"Let me rephrase my original question. Tell me what you know of the people inside NCIS."

The nagging pang in my heart resurfaces with a passion. The people inside NCIS; the people whom I had left. The people whom I had betrayed. The man who then betrayed me.

"There are many, and I cannot say I know most of them."

His smile is disconcerting to say the least.

"I am only interested in one that you know."

"Only one?" It is getting harder to talk, but I know I must continue. Silence only brings his anger, and his anger precedes my pain.

"I am not interested in… Agent McGee, or Agent DiNozzo." The pang comes back full-force. "Not even your... Agent Gibbs, yes?"

"Let me guess then… Ducky Mallard?"

His smile is back, which discomfits me.

"Leon Vance."

I snort, pretending like I did not know it was coming. Of course it was Vance. NCIS's very own enigma.

"I certainly cannot be of any help to you then." It is the truth. I know as much about Vance as Gibbs knows about computers. Enough to get by, but nothing beyond.

"I think you will."

"Even if I were planning on giving you any information, I honestly could not tell you the first thing about him."

He doesn't blink. "What do you know?"

"Well, he has a strange fixation with toothpicks. Oh, and a strong distaste for coffee." Tony's words coming out of my mouth.

He laughs and turns around again.

"What do you think is going to happen to you, Miss David?"

I was not expecting that, and I'm momentarily thrown off guard as he faces me again.

"Do you think you will just walk away from here? Do you think you will ever see your father again? Your NCIS agents again? You are not thinking this through."

"That is not much incentive to get me to talk."

"If you cooperate, we might make your death more pleasant."

"Yes, you have done a great job of that so far"

"You have yet to cooperate."

"Fine. You want to know something about Vance?" I ask. I know I am going to regret this later on. He raises his eyebrows slightly and takes a step closer.

I know I am going to regret this later.

I take a deep breath and look him in the eyes.

"Leon Vance… He does not want anyone to know this…" I take a dramatic pause, before continuing on in true DiNozzo fashion, "He is going gray."

"I'm sorry?" My captor's anticipation is soon replaced by a look of sheer confusion.

"His hair. It has lost its color. He may even be balding, that is probably why-" My sentence ends with the sound of his fist hitting my jaw. On my good side too.

He mutters something in a language I am sure I know but am unable to comprehend before turning on his heel and exiting the cell.

My jaw aches, yet I find I do not regret it as much as I had predicted.

-=-

I am vaguely aware of a faint tapping, almost like water dripping, as I wake. The minimal amount of light coming through the window tells me it is almost daybreak. Or night fall. It is hard to differentiate.

The tapping gets no louder, and I am relatively certain it is a hallucination, or a serious ear problem. Neither option is particularly appealing

I am alone. I probably should have observed that earlier. My cognition is all off, though I do not really think I should be blamed for this.

Or should I be? I mean after all, I am the one who volunteered. I am the one who asked Gibbs to leave his surrogate son for me. What was I expecting? Gibbs to throw Tony to under the bus because I had a small cow with him?

"Beef"

I know this is a hallucination as Tony's voice corrects my misused idiom. Yet I take a small bit of solace in the familiarity of it. The voice I have been listening to for the past four years. The voice that told stupid jokes and the voice that elongated my name in an annoying yet endearing manner. The voice that I could not stand to listen to less than three days ago. Or I think it has been three days. It is hard to keep track of time.

I know I should be angry with Tony. I know I should hate him. Whether or not he deserves to be hated, I suppose I will never know.

But he killed Michael.

Michael was a charmer, similar to Tony. Smart, sophisticated, virile… Not to mention undeniably handsome. It would not have been hard to fall in love. It would have been much easier if I were not around Tony every day.

But Michael made me happy. And Tony makes me angry. Tony makes me frustrated. Tony makes me smile.

Occasionally.

But that is what is so wrong with him. He is so incorrigible… so obstinate… so similar to me.

I sigh as I take another look around the room. It is getting lighter – daybreak. A shame, as it means my captor will probably be back soon.

I do not know what will happen to me. Realistically speaking, I will probably die here. I mean, who is going to come looking for me? Michael is dead, NCIS is rid of me, my father would consider this to be too large a liability…

What am I to do?

The realization gives me an odd feeling of happiness; something that I have been desperately lacking in this colorless chamber.

None of the mistakes I have made matter anymore. Everything I have ever done… immaterial. I suppose there is something inherently wrong with feeling happy about that.

Though really, it is the same idea of contentment that older people get. The acceptance of impending death. The inevitable.

"Nothing is inevitable"

This time it is my own voice that fills my head. I stand by my statement, with the exception, of course, of death.

We all will die. Some of us sooner than others.

It is of some solace that I know I will at least die happy.

Or happy-ish. Perhaps that is good enough.

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Yeah, thanks for reading. And I will preemptively thank you for reviewing too 