A/N: I hope you all read Chapter 25. It wasn't technically Chapter 25, but the number, yeah, it would really help you to read that. The basis of it was not to bash 'Sara.' Not at all. It made my heart ache to see some of the reviews on that A/N that were saying mean things to her. My best friend stated that, obviously, she was going through something. It isn't my place to judge. However, I can't lie to you, so I'm going to tell you straight up that I definitely considered posting a chapter that said the following:

"Father MacGregor came over and he said a few prayers and then Tony miraculously thought to look in the basement before anything could happen to Ziva and he said he loved her and then Gibbs shot Dr. Owens and Abby sprayed mace and Tony wore a respirator mask and untied Ziva and they all escaped and they went back to Virginia and lived happily ever after, goodbye."

However, that would have been unfair, and don't think that this A/N is a preview of what happens. I've already told you in the previous A/N chapter thing that Ziva isn't raped. I repeat. She is not raped. Emphasis on the words Ziva, not, and raped. So, let's commence.

"May I ask who this is?" Father MacGregor murmurs sleepily.

"It's David Stadelvard, Father…I'm sorry for calling so late," I reply, cursing myself inwardly. "I was…we're having some trouble and you're one of the few who can help us."

There's silence on his end for a moment before he states, "How do you mean? What kind of trouble?"

"Father, I…I lied." Abby watches me from her side of the room, curiosity pouring from her green eyes. "My name is Anthony DiNozzo, and I'm a Federal Agent for NCIS. My partner, Ziva Davíd—she went by Ana Stadelvard for this assignment—has gone missing, and … our boss was wondering if you…"

Father McGregor softly chuckles before murmuring, "It's okay, Tony. It was an occupational demand. You're forgiven." I let out a sigh of relief. "However, this kidnapping business you mentioned—when did that happen? And how would I be able to help?"

Groaning, I reply, "That's a good question, Father, and I don't know the answer to it, other than the facts. Ziva disappeared around five-thirty this evening; there's evidence of forced entry, and her phone was smashed on the ground."

"Religious crime?" he asks through a yawn, though I know it's not out of boredom. I sympathize with him as I look at the grandfather clock in the corner of the parlor. It's only a little after midnight. "Or is it something else?"

I shake my head, ignoring the fact he can't see it. "I don't think it has anything to do with her being Jewish, Father, no disrespect. I just…we knew we were made. We were under the impression we could pretend to not know, and catch the guy in the act."

There is a rustle. "And you were wrong, I take it?" The priest clears his throat. "I'll be right over."

I give him the address of our house and, before he hangs up, I catch him. "Father, just so you know, none of us are really … religious."

"That's okay, Tony," he murmurs. "See you soon."

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…

"Please, don't do this," I whimper, watching Chris run his hand closer and closer to my hip. "Please…"

He chuckles menacingly. "Oh, but Miss Davíd, how else will we get our answers?"

Shaking my head, I moan, "What answers?" I have not been able to follow a single word the members of LINAS have said, and have answered their questions with an almost numb feeling in my head. What I gather is unintelligible; they work closely with a drug cartel out of Colombia, sending them intel and women from America in return for drugs, like marijuana and cocaine. Before they get the drugs, however, the drug lords 'test' each woman they are sent.

In the recent past, LINAS has kidnapped women and sent them to Colombia, only to find out their drug orders have been denied because the women have fought back too much. I am sitting here now because they feel I would be a good candidate. But first, before they can send me away, they have to break me down.

"So, Miss Zee-vah," Chris leers, his silver eyes twinkling predatorily, "How about we cut the talking and just go straight for the training."

"Or," Dr. Owens chuckles, "the re-training."

I drag in a shallow breath, praying that Tony and Gibbs come soon.

Father MacGregor sits comfortably at the island and rests his chin on steepled fingers. "You haven't heard from Ziva?" We all shake our heads. "And she wouldn't run away, you said?"

Gibbs laughs despite the solemn atmosphere of the kitchen. "Oh, no. That's not Ziva."

I nod in agreement. "She'd be more likely to run toward a fight than try to escape from one."

Abby looks up from where she's curled in a ball on the padded bench. "Except if it's a life or death situation," she comments before lowering her head again and heaving a sigh. "Come back, Ziva…"

The priest shakes his head at me. "Why did you ask me here, Anthony?" he murmurs.

"'Tony,' please…" I gently correct, and then answer, "To be candid, Father, I couldn't think of anyone else to call." Averting my eyes to the floor, I mentally will away his piercing—but understanding—brown gaze.

"May I ask you, Tony, what you fought about?" he asks after a while. I almost answer him, until I remember that Gibbs and Abby are still in the room. Glancing between them, I can only hope they get the hint. I want them to leave. Now.

Gibbs only raises an eyebrow at me, then swings down from his own stool. Collecting Abby from her bench, he leaves the room, shutting the French doors behind him. Father MacGregor looks at me expectantly and I let out a hesitant sigh.

"My boss doesn't know about any of this. Or, if he does, he does a really, really, really good job of hiding it," I begin, running an idle hand through my hair. "You're going to think it's inappropriate and irresponsible, but ever since Ziva started working with me at NCIS five years ago—nearly six, now—I've had this massive… 'crush', I'd guess you'd call it, on her." He gives me a small smile and I plow on. "But Gibbs has these set of rules. There's fifty of them. And Rule Number Twelve states, 'Never date a coworker.'

"That's all well and good, Father, and I agree, it's usually a bad idea. But Ziva … she's different. We've toyed with the idea in the past and flirted and when we went to Paris, a lot of stuff went down, and then I lost my dad about seven-and-a-half months ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Father MacGregor tells me sympathetically. "He's in a better place now, though, you know."

"Yep," I agree, my voice strained. I clear my throat and go on, "That doesn't make the pain go away, though. And the only thing that did, Father, was talking to Ziva."

"So there's trust between you." I nod. "That's very important in relationships, whether they're romantic or friendly. And it's especially vital in the workplace, Tony. You're partners. You need to trust each other."

"I know. And we do." Pausing, I take a breath. "That's why I have to find her."

There's a moment of silence and then he folds his hands in his lap. "Tony, let's say a quick prayer. Do you know the Our Father?" I nod again. "Okay," he says and begins the prayer. I recite it with him.

All while thinking, We need to find her, God. Soon, however, I realize I have begun praying, God, we will find her.

In a matter of moments, I am struck with the idea of going to Buck's house.

"Martina Jackson," I rasp, my side aching from where Green Tie hit me. It is easier for me to relate the members of LINAS to the color tie they are wearing. "What did you do to her?"

Each of the men looks at another and then they let out a collective laugh. "Oh, Beauty, you don't want to know that."

I pretend to consider this for a moment, then murmur, "I do, actually."

"It might scare you."

"I have heard and seen worse with NCIS. I will not be scared. Go ahead." Setting my jaw, I know they can see I am serious.

Green Tie looks at Peach Tie and then back at me. Peach Tie gives Green Tie a curt nod. "Alright," the latter states. "Martina Jackson…Well, she was a peach, wasn't she, boys?"

Matthew Conoghey snorts loudly. "Really, Howie? You think she was nice?" Spitting on the dirt floor, he says, "You obviously lost some brain cells last time. The bitch ruined my nephew's life." He glares at me. "I don't know why women always need to do this."

"How did Martina 'ruin' Jackson's life?" I inquire.

"She wanted to have his goddamn child. She wouldn't let him work. She insisted they start a family," Matthew counts off. "Her mother lives—or lived, whatever—in Texas, and if that whore had gotten her way, she'd have seven grandchildren by now."

"You put Martina in a mental hospital. Why?"

"Because," Chris cuts in, "she deserved it. She had it coming. When she was sitting in this basement—in the same chair you sit in now—she resisted."

I shake my head, furious. "You did not think of letting her go? Respecting her dignity?"

"What dignity? She had an abortion."

I can feel my eyes flash. "Not of her own choice!" I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and then continue. "She wanted to have his children. Your nephew forced her to have an abortion." Matthew lets out a howl of laughter. I stare at him in disgust. "What."

"You think Arnie made her get an abortion?" He shakes his head. "No, no, that one was all us."

"Pardon?" I ask, my voice dropping.

"She was almost two months pregnant, Ziva. We couldn't risk her having a child, especially if we were going to send her away."

"Is that why Arnie resented you? Why he left? Because you killed his baby?"

"I didn't kill a baby!" Matthew shouts. "It was cells, just cells."

"You are sick," I hiss. "All of you are sick." The part that scares me the most about this situation is the fact I will live. They will not receive their drugs unless they send me to Colombia. Perhaps if I comply…

"Ziva; beautiful, beautiful Ziva … are you that dense? We aren't sick," Dr. Owens murmurs. "I help the sick."

"You performed the abortion, didn't you?" I accuse, my voice hollow.

"Yes, I did."

"And when Lance Corporal Jackson confronted you about it, you threatened to kill him, did you not?" He only nods, a sickening half-smile plastered on his face. "Martina found out about it and there was an investigation. And then, you chose to send her away and had to 'train' her … she escaped, though, right? And was so traumatized that her schizophrenia got worse …"

"Ooh," Chris coos in mock-awe. "NCIS does research."

I snap my head around to look at him. "Yes, we do. And they may not find me here, in this basement, but they will find me someday."

Yellow Tie lets out a haughty bark of laughter. "The men in Colombia keep rather tight grips on their ladies, don't they, Chris?"

"You obviously don't know my boss." I have to steady my own voice, but I know that my team is on the way. They have to...

When we finish praying, Father MacGregor suggests I go discuss my plan with Gibbs. When I do so, my boss gives me the typical 'look', which of course tells me to call the local police. Within fifteen minutes, three unmarked cars are at our house, and then a van parks on the opposite side, a SWAT team safely inside. So much is happening, so quickly, that I am pleasantly surprised when I feel Abby wrap her arms around me from behind as I stand on the porch, watching everything play out. We stand together, enjoying each other's embrace, until Gibbs bounds up the steps.

"Get your gun. We're going in," he orders softly, squeezing past us to retrieve something from inside the house.

Abby gives me one last squeeze and I sprint down to my car and grab my gun. I slip my holster over my shoulders and a bullet proof vest on over that. "Ready, Boss," I call as quietly as I can.

"Be careful!" the Goth girl demands from her post before she runs back into the house and watches the proceedings from the front office window.

As Gibbs and I climb into his rented Dodge Challenger, I remember when I started working at NCIS, Abby was the first person I made friends with. I mean, there was Viv Blackadder, sure, but Ducky was always so enthralled with her and she was always so determined to stay away from him … And Gibbs was very good friends with Ducky already. Unless I'd wanted to start making friends in the Personnel office, which I hadn't. Abby and I had clicked almost instantly.

She'd also asked me out for dinner on several occasions. Once when we had a case with Commander Rabb, a JAG on the USS Seahawk, and then numerous times before that. I never took her up on them, other than the first time when she took me to a vampiric club, and that had scared me. So from then on, I politely refused, partly because of our past date, and also because I knew that there was someone waiting for me, or someone I was supposed to meet someday. When I'd met Jeanne, I had obviously assumed that she was that woman. Now that I've met Ziva, though … I regret every day I spent away from her. And now, who knows if we'll find her.

As we pull up in front of the house, not in the driveway of course, but creating a barricade in the road, my stomach tenses like it always does right before a bust. But this time, the stakes are higher.

We're coming, Ziva. Stay strong.

"You disgust me," I spit, as Chris comes forward, unbuttoning his white slacks. Glaring at Dr. Owens, I ask, "Why all the names? Dr. Peters and now Dr. Owens?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"Why? Why don't you know? Why can't you just answer me?" My nose flares noticeably and Chris chuckles. "Don't laugh. You'll see soon enough that my team values me enough to come save me."

"No, they're coming to save the Ziva they remember from a while ago. When we're done with the retraining, you won't be that Ziva."

Green Tie walks around to behind my chair and gently sweeps my hair over my left shoulder. I tense and he squeezes the pressure point on my bare shoulder, drawing a hiss from deep within me. "She's ready. Go for it."

"Does this," I bite out through gritted teeth, "make you feel like men? Really? This is not a sin? Where I come from—the normal part of the world compared to this Hell—this is not love. This is rape. This is a crime."

"It's your fault," Chris tells me, laughing. He runs his hand gently across my face. Any other year, month, or day, I would have agreed with him. But now it is different.

"No," I say icily, "This is not my fault." I am rewarded with another blow to my cheek.

"Then we should make this fun, hm? Since you're here voluntarily?" A sneer spreads across his face.

I gulp as he grows nearer still, and jump when the door is broken down and I hear Tony shout, "Federal Agents! Step away from the chair!"

"Tony," I warn, watching Dr. Owens reaching into his pocket, "he has—" I am cut off by a gunshot from Gibbs' gun, which disarms the doctor and causes the White Suit to fall to the ground, clutching his hand.

"Anyone else want a go?" my partner warns, not looking at me. "Good." He gestures for anyone else behind me to enter the room.

It seems far too simple. I find out why, seconds later, when Matthew draws a knife from behind the water heater. Tony is flung to the ground swiftly, with the knife sticking out of his vest. Another gunshot and Matthew slumps onto the floor beside him. I am silent through it all, through to when Tony has removed the knife, cut through the ropes binding me to the chair, and picked me up to cradle me in his arms. As he carries me up the stairs of the storm cellar's outside entrance, I bury my face in his neck.

He sets me down in the back of the ambulance sitting outside and says nothing, looking me square in the eyes. When I do not offer any words but my lip trembles, he stoops down and hugs me, pressing me into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around my shaking body, and not letting go until he thinks perhaps I am okay.

I am not. A tear runs down my face.

"Ziva, what did they do to you?" I shake my head, meaning that they did nothing to me per se, but I know that he takes it as though I do not want to discuss it. "This is important, Ziva. I need to know."

"They did not hurt me."

"Your cheek is raw."

I ignore what he has said, my mind focused on the possibility of what they could have done with Dr. Owens' walking stick. "He had a staff."

"They didn't…"

"No. They didn't. They didn't have a chance."

"Oh."

I look up at him with half lidded eyes, exhausted. It is, after all, three in the morning. "Tony, thank you."

"What for?"

"Saving me."

Tony takes my hand and kisses the top of my head, climbing into the ambulance with me and sitting on the passenger's bench. "Zeev, I will always save you. Or at least, I'll try."

"I know."

As we drive away, I glance down at my ring and see that it has disappeared. He notices and reaches into his pocket with his free hand, then slips the ring on my hand.

"After all, Zeev," Tony murmurs, giving my fingers a soft squeeze, "I can't live without you."

Just another day at the office, I think to myself, letting out a sigh. Let the normalcy begin.

A/N: Oh my goodness. What a ride this has been. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you all for your ongoing support, even during the rough parts of the last few chapters. Keep a lookout for my other future stories. I reassure you, no more rape. It may mention Somalia but it won't go as deep into description as this one did. As long as you have read this one…you will know my stance of what happened.

It's been fun. Love, Kat.

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, I don't own JAG, I don't own the Our Father, and I don't own Gibbs' car.