Journey Series: Ellick

Fighting

The swelling of Torres's face went down progressively. With the blood cleaned off, you could see the masses of bruising, but they were fading nicely thanks to the daily cleaning they had employed. There was an unspoken agreement among them that Ellie would be the one to follow through with it. Gibbs and McGee would gently support him in the small bathroom with dingy lighting every morning, every evening. Ellie would soak some clean rags in hydrogen peroxide and dabbed it first on his face, and then on his back where the open wounds were. His body would tense before she would even touch him. He fought constantly for composure, but she knew as soon as she moved to his back that his face would contort.

Seeing the open wounds made her want to vomit. If their timing was right, he'd been subjected to torture for over three months. She wanted to tell him it was okay, but that was not what he needed. Admitting weakness was not something he was ready for. But he was still fighting. Even though he did not have to, he was still fighting. For Ellie, for all of them, that was a good sign.

It was a week before Torres's fever broke, and yet another before he could move on his own and speak. Not that he spoke. Like, at all. The entire team had sort of just taken up residence in Ellie's room. Ellie slept in the chair by the bed and McGee slept on the floor. She had offered him the chair but he claimed the floor was easier to sleep on. Her mind flashed back to those dreaded months when Gibbs and McGee had been captive in Paraguay. Those days had been hard. She remembered Nick being on edge constantly. It should have been me, He told her once, not McGee. The guilt had plagued him constantly. For a little while, he avoided Delilah. Then Delilah found him and told him, It's not your fault Torres, please don't blame yourself. After that, if he wasn't at work, he was at Delilah's. Ellie was pretty sure that he lived there like a sentry until McGee came back. Gibbs sat in a chair by the door. Ellie wasn't sure if anyone actually slept or if they all just pretended for the sake of the others. A huge question circulated in the small room. It was worse than the silence because it pressed upon them with increased urgency. It was only a matter of time before someone broke under the pressure of it. Of all people, it was Torres.

"Now what?" His voice, low, graveling, cut through the room, shattering the pressure. The shock of hearing his voice set in first. He had not said anything for those two weeks. Just to hear it was like the sweetest music Ellie had ever heard. Next came the realization of what he said. It almost wasn't a question. It was a demand. Poor McGee unwittingly said, "Well, I guess we go home." "No," Torres said, dangerously calm, "Dammit McGee, I mean what do we do to get them out?" "Who, Torres," he asked. Nick scoffed, "McGee, have you gone deaf? If you sat outside those buildings long enough, you know I'm talking about the one hundred plus women that they are abusing and packing!" The volume of his voice had gone up rapidly. The air carried the weight of his words making the atmosphere thick and hard to breathe in. In an almost soft, caressing tone, Nick said, "So, now that that is cleared up, what the hell are we going to do?"

Ellie glanced at Nick's expression, then at Gibbs. Their eyes met. With every ounce of telepathic ability she had, she transmitted the message through the wave links between their minds. We aren't leaving until we do what he says. Gibbs gave a slight nod. Torres was sitting on the edge of the bed. Ellie went and kneeled in front of him so that he could look him in the eyes. "Okay, Nick. What's the plan?"