I came to notice that Gibbs is threatening suspects several times to bring them to Guantánamo if they do not cooperate, and in one episode he even confesses that he was not pretending. Usually I like to watch this show but I can't help of being disgusted by those scenes. NCIS is politically biased and flattened all the time -not only concerning those camps but many other subjects as well- but there comes a point where it is hard to find tolerance for the inaccuracy and the generalization that are presented.
I don't think I have to remark that I don't own NCIS.
Rated T for critical discussion of political torture but no graphic descriptions.
Reviews are highly appreciated.
Man is harder than iron, stronger than stone and more fragile than a rose.
The november-night-cold breeze caused a shiver to run through her body, and the small glas pipe in her palm was not colder but the one true reason for her shaking hands. It had rained all day long which made her worry about two things. First of all there was a fair chance that she would leave footprints in the muddy ground or, worse, other evidence such as saliva or skin scales. Secondly it was a weather for accidents to happen and she wasn't sure how much longer she could wait for him to return home.
The movement of a pidgeon in the treetop above her made her jump but she calmed down quickly for this had happened multiple times ever since the sun had sunk. It was dark and cold and yet there was life all around. A hedgehog had passed by only a couple of minutes ago and she had tried to resist remembering the old times, when she had been outside with her father many autumn evenings and found and raised an adorable, prickly, malnourished conspecific.
She sighted, fighting the sting she still felt whenever memory hit her. Opposed to what seems to be commonly believed physical and psychological pain both lessen but as long as they are constant in their excistence it is impossible to ever get used to them. They become persitent but not easy; bearable, indeed, but never easier to bear.
Suddenly the roaring sound of an engine caught her attention. Every muscle in her body tensed up within a second and she had to take a deep breath to relax enough to not run the risk of breaking the syringe. It had happened before - not with the named tool but other stuff. Glasses, dishes, pens. Even a fork. She had punched a whole in her apartment's wall; the outburst had crushed her right metacarpals, it had been difficult to explain the injury to the physician and so expensive she was still paying the due sum by installments.
The yellow, aerodynamic sportster turned into the driveway and screeched to halt.
She remembered how Ben hadn't stop begging her to buy a car like this. He had loved automobiles with passion but rarely gotten to simply sit in one. Of course his wish hadn't been one she had been able to give in to and a matchbox car of a smilar design had been the only thing to give to him. It had been right in the bottom nontheless and the toy had become a weird symbol of hope withing the past years. It was silly to imagine how he still owned this car and, maybe, had a look at it once in a while to think of her. A silly thought but the only good one she was able to think and keep. It was the most beautiful thing.
He got out of the car and looked good, better than she remembered, to tell the truth. As she noticed that this was indeed her first thought she felt the shame rising up inside her. To her satisfication her second observation was how tired he seemed to be. His steps were small and slow, his limbs seemed to be heavy, he yawned and, altogether, he had aged a lot during the past years. Watching him approach his porch like this almost awakened pity in her, as he wasn't on top of his abilities tonight, as he would be overwhealmed easily. Almost. Old animals or those that were close to death appeared helpless too but, hell, they weren't. They were just as deadly as their healthy comrades. Or worse. And he, in particular, hadn't thought about how how helpless she had been. Or Benjamin. Or Suzanne.
She lightly shook her head, took one last breath and braced herself for the next step. The cold air filled her lung to the last corner. Her heartrate accelerated in an instant. Her mind was clear and focused. She swallowed, took a very last second to think about the plan and knew she was ready. It was what she needed. She was very well capable of doing it. It was the last fight she had to win. And then, eventually, everything would be better. He owed her some ease.
She left the bushes quickly and determined. Her steps were fast, yet light and silent on the ground, and the darkness seemed to almost swallow her humble excistance. As she grabbed his shoulder with one hand she felt his fingers tightly clasp her left wrist but he wasn't fast enough. Her other hand had already, without the least bit of a second of hesitation, driven the long needle in his neck and pressed down the plunger.
The impact of the muscle relaxant was a matter of seconds. He turned around and stood there long enough for her to realize that he did not remember her. Not seeing any of the anticipated recognition in his eyes made her shiver. His face seemed to have been burned deeply into her memory, impossible to erase from her thoughts whenever she closed her eyes. She tried to smile but it was a trie doomed to fail. A tear escaped her eye and streamed down her face, leaving a cold, wet track on her cheek.
And then he fell down, towards her, and she did not avoid his body. Instead she clenched her teeth until they gnashed, held out her arms and caught the heavy man, lying him down onto the ground in solicitude, almost endearment.
There he was. The great Marine, the unbeatable, uright hero - who would recieve the justice he stood for, who was about to get some taste of his own medicine. She could feel the contiguity of something like peace. It was coming closer and closer.
She slowly kneeled down next to him, searching her pockets for another syringe. The looked in his eyes for another time, knowing he was still able to see her. Oh, how much she wanted to tell him. Some of the beautiful threats she had thought about while trying to make it through another day, failing to get back what she deserved, lying awake for hours night after night, easing her mind with making up the greatest, most desirable revenge plans. He was helpless. What she could do to him now... oh, what she could so now.
"You don't need to be afraid of me, Mr. Gibbs", she mumbled instead and bit her lip the moment she said it. Never had she actually thought these words. How d'ya like the taste of some waterboarding now? would rather have been the right thing to say than the stupid reassurance. She could have told him about things she would love doing to him; she could have shown him a knife, let him feel the could steel against his skin, increasing the pressure... she could, ore more: should, have killed him right away.
Then she put stabbed another needle into a muscle of his and pulled the narcotic into his system.
She cuddled up next to Ben, who was calmly breathing next to her, and pulled the blanket up higher until it coverd all her body up to her chin. He gently caressed her hair.
"Good night, little one. Sleep tight."
She yawned and smiled at the same time, fuzzily mumbling how she wasn't little.
"Yes you are, ultra-small midget", he responded teasingly and tickeld her under the chin. Sue giggled and squirmed with enjoyment of their ngihtly ritual under the blanket.
"Am not!", she laughed and rolled onto her back.
"Are too!", Ben said, tickling her harder.
"Noooo... stop! Stop it, Ben... stop!"
"I'm little, your the old, fat, grouchy geezer."
Ben stopped and grinned at her. "Now that's what I wanted to hear."
"You know I'm right, right?"
"I'll remember your words on my death-bed."
"You probably won't because you're gonna have alzheimer by then."
"I guess you'll remind me?"
Sue giggled again and gave her brother a cheeky smile.
"Now what do we read tonight?", Ben moved on, as he did every night, and Sue, as she did every night as well, quickly jumped out of the bed to crouch down next to it and pick out a book. Only attending first grade for a month now she couldn't read too well but knew what the different titles looked like ever since she could remember. Due to the many nights they had spent this way the dialogue they had was as good as pre-written.
"Now come on, I don't want to stay up all night waiting for you to pick out something", Ben hustled desultory.
"Yeah, yeah. Just be patient."
"Hey, I'm not that old, okay? I'm your big bro and being in this position I'm allowed to tell you to hurry up picking one out, yeah?"
"Sure, fogey", Sue scoffed and rolled her eyes, then jumped back to her feet and back into the bed. "This one."
Ben sighted. "Again?"
"Why don't you pick out something else?"
"Why don't you just start reading it to me?"
Sue curled up next to Ben again as he opened Pippi In The South Seas and started off with the first chapter. They usually made it through two or three chater before Sue would get tired and fall asleep next to him. Sometimes Ben would read something else before going to sleep as well but most of the time he was content with one of the books he already held in his hands and would read some of his favourite parts. There are very few books you can grow up with, without ever growing out of them again.
But, all in the sudden violating their ritual, Sue interruped him after he had only made it through the first few pages.
"You think she's at some place like this, too?"
"What do you mean?"
"Taka Tuka land?"
"No, I meant... oh."
He went silent while Sue started to play with the edge of one of the pages. Not that she tried to stall the theme but Ben always took some time to get his thoughts in order before telling her about them. He, however, was the one to avoid it. maybe because he was the older sibling which gave him the convenient opportunity of pretending to protect his sister while he was really trying to protect himself from any more grief.
"Now what do you think? You didn't tell me, you just started asking another question. But didn't even finish it."
"I don't know."
"You don't know what you think? How can that be? You have to think something. It doesn't have to bright. Maybe you think eat the pudding eat the pudding eat the pudding?" She giggled, remembering the Simpsons episode she had watched a few weeks ago but quoted at every occasion.
"I am kind of hungry, you-"
"No way! Tell me what you think."
"I'm thinking that I don't want to talk about what I'm thinking."
"Why not? Wouldn't it be nice for her to be on an island?"
He sighted and put the book away, rolled to his side and stared at the wall to hide a tear from his sister.
"I hope she's there. She'd have fresh bananas all the time, you know?", Sue dwelled on thoughts with a childish kind of light-hearted insouciance that Ben could only admire, "It's a hot island, I don't think they have winter there. But there's sand and a beach and maybe it's a little bit like paradise, don't you think so too?"
He swallowed as he felt Sue's hand soothingly tapping his shoulder.
"Maybe she'll come back", she whispered, "why should there not be hope?"
"Yeah, as if."
"You know you can't ever give up hope."
"You said that. In the first new family."
Again, there was silence until Sue breathed a soft "Sleep tight" and closed her eyes, knowing her brother wouldn't give her an answer, or probably couldn't. She had asked him many times where her sister had gone to and he had never known it. She could not force an answer that he wasn't able to give.
But the truth was Ben knew very well what his answer would be like.
She wouldn't come back to them. Leaving someone wasn't a decision that left the option of coming back. And, after all, why would she want to return to them anyway?
And actually he didn't want her back either.