Saleem walked back into the room, gun drawn from his hip. Ziva looked up, her eyes watery as she glared at him. "Get up!!" he screamed to her rope-bound form. He walked behind her, cutting her binds, just nicking her wrists. Blood fell down in dark red rivulets.
He beat her, leaving panting on the concrete floor. She huddled up, and for the third, fourth, maybe fifth time in her life, she wished with all of her heart to cry.
--
"Ziva, tell me what's wrong!"
"I cannot and will not. Tony, please just leave!" Her voice was pleading.
"Look, I'm willing to risk being yelled at by Gibbs for coming into the women's room and you can't just tell me what's bugging you?"
"Please leave!"
"Ziva!" He walked in, checking under each stall. He saw the hem of her jeans and her heels, and quietly began to pick the lock.
Opening the door, he was shocked at what he found. Ziva was sitting on the toilet, her face in her lap, fine black curls strewn about her face.
"Zi!" he whispered, shock in his voice. She looked up, and it became evident that she had been crying. Her eyes were red, her face looking almost as hopeless as when she first saw him in Somalia.
"Tony." Her voice was dull and lifeless.
"God Zi, come here." He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, cradling her head delicately on his shoulder.
She started crying, letting go of all of her hurt in the polyester of his jacket. Amid the tears and words not said, she realized that she was finally home, and always would be.