She lay on her back and watched the insects on the ceiling. That way she could avoid looking either around her or at the mess that she had allowed to be made of her body.
She had not been able to see her face but from the pain and the wet swollen feel she would not be luring targets with her looks for a while when she got out. La Bonita was no more, possibly forever. She was not vain but she liked where her looks could take her, the reactions she had elicited with them and she could not help but hope that they were not spoiled.
What would Tony's face look like if he saw her ugly like this; she could remember him looking at ugly women "baggy bunnies" disgusted, uninterested. She did not think she could bear that and even more she could not bear that this was what she cared about at this moment. How pathetic. Tony had killed her lover. He did not want her (had in fact rejected her blatantly when she had thrown herself at his head) and yet he had taken away the man who did want her.
The man, whom, she remembered her father had implied, had been ordered to love her. She felt numb about that. Her father the arch manipulator and spy runner he would imply what he suited him in order to gain his ends and he had wanted her to finish Michaels' mission. In order to ensure that she did this he had to stop her going back to America. To Ziva to be seen as weak was terrible to contemplate. Her father knowing this fact well simply made her feel ashamed of her anger over Michael's death and made their relationship a fiction. She could not return to America with her pride intact when she was an exposed dupe.
Michaels love may or may not have been a fiction. She knew his attraction had not been, it had been convenient for him to love her but there had been something behind it she knew. The same as there had been for her. She did not love Michael but she was attracted to him, knew him and was sorry that he was dead when she could have saved him.
She hated, that the idea that Tony cared enough to kill on her behalf, was important to her. The most important thought in her head when her interrogator repeatedly caused her pain was the thought that he might just love her, like she loved him, because he would kill on her behalf.
She and he were going to have the biggest row when she got out. She was going to beat him, pound her fists into his chest and yell and scream and shout right before she again threw herself at him (and hoped this time he wanted her). Because all she could imagine when she was being beaten was being held by him, being safe with him, being with him.
When, if she got out…
In DC they were just beginning independently to worry. No one had yet voiced this tacit feeling. Abby had had no response to the 27 long playful emails that she had sent hoping to lure Ziva home. McGee had had no response to 5 he had carefully written. Both knew this did not fit, Ziva was both loyal and reliable she had no gripe with either had she been able she would have replied. Gibbs expected no contact but had a feeling of unease in his gut. Tony was worried and seriously unhappy. He was barely speaking and when he did he was all business, no bounce.
They were seated in the bullpen carefully writing up the last case when the morning post arrived. Gibbs opened the grubby envelope with the African past mark and the poor spelling first. Out fell something silver and shiny and a USB. They all knew. Tony having been alerted by the glint of the necklace moved faster than he had in weeks. Lacing it through his fingers staring at the break in the chain and the dried blood on the star he let out a breath and swore violently.
Gibbs tossed the USB to McGee and stated "MTAC, now, move"
Tony had to make unusual use of the MTAC wastepaper bins during the course of the short film they watched. McGee had watched his retching jealously, deprived of any receptacle for the bile that rose again each time he looked at the screen. Ziva's beating was repulsive to all. The demand for the return of a Somalian pirate in US custody, in exchange for her freedom, was not unexpected and was totally unachievable.
Gibbs left before the film ended. He had strings to pull, leave to request, medical kits to pack. He left McGee and DiNozzo to collect themselves.
Tony had been sick till there was no more. He touched instinctively the bruise still evident on his chest where she had violently thrust her gun into his chest. What the hell did he do now?
McGee voiced that exact question and suddenly he had an answer. "We go get her McGlee Club. We smite those bastards and we bring her home"
McGee stood and thinking aloud said "But will she come"
Tony was angry now energy filling him he shouted at the undeserving McGee "She will not have a choice. We are taking her home wither she wants to come or not. Look what happens to her when I I …we are not there. She goes to Israel four months last summer and picks up Mickey Mossad Walt Disney's worst ever creation. She's away from us a few weeks and she …. Well she …. She is coming home end of! I gotta pack, you gotta pack, and we need leave, flights, money. No scratch that we need location, strategy and Intel first, let's go find Gibbs" he walked out.
McGee calmly walked behind him, smiling apology at the red eyed girl who worked the computers and receiving in return a damp sympathetic smile. Poor Ziva was all he could think poor dear kind Ziva who was so strong and in so much trouble. He prayed that they would find her.
Someone was lifting her "Tonnney" she said hopefully.
"Shut up Jew Bitch" said a female voice she had not heard before. She forced open her eyes dragging her up fat hands forcefully shoved under her arm pits was an obese woman. The dark hair on the woman's upper lip trembled heavy with moisture as Ziva turned her head to look at her. The woman dragged her to the next room and tied her to a chair.
Ziva looked around her she was opposite a web camera. Her chief tormentor came in "Your father insists on proof that you are alive before he will negotiate with us, smile for your papa" as he said this he placed his lips close to hers and drew his tongue down the length of her chin and neck. He then stood behind her knife to her back placing just enough pressure to draw a steady flow of blood. "Speak and die whore" he said to her then shouted to the next room "Turn it on".
In Tel Aviv Director David sat in his office before a large screen next to him sat Officer Samuel Rabin his top Somalian expert. The screen suddenly lit up a grainy image appeared and a mans voice was heard, "Here is your Delilah, Director David, alive and well, now next time we speak I hope you will be willing to negotiate". The fed was cut. "Rabin, bring that image back up please" said the Director.
Up came the image of Ziva. She was a mess barely conscious, bloody and dirty, her face swollen he only just recognised her. The Director shook a little but looked at Rabin and Said "Well Rabin what do you think we should do".