Ziva squeezed her eyes shut tightly. If I'm asleep he'll leave me alone, she told herself, knowing it was a complete lie. Just as she suspected, when the crack of light at the door disappeared his voice, although only a whisper, filled her room.

"Ziva, I know you're not asleep. Sit up."

Ziva took a deep breath and complied with his order, as she always did. Eyes still closed, she sat up in her bed and raised her arms so that he could slide her nightgown-- pink and lacy with tiny rose buds-- off of her tiny frame. Then she automatically lay down, pressing her feet into the bed so she could elevate her hips and allow him to tuck a towel under her and remove her Strawberry Shortcake underwear. It was much easier to go to her happy, quiet place when he didn't talk to her, and she knew the sequence well enough to do it automatically.

By this time, Ziva was so used to it, and so indoctrinated by her father to ignore all pain, that she didn't even whimper when he forced himself into her. She knew, somewhere in her mind, that it hurt; a grown man's penis simply did not fit inside the frame of a smaller than average six year old, but Ziva refused to register what was happening.

When it was over, he cleaned her up like he always did, putting a pad in her underwear to catch the blood that would continue to flow that night. He no longer bothered to remind her to dispose of this evidence before her aunt saw it; as long as it was their little secret, Thali was safe and that was all Ziva really cared about.

After he closed the door, Ziva slipped back into her nightgown and covered herself once more with the blanket her mother had made for her before she was born. When she was little, she had believed that the blanket could protect her from anything; now, even though she knew better, she found its presence comforting nonetheless.

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8 years later

Ziva shifted uncomfortably in her bed, unable to find a comfortable position due to the numerous bruises that covered her body, a visible reminder of the torture she had suffered earlier that week at the hands of a Hamas cell bent on tormenting her father.

She was somewhat surprised when she heard the whisper of her door opening. The sound was familiar, of course, and she knew what to expect next, but she had thought that perhaps she would be safe, at least until her wounds healed. In a moment of childish impulse, she squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that it would not work any better now than it had for the past 9 years.

"Ziva, I know you're not asleep. Sit up."

Just as automatically, she sat up and raised her arms.

She felt his strong hands around her biceps, pushing her arms down, which surprised her.

"Open your eyes, Ziva. I want to talk to you."

She knew better than to sigh aloud, but gave herself a moment to focus before opening her eyes.

"Like I told you years ago, you cannot tell anybody what we have been doing. You know what will happen if you do."

Ziva nodded, not wishing to hear any more about what would happen to her sister if she betrayed his confidence.

"It is over, Ziva. I came in here tonight to play with my toy, only to find that it was broken. The truth is, you're damaged goods now. I don't want someone's sloppy seconds. However, because I am honorable, I will keep my word to you; I will not harm your sister as long as you keep your mouth shut. Do we have a deal?"

With the mask-like face she had perfected since her mother's death ten years ago, Ziva nodded once again and, voice hollow, said , "Ken, Abba. I understand."