Surrender
It is with regret that I inform you that I do not own the beautiful Miss Ziva David, NCIS, or anything associated with it. All rights belong to CBS.
At first she screams and kicks. They manacle her to the wall to stop her attacking them. She screams profanity in every language, but they just laugh. The sharp metal slices at her wrists and ankles. It's a miracle they didn't become more infected.
When they leave she finally breaks down, she lets go of her façade and sobs. Everyone she knows is so far away. Never before has she felt so abandoned. They took her Star of David. They tore it from her neck and threw it on the floor. They spat on it and covered it in mud. And now it's gone. Never before has she felt so far from G-d.
She swore in another lifetime that never again would she be captured alive. Maybe her father was right – America had made her weak. Long ago people would tremble when they heard her name. NCIS were weaklings, her father says. After all, they would never leave someone to die in a desert.
The weeks pass. Now she doesn't have the strength to scream. They've long abandoned the manacles. There's no need. She doesn't have the energy to fight back. Every now and then they bring her enough food and water so she doesn't die on them. Dead people don't say very much, not the information they'd find useful anyway. Ducky would disagree with them.
Back in the Kidon her job was to kill people. Now all she wants is to bring death upon herself. She has killed men with credit cards, yet in this hell there isn't even a stone. It's like she's been put on suicide watch. Back home they probably have had to put Abby on suicide watch.
Time passes without any measure of how long it's been. Some days she wonders if this will all be worth it. Some days she thinks about giving in. But deep down she knows she can't. Tali would be devastated if she knew she was considering co-operating with terrorists, let alone the fact it would mean betraying the only family she has these days. The family she abandoned.
The days get worse. Her captors are getting desperate. They try new ways to get her to talk. The first day they bring a generator and wire her up to it. But she just retreats to her safe place inside, like she was taught all those years ago, when her father taught her to withstand torture.
Sometimes she can barely remember who she was. Her mind starts slipping every now and then. It's when she forgets the little things that she gets so scared about. She doesn't want to forget her life before; it's the only thing keeping her going. Was it Jethro Leroy Gibbs or Leroy Jethro Gibbs? All she remembers is that she misses them very much.
New scars litter her body. Her abdomen was covered in small circular burns where the men put their cigarettes out on her. What was once soft, silky hair has become matted with blood and dirt. It doesn't matter to her; the biggest scars are ones that other people wouldn't see.
She constantly feels unclean. She feels violated. The filthy rags that used to be called clothes are stripped from her emaciated frame. She refuses to let them have their way, fighting them. They get it anyway. She squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn't have to watch. She writhes on the floor, trying to get them off. Tony used to call her a ninja, but now she can't even land a single punch.
Her mind begs her not to give in, but the pain in her chest is so much. She curls up like a cat in the corner of the filthy cell. There are no tears left to cry. Only a solitary droplet slides down her face. All she wants is to have back the life she abandoned what seems like a lifetime ago.
Hope. She hasn't felt hope in a long time. It has become alien to her. Her mind has shut itself away. Like it use to when she was staring down the sight of her gun about to pull the trigger on her target. She hasn't felt this alone in years. How could you be alone when you have family? But she gave up that family in a fit of anger. And now she will die alone.
She doesn't fear death anymore. If she dies they can't get anything out of her. If she dies she will not have to live with the constant fear that one day she'll give in. Even so, the few steps she makes to stand up as they open the door are the hardest steps she's ever taken.
It's the first steps she's taken in a long time. The strength her legs used to have is long gone. But shakily she forces herself to stand. Her mated hair falls in her face and her clothes are little more than strategically placed bits of cloth, but she stands with honor. This is not suicide, this is sacrifice. Then her captors walk into the room. She speaks her first words in months:
"I am ready to die."