Ziva couldn't speak to the little girl.
"What is your name?" she had tried in every language she spoke. The little girl sat, shivering, with the rags wrapped around her body. She alternated between crying and staring vacantly at the wall. Ziva gave up after an hour or so and moved back to rest against the wall.
They sat in total silence, but for the girl's occasional sobs, for what seemed to be days, but was probably only a few hours. Ziva looked at her every so often; the girl didn't seem to notice. She had dark skin. Middle Eastern, probably, but then why would she have been brought here to be tortured? Most from that area were Muslim, and though there were differences between the Sunni and Shi'ite camps, relations weren't bad enough to warrant torturing a child. Or they hadn't been when Ziva had been captured. Also, she would probably speak Arabic if that were the case, and she hadn't responded when Ziva had tried the language.
Dark eyes. Very thin for her height. Ziva sighed, frustrated at the lack of clothing. Not only was the girl probably cold, but Ziva might have been able to tell something of where she was from based on her attire.
A noise from the girl's direction brought Ziva from her thoughts. The girl was slowly rising to her feet, clutching the rags around her body in a vain attempt at preserving her modesty. The girl wobbled on her feet, steadied herself, and walked towards Ziva, stopping a few feet from her.
"They hurt me," she said in Arabic. "They hurt me."
"I know," Ziva murmured. Arabic. Why had she not responded hours before?
"I am scared," the girl said, and her voice shook. "But if you were going to hurt me, too, you would have done it already. And…" she hesitated, her hand reaching towards Ziva's face, tracing her bruises through the air that stood between them. "They hurt you, too."
"Yes," Ziva said. Short answers were probably the best for now. There was no need to scare the child away with questions now that she'd finally begun to speak. "I am Ziva."
"I am Saima," the girl said. Ziva blinked; the name was familiar, but she couldn't place it. She dismissed the feeling. There were plenty of names in the world.
"Where are you from, Saima?" Ziva asked, trying to keep the tone light, as if she were meeting the girl in a marketplace.
Saima traced patterns in the dirt with her finger. "Rafah," she whispered. Palestine. Ziva immediately decided not to reveal that she was Mossad. The girl would immediately view her as the enemy if she knew.
"It is very beautiful in Rafah," Ziva commented, and Saima looked up at her, dark eyes wide with surprise.
"You know Rafah?" she breathed, leaned forward towards Ziva. Ziva smiled at the girl.
"I know Rafah," she replied. "I am not from there, but I have visited many times." On Mossad matters, her mind added silently.
"Rafah is the most beautiful city in the world," Saima said, with all the confidence that a ten-year-old could muster. For a moment she seemed to forget her surroundings, looking at a dirty, drab wall but seeing somewhere much sweeter. "My home is near to the marketplace, and I meet my friend Hiri there on Saturday mornings, and we do the food shopping for our mothers together."
Ziva smiled, thinking of Miri and Eli and Michael, of days before everything had changed.
"I want to go home," Saima said suddenly, her eyes brimming with tears again. "I want to go back to my mother. She is all alone and she needs my help."
Ziva held her hands out to the girl cautiously and gasped when Saima threw herself into her arms. "I miss my home," the girl said, burying her face in Ziva's shirt and crying. Ziva's eyes widened with both pain and slight panic – what do I do? – as Saima clung to her.
Some time later, the door was cracked open and their food was shoved in. Along with the food was another bundle of rags. When Ziva shook the cloth, she saw that it was clothing for the little girl.
--
"DiNozzo."
Tony shook himself awake at Gibbs' voice. "Yeah, boss."
"0230. Eran drove his ass off to get us here." Gibbs gestured to the darkness behind him. "Welcome to Agadir."
Tony climbed out of the back of the Jeep and retrieved his bags. The group trudged towards the hotel. "Nice place," was Tony's only comment as they walked straight through the lobby to the elevators at the far end.
The ride up was short, and soon Tony found himself face-to-face with Amit Hadar, the guy who had scared the living hell out of him the last time he'd been here, and who had also apparently blown up Ziva's place. He didn't like the guy.
Standing behind Hadar was a young woman, probably about Ziva's age, who was staring at him with what he could only assume was unbridled hostility. Tony took a step back, wondering what he'd done to her already. Usually it took at least a few words before women started to look at him like that.
Hadar made the introductions. "Special Agent DiNozzo, Special Agent Gibbs. This is Officer Miriyam Gonen." He sat unceremoniously in the chair by the small table in the room. "You will stay in the next room for the night. We will meet here at 0630 to begin our work."
"Thought you began at 0500," Tony muttered. Hadar directed a glare at him.
"I am old, Agent DiNozzo, and I have been made to wait up for two American agents who could not be convinced to wait a few hours to get to Agadir. Believe me when I say that the extra little bit of sleep will be beneficial for everyone involved."
Tony glared right back. "Pardon me for wanting to find my partner, Hadar."
Miri continued to silently glare at Tony. She hadn't even acknowledged Gibbs' presence.
Eran was the one who finally broke the silence. "Allow me to show you to your room," he said, taking one of the bags that the two NCIS agents had brought in. They followed the small man to the next door, where he produced a key card and let them in.
"Ah, Eran, can I ask you something?" Tony asked after they had set their bags down. Eran paused by the door. "Why does it seem like Officer Gonen hates me?"
Eran smiled, slightly sad, slightly bitter. "She does hate you, Agent DiNozzo. As for why, I am certain that she will tell you on her own. Actually, she will probably-" He was cut off by a single sharp rap on the door. Eran pulled it open and revealed the woman in question. The two had a brief conversation in Hebrew before Eran turned back to the two in the room. "Goodnight. I will see you in the morning."
Tony looked at the woman in the doorway and felt, irrationally, that he should run and hide behind Gibbs. "Something we can do for you, Officer?"
"I would like to speak to you, Agent DiNozzo."
Tony's eyes flicked to Gibbs, who shrugged. "I'm going to bed, DiNozzo. I'm also waking you at 0530. I'd make it quick if I were you."
Tony followed the woman into the hallway. She led him to yet another room, inserted a keycard, and entered, not bothering to hold the door for him. "Did you people rent the whole damn floor?" he muttered, catching the door and entering the room.
Once inside, with the door safely shut, Miri turned. "You killed Michael."
Tony blinked. "Um…"
Miri's eyes narrowed. "That was not a question, Agent DiNozzo."
"Didn't sound like one," he returned. "Yes. I killed Rivkin."
Miri flinched. "Why?"
Tony's eyes narrowed. "I've answered all the questions, Officer Gonen. Didn't you get a copy of the report?"
Miri took three quick steps, and Tony found himself pinned against the wall with a knife at his throat. "I want to hear it from your lips," she hissed. "I want to know why you killed my brother."
Tony's eyes widened. Rivkin had siblings? Oh. Oh, this was not good.
"I, um, well, I…" Yeah. Not good.
"He was my best friend," Miri said, sheathing her knife and stepping back. It looked like she was trying to collect herself. "We were very close. Why did you do it?"
Oh. Not actual related-siblings. Friend-siblings. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? "I didn't really have a choice," he began, but Miri shook her head.
"I have read the report," she said, and Tony didn't know what to say. "I do not really expect you to tell me anything new, Agent DiNozzo." Her shoulders drooped slightly. "I suppose that I wanted you to say something else, to do something, that would make it all seem… to make it make sense," she finished, and the look that she gave him reminded Tony of Ziva.
"God, you look like her," he said before he could stop himself. Then, "Sorry."
"She is my best friend, as well," Miri said. "We are… very close. She is your partner, you said before, yes?"
Tony nodded. "For a few years now."
"She has been my partner, in many respects, since we were twelve years old," Miri said. "As much as you want to find her, Agent DiNozzo, I imagine that I want to find her more."
"Call me Tony," he said, still standing near the door.
"Miri," she replied, looking him in the face. For Ziva, she told herself. For Ziva, she would work with this man, the man who had killed Michael. "We are going to find her." The conviction in her voice matched that in Tony's own.
"I know."