Ziva was deliberately avoiding her bedroom; cleaning her kitchen, organising her books, even restocking the toilet roll in the bathroom. She did not want to go to sleep. Not tonight.

A large yawn cracked her jaw enough to make her eyes water but she stubbornly shook the tiredness away. It did not matter that today had been long and all of the caffeine she had consumed throughout the course of it had left her system, Ziva did not want to sleep. Even though her eyelids were heavy and head foggy. Or was it misty? No. Sleeping was not a good idea right now. It was a very bad idea. She would just be trapped in nightmares, memories, that she wouldn't be able to escape. Feeling every hit and blow and - she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Ziva did not want to remember that particular act.

All of this was her own fault anyway. She had brought it up. She did not know why she had brought it up but she had and had to deal with the consequences of it. Which were many when it came to her over-protective partner Anthony DiNozzo.

Okay, that was being a bit mean, even if it was slightly true. He was just looking out for her, and she supposed that he had the right to be concerned. Being her rescuer, her hero, and seeing first-hand the results of her summer. Not that she had wanted him to see but she didn't exactly have a choice when PTSD would strike, did she? And of course, Tony would be there to witness some of those occurrences. It had scared him, she knew, but didn't make him run. Why didn't he run? She was a burden. No good. Hopeless...

Her voice had almost stuttered as she tried to explain to him. She thought she had managed to hide it, or Tony was being very polite and did not draw attention to it, but that didn't stop her feeling annoyed with herself for not being in control. So, few things were now in control.

"It was just when I was held hostage in Somalia-"

Ziva knew she should have stopped after this sentence, should have never spoken it at all actually but she did not want Tony to think that she was mocking him. That was the last thing she wanted to do. But bringing up that place never did any good; in controlled or uncontrolled environments. And this was definitely an uncontrolled environment.

But the words, they wouldn't stop coming. She felt like she had to explain herself. Apparently, she wasn't even in control of what words she spoke anymore.

Saleem used similar justifications for his actions."

He did. That's what was so terrifying about men like him. He could justify his reasoning and make himself sound almost sane.

That sentence had broken Tony's calm facade. Ziva was almost glad that it had. She was no longer the only one who had lost their control.

"Saleem Caf-Pow! -Swilling sociopath was a terrorist, Ziva."

Did he not think that she knew that? Of course, she knew that Saleem was a horrible man who committed atrocious crimes. She knew the difference. She knew what he had done.

The times he had been in her cell flashed in front of her closed eyelids, from his sturdy combat boots to his mouth wrapped around the straw of a Caf-Pow! He had always had one of those, making him appear dangerously not dangerous. Almost casual if you did not know what cruelties those lips of his spoke of.

A brief moment of nausea was swallowed back as the smell of the sickly-sweet drink filled her nostrils. Why was it always scents that lingered with you the longest? The sharp smell of sweat, the metallic tang of blood, the earthy smell of the sand her face was crushed against, the sweet, overly synthetic chemically scent of that ruby red liquid.

She still could not go down to Abby's lab when she had been drinking the stuff. Even the sight of the straw was enough to make her want to flee. A spill had happened a few weeks ago and Ziva had gone down just as Abby was mopping it up. She had almost thrown up from the smell...

She gulped all of that back in order to hoarsely reply.

"I'm sure he would say he was just protecting his way of life."

She had winced when she had said that and winced again now. She had not been trying to make excuses for him, though it very much, do sound like that. But she was pointing out how dangerous this way of thinking was, no matter what side you were on. Tony hadn't seen it that way.

"You're not seriously defending him, are you?"

"No, Tony. His actions were indefensible, regardless of his reasons.

They were. They really were indefensible. Inhumane. Barbaric. There was no amount of reasoning that could make up for that. No justification. Ziva would never have a problem in admitting that. What she had a problem with was how she was responding to those very actions. She hated how her body, her mind, responded. It was pathetic.

She had gone on to say what was basically a summary of what she was reading for the citizenship exam. It had resonated with her and it seemed a fitting time to repeat it. It was one of those things that bolstered her when the thoughts turned dark. She was in a safe place, a safe country now. And not a puppet, a weapon ("a spear", a coy voice whispered in her head) for men to turn on when she had displeased them. Another shudder ran through her, remembering cold, unfeeling, stern eyes gave her, her orders. Orders that she had to follow even though she knew she was walking into certain doom. He had known it to. It did not matter anymore. She was safe. There were people here who would keep her safe.

However, that had not stopped her from bringing up even more memories. Why could she not stop her thoughts tumbling out of her head today? She was usually much better at this.

"I have seen first-hand what happens when convenience wins out."

Had her tone been too bitter? Upset? Ziva did not want Tony to worry about her, he had done enough worrying, and more, to last for several lifetimes. He done enough of everything for her to last several lifetimes. Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away as the memories crashed over her.

At least in the privacy of her apartment she did not have to hide her shudder or the resultant trembling. She could let her knees give way and fall to the floor, bringing her knees to her chest and burying her head in them. But she would not let the tears come. Ziva still couldn't let herself give into them, get past the idea that they were a weakness.

They brimmed in her eyes until she blinked, causing them to trail down her cheeks and drip off her chin. Oh, she hated that feeling. Irritably wiping them away, Ziva uncurled herself and rested her head against the front of her sofa, closing her eyes as she fought to regain control.

This was going to be a long fight.