A/N: Never tried NCIS before, so here goes nothing.

Written for the August challenge on the Give Us Our Tiva Prompts tumblr page. The prompt required that it take place during "Truth or Consequences", it must be fewer than 1000 words (clocked in at 999!) and had to include the sentence, "you could have died."

Content warning: allusions to sexual assault and survivor self-blame.

Hope you enjoy!

Learned Helplessness

She remembered reading once when she was in school about learned helplessness. Dogs were put in a room with floors that would shock them. If they perceived that they couldn't escape, they would cease trying. They would simply lay down an submit to the abuse.

Ziva had never quite understood this as a teenager. Why not at least try?

Now she knew the feeling.

Her escape attempt had been short-lived and quickly put to bed. When the young man who brought her dinner every night opened her cell, she had quickly snapped his neck and took his gun. It briefly struck Ziva as strange that she felt bad about this, but the young man had been nice and sometimes gave her extra food. If she failed, her only semi-ally would be gone.

But there was no time to contemplate that at that moment. She had run down the corridor and turned the corner, where she met with two more men, both heavily armed but caught off-guard. Two quick shots had taken care of them, but she knew the shots would alert others to something happening.

Ziva had continued running until she came to a common area with several doors leading to other rooms. And out of all of them came men, armed to the teeth, all with at least one gun pointed at her.

And so Ziva stood there, waiting to die. But the fatal shots never came.

Instead, she heard the voice of her captor say in Arabic, "If anyone thinks it a good idea to shoot the only woman we have, please take the first shot."

Not one man moved. His meaning was clear.

Saleem walked up to her and slapped her across the face. Ziva felt her knees hit the ground, followed by her cheek as she fell face down. Saleem's boot made contact with her skull, and she knew nothing else.

When she awoke, she was vaguely aware that she had been returned to her cell. She quickly deduced that she must have lost consciousness for several hours, judging by the how dark the cell now was. She did a quick check of herself to assess damage- clothes were still on (what a relief, however small), it felt like there was a small cut on her cheek from where Saleem had slapped her, and she was certain the large bump on the back of her head would result in a headache for the next several days.

There was a sound in the corner of the cell, and despite the fact that she did not wish to move at all, Ziva immediately sat up and turned around.

Saleem was standing there smoking, watching her.

"That was not wise," he said simply. "You could have died. We will be moving soon. I hope you do not make the same mistake again."

That was the night she received the worst beating of her life.

That was the night Saleem placed a burlap sack over her head, and she started living in darkness.

That was the night she realized that a savior wasn't coming.

After that, Ziva learned to comply with demands. It was easier that way. Sometimes, when she complied, the violence wasn't as bad. Or maybe that was just in her head.

She quickly became accustomed to the darkness. She came to realize after several weeks in the dark that the darkness was almost a blessing. She no longer had to watch the atrocities done to her, no longer had to look in the men's eyes when they were on top of her.

For the first time in her life, Ziva felt truly helpless. There was no way out of this, no way to overpower Saleem and his men, no way to escape. She remembered that she had once told McGee that she would never allow herself to be taken alive. How naive she had been to think she'd have a choice.

If she was completely honest with herself, it was her own actions that had led her to this fate. She often distracted herself, when things got bad, imagining what she would say to McGee if she ever saw him again, what she would say to Gibbs. What she would say to Tony.

But she knew that would never happen. She began to pray for death to come swiftly, as she was certain this was the only true escape she would ever find from this hell.

For months, Ziva did what she was told, accepted punishments for nonexistent crimes, went where they dragged her.

They moved frequently in the last few…well, time had no real meaning anymore, but it had been a lot recently. She wondered if they felt they had been discovered.

Every time, it was the same. She walked until she collapsed. She was picked up and set on her feet by one of the men, and she was made to continue walking. She had no idea how long this went on, but she knew she could not endure it much longer.

Every night, she would be locked in a cell without a window. Every night some man would come to visit her. Every night she would pray for the end.

The sack remained on her head every time she was taken out of her cell. Ziva preferred it this way, if she was honest with herself.

So when she was removed from her cell one day and taken to another room in the compound, Ziva assumed they were getting ready to move again.

But suddenly, for the first time in weeks, the sack was removed, the darkness lifted, and she saw a face she never thought she'd see again.

And even though she understood the reality of the situation, perhaps better than anyone else in the room, for the first time in months she saw a glimmer of hope. She no longer felt helpless. Because there was her friend. She could never live without this man again.

"Well how was your summer?"

A/N: review, s'il vous plaît?