A/N: To those who say Ziva is OOC, there is an explanation for that and if you would wait for chapter two, you would have heard and understood that instead of just yelling about it. Ziva is angry and yes, that is OOC but there is a reason behind it. So here you go – the reason.

Chapter Two

Ziva glanced around the apartment. It was a mess – dishes piled high in the sink with food crusting the edges, a carpeted floor that hadn't been vacuumed in who-knows-when, and Tony, standing in the middle of it all.

"Home sweet home," he grinned, showing off proudly his domain, "What do you think?"

Ziva rolled her eyes and pushed herself past him towards his bedroom. Once inside, she glanced around again. The bed was made, that was something, and surprisingly enough, everything was in order. Ziva eyed the bed suspiciously.

"Do you have any Lysol?"

"Why?" Tony asked, defensively.

"You are Tony DiNozzo, one-night-stand extraordinaire. I don't know what's in that bed about as much as you do so do you have Lysol or not?" Ziva crossed her arms over her chest and waited patiently.

"The bed is clean. I washed the sheets the other night and no one has slept in my bed since…well…in months."

"What? No summer romance?" She asked, her ice chilly with sarcasm.

"Didn't have time." I was too busy worrying…

"Surprising," Ziva heaved her suitcase upon the bed, "Well, now what?"

"I am not exactly sure," Tony shoved his hands in his pockets awkwardly, "Um…movie?"

"And take-out?"

"Wow-Wow-Ming's?"

"Chicken fried rice?"

"And a side of egg rolls?"

"You remembered?"

"Yeah well…" Tony wanted to say something else but couldn't think of what to say. He remembered their past movie nights. Every Friday night that they had finished a big case, he would invite her over for take-out and a movie. Afterwards, he'd walk her to her car and she'd leave. She was the only girl who had ever been to his apartment without staying overnight. That would change tonight.

Ziva would stay here, with him. He would sleep on the floor, she would sleep in the bed. For some reason, Tony couldn't stop thinking of how weird that was. It shouldn't be, but it was.

"I'll go call take-out."

"I'll go through your movies and see if you have anything good."

A few moments later, Ziva found herself scanning the rack of DVDs hopelessly looking for one. Her mind was elsewhere though, back to the camp. It seems like no wonder what she was doing, saying, or thinking, her mind forced her back to that camp, to that cell.

"Tell me everything."

"I have," Ziva answered, her voice broken and weak.

Salim glared at her, almost smirking, "You haven't told me what I need to know most. You tell me that your team isn't looking for you, that they aren't bothering to. I find that hard to believe."

"It is true. They don't care if they find me or not. I did horrible things back there. I am worth not finding."

"Somehow I don't believe you."

He rubbed the blade of his machete, grinning as it gleamed. Ziva's breath caught in her throat. It wouldn't be the first time he had used the knife on her but usually he waited. Spaced it out. Allowing her the opportunity to rest from blood loss and pain. Not any more.

Her one please was stripped away as a blade flickered in the light before writing its scarlet signature in her bare flesh.

Ziva winced at the memory. She quickly grabbed the first movie she saw – Saving Private Ryan.

"You want to watch that?" Tony asked, nodding towards the movie.

"Hmm?"

"The movie. You want to watch it?"

"Yes," Ziva nodded not as confidently as she had hoped, "It's a good movie. Did you order us food?"

"Mmhmm, it should be here in about fifteen minutes."

"Oh…okay," Ziva nodded, still shaken from the memory.

"What's up, Zi?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Tony," her words were clipped, her usual tone had taken a harsher note.

"Alright then," Tony backed off, knowing better than to push her.

"They cut me," Ziva finally said, walking towards the couch.

"What?" Tony's eyes bulged.

"With a machete. Over, and over, and over again. Not enough to kill but enough to weaken."

"Zi…"

She sat down and lifted her long-sleeved shirt to reveal red cuts across her arms. They had been stitched up neatly with perfection that Tony instantly recognized.

"Duckie."

"I saw him once I first got back. I didn't want anyone else to know."

"And you're telling me?"

"For some reason, I think you have to."

"What else?"

"What?"

"What else did they do to you?"

"Tony," Ziva did her best to smile, "I don't want to scare you."

"Three months too late, Zi."

Ziva sighed and rolled up pants' legs to reveal cuts, bruises, and welts. "He had a club too."

Tony's jaw tightened, "Zi…"

"He had matches, a club, his knife, barrels of water to try and drown me to talking. Have you ever felt your lungs burst, DiNozzo?" Tony shook his head. "It's even worse than any knife, any match, any club. Water rushes into your lungs swelling them until they are almost to the point of breaking. When they are about to shatter, you are pulled out for a second or two, and then shoved back in."

"Ziva."

"'Ziva,'" she sighed, "I thought I'd never hear you say my name again."

"Oh so you missed me now?" Tony raised an eyebrow, "Hmm…what happened to you wanting me dead?"

"Tony," Ziva adverted her eyes, "Not now."

"If not now, when?"

"Tony…"

The doorbell rang and Tony excused himself to go and answer it. Ziva sat back on the couch, putting her head in her hands. She couldn't believe how broken she had been. She had experienced hell those past months and her body, her mind, her soul, was shattered.

Her anger boiled within her. Salim was dead, her father was somewhere unknown. The only person she had to direct her anger at was Tony. She did, in fact, hate being angry with him but sometimes anger was easier than weakness.

He had seen her so destroyed, so weak just a week before. She couldn't let him see her like that again. Anger was her mask and she was letting it fall. She had allowed Tony to see her scars, to hear what she had been through. Never again, she vowed. She wouldn't let her guard down again.

Ever since she was young, Ziva David had always been able to take care of herself. But she had needed Tony there, she had needed him to rescue her – rather she wanted him to or not.

He had never seen her so weak. She had been shattered and he had seen her. As much as she hated being angry with him, it was just easier. It was her mask.

"Food's here!" Tony announced.

"I'm not hungry," Ziva said, and stood from the couch, "I think I will just get a nice, hot shower…"

"Zi…"

"I don't want to talk about this!"

Ziva hurried towards the bedroom, shutting the door, and shutting Tony out.

Once in the shower, Ziva lathered her scars, her cuts, her bruises with the thick, musty soap. IrishHeat was the name of it. Ziva wanted to puke. The stench was too strong, too overpowering. She turned the heat up on the faucet.

The steam stung at her scarred flesh but she didn't even flinch. The pain was good, calming in away. It was a good feeling to know that she could feel. All she had wanted at that camp was death and now that she was alive, she cherished it. A second chance.

"You whore! You filthy whore! Tell me, who the man is in your life?"

"I don't have a man."

"A pretty thing like you? You try and tell me that you don't have yourself a playmate?"

"I am too busy with my job."

"Tell me, one name. One person. The one person you wish you could see right now? This very second?"

Ziva gasped for a pained breath as she said, "DiNozzo."

The memory brought tears to her eyes and she collapsed against the tile wall of the shower. The pain from the heat was practically unbearable but it was nothing compared to the memories – the memories that were to stay with her forever.

She had died in that cell and Tony, McGee, and Gibbs had resuscitated her – brought her back to life. It was a gift she could never repay them for.

But anger was easier than weakness.

So Ziva David hid her tears, allowed the salt to mix with the steam, as she stood amongst the boiling water, and sobbed.