Pivotal Moments
A/N Two new chapters today, because I got excited and because I'll be busy all day tomorrow. See chapter 22 for notes on time-line.
Warning: Though it's not too graphic, this chapter is potentially disturbing.
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June 12th: Somalia
Ziva's eyes snapped open. There was nothing to be gained anymore by trying to figure out what was going on before they knew she was awake.
She laid still, broken, starring at the wall across from her, where flies were feasting on a smear of blood she couldn't remember leaving.
They had never asked her about Mossad, and that was proof enough. They knew who she was, and they didn't ask. Mossad had directed this. He'd just wanted her like this, torn, bruised, broken, violated.
Someone not trained in interrogation might have bought what these men had put her through as a tactic to get information, but Ziva knew better, knew well enough to know that some things never make people talk. It was apparent to her from the moment that her first interrogator threw her out of the chair and started tearing off her clothes that none of the questions even mattered.
Ziva wondered how she had ever believed her father a man incapable of wishing this on his daughter. A line Vance had repeated to her came back, the answer to the question of why Eli pursued the training camp so intensely. "He killed one of my people..." Of course, she thought sluggishly. She was the woman who'd killed his son.
She let her eyes fall shut again. Five long, hot African days with no food and barely any water had left her body parched and limp. After two she had finally stopped taking the pain as what she deserved, had been forced to still her mind and make a decision about whether or not to keep fighting. She was surprised that as soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Her guilt vanished, replaced by sudden, obstinate hope. There were people who loved her, and she could hold on. And for three more days, she had.
Ziva struggled to swallow and gagged. What moisture there was in her throat must be blood from some forgotten blow. Her head was throbbing where it rested on the concrete, and she had shut out awareness of her body but she knew that movement was impossible. She had a different decision to make now. No one in the world had any way of knowing where she was, and she couldn't hold out much longer. The only thing she could still control was how much more pain she had to endure before she died. Ziva forced her eyes open again, with difficulty rolled onto her back, and began to scan the room for anything she could use.
An hour later, she had a plan. As she lay still again, giving herself a little more time to gain strength, Ziva let herself float away for a moment to remembered comfort—her mother stroking her hair as she fell asleep on a thousand different nights; the peace of floating in the Dead Sea with Tali splashing nearby; the way Tony had held her, kissed her so gently that night. As the drift of memory carried her away into sleep, Ziva felt herself smiling, and wondered if she ever would again.