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Can you feel it crush you, does it seem to bring the worst in you out
There's no running away from these things that hold you down
Do they complicate you, because they make you feel like this
Of all the colors that you've shined, this is surely not your best
But you should know these colors that you're shining are
Surely not the best, colors that you've shined
Surely not the best, colors that you've shined
Colors, Crossfade
CHAPTER FOUR: COLORS
When he woke the next morning, Tony was not surprised to find Ziva curled up in front of him, her back just touching his chest. Looking down at her a wave of emotion hit him. This time last year they realized she was missing, and shortly after that believed she was dead. Tony had been nothing short of a mess after Gibbs had told them the Damocles went down with no survivors. Time had no meaning, the days had passed in a blur, even now he struggled to remember the specifics; he just remembered the intense pain and grief. And then rage at the man he blamed for her "death."
Gently he reached out and touched her hair, almost reassuring himself she was still indeed there and not a figment. As his fingers stroked the loose locks she mumbled in her sleep and shifted down, allowing the tank she wore to bed to slide farther up her side. Looking down he was tempted to pull the fabric back down, but then a pink line caught his attention.
Tony knew under her clothes she bore some physical scars of her time in Somalia. But for some reason actually seeing one was like a punch to the gut. Moving away from her in the bed, he looked at her back, which was almost completely exposed to him.
Across her tan skin were crisscrossing lines of pink and white scars, in varying lengths and widths. All in assorted stages of fading— most barely visible, but to him they stood out like an accusation. Tony conjured up a visual of some terrorist standing over Ziva as she lay helpless on the floor, a whip in one hand, demanding answers he knew would not come. He could almost smell the blood as the leather bit into her skin, hear her quiet screams—because he knew she would try and stay silent—feel the pain of it all.
She had never spoken of what happened, not one word, but Tony knew his visuals were nothing close to the real thing. Tony may play dumb, but he wasn't an idiot. Thirty men, one woman. He knew. When McGee had asked her what she would have done in place of Kaylen Burrows, Tony knew the answer was wishful thinking on her part; what she would have liked to have done to her captors. What she would have done given the opportunity.
She moved again, now lying flat on her stomach, exposing a scar on her back, near her left hip that had clearly been more than just a superficial wound, the edges were more ragged then the others. It was easily two inches long, a quarter inch wide and still very pink. His brain could come up with nothing short of a knife—a big freaking knife at that—that would make a mark like that. Tilting his head he absently moved closer to her. For some reason this scar disturbed him more than the others, probably because the visual that accompanied this was far more terrifying. This time he pictured her fighting back, and this time Saleem retaliating by thrusting his knife deep into her back, blood pouring from the wound.
Jesus, what else had they done to her?
Knowing she wouldn't talk about it made him crazy. As far as Tony was aware, she had done her mandatory sessions to be reinstated, but had not gone back after that. It concerned him that she was holding all that inside her. It wasn't good for anyone, not even a trained assassin.
Seeming of it's own volition, his hand reached out and he lightly touched the scar at her hip, his fingers just grazing the skin. It didn't seem like a second before her hand swatted at his and she sat up in bed, staring at him with fire in her eyes.
"What are you doing?"
"I…" he wasn't sure what to say exactly.
She looked furious. "Enjoying the show?"
"NO! Ziva, no."
"That is none of your business."
He was stunned. "Not my business?"
"No."
Instead of taking a minute to think, Tony snapped back, taking his anger out on her since he couldn't at the person he wanted to. Ulman.
"Are you serious? I went halfway around the world to avenge what I thought was your death. I was prepared to die so that psycho could understand you meant something to someone. That you weren't just some nameless operative sent on a suicide mission. So your death would not have been pointless. It's my business because you are my partner and I worry about you and because it was me that pulled you out of that shithole."
Her eyes narrowed at him and she got out of bed, standing at the edge. "We have discussed this before, Tony. There is nothing to talk about."
"Nothing to talk about? You spent three months as a captive of a terrorist. I think there is plenty to talk about." His voice softened, "Don't shut me out, Ziva."
Hands waved in front of her face. "I am dealing with it."
"Alone?" he asked softly and crawled across the bed, getting out on her side so he was in front of her.
"Yes, Tony, alone; as I have always done."
"But you don't have to do this alone, Ziva."
She looked at him exasperated; he had this annoying way of needling the truth out of her. "It has been over a year Tony, do you not think I have dealt with it?"
"If by deal you mean never talk about it then, um, yeah…still no."
Finally she snapped, frustrated with him and sure once she started speaking he would immediately back down from hearing the horrors she endured. "Do you really want to me to confide in you Tony? Really? Do you want to hear about how they abused me in more ways than one? That Saleem let his men…" she stopped the thought, still unable to say the words aloud, instead turning to point at the scar that started all this. "And this? He wanted me to do something…that I did not want to do. I resisted, he became angry and he stabbed me. Had one of his so-called medics stitch me up so he could continue to use me. That was about a week before you came."
He stared at her a long minute before speaking. "Ziva…I," but before he could finish she interrupted him by moving to the dresser and pulling out clothes.
"I will be out of the shower in 20 minutes." With that she stalked to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
He followed her, standing on the other side of the closed door, one hand wavering over the glass as he heard the sobs come from his partner and his heart broke. Ziva David did not cry.
"I'm sorry, Ziva. I'm so sorry…" he whispered to no one and turned away from the door.
After closing the door she placed her clothes on the counter and sat on the toilet with her head in her hands, crying. There was a certain amount of relief now that she had admitted—even if it was a highly sanitized version—part of what they had done to her. No matter how hard she tried to forget, her time in Somalia would not leave her. The nightmares rarely came anymore, thankfully, but when they did it was ten times worse.
She had changed, more than she was willing to admit most days.
No longer quick with a retort about her assassin background or her ability to kill without thinking. When she had told the Air Marshall about killing someone with a credit card she almost choked on the words, they felt…odd to say, she was clearly not proud of her actions. After being on the receiving end of torture and realizing what her father had raised her to be, Ziva was not at all happy with how her life had turned out. Absently she touched the flag at her neck; she now had a chance to change all that, a new life, and someone willing to be there for her. Depending on someone, however, was not something she was programmed to do.
Yet. Tony made her comfortable in a way she hadn't been in a long time; she could depend on him, trust him with her life. And eventually she would trust him with this.
After they had both showered, breakfast was eaten in tense silence, the first words spoken were agreement to start their morning at the compound then follow the cowboy on his errands.
It wasn't long after they settled in that their target arrived, had a conversation with Reynosa and left. Quickly they got back in the rental – a convertible Mustang of course – and followed the cowboy into a neighboring city – not as large as the one their resort was in, but large enough that a couple on vacation wouldn't look out of place. Vendors lined the streets at various intervals with business and homes behind them. The cowboy parked on the street and started walking slowly through the street vendors, calling several by name.
They parked several blocks behind him and got out, following him from across the street. The tension from that morning was still between them, mentally and physically. She wouldn't stand next to him and had barely spoken in the car. Finally Tony sighed and took her hand in his – pulling her closer - placing his lips near her ear.
"We should at least pretend that we like each other."
"Tony, I…"
He shook his head, silencing her. "Not now."
She nodded, smiled and gripped his hand harder.
For several blocks they followed him, and for several blocks he did nothing but hit on women, most of whom seemed to appreciate the attention sent their way.
Finally they strolled past him as he stopped at a food stall. Tony turned to Ziva and smiled.
Wiggling his cell at her he called out, "Photo op?"
"Sure," she said and positioned herself to the side of the cowboy, giving Tony clear shot of the target.
"Perfect," he finally said and quickly emailed the photo to Abby, asking for an ID.
As he stood next to her the cowboy slipped between two stalls and disappeared into a narrow alley. Quickly they followed, maintaining a safe distance until he walked in the back door of a row house, closing the door behind him.
"What's the address here?" Tony asked Ziva and she quickly rolled off a series of numbers and names. With his phone in front of him - text open and ready - he paused and looked at her lost. "What was that again?"
She snatched the phone out of his hands with a "give it to me" and typed in the address, sending that as well off to the scientist.
That done, Tony took in the house. It was a non-descript (the same as every other house on the block) two-story, beige stucco on the outside with a clay color tile roof.
"Well, now what?" Tony asked.
"I do not believe we should stand here in an alley and make a target of ourselves. Back to the street."
"Yeah, okay." He agreed, but took in one longer look of the building. Enough time that as they started back toward the street, the back door opened and the cowboy stepped out, his attention instantly on the out of place couple. He was instantly suspicious.
Tony did not turn back even though he had heard the door open and footsteps start their way. He knew they were busted.
tbc….