--WARNING: Disturbing imagery ahead. Rated Mature.--
She woke to screams.
Cries of fear and horror tore through the heavy night air, and Ziva's eyes flew open as she bolted upright in bed, her senses instantly on full alert. The sheets were frigid against her skin, but the air was thick and hot around her, coating her nose and throat with the acrid stench of smoke and burning flesh.
The room was dark, but a flickering orange glow from outside threw maniacal shadows against the walls. They twisted and shifted, and for a moment she watched them, mesmerized by their smooth but chaotic movements. They seemed to be trying to tell her something, if only she concentrated hard enough to make sense of their message. But when the shadows became snarls of smoke and flame, a particularly close scream sounded outside, tearing her attention away from the shadows.
It was enough to shake her from her stupor, and she threw the cold sheets off of her and sprinted from the room. Gibbs was gone, as was Tali. She needed to find them. She knew where Gibbs would be—with their people, who needed him, needed her. He'd be fighting to keep them safe, protecting them from whoever was attacking them.
Because someone was attacking them, that much was certain. She knew the screams of pure terror and grunts of fighting men more intimately than she would ever prefer.
They'd been surprised, attacked in the night, and the Sanctuary wasn't prepared for it. She'd seen it when Gibbs had given her the tour. Security was lax, the majority of the Residents were builders and cooks, none of them able to wield a weapon with as much ferocity needed to defend themselves from the enemies that lurked beyond the borders of the Sanctuary.
Even now, they were being slaughtered.
She flew down the stairs and burst through the screen door, only stopping when she could witness the chaos for herself. In the darkness Residents were scattering, running in a blind panic from both seen and unseen intruders. Some of the other houses were alight, and the turbulent glow of the flames threw the Sanctuary into eerie relief. The Residents rushing about were nothing but faceless silhouettes, though their fear was palpable even from a distance.
She stood on the porch, frozen as she tried to make sense of what she saw. Every instinct in her body was screaming, though each seemed to scream something different. She needed to find Gibbs, but she needed to find Tali too, and it was unlikely they'd be together. Tali would be with Abby, who would have been sent away for protection while Gibbs and the others attempted to defend what was left.
She needed to organize a Defense. She needed to get the scattered Residents together, to calm them and find a route out of Sanctuary. Gibbs must have devised an Escape route. Surely the Residents would know it, if they were calm enough to realize they held the key to their Survival. And once she got them out she could go back, and mount a secondary defense with any other Angels she managed to run into. She knew how to fight, she knew how to Survive, and her place had always been among the ranks of the warriors.
Making a decision, she finally left her place on the porch, sprinting towards the Residents who were running past. The first few ignored her in their panic, and sprinted out of sight before she could even call out to them. Some of the others slowed just enough to acknowledge her, though as they got closer the mind-numbing fear in their eyes became evident, just as it was clear that they had lost all independent thought. They were in a mad panic, reverting to the instincts that urged them follow the group. They blew past her, ignoring her shouts, and she watched as they all surged towards the Barn.
It was intact, and it seemed that every single Resident was attempting to seek refuge there. It was defensible, but the structure itself was too vulnerable, it couldn't have been intended for concealment or protection from such an attack on the Sanctuary. If she'd been able to see how glaring a target it was, so had the enemy.
Alarm flooded Ziva, and fear coursed through her as she began to run after them.
"Stop!" she called desperately. "Stay away from the Barn!" If any of the Residents heard her shouts, none gave heed. "No, not there—"
Her words were muted by the mushroom of flame and heat that suddenly consumed the Barn. The ground shuddered beneath her feet, but the Barn remained standing, though entirely engulfed in flame. In an instant, she knew that any inside had perished, as had many of the Residents that had been in close proximity. They burned on the nearby grass, motionless and unbreathing as the flame consumed them. Screams echoed throughout Sanctuary at the sudden explosion, but she couldn't see who they had come from.
In the light the burning Barn so perversely provided, Ziva suddenly realized that many of the silhouettes still rushing through Sanctuary were not Residents at all. In the sick glow of flame she saw the tattoos, the piercings, the jagged shocks of hair that adorned faces and heads, and the realization that followed sank like a stone in her gut.
Bloods.
They were here, and they had overtaken Sanctuary. The Borders were compromised, and if so many were this deep into the camp it meant that any defense that had been mounted had failed entirely. They had set the place to burn, to flush out or murder any Residents who still lay abed.
Bloodthirsty grins gleamed in the firelight, and illuminating soulless eyes that sought the movement of any life they could smite. Some held pipes or chains or blades, but even those who were empty-handed sported blood-slicked fingers that continued to seek out living flesh.
All hopes of finding more Residents fled Ziva's mind, as the entirety of her focus shifted to the task of finding Natalia, for the child would not have been in the Barn. No, she wouldn't have, because Abby was her guardian, and Abby listened to Gibbs. Gibbs would have told them to flee immediately, so Abby should be nearly a mile away by now. Ziva only hoped that Damon hadn't thought to surround the Sanctuary before he began his assault on the compound. If he had, then no one had any chance of getting away unscathed.
But any thought of Abby and Tali was pushed from her mind as a shout sounded from behind her.
"FALL BACK!"
It was Gibbs. She knew that voice anywhere, even after two years of believing she'd never hear it again.
Her head whipped around, desperately searching for the owner of the deep, resonant voice. None of the dozen shadows racing towards her revealed their identities, even in the light of the burning barn, and all of them blew past her as if she wasn't there. But still, the voice sounded again from among of them, though none of them stopped for even a moment.
"FALL BACK! TO THE BARN!"
No.
What was he thinking? Couldn't he see? The Barn was gone, ablaze with no hope for salvage. It would be ash before the night was out. And the way things were going, it was doubtful they would live long enough to even see that happen. There were more and more Bloods approaching, drawn to the roaring fire like moths to a candle. They would overtake the Residents who had heard Gibbs' shout, and she knew that each one would be nothing but broken bone and spilled blood if that happened.
"Jethro!"
Her voice was raspy, nothing more than a whisper in the growing smoke. She coughed to clear her throat, and tried again.
"JETHRO!"
This time, one of the fleeing shadows stopped and turned back to her. It was him. A house behind her burst into flame, and suddenly his features were clearly visible.
There was a gash on one side of his face, dangerously close to his right eye. Blood spilled over his skin, making it slick and dark in the grotesque light. He took a step toward her, and it was barely more than a limp. She couldn't see his injury in the darkness, but she knew that the damage was severe. His left leg could barely take any weight at all, and she strongly suspected that adrenaline had been the driving force behind his movement before. But adrenaline never lasted long, and it would only be a matter of time before it wore off, and he would be defenseless against the Bloods.
There was confusion in his gaze as he looked at her, as though he couldn't think of what she was doing there. It was almost as if he didn't recognize her, or that she was an apparition. But she didn't have time to worry about why he was looking at her that way. They would be lucky if they got the chance to discuss it later.
But for now, Survival was the most pressing matter. They needed to escape, to avoid both conflict and capture. The Bloods had the edge—they always did. They would tear apart anyone they ran into, and if even Gibbs was so injured now, there was a good chance everyone else left standing was as well. They were no match for so many Bloods.
She was about to call out to point out the state of the Barn when a shadow darted into the open behind Gibbs. The Voice gave no indication that he was aware of the threat, but Ziva knew from the Blood's movements that he was moments away from overtaking Gibbs from behind. Something glinted in the Blood's hand, and in an instant she knew that a blade was only a reach and a slash away from sneaking over Gibbs' shoulder and slicing open the tender flesh of his throat.
With a shout of warning, Ziva surged into motion. Fueled by pure adrenaline and heart-wrenching fear, she raced in a dead sprint in Gibbs' direction, fully intent on doing anything she could to keep Gibbs from harm. It was an all-encompassing need, void of detail or possible plans on how to do so. She simply needed to help him. Protect him.
She was six feet from reaching him when she was suddenly jerked off her feet by an unseen grip on her throat. It was like running into a clothesline—her feet flew from beneath her for a brief moment before she landed heavily on her back. Her breath left her body in a strangled whoosh, and she sputtered for air against her triggered gag reflex and spasming diaphragm. But her body wanted to retch, and she could do nothing but curl on her side as her hands instinctively flew to her throat.
The motion was entirely unnecessary—she knew what had happened, and she knew that nothing she did would relieve the distress on her airway. But even so, her fingers encountered cold hard metal, and the sickeningly familiar clink of metal on metal sounding at the nape of her neck told her all she needed to know.
She'd been yanked off her feet by the chain trailing from her metal collar.
It had happened more than a few times in the past two years, and the reflexive tears that spilled down her cheeks as she choked for breath were nothing new. Her sight blurred as she struggled to suck in a breath, but even as she coughed and sputtered helplessly, a familiar pair of boots stalked into her field of wavering vision. They stopped in front of her, and then turned towards her before a hand reached down and firmly gripped a handful of her hair.
With a vicious pull, she was drawn to her knees and then swatted aside like a ragdoll. This time, her hands were able to catch her, and she remained half upright. She gasped painfully, but looked up to see Damon sneering down at her with a malicious grin. Seeing his familiar visage sent a jolt of dread through her chest, though she dismissed it in favor of searching for Gibbs' shadowed form.
She expected to find him dead and crumpled on the packed earth, the unknowing victim of the threat Ziva had been so intent on saving him from. But to her shock and surprise, he was still breathing, conscious even, and his familiar blue eyes stared at her in a silent plea. He'd been forced to his knees, the blade of the Blood who'd sneaked up behind him pressed threateningly against his throat to keep him compliant.
For a moment, she simply stared, unable to tear her eyes from his arresting gaze. His sudden helplessness was terrifying in and of itself, and the growing dread within her increased tenfold. It was enough of a shock to take her mind off her need to breathe, and in that moment her diaphragm stilled long enough for her to finally draw in the much needed air. A few moments later, she looked back to her captor.
Damon Werth's attention was also on Gibbs, whom he regarded with a critical but belittling eye. Ziva could see the disgust in Damon's gaze, the contempt he had for the man who once held his respect. But that had been before the Incident, when Damon was an ill Marine who had been manipulated through his love for the Corps. Things had changed, and none more so than Damon himself.
Werth turned back towards Ziva, and his thin lips immediately twisted into a repulsive snarl. He towered over her like a god before a mortal, his shoulders square under his open leather jacket.
"You should have known better than to leave me."
Damon's words cut through the smoke-laden night, sending tingles of fear down Ziva's spine as she continued to gasp for air. By now her choking had eased to painful wheeze, and she was able to return his gaze with as much intensity as she could ever hope to conjure.
"Do you see what you have brought down on these people?" he continued mercilessly. "They take you in, welcome you home, and all you do is usher hell to their doorstep." He crouched down, his hand finding the curve of where her skull met her neck, gripping it fiercely as he forced her face towards his own. "You bring them death."
Ziva's gut clenched painfully. "No…"
"Yes," he insisted. "You knew I wouldn't give you up so easily. I own you. You're my whore. This," he hooked a finger under the metal collar around her neck, "tells the world you're mine. This idiot," he waved towards Gibbs' kneeling form, "stole you from me. Did you think he, or you, would go unpunished?"
"He didn't know," she insisted desperately. "He didn't understand. It's me you want. These people have no quarrel with you. They are no threat—"
"Wrong." Damon's voice hardened to a steely edge. "He challenged me when he stole you out from under me, and they challenged me when they harbored you. They will be an example as to what happens to anyone who thinks to defy me, however unwittingly."
"No, please…"
"They all die," he continued mercilessly. "And this place is razed to the ground. But don't worry," he assured her, "you'll stick around to watch and remember. Maybe it'll be enough to persuade you to stick around next time someone thinks of helping you."
A soft coo of confusion sounded behind Werth, and Ziva looked up to see Tali standing a short distance away, Shirt in hand clutched tight to her chest. Her expression was one of confusion and fear, and her wide blue eyes darted between Ziva and Gibbs. She stood uncertainly, as if unsure of whom to turn to first.
"Daddy?" Her small voice was almost lost in the growing clamor around them. "Mommy…"
"Natalia!" Ziva shouted. "Run—"
Suddenly, another child appeared over Tali's shoulder. She stepped abreast of Tali, bringing her features into stark relief, and the sudden apparition of clear green eyes took Ziva's breath away. Memories of screams and pleas for help echoed in her ears, even as the little girl—older than Tali—took the smaller child in her arms, offering silent comfort. But those green eyes remained fixed on Ziva, arresting her with the somber understanding they held.
"Please," a light, ethereal voice begged her. "Please, don't let him kill us."
Ziva wanted to promise her, tried to reassure her, but her voice suddenly no longer worked. The only sound that would leave her lips was the dry gasping that still gripped her body, and even that was drowned out by the chaos that was rapidly growing around them.
By now, the Survivors that had heard Gibbs' call had converged on the Barn, and had fallen victim to the Bloods waiting there for them. It was a slaughter, and the Survivors were now realizing their mistake, though it was too late to do anything.
Around her the sounds of torn throats and broken limbs sounded wetly in her ears, and in the shadows she could see arms flailing for any kind of help. Wordless shrieks of terror and pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, even as the sound of slaughter intensified, battering Ziva's senses until she knelt disoriented and dazed on the ground that was quickly softening with blood.
"Open your eyes."
Damon's voice cut through the fog, bringing Ziva back to full, if confused, awareness. She looked up at him, but her perplexity only grew when she refocused once more on the green-eyed girl standing in defense of Tali. It would take only a single blow to knock her away, Ziva knew. She'd seen it before. The girl would die, and then Tali would follow suit. Ziva could only bargain for how quick or slow the death would be, though she was in no position to barter for anything. Any request she made would be twisted until Damon had mutilated every single one of the lives standing helplessly before her.
"Watch," Werth continued. He gripped her chin tightly to force her eyes to his. "Watch and remember what happens when you defy me."
Remaining in a crouch, he crept to where Gibbs knelt, his long legs giving him the look of a sadistically dark spider stalking over the bloodstained grass. Once he was in front of the older man, Damon regarded Gibbs for a long moment.
"You're loyal to your people," Werth said, almost civil save for the maniacal gleam in his eye. "I can respect that." He paused, then sighed heavily as he leaned menacingly towards Gibbs, who returned his attentions with a glare of his own. "But next time you steal something from me, you better have the sense to keep running."
His words turned into a snarl, and with the speed of a viper, his hand darted out towards Gibbs' face. Quicker than Ziva could comprehend, nimble fingers jabbed past the fragile barriers of Jethro's eyelids and hooked around a single blue orb.
With a scream, the snared orb was drawn from behind bruised lids, the optical nerve trailing tautly behind. For a long moment, unblinking blue stared grotesquely at Ziva from between Damon's fingers. A snarl sounded then, and with a vicious yank Werth plucked the trapped eye completely from its socket, tearing the nerve attaching it at the source.
Agonized screams sounded through the night, joining with Tali's sobs until they threatened to overcome Ziva. But she could not tear her eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of her, even as Jethro's left eye met the same fate as its mate. Both orbs thudded discarded to the damp grass, and Gibbs writhed in his captor's arms, begging and pleading for something indecipherable. Ziva pulled against her collar, but whoever was on the other end of her leash refused to let her move even an inch towards her husband. The sound of his cries tore at her heart, but she was powerless to do anything to help him.
"For looking at something that didn't belong to you," Damon said, more for Ziva's hearing than for Gibbs'. Gibbs wouldn't be hearing anything over his own screams. Ziva's lips worked desperately to beg for her husband's life, but no sound emerged, her voice strangled by the metal around her throat.
Blue eyes lay askew on the grass, staring horrifically up at her as she lunged against her tether. But then her gaze was drawn back to Gibbs and Damon, as Damon reached up and forced his fingers into Gibbs' mouth. A knife suddenly glinted in his free hand, and then a moment later Gibbs had been relieved of his tongue as well.
Tears streamed from Ziva's eyes as the organ was discarded to the side, joining the abandoned eyes on the ground. Gibbs dropped, perhaps even passing out from the pain as his cries were suddenly voiceless.
But without his eyes, it was impossible for Ziva to know for sure, and a moment later the screams started again as the pain registered. By now Tali's screams for her father had begun as well, interweaving with Gibbs' agonized cries. She begged for Ziva to help him, to save him, but Ziva was helpless to do anything but watch.
"And that was for the hell of it," Damon sneered, his voice rumbling in the darkness. Gibbs slumped to the grass, his face bloody from cheek to chin as blood oozed from beneath empty lids and swollen lips. "But before I kill you, you can listen to your little brat getting her guts ripped out."
Bloody fingers snapped, and instantly rough hands snatched Tali away from the green-eyed girl. Tali squalled, as much the indignation of a three year old as it was sheer terror. She was lifted, almost tossed towards Werth, who stood and stepped over Gibbs' body to place a heavy hand on Tali's head. He still held the bloody knife in one hand, and Ziva knew that it would only be a few moments before it slit the little girl's throat from ear to ear. But first, he would gut her, and let her insides spill onto the soiled grass.
"Please," a small voice echoed in Ziva's awareness. She looked up, and found green eyes staring at her intently. "Save her," it pleaded. "Save her like you should have saved me."
"Don't even bother trying," Damon sneered. "You're not strong enough. How you even Survived this long is beyond me. You should have died in the first Game." A twisted grin gleamed at her from the shadows. "Let's see how long you last after you see for yourself that your family is dead. With no one to hold on for, how long will you last then? Especially knowing that their deaths are on your hands…"
A boot connected with her back, striking between her shoulder blades to send her pitching forwards. She landed heavily, but in an instant her gaze found her daughter once more. She looked at her just in time to see the knife drifting menacingly towards Tali's stomach.
No.
A scream tried to work its way past the invisible stranglehold on her throat. The knife pressed against the shirt covering Tali's abdomen.
No. Nononono…
Blood began to slowly spread across Tali's shirt, and a pained, tearful cry cut through the haze of blood and shadow and flame.
"Wake up."
A familiar male voice sounded next to her ear, tearing Ziva's attention from Tali even as a wet rip wrenched through the air. A hand flipped Ziva onto her back, and she looked up to see Gibbs looming over her. Only, it wasn't Gibbs.
His eyes were nothing but empty sockets and thick, black blood gushed from between his lips. He snarled at her, his brows furrowed into a mask of hate and accusation. But even as they did, his voice sounded again.
"Wake up, Ziva."
Horror washed through her. He shouldn't be able to speak. Her eyes flicked fearfully to the side, where she spotted his dismembered eyes and tongue still laying inert on the ground five feet away. But even so, swollen lips twisted again in a parody of speech.
"Open your eyes, Ziver. You need to wake up. Now!"
Alarm tinged his tone, though his expression leering over her was anything but concerned. Bloody fingers tried to ensnare her throat, but her hand managed to snag his wrist before he could strangle her. She struggled beneath him, but his greater size was little more than dead weight, leaving her trapped. His fingers hooked into claws, straining to draw blood from any inch of her he could reach. But Tali's screams echoed through the Sanctuary, and Ziva looked up to see small ropes of intestine drooping from the jagged slash across her belly, pooling unceremoniously on the ground. The Shirt had long fallen by the wayside, as Tali's tiny hands tried to stuff her guts back into her abdomen.
Jethro's voice echoed into her consciousness once more.
"Dammit, Ziva, wake up!"
This time, Ziva blinked, and when she opened her eyes, her reality twisted in a blinding flash. When her vision cleared, Gibbs was still looming over her, pinning her down as she struggled to free herself. The world around her was brighter, the shadows and flame suddenly sunlight, and blue eyes stared intently at her from above. But panic still gripped her, her heart racing as fear overcame every sense that told her something was wrong.
Her voice suddenly returned, and this time, her scream issued unhindered from her throat. The deafening cry startled her, as it did Gibbs, and when her efforts to break free doubled, he pulled back just enough for her gain enough leverage to shove him away from her with a single mighty heave. Years of fending off Damon came into play, and her deceptive strength worked in her favor to compound the surprise her assailant already felt at her reaction.
When his weight lifted she scrabbled away from him in a blind panic, crab-walking in a mad scramble for freedom. But her legs got caught in the sheets just as she tipped over the edge of the bed, and she fell heavily on her back. The resulting jolt was too eerily familiar, and adrenaline surged through her as she gasped and kicked away from the bed. It wasn't until her back hit the wall that the pain hit, her ribs and abdomen and ankles suddenly flaring in agony.
She moaned as she coughed, her hands flying to her throat as her mind tried to reconcile this new world with the one she'd just found herself ripped from. Fingers met bare skin, and one arm came down to brace her aching ribs as she heaved for air. Movement in front of her caught her attention, but when she pressed herself against the wall behind her, Gibbs froze.
She looked at him, taking in the clear blue eyes still in his head and his skin clear of blood. His jaw was rough with overnight stubble, but it was still evident to Ziva that he was concerned for her. He didn't seem to be in any sort of pain, with no bruises under his skin. Relief coursed through her with a gasp, and she sagged when the panic abated to exhaustion.
"Ziver…" Gibbs' voice was concerned, but wary, wanting to respect her need to re-familiarize herself with her surroundings.
"It was a dream." It sounded almost like a sob to her own ears, but at this point she could barely keep the room from spinning around her. She blinked heavily in an attempt to stave off the disorientation that threatened to twist her awareness, and was thankful when they daylight still remained when she opened her eyes once more. "Just a dream."
Gibbs finally braved coming closer, and left the bed to kneel in front of her. "You okay?" he asked carefully. She nodded hesitantly, her hand running once more over her throat. "You scared the hell outta me."
"What happened?"
"Like you said, a nightmare," he told her. "You started choking in your sleep, and then… I don't really know. You panicked, almost fell off the bed. I tried to wake you up, but— ah, damn." His voice softened as his attention shifted to her ankles, which were lying limply on the floor, blood beginning to pool across the hardwood.
The pain spiked as she saw the torn skin, but it also came as a relief—pain meant she was awake and the world around her was real. Pain was real.
"Guess my plan backfired," Gibbs continued, a slight grin curling his lips. When she looked at him blankly, he continued. "You fell out of bed anyway. And you tore open your stitches." He looked at her, and she saw the apology coming before it even left his lips. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Tonight, I'll sleep in the chair—"
"No." Her response came swift and sure, with none of the shakiness she felt. "No, Jethro, that's not necessary. It wasn't you…"
"The hell it wasn't," he returned sharply. "I saw the way you looked at me when you woke up, Ziva. You were scared of me, like I was…" His voice trailed off, but she knew what he would have said if he'd continued. It was evident in the shadow of his eyes, in the downturn of his lips. He thought she'd believed him to be Damon.
"No, Jethro. I wasn't, and you weren't. Well, I was, but it wasn't—" She sighed. "It was the tour. Now that I've seen it, I…" This time it was her turn to trail off. Now that she'd seen it, what? She knew exactly where the Bloods would strike to do the most damage? Could see how much could be lost as a result of her presence?
He didn't need to hear that. He would only be more concerned for her, without fully understanding. He didn't know what she knew. And he wouldn't believe her.
"We need to get Ducky up here," Gibbs said gently.
Her attention was elsewhere, though. "Where's Tali?"
"Not here." Gibbs grinned. "She's an early riser. Was gone to bother Abby before you started…" He let it hang, and she nodded, relieved.
She bowed her head, letting her hair hide her face from his view. Catharsis hit her hard, and tears prickled at her eyes before spilling over onto her cheeks. She was overcome by the feeling that her chest was trying to collapse in on herself, and her breath caught in her throat as she fought to keep her distress hidden from Gibbs. But he must have seen her frame stiffen, for his hand came up to palm her cheek gently.
He pushed her hair back, and used his thumb to wipe her tears away. The tenderness in his touch crumbled her defenses even further, and a sob choked past the lump in her throat. He tilted her chin up, and she looked up to see his blurred visage gazing at her in concern. But in the void of being unable to see him clearly, the image of he had appeared in her nightmare came back into startling focus.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the image, and this time her resolve broke. She crumpled into her arms, which wrapped around her instinctively. He held her gently, and she clasped onto his arm desperately as she sobbed, his shirt growing damp with her tears. Sheer emotional overload wracked through her consciousness, draining her of what little energy she had left.
Gibbs held her close, his hand stroking her hair soothingly with practiced ease. He offered wordless sounds of comfort, patiently waiting for her to calm.
"It's okay," he whispered softly. "Everything's going to be okay."
Ziva shook her head. She clutched him tightly, holding on for all she was worth.
"No," she choked out. "No, it's not."