Sleep came dreamlessly, and in short segments that left Ziva disoriented and uneasy. Being forced to remain sitting as she was made it near unbearable—no doubt what Damon had intended. The short chain didn't let her move much. The most she could manage with the short chain was to lean back against the bed she was secured to. But the slack wasn't enough to let her lean against the wall off to the side, leaving her forced to remain upright and uncomfortable.

It was only a moment later, it felt like, when the loud clang of the door slamming open jolted her back into awareness. The sudden movement of her head sent her swollen nose pounding with pain once more, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. With jangling nerves, she turned as much as she could, just in time to see a faceless Blood throw a handful of half rotted food into the cell before slamming the door shut once more.

In a heartbeat, the others had fallen on the scraps of food like a pack of ravenous wolves. Ziva's own stomach gurgled hungrily, making her wonder how long she really had been sleeping. But her tether kept her far out of reach of the meager offerings, and it was moments before they all disappeared, leaving her hungry and alone in her own little corner.

"Here."

A small, off-color apple was thrust into her line of vision, making her start with surprise. Her gaze raked up the arm holding it, until her eyes found the familiar features of Ethan looking down at her. Still shocked, she accepted the gift wordlessly. She watched him settle down against the wall opposite her, regarding him warily.

He grinned at her. "It's not gonna bite you."

She didn't return his smile. "You should be more careful helping me," she said flatly. "It's dangerous." And it was. If Damon got word that her time in the prison was anything other than absolutely miserable, she wouldn't be the only one punished.

But Ethan only shrugged. "I shoulda been dead for a few years now. If helping someone out gets me dead a little sooner, so be it. At least I'll die human."

Ziva's gut twisted. He seemed so sure—and so normal. Like the past two years hadn't happened. She couldn't understand it. He could still smile. She couldn't. And she couldn't tell if she was still human, and that scared her more than anything else.

She forced a smile, and lifted the pitted apple in mock of a silent toast. She hesitated only a moment more before sinking her teeth into the fruit. It almost crumbled under her tongue it was so old, and the meat was mealy and coarse—not at all what an apple should be. But she shoved it out of her mind. She'd had much worse, and it would give her strength.

She exchanged light words with Ethan as they ate, and he chuckled when her features screwed up in surprise when something soft and slimy gushed between her teeth. Recognizing the taste of maggot, she swallowed anyway. Protein was good.

"What happened?"

Ethan's query was nearly inaudible. Ziva looked up to find all trace of humor from his features—pure, driven focus was in its place. She recognized his need for information, his need to find some hope that a Rescue may come for them all.

"Did you escape? Or did someone help you?"

She hesitated, but realized there was no point in keeping it secret. The Bloods knew where Sanctuary was. And if Ethan knew she hadn't escaped on her own, he wouldn't try to do so himself. She didn't want him killed in a hopeless bid for freedom.

"My husband helped me escape."

Ethan's eyes widened. "Your husband? How'd he find you?"

Ziva blinked. She'd never thought to ask.

"And he had the ability to stitch you up all nice and neat? No infection?" He shook his head. "Not in this town. The Bloods must have all the medical supplies in the Tristate area."

She opened her mouth to counter him, but thought better of it a moment later. She couldn't explain why she was so reluctant to share word of the Sanctuary. It was more than keeping it safe—it was about keeping it close. Her memories would be her only solace in the weeks to come, she knew. Keeping them to herself…

It kept them all sacred.

"If you're here now… is your husband dead?" The question was gentle, but blunt. They both knew that the Bloods killed anyone they didn't Harvest.

But she knew she surprised him when she shook her head. "No. He's alive."

"He let them take you? After he risked life and limb getting you out of here?" The disbelief was clear in his tone.

"He has other priorities."

"A higher priority than his wife? Like what?"

She sighed. "Others rely on him. For Survival. He's a leader…"

Ethan eyed her for a long moment. "Is he military?" He winced. "Was." There was no military anymore. "Was he military?"

"What makes you ask that?" she countered smoothly.

He grinned again. "You didn't look twice at the fact that I was Army before the world went nuts. Makes me think you've had dealings with military men in the past."

"He's a Marine," she answered, unable to mirror his grin.

Ethan's eyebrows arched, and then his features settled into a cross between pity and hope. "Well, he won't be staying away for long. Even if you weren't his wife… Those guys are just about crazy enough to take on the whole damn city single-handed."

The thought made Ziva's gut twist painfully, and her features hardened. "Not even he is that stupid," she countered sharply.

Silence fell, and they stared at their hands. The air around them was thick and humid. By now, it was late afternoon, and the heat was nearly unbearable. She knew that come nightfall, the oppressive humidity wouldn't go anywhere. And with no windows, even the slight breeze afforded by the setting sun wouldn't be felt inside the prison. At least the stench had faded.

"It wouldn't be stupid if he had backup," Ethan murmured softly. Ziva looked at him, her eyes hooded with suspicion. She knew that tone—she'd spoken in that tone two years ago. He was talking about rebellion. "That place where you got medical care… got many people there?"

She hesitated only a moment. Then, she nodded.

"Anybody who would follow him into battle?"

Her breath caught in her chest. Fear gripped her, because she knew that no matter what she wished they'd do—stay home, stay safe, and stay alive—there was a little glimmer of hope that her instincts were right. They would follow him. But to do so would mean starting a war, a war they may not be able to win.

She nodded, answering his question— and bolstering his far-fetched hope—with one silent movement. But a moment later she was shaking her head no. "Not enough. Not enough to make a difference. They're not trained, they're not soldiers."

But Ethan scooted closer, his eyes lighting up. "They won't need training. The Bloods haven't encountered any real opposition in years. They're complacent. If the City is attacked by enough people, the Bloods may be so stunned we could have a fighting chance."

"There's not enough people—even if all of them came to fight. But there are families, children… The will to fight is there, but the need to protect their own families will be their priority."

"How many then? The healthy ones old enough and willing to fight?"

"Less than a hundred." Ethan's features fell, but a moment later, they brightened once more. "What?" she asked.

He grinned. "How many Survivors do you think are in the Herd?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion—and then she grinned, catching on to his line of thinking. "Upwards of three hundred."

Ethan leaned forward, his gaze intense even as his voice dropped even lower. "If we can get even half of them ready to fight when your people make their move—we could do this."

Ziva nodded. Already, his intensity was infectious, and it burn deep in her chest as her mind began to churn. First, they would have to recruit. It was unlikely that more than a few Survivors remained from the first few Harvests. That meant that they would have to start from scratch, and they had months of traumatic stress to work through. Right now, they were all opponents—they would have to break through that to find allies.

And they would have to be careful. A Survivor could sell them out in a heartbeat if it meant leniency in the Games, or even an extra ration.

It would be risky, and they had to move fast—because she knew Jethro would as well. And the more she thought about, the more confident she became that he was on his way. As much as it terrified her, as much as she wished he'd just quit while he was ahead—it just wasn't in him to let her go so easily.

"If we do this," she breathed, her voice as whisper, "then you have to promise me that you will make sure you follow through. No matter what happens to me, you have to make sure that the rebellion happens. If it doesn't…"

If it didn't, Jethro and whoever he brought with him would either die or join the Herd. And that was an outcome she would not consider.

Ethan nodded. "Absolutely." He extended his hand, open and honest. "Same goes for me."

With careful deliberation, Ziva reached out and firmly grasped Ethan's hand. She was all too aware that she was placing her trust in a man she barely knew. But she couldn't think of any reason why she shouldn't. Maybe it was the way he had so selflessly given her water, and food. Or maybe it was how he was looking at her—like she wasn't sitting chained to a bunk like a mangy dog.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

Her voice was thin, speaking more to herself than to Ethan. For two years, all she had done was try to Survive. Sure, she tried to escape every now and then, when the rare opportunity arose. But she'd abandoned all thoughts of an uprising the moment she'd been passed over in the first Culling, the moment she became the only Surviving member of the Twelve.

That had been a mistake. She knew that now.

"Edmund Burke," Ethan observed. "One of my favorites. It's fitting."

She met his gaze, and settled back against the bunk behind her. The sense of responsibility settled over her shoulders in a familiar shroud. She accepted it, glad to be feeling anything other than nothing.

"It's time we did something," she said finally. "Because I'll be damned if I let evil triumph a second time."