Breaking Point

Disclaimer: Not mine.

I have finished typing it up! I'll carry on with daily updates and can confirm that there are 11 chapters in total. Then I'll be getting on with writing a post-season 9 finale fic so keep an eye out for that! I'd like to get that written at least in longhand (I write better with pen and paper than sat at a computer, plus they're a lot easier to take around with you and you don't have to worry about dying batteries and power supplies!)

Thank you to all my lovely readers and reviewers!

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Chapter 8: Worse Than Somalia

By half-past six the next morning, Tony and McGee were both already sat at their desks waiting for Gibbs to arrive, though neither was actually doing any work. McGee was writing notes for his latest novel (or at the very least, attempting to) and Tony was playing games on his phone. The room was almost completely silent as there were only a couple of other agents around.

The silence was broken by the ding from the lift and Gibbs strode into the room, carrying three large coffees. He put one down on Tony's desk, opposite Ziva's painfully empty one, as he passed it and then another on McGee's.

"Oh. Er…Thanks, Boss," said Tony, somewhat surprised. McGee, equally surprised, added his thanks.

Gibbs nodded his acknowledgement, sat down and turned on his computer. "You've got everything you need in case the Director sends us off today?"

"Ready and waiting," confirmed McGee, and Tony nodded his head.

"Good." Gibbs took a long drink from his coffee – and then momentarily froze.

Both McGee and Tony noticed and Tony ventured to speak. "Something wrong, Boss?" he asked.

"I think we'll be leaving for Israel sooner rather than later," said Gibbs quietly. He beckoned them over and gestured to the images in an email he had just opened.

McGee's jaw dropped. "Is that…?"

"Yeah, I – I think it is," replied Tony, paling. "Oh God, there's a video as well…"

Silently Gibbs brought up the photos one by one, growing sicker with each image that appeared.

"I don't want to watch the video," said Tony faintly, "but we have to." He nodded and Gibbs opened the video file. The three of them watched in silence, horrified, sickened and angry. When it was over, fifteen minutes later, they exchanged looks.

"I – I'll try to trace the source," McGee said decisively, attempting to keep his voice from shaking.

"We leave for Israel this afternoon," announced Gibbs, almost as pale as Tony.

"You have something?" came Abby's voice as she emerged from the lift.

McGee hesitated. "It – it's bad, Abs."

Abby hurried over to the desk – and stumbled back against McGee, who caught her. The forensic scientist's eyes widened and filled with tears. "What – what have they done to her?" she gasped.

"More like what haven't they done," replied Tony grimly.

It was several minutes before any of them could take their eyes off the screen. When they did so, it was because Vance was striding over to them. "Got some info?" he demanded, peering over Tony's shoulders. He pressed his lips together tightly when he saw what they were looking at. "You leave for Israel this afternoon. I'll arrange your transport." He strode off and disappeared into his office, slamming the door behind him.

"Alright, McGee, do your thing," ordered Gibbs, moving from his seat to allow the computer expert to get to work. He received a near-hysterical Abby and held her close, gently kissing the top of her head. "We'll get her back, Abs," he promised. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll get her back. I've already lost one daughter and I've lost this one once, but I will get her back. I'm not losing her a second time."

Vance reappeared. "You leave at seventeen-hundred hours. Gibbs, DiNozzo, McGee, get all the information you need by then, especially from the Mossad pair." He disappeared again.

"You heard the man," said Gibbs. He released Abby. "Abs, see if you can get any more information and report back the moment you have anything. Anything."

"Of – of course," replied Abby, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "We'll – we'll bring her home safe. And I'll make sure we nail those bastards who did this to our Ziva."

A small smile graced Gibbs' face. "You do that."

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At precisely 1700, the three agents were strapped in to the military plane, armed with all the information they had been able to obtain, including just enough to be useful that Gibbs and Vance had eventually managed to prise out of the Israelis. As the hatch on the plane was closed, Vance raised a hand in farewell from the tarmac, his normally-unreadable face clearly reflecting his worry.

"Never thought Vance could show so much emotion," joked Tony, more out of habit and fear than anything else. McGee was able to raise a slight laugh and Gibbs allowed himself to smile a little.

"Wonder how this incident will affect his relationship with Eli," mused Gibbs, contemplating the last coffee he would have for a good twelve hours.

"Can't imagine it'll be too goo – oof!" Tony's words were knocked from his mouth as the plane abruptly began moving. All conversation ceased due to the noise, and then Gibbs advised the others to get some rest before leaning back and closing his eyes, Tony and McGee exchanged looks, shrugged and followed suit. They had an early and busy morning behind them and a long flight ahead; they needed to grab as much sleep as they could.

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Ziva's second night was far worse than her first. Men appeared at frequent intervals, roughly waking her with their fists and hands, hitting and slapping her, grabbing her and forcing themselves onto and into her. She lost track of how many men there had been; some had visited more than once.

By the time sunbeams penetrated her cell, she was exhausted and in more pain than she had thought possible. How am I still alive? she wondered.

Because you're a survivor, Ziva, replied Gibbs' voice in her head. Gibbs would come for her; so would Tony and Tim. She had to hold on to that if she was to stand any chance of making it out of this place alive, if her captors were to fail in their attempts to break her.

Or had they already broken her? She could no longer be sure.

A deep, throaty chuckle returned her attention, a little hazy due to what she suspected to be a wound infection that was making her slightly feverish, to her immediate situation.

Mordechai. With Tzabar and a new man, one she recognised as Reuven Calev. She recalled the last time she had encountered Calev: in a physical combat training session a few months before her assignation to NCIS. She had triumphed easily, leaving Calev to nurse his wounded pride. Ziva swallowed hard in an attempt to fight the rising nausea. Calev was here to exact revenge on her. And she knew that he would ensure she was awake throughout the whole ordeal.

Calev crouched down in front of her, his face a mere few inches from hers and the cold metal of his knife pressing against her neck, and he hissed, "You humiliated me, David. Now it is my turn to humiliate you."

"You think it is possible to humiliate me even more than I already have been?" retorted Ziva bitterly.

Calev grinned. "There's only one way to find out, then, isn't there?" He twirled the knife in his fingers, then lowered it to the floor, handle facing her. Ziva stiffened and felt sick, knowing what was coming – she had seen it before, though never had she imagined it happening to her. She was unable to prevent a gasp of pain from escaping as the knife handle was pushed into her, tears falling freely and unchecked now. Calev saw this and laughed to himself. Ziva closed her eyes and but her lip to hold back any sound that might attempt to slip unbidden past her lips. The relative bliss of unconsciousness eluded her, though, and she was forced to endure everything Calev, and then some of the others, did to her. This, she thought despairingly, is worse than Somalia.

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TBC