|A Quiet Defiance
Author: indiaga PM
Post-Aliyah Tiva angsty-ness. There is a difference between being rescued and being saved, and, as the dust settles, the team wonders whether what they've done will ever be enough.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - Ziva D. & Tony D. - Chapters: 23 - Words: 27,936 - Reviews: 228 - Favs: 91 - Follows: 91 - Updated: 07-18-09 - Published: 05-22-09 - id: 5079143
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Just a random take on the idea that Ziva has history with the guys keeping her hostage. Another way for me to vent my spleen about the stupid cliff-hanger ending. Argh!
Disclaimer: Yeah. Not mine.
He kisses her.
He kisses her, and it makes her sick. His skin is harsh and the stubble slices into the cuts that cross her face. He slices right through her.
She is silent. His kisses turn to bites and now he is clawing the skin from her bones with his wicked silver blade.
A dull punch to her side forces the chair to fall. The concrete rises and slams into her cheekbone. She feels herself splinter.
"Tell me all about Leon Vance."
Nothing. Blood spurts.
"All about Jethro Gibbs."
The fire rushes along her nerves. It reaches her mouth. She screams.
"That's right. Tell me all about your precious little Tony DiNozzo."
"Fuck you." She is quiet and calm. Level. He stops, surprised, and then his boot retracts and pummels oh so beautifully into her stomach. Curiously, she thinks of babies, curled and warm like little pink prawns inside every beaming swollen stomach. She thinks about what she could have been. What she could have had. She thinks of all her possible children screaming inside her, and she cries for them.
"Tut tut, David. No tears, remember? Remember what Daddy told you."
She tries to lash out but he dodges, chuckling. Reaches for her face and holds it reverently between his palms. Like a parent holding a child. Imparting wisdom. Truth. He tells the truth.
"Why are you still protecting them? They all betrayed you. All abandoned you. Gibbs...Tony. Remember what he did to you, little Ziva David? Remember what he took from you?"
"Oh, yes, you do, there we go. Little Ziva David. Remember when I carried you on my shoulders to the ice cream parlour, when you were little? Remember? You were so tiny, even then."
Another foot smashes into her fragile bones. They break like baby birds. Her eyes are open and unseeing. Glazed with pain and a terrible resignation. She shudders.
"Don't cry little David. Baby Ziva. Just tell us everything about them. We'll make it stop. Send you back to your daddy."
There is blood in her mouth. There is blood everywhere, all over her face and the floor and his shoe and his hands. His knife. His face, with bad bad black eyes and a desperate mouth. A voice sings, true and free, inside her head. She imagines them all. Abby. The childlike smile, large young eyes. Bouncing black pigtails. The gawky, awkward grace of the girl. Ducky, with his gravely voice and long-suffering gaze and knowing eyes. McGee. His round face, earnest and determined. His Tony glare. His floppy hair. Gibbs. Ice blue and rock hard. Cold like marble, and yet he can twinkle. He knows all and is surprised by nothing. He thinks by day and drinks by night.
And Tony. Imagine every detail. His tanned face and hazel eyes. Green. How his hair hung. His smile looked natural and eternally boyish. And yet his skin had been hot and his kisses real. He had held her, and wanted her, maybe once. Tony.
"Come on, David."
He lifts the chair and slams it harshly back to the ground. Her teeth jar. Her hair is matted with her blood, and tears, and sweat. She opens her eyes. They are brown and beautiful and dark and dangerous. They smile at him.
"You think you can win."
"I'm going to."
"You do not know me."
"And who are you, eh? Ziva David. Dutiful daughter, ruthless assassin, lover, fighter. You are alone in a cell and you are going to die. Who is here for you? Your father? Mr Gibbs? Rivkin? This man Tony?"
"He is more than a man."
"Oh yes? Tell me how, Ziva. Tell me how he is more than a man."
"You are pathetic." He grabs her face and carves a symbol on to it. From the sting and the blood, she knows it is a Star of David. He spits on her, on the cuts, and wipes her skin roughly with his thumb. It mingles with dirt and sweat and a clotting hope. She does not want to die, but she's not afraid of it, and she's certain it's going to happen.
"Ziva. Remember July?"
Suddenly, at his command, her mind is a thousand miles away from her tired and broken body. It is dusk, twilight, half evening and half dark, half day, half night. A hand snakes around a young waist and hungry lips explore new skin. Dark eyes close in surprise and pleasure. Cotton blankets cover their blushes.
He raises his eyebrows and gently tuts at her. "Oh, but you did." There is something in his eyes that terrifies her. Emptiness somehow filled with hatred. The concrete soothes her burning soles.
"You will die in this room. You might as well tell us everything. We can make it easier. Quick."
She smirks at him, through the blood and grime and sweat and impotent rage.
"Quick?" She laughs, and the sultry tone of her voice causes him to lean in. "Sweetheart, I've been dying since the day I was born."
OK, I know it's not a particularly cheerful ending (or beginning, or middle) but I didn't want to make anything like INSTANT Tony-saves-Ziva kinda stuff. It's not finished yet, though! ... and I love reviews :)