Ziva had had a lot of time to think.
She felt odd. Light, somehow. The pain had stopped lashing through her, taunting her limbs and trying to force the words out of her. She stayed silent though, only her shallow breathing betraying how much pain she was really in.
But she had been left alone for days. The pain had dulled, but the memory of the beatings still echoed through her body. It was pain she had never felt before, even through all her years in Mossad, she had never experienced such anguish. Because then, she had not had anything to lose. It was kill or be killed, and if you died, you died doing your duty. But since Ari's death, his death at her hand, Ziva had reached out, just slightly, in search of another family. Now, she could remember what it was like not to be alone.
Her father would tell her that she was being weak. That her time at NCIS had spoiled her. All these years, building you up into a fighter, lost, he would say. You know what? She would reply. I don't care.
Ziva replayed this argument in her head, over and over. She imagined all the things she would say to her father, had she the chance. She apologized to Gibbs, for making him choose. She would tell him he had taught her more than she could have ever hoped to learn in Israel. She would tell Tony it wasn't his fault. She would hug Abby, initiating it, for once.
As the door swung open, Ziva raised her head, turning her dead eyes onto her attackers. They circled her, smirking, pulling on the strands of her long hair.
"Tell us what you know about NCIS."
Ziva wasn't ready to die. But it seemed that she had no choice.