Probably a little cliché now. But I hope you enjoy it anyway and if you do then review :)

Spitting Out The Demons

Zive stared at the ceiling. It was dark and warm. She blinked. She would not sleep. She could not even think about it. Her mind was whirring. The past few months were creeping back. When she closed her eyes she could see it. The place, the people. She could feel it if she lay too still. Hands on her, fingers gripping her, their lips sloppily kissing her mouth and jaw. The breeze as her clothes were peeled off.

She snapped her eyes open again. She would not think of it. She tried desperately not to but the room she was in was too quiet. The terrors filled her mind again.

They had came for her. Her cell was dark and damp but she had long gotten used to the draft from under the door that saved her from the humid room. She could remember the dripping of a tap somewhere, the bustle of the village outside the walls of her prison. Condensation covered the wall she was propped against and sweat rolled down her back. Two men shouted at her and her tired mind fought to process what they were saying. Always tanslating their harsh words. Their voices demanding as they shouted at her.

A bag was pushed roughly over her head, her already dark world going black. As she breathed her warm breath blew back onto her skin. It was stuffy and smelt of dirt and sand. Her breath quickened, panic reluctantly rising up her throat. She swallowed but her mouth was too dry. She was pulled to her feet roughly. Her sore muscles being squeezed too tight. Arms on either side of her dragged her along. She fought to keep up with them as they marched her through a series of corridors but her feet dragged behind her. She was forced to stop. The hands leaving her sides to be replaced with a single mans grip. This happened often. She would be dragged from cell to cell, never ever getting a glimpse at the corridors outside her door. Sometimes she wondered idily if she was in a different room at all. But she assumed that they all looked the same. Sometimes she would be flung against the concrete, her sore face bashing against stone. Her fingernails scraping down the wall, her efforts fruitless. At the beginning she could fight them off, her arms flinging and flaling as she was dragged through the stone maze but now as she succumed to the hunger and the thirst, the exhaustion and the pain riveting through her body she was stopped. Too weak and tired to do anything. Her mind betraying her and allowing her to accept her fate.

Fingers crushed her arm as he pulled her. Nails digging into her skin. Pressure as the skin broke. Her feet hurt from where she couldn't keep up with her guards. Skin was tattered away from the sole and her toes were raw. She was pushed into a chair, her chest heaving with painful breaths. This had happened many times before too. Her mind raced as she tried to think of way sto ignore him now. His threats and actions made little impact on her anymore.

When she refused to co operate he would slice her skin. Whip her. Knuckles would slam into her face and ribs. Cracks of protesting bones would sound out along with her disheartened grunts of pain. His breath would be hot against her skin, making her shiver and uncomfortable. She could smell the sickly sweet smell of Caf Pow that always threw images of Abby into her mind. He also smelt of sweat and sand and stale beer. Sometimes it made her retch and heave but this seemed to make him enjoy it alittle bit more. Hands would rip fabric from her shoulders and she would squeeze her eyes shut so she wouldn't see which of his henchment would be joining in the fun this time. Then it would be over. Her eyes never opened as his mouth fell on hers or hands tore at her battered skin. She would hear his ragged breath in her ear and the groans that escaped his throat. One them smelt of fish and she was sure that she would never be able to touch the stuff again. Another had a booming laugh that would explode around her and made her jump. Then she would be dragged back to the cell, the bag over her head again as her sore feet navigated their way through the chipped concrete.

Then that day came around. She was pulled from the corner of her cell and dragged along as usual but then she was threw in a chair and Salim was talking to someone else there. His threats washed over her tired mind and the bag was whipped off her head. She blinked at the sudden show of light and saw Tony. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment as she looked at his battered and dirty face. Was she dreaming, her tortured mind was playing tricks on her. She watched as he took her in. A vague feeling of resentment swirled in her stomach. Technically she should've still been angry at him but she was too relieved to see him that it stayed at bay.

"So." He drawled. "How was your summer?"

Ziva blinked and she was back in the bedroom. On top of the expensive mattress, a glass of water on the nightstand beside a newly aquired cell phone and a knife that shone in the moon light. She knew that under the pillow lay the gun that had been returned to her when she had returned to NCIS. But still she didn't feel safe. Her exhausted eyes drooped. She knew she would never get any sleep. In some ways it was worse that when she had been there, instead she was constantly reliving her worst memories over and over again.

She shut her eyes and she was back in the cell. She could remember her disappointment at the fact that Tony's plan was going to fail. She had resigned herself to her fate. Surely she deserved it anyway. She could remember the hope that ignited in her as the bullet crashed through the window and slammed into Salim's head. Numbness as Tony and McGee pulled her off the chair, their arms wrapping around her. Support. For once the touch against her skin was friendly and nice. Relief and love flowed freely from her. The bright sunlight blinded her as they pulled her out of the building she had lived in the past few weeks. The breeze hit her arms softly and she shivered at the long forgotten feeling.

Ziva snapped her eyes open again. She forced herself to think of this time in her story. How she was rescued, how the sun felt on her skin. How she was allowed to sleep for once. How she had nothing else to fear. She wanted to picture the blood radiating from Salim's head but when she did all she felt was anger. Anger for not being able to cause that blood herself. Her hand shook as she took a shaky sip of the water and it stung as it rolled down her throat. She blinked at the loud echo the glass made as she unconsciously slammed it against the bedside table.

The other person in the bed moved and she froze. Images and memories flooding her brain again. She fought to keep control and remind herself where she actually was. Her arm jolted as fingertips grazed softly over her skin careful not to put pressure on the still painful bruises there. They traced a scar, barely yet healed. Hairs stood on end as recognition flickered in her mind at who thost fingers belonged to.

"Ziva." He whispered and she let out the breath she hadn't realised she had been holding on to.

"Yeah." She replied, her voice small and shaky. She cleared her throat stubbornly and the hand gripped her softly. It pulled her sideways and closer to the warm body on the otherside of the bed. It gently pulled her down so her head settled on the pillow beside his. She blinked, her staring eyes focused on the ceiling.

"It's ok Ziva." He soothed as he cautiously moved some of her hair out of her face so he could see her properly. She took a deep calming breath as she let her fingers hold onto the silk sheets and feel the smoothness of them. She let her cold body be warmed by the welcoming heat from his body. Her heartbeat finally slowed as her brain stopped racing and she cleared her throat again. Determined not to cry anymore.

"You're safe now." He whispered again and her eyes slid shut. She let her fingers be taken in his hand and she opened her eyes again.

"Thank you." She mumbled and watched as he smiled at her.

"Anything for you Ziva."