Ziva David can kill you with a paper clip (wearenailed) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2012-01-27 03:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | ziva david |
Who: Ziva David (Narrative)
When: Starts around 22 January and ending NOW! (27 January, early ass in the morning, aka, 4 am ish)
Where: Abandoned warehouse outside of Lawrence
What: Ziva gets kidnapped while undercover and spends five days being tortured and nearly decapitated while alive. It doesn't end well for her captors.
Rating: T/V-Torture and Violence. Possible death. It's open ended on that front.
Notes: Yes, the locator spell worked. Ziva will need serious medical attention and best at the complex, from my understanding Sam got sent in as the department is being stupid? Booth and Sam went in, so carry on, etc.
There were reasons one needed to be comfortable with their partner when they went undercover. Because when one was undercover, your partner was the one you were with the most and the one who had to bail you out of trouble if things got too hot. The one you had to trust beyond all else if you wanted to succeed. And while Ziva knew her current partner was a good agent, he wasn’t Booth and he certainly wasn’t Tony. So while Ziva never let herself grow lax in her training and preparedness, she wasn’t overly shocked when she woke up blindfolded somewhere outside of Kansas City. Annoyed? Most definitely. She had sworn never to be taken alive and this was the second time she’d been taken alive, the first being Saleem. That was definitely not an experience she wished to repeat.
The first thing she noticed was that she was cold. Very cold. She shouldn’t be cold, though. She’d been wearing a jacket for one. And while the temperatures weren’t freezing out, wherever she was being held was definitely colder than it should be. While her head was throbbing in the back, undoubtedly from a blow to the head to knock her out, Ziva was still able to take stock of her clothing and weapons. She was down to the skirt she’d been wearing on the day she was taken and her bra. That explained the cold. No knife. Well, that wasn’t good. Not like it would do her much good with her hands tied behind the back of a chair and being blindfolded, but Ziva always carried a knife, even before Gibbs and his rules, or in this case, Rule #9. So to be unable to get to her knife was definitely unnerving. She hated the sensation of vulnerability. It took her back to Somalia.
With her physical scan done (so far, no injuries beyond the head one, just sore from her positioning), Ziva focused on recalling just what had happened leading up to coming to. The information Abby had given her had been helpful in narrowing down the location of the killer and where he liked to pick up his marks. She’d been at a bar and had ordered a drink and conversed with a few people. Her partner had been at a table near the door to keep his eyes on crowd. But where had he gone? Because he had been there... this shouldn’t have happened. It was her second drink when she started to feel off, yet she hadn’t left it unattended. Was she looking at the bartender then? It was possible...
That was where things had gotten hazy. Ziva didn’t remember anything happening with her partner and she didn’t remember leaving, but the throbbing head injury meant that she had to have been hit somehow. Okay. Walking through it, pushing through the haze. There had been.. what had there been?! This was maddening, but Ziva vaguely remembered trying to get to the door when everything went black. That would explain the head injury. But she still didn’t have a face for her attacker. Not that it would do any good currently as she couldn’t call for help, but Ziva liked knowing what her odds were, so knowing who had taken her would help greatly in that.
Listening intently for any sort of breathing or footsteps, Ziva noted that she was completely alone at the moment. Okay, that was good. She could maybe get herself out of her bonds and out of this situation. Because she knew how it went. Kidnapped. Tortured. And after about a week, killed, beheaded and displayed at a synagogue as a warning. They didn’t know what the warning was about yet, but that was what it was. And Ziva had no plans on dying anytime soon. And her head was going to stay on, thank you very much. That bit of the profile had left her unnerved, not that the former Mossad officer had shown it when they were being debriefed. No, she kept calm. Honestly, she had seen plenty of decapitated heads, the first being someone she had known. But that didn’t mean she had to be a fan of that part of the killer’s MO. So, getting out of here was definitely on her list of things to do. She would be able to produce a map from memory and get it to the FBI so they could sweep this place for clues and maybe finally get the bastard before anyone else had to die.
Carefully, Ziva began to work the binds around her wrists. That was at least the plan until a door behind her opened and she heard two sets of footsteps enter. Oh, that made it more complicated. Ziva could handle it, of course, but it was definitely going to be much more difficult than if she were only fighting one psychotic killer. Pairs were always difficult, and all the more reason Ziva wished she had someone here with her. Preferably her old team, Tony specifically, as they worked well off of one another. But she wasn’t being held by a psychotic, CafPow addicted terrorist so she should be fine. Key word being should.
“Oh look, the slut’s awake.”
No distinctive accent, at least, for where they were. That didn’t help her narrow anything down. But then the blindfold around her eyes was ripped off, temporarily blinding the FBI agent. Soon enough, her vision cleared and Ziva was able to get a look at her captors. Okay, as she had suspected, the bartender and the person who had been three seats away from her. Both were fairly large, toned, fighters. This just made it interesting. After all, Ziva didn’t discriminate based on size when fighting. Especially when it was for her life. Though with the gag still in her mouth, Ziva couldn’t exactly talk back to the two who were holding her so she just glared in defiance at being referred to as a slut and her current predicament. Though apparently that just made her captors laugh.
“Look, this one has fire. Well, she’ll learn soon enough.”
Ziva didn’t like the sound of that. It took her back to Somalia. Saleem vowing to destroy her spirit to get information on her team in DC. He hadn’t cared about Mossad, no, it had been NCIS, and as she had been sent on that mission by her father, it left her curious, along with suspicious, as to how he had known about that. Oh who was she kidding, this entire situation took her back to Somalia. It was just her sheer will power and determination that kept her from panicking. She was Ziva David. She didn’t panic.
She didn’t have much time to respond though as she suddenly was punched in the stomach, causing Ziva to double over and gasp against the gag in her mouth, which only caused her to cough and gag, vision once again blurring. And so began the physical torture. Between the punches and getting cut on with her own knife, Ziva was focusing on maintaining awareness of the amount of time that was passing so she knew how long she had to live. Well, assuming that Booth or her idiot partner didn’t find her first. What Ziva disliked the most was being injected with drugs as they hindered her ability to fight back. Made her body weak, limp, so that she could taken from the chair and thrown into the wall, kicked repeatedly. Electrocuted at times. It was about the same as Somalia had been, only without the questioning on NCIS and instead just derogatory remarks made about her religion and nationality, meant to break her spirit as they broke her body. But Ziva was resilient, she always had been. She wouldn’t let them break her no matter how hard they tried.
The days passed in a blur despite all of Ziva’s attempts to maintain awareness. But between the druggings that caused her to lose consciousness at random times, the beating and head injuries, the severe pain her body was enduring despite her refusal to show it... maintaining awareness of the days had grown impossible. So it was only when she came to and noticed the chain saw that Ziva realized her time was up. She’d been missing for five days. Abby undoubtedly was panicking and driving everyone up the wall with her worry, were the FBI looking or did they assume her dead? No. They knew the timeline. They would search until she was found dead in front of a synagogue. Well she wasn’t dead yet and if Ziva had any say in the matter, she wasn’t going to end up dead by these bastards either.
Eyes on the chainsaw, Ziva struggled to sit herself up as she was currently crumpled in the corner on the concrete floor. Her body was sore, bruised, broken ribs, and stiff. But whatever drugs had been in her system were now gone so she felt everything. It was dark out, so either late at night or early in the morning. The timeline was right for their attempt to murder her and place her on the steps of a synagogue to be found in the early morning hours. But lucky for her, the binds around her wrists were loose, so Ziva managed to finally undo them and was working on the ones around her ankles when the door opened. Scrambling up, Ziva glared as the two walked in.
“Oh, so she got out. This will make it more fun to see her try to run and hear her screams.”
With the bartender grabbing the chainsaw, the other man made a grab for Ziva, who stumbled away, her body protesting the movement. But she would push through it because she was also pumped up on adrenaline. She would survive this, because if Ziva David was anything, it was a survivor. So grabbing a two by four, Ziva turned and bashed in the head of the guy who tried to grab her, knocking him to the ground. Good. Now she just had to get the guy with the chainsaw and she’d be golden.
Turning, Ziva was about to lunge at him when she felt a hand grab her ankle and drag her to the ground. Grunting as she hit the concrete, Ziva twisted to get away when she saw the chainsaw coming down at her neck. Oh hell no. Grasping at the ground, Ziva found her discarded knife and quickly lunged upwards, avoiding the chainsaw and stabbing the bastard in the stomach, twisting the knife viciously and rolling out of the way of the dropped chainsaw as the one man fell to the ground, bleeding profusely from the wound. Gasping, Ziva tried to get away when the man she’d hit with the two by four knocked her to the ground and rammed the two by four into her exposed stomach. Okay. That.... really hurt. Arching in pain, the Israeli managed to throw her knife at her attacker, getting him in the throat and dropping him to the ground. That was when she heard the sirens outside. She’d been found. Despite her desire to pull the two by four out, Ziva knew better than to do so, knowing it was currently staunching the blood flow. So instead, the battered and bruised woman stumbled out of the abandoned warehouse, broken two by four embedded in her before she collapsed. She was vaguely aware of the voices around her, the people surrounding her, but for the life of her, Ziva couldn’t concentrate on that. Couldn’t make sense of what was being said. All she knew was that she was freezing and in pain and she just wanted to sleep.