His Wife or Her Grave

The Breaking

ZIVA

Two days.

Ziva sat in the candlelit room, still wearing the white dress James had chosen for her. It was the fourth dress.

She hated them all.

James visited three times a day. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Like clockwork. Like this was normal and they were a family.

The door opened.

Right on schedule.

James entered carrying a tray. Roasted chicken. Vegetables. Wine in a crystal glass.

"Good evening, darling." He set the tray on the small table by the window. "I hope you're feeling better."

Ziva didn't respond. Just stared at the wall.

James pulled out a chair, sat across from her. "You look beautiful in white. Just like your mother did."

Silence.

"I know you're angry," James continued pleasantly. "But you'll understand eventually. What I'm doing... it's all out of love."

Ziva's laugh came out harsh. "You don't know what love is."

James stood abruptly. The chair scraped against the floor. "Call it what you want. But you're here now. And this time, you'll understand."

He walked to the door.

"Eat. You're getting thin."

The door closed. Locked.

Ziva stared at the food. Her stomach was empty.

The next morning, James returned with breakfast, and a laptop.

"I want to show you something," he said.

He set the laptop on the table, opened it, turned it toward her.

A video played.

Grainy, night vision surveillance footage.

Tyrell.

On his knees. Four men holding him down. Blood on his face. Struggling.

Ziva's breath caught.

"He failed you," James said quietly. "Couldn't protect you or save you. He's nothing, Ziva. Just another man who wanted to own you."

"That's not..."

"I'm all you have left."

The video showed Tyrell being dragged away. Thrown into a van. Disappearing into darkness.

Was he even alive?

James closed the laptop. "If you cooperate, I'll let him live. If you fight me..." He didn't finish. Didn't need to.

Ziva's resolve, already cracking, splintered.

She had to survive this. Had to stay alive long enough for...

For what?

No one was coming.

Tyrell was captured. Maybe dead.

Marcus, if he was even still out there, had no way to find her.

She was alone.

James pushed the breakfast tray toward her. "Eat."

Ziva picked up the fork.

Her hands shook, but she ate.

James smiled. "Good girl."

Over the next two days, Ziva played the role.

She ate when James brought food.

She smiled when he spoke to her.

She wore the dresses he laid out each morning.

She sat across from him at dinner and listened to him talk about his plans for them. The life they'd build together. How she'd come to love this place.

Inside, she was screaming.

But she couldn't break. Not yet. Not until she found an opening. A weakness.

The tracker she'd swallowed, if it was even real, was her only hope.

And every day that passed without rescue, that hope dimmed a little more.

On the fourth night, James arrived for dinner looking particularly pleased.

"I have a surprise for you," he said.

Ziva's stomach turned. "What kind of surprise?"

"Tomorrow, we're having a special dinner. Just the two of us. Something... celebratory."

"Why?"

James smiled. "Because it's your birthday."

Ziva went cold.

She'd forgotten.

Tomorrow, she turned twenty-four.

"I've missed too many of your birthdays," James continued. "But not this one. This one, we'll celebrate properly."

He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. Set it on the table between them.

Ziva stared at it like it might explode.

"Open it," James said.

Her hands shook as she reached for the box. Opened it.

A ring.

Delicate gold band. Antique. A small diamond set in the center.

"This was your mother's," James said softly. "She left it behind when she ran. I've been saving it for you."

Ziva couldn't breathe.

James took the ring from the box. Reached for her hand.

She wanted to pull away. Wanted to scream, but she froze.

James slid the ring onto her finger.

Perfect fit.

"There," he said, satisfied. "Beautiful."

Ziva stared at her hand. At her mother's ring. The ring Elise had worn while imprisoned here. Now on Ziva's finger.

Like a shackle.

"What is this?" Her voice came out strangled.

James met her eyes. "A promise. That you'll never leave me. That we'll be a family. The way it should have been from the beginning."

Before Ziva could respond to what he was saying, the lights went out.

Darkness crashed down.

Gunfire.

Outside. Rapid. Close.

James' expression changed instantly. The gentle look vanished. Something cold and dangerous took its place.

"Stay here." He stood, moved to the door.

More gunfire. Closer now. Shouting. Alarms blaring.

James turned back, looked at Ziva in the darkness.

His voice was quiet. Almost amused.

"He escaped."

The door slammed shut behind him.

The lock clicked.

Ziva stood in the pitch-black room, heart hammering.

Tyrell.

Tyrell was here.

Tyrell was alive.

She ran to the door. Pounded on it. "Let me out! Let me out!"

No answer.

The gunfire intensified. Automatic weapons now. Explosions.

Ziva backed away from the door, wrapped her arms around herself.

The ring on her finger felt like it was burning.

She pulled it off. Threw it across the room.

Then she dropped to her knees, felt around in the darkness until she found the loose floorboard near the crib.

Pried it up.

Her mother's journal was still there.

Ziva pulled it out, clutched it to her chest.

If Elise could escape, so can I.

More explosions. The whole house shook.

Then: footsteps in the hallway.

Running.

The lock clicked.

The door flew open.

A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by emergency lights in the hall.

Ziva couldn't see his face.

"Ziva?"

That voice.

She knew that voice.

"Tyrell?"

He stepped into the room.

Blood on his face. Tactical vest. Gun in hand.

Alive.

"We need to go. Now."

Ziva stood on shaking legs. "How did you...?"

"Later. Can you run?"

She nodded.

Tyrell grabbed her hand. Pulled her toward the door.

They made it three steps into the hallway before gunfire erupted behind them.

Tyrell shoved Ziva against the wall, returned fire.

Two of James' guards went down.

"Move!" Tyrell dragged her forward.

They ran through the estate. Ziva barefoot, still in the white dress. Tyrell ahead of her, clearing corners, taking out guards.

Behind them: James' voice, shouting orders.

"Don't let her leave! Bring her back!"

They reached a staircase. Started down.

Halfway, Tyrell stopped.

Ziva nearly ran into him.

"What?"

At the bottom of the stairs: James.

Gun raised.

Pointed directly at them.

"Hello, Mr. Smart," James said pleasantly. "I've been expecting you."