The world came back in pieces again.
Motion first, the hum of an engine, leather seats beneath her legs and something soft draped over her shoulders, smelling like cedar and gunpowder.
Ziva's eyes cracked open.
She was in a car moving fast, judging by the way streetlights streaked past the tinted windows. The white dress was still on her body, wrinkled and stained with vomit at the hem but her wrists were free.
She jerked upright and tried the door handle but it was locked, so she tried again yanking harder.
"It's child-locked." The voice came from across from her sounding so calm and even.
Tyrell sat in the seat opposite, one ankle crossed over his knee, watching her with those dark unreadable eyes. He was still in the suit but no tie now and the top button was undone with a smear of something red on his collar. Blood.
Ziva pressed herself against the door. "Let me out."
"No"
"I said let me out!"
"And I said no," he said. "You're safer in here."
"Safer?" Her laugh came out sharp, brittle. "You just bought me at an auction like I'm some kind of..."
"I saved you." His jaw ticked. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Ziva's hands were shaking and she clenched them into fists to make it stop. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're just another rich asshole who thinks he can own people."
"Think what you want," he said quietly.
Silence filled the car, thick and suffocating.
Ziva's head pounded, her mouth tasted like metal and bile. She needed water, air and most importantly she needed to wake up from this nightmare.
"Where's Timothy?" The question fell out before she could stop it.
Tyrell's expression didn't change. "Why?"
"Because...," her voice cracked. "Because I need to know if he's okay, if they hurt him. He must be looking for me, right? He wouldn't just.."
"He's not looking for you." The words landed like a slap.
Ziva's chest tightened. "You don't know that and you most certainly don't know him."
"I know exactly who Timothy Keene is." Tyrell leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Stop."
"I know he met you four years ago at a college party and probably targeted you specifically because you had no family"
"Stop it."
"I know he's been planning this for eight months. That's how long it takes to vet someone for private auction"
"Shut up!" Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and angry. "You're lying, Timothy loves me."
Tyrell pulled a tablet from his jacket and slid it across the seat to her. "See for yourself"
Ziva stared at it like it might bite her. Her hands shook as she picked it up.
The screen showed a bank security footage timestamp three days ago, she saw a man in a business suit walking up to a teller window.
Timothy.
Her Timothy.
He was laughing with the teller as he deposited an eight hundred-thousand dollars cheque.
Ziva's stomach dropped.
The footage showed a pretty blonde, pregnant woman wearing a summer dress meeting Timothy outside the bank and he kissed her deeply while resting his hand on her stomach.
The tablet slipped from Ziva's fingers. "No." The word came out small. "That's not...he wouldn't..."
"Wire transfer," Tyrell said, voice flat. "Three days ago payment for Lot 19, that's you. He sold you to a trafficking ring for eight hundred thousand dollars and used the money to pay off his debts and buy a house for his actual girlfriend."
Actual girlfriend.
The words echoed in Ziva's skull.
Four years of her working two jobs to pay his rent when he said he was between pay checks, covering his tuition when he claimed his financial aid fell through, making him dinner and doing his laundry.
All of it was a lie.
Ziva couldn't breathe. It felt like her ribs were closing in like a cage. She wrapped her arms around her knees, curling into herself, trying to hold the pieces together.
"I gave him everything." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Skipped meals so he could eat... I loved him."
"I know."
Ziva looked up, tears blurred her vision turning him into a dark smudge across from her.
"How?" The question came out raw. "How do you know?"
Tyrell held her gaze. "Because I've been watching you since we were seventeen."
The air left her lungs. "What?"
"I've been watching you," he repeated with no sham or apology. "Making sure you were safe, that you had what you needed. When your foster mom got sick sophomore year and couldn't pay the bills, who do you think sent the anonymous donation?"
Ziva's mouth opened. Closed.
"When you applied for scholarships and got rejected because your GPA dropped after she died, who do you think funded the emergency grant that got you through?"
"That was...." She couldn't process this.
"Me." Tyrell leaned back. "It was always me. Every landlord who gave you a break on rent, every job interview that went a little too well, every time someone should've screwed you over and didn't."
Ziva felt like she was falling. "Why?" The word tore out of her. "Why would you do that?"
Tyrell looked out the window his jaw tight. "Because you told me I was dangerous." His voice was quiet. "You said you couldn't be with someone like me and you were right because I was violent, angry and I most likely would've destroyed you." He turned back to her.
"So I stayed away but I made damn sure no one else destroyed you either."
Ziva's heart hammered, this was stalking, obsession and all the red flags she'd been taught to recognize. "Why did you save me?" Her voice cracked. "Why?"
Tyrell looked away again, and for the first time since she'd known him, he looked almost... vulnerable. "Because I loved you when you told me I was trash," he said quietly. "And I'd rather you hate me for the rest of your life than let you die."
Ziva's breath caught in her throat, she didn't know what to say or feel because this was too much and her brain couldn't....
The car swerved hard to the left.
Ziva slammed into the door, head cracking against the window. Stars burst behind her eyes.
"Sir!" The driver's voice cut through, sharp with alarm. "We're being followed!"
Tyrell moved fast, reached under his seat and pulled out a gun, "Stay down." He didn't look at her instead his entire focus was on the rear window.
Ziva's heart stopped. "What's happening?"
"They want you back." Tyrell chambered a round, the sound impossibly loud in the enclosed space.
"Who??"
"The men who paid for you before I did." He sounded even more serious. "And they don't like getting outbid."
Headlights flooded the car from behind, it was bright and blinding then gunfire.
Glass exploded.