They were smiling. That was all Ziva could think about. The little one, Kinah, had cigarette burns covering her face. The older one, Lala, had a bandage across her eyes. It was possible that she would never see again. And yet, they were smiling. That was the thing about children—they didn't worry about the future. They didn't think about the past. Children, especially these children,lived in the present. Their smiles were proof of that.

She had been told to get them anything they needed. She was more than happy to. She knew what it was like to be tortured. She knew. And yet she cannot imagine how these innocent little children were feeling.

She cannot imagine how someone could bring themselves to torture a child.

Soon she is alone with them in the infirmary, and she has absolutely no idea what to do. Kinah is looking around, trying to take in her surroundings. Lala just looks lost. Without her sense of sight, she has no idea what is happening. Ziva places her own hand on top of hers, and Lala's shoulders relax a little at the kind touch.

"Is there anything I can get for you two?" Ziva asked in Arabic.

"We are just very tired," Lala replied.

"Alright. Come with me," she said, straightening up and helping Lala to stand as well. Kinah took Lala's hand and guided her.

On the other side of the infirmary were many beds lined up. They were nothing special, Ziva doubted they were that comfortable, but she knew firsthand that after sleeping on a cold stone floor, any amount of comfort was a relief, no matter how small.

She dragged two of the beds together, knowing that the girls would probably want to be together. She crawled onto the ratty mattress, guiding Lala to her right and motioning Kinah to sit on her left. She wrapped her arms around the two girls.

"Would you like me to sing you a song?" she asked. Kinah nodded eagerly, that smile still upon her face.

Ziva sung to them softly a lullaby that her mother had sung to her when she was scared of the monsters under the bed. It was in Hebrew, so they did not understand the meaning, but the song did it's job. They had been through more this week than anybody ever should have to suffer through in a lifetime. Kinah's eyes drifted closed, and soon she was asleep. Although Ziva could not see Lala's damaged eyes, she assumed that she had fallen asleep as well from the way that her breathing evened out.

Ziva was about to sneak out when she heard a voice form beside her. Apparently Lala had not slept.

"Is she okay?" she whispered. Ziva turned her head towards the thirteen-year-old. She was sitting up. Her smile was not there, it was replaced by an expression of worry.

"Yes. She is fine. A little banged up, but she is making the best of it and there is no doubt in my mind that she is okay," Ziva replied, being honest. She heard the sigh of relief from Lala.

"She is not always honest with me. And since I can no longer see..."

"You love her very much, don't you?" Ziva asked her.

"She is all I have. When our parents were killed I made a promise to myself that I would look after her. I would never let anything happen to her... Needless to say I failed," Lala sighed. Ziva held her closer.

"You did not fail. You did everything you could."

"I did not want her to be hurt. They... they were going to hurt her really badly. They had taken away her clothes and were putting out cigarette after cigarette on her skin... she was screaming... one of them... one was going to take off his... his... p-pants," she explained. Her voice sounded as if she was somewhere far away. Ziva knew how she was feeling far too well. She was not here, with Ziva— instead, she was being tortured by cruel men in her mind.

"What happened?" Ziva asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"I told them no," she replied.

"And it worked?" Ziva asked, eyebrows raised.

"No. I told them not to hurt her, to leave her alone... I told them to hurt me instead. Up until then they had not touched me...They turned on me and they... they started... they started to rip off my clothes," she told Ziva. Ziva's eyes widened.

NO.

"It hurt really really bad. That's all I remember. The last thing I ever saw was his face... that was when they poured the hot grease on my eyes," she recalled.

Pictures of Ziva's torturer floated before her eyes, and she violently pushed them away.

"You can not imagine, the feeling of being violated like that," Lala whispered, pain evident in her voice.

"But I can," Ziva told her, softly rubbing comforting circles on her arm.

"What?"

"I have been tortured before. I have been tortured... like that. For three months," Ziva told her.

"Really?"

"Yes," Ziva replied, her eyes sorrowful. "And while I can not say that I know exactly what you are going through— you are still a child, while I was not— I do know that the pain will eventually fade. What you did for your sister was so brave, Lala. You are a hero, a survivor, and the best sister Kinah could ever hope for."

"Do you have a sister?" the child asked.

Ziva frowned. "I used to. She was killed when she was not too much older than you. I loved her fiercely. She reminds me of your little sister," she mused.

"I am sorry about your sister. There has been too much death."

"Yes, indeed," Ziva agreed. She knew that the girl sitting before her was much accustomed to the prospect of death, a fact which put another weight on her already-burdened heart.

"I am sure you were a great older sister, too," Lala told Ziva.

Ziva smiled. "We have much in common, you and I," she acknowledged.

"You are far braver and better than I am," Lala insisted.

Ziva pressed a soft kiss on the top of the young girl's head. "That is not true. I could live a thousand years and never be as brave or strong as you are. You will get through this, whether your sight comes back or not, habibi, you and your sister both. I know it."

"Thank you, Miss Ziva," Lala replied, smiling. Ziva just fixed her gaze on this smile in wonderment.

These girls would heal just fine.

A/N: Not sure whether Kinah and Lala were sisters or not. Pretend that they are:)

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