From Their Own Lands
Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Summary: The roots of their heritage stemmed much deeper than anyone had ever thought. When Tim and Sarah find a diary tucked away in their father's things after his death, they have no idea the depths of revolution steeped in their blood, or the ancestors who call for them to return to a land torn apart by violence and death, a land that cries to one day become whole again. Established McGiva.
A/N: John's death is moved up in this, to fit the story timeline better. Written: 2006.- Licia
2007
"I don't want to have to do this, Timmy. Can't we just wait and work on it tomorrow? Then you're team can help us, too. What's so important about getting a head start anyway?"
"'t's wha' your father would 'ave wanted."
The siblings looked up as their mother entered the room, an empty box in her hands. She set it on the desk, brushing a strand of dark red hair out of her eyes with a puff of her cheeks. At the tender age of forty-five, Kathleen McGee, nee O'Brien, looked no older than her mid-twenties, despite the fact that she'd had two children by the time she'd turned twenty. Her big green eyes- the same eyes her children possessed- quickly scanned their faces before darting around the small study.
"'lot o' memories in this room."
"A lot of memories in this house." Sarah amended, letting her gaze wander as her brother shifted through papers on their father's desk. A week had passed since John McGee's passing from cancer, and the remaining family had scrambled to get everything sorted through and dealt with. They wouldn't be in such a rush if the house hadn't been up for sale, for Kathleen was returning to her native Ireland.
"Bu' even more in Dublin." Sarah turned to her mother, who reached out, gently taking her daughter's chin in her hand. Both John and Kathleen had been born and raised in Ireland- John in the violent-torn North, Kathleen in the free South- and the pair had met as teenagers at an Arts Festival in seventy-nine in the South. The two had struck up a wary friendship over the two-week long festival, until they let one night get away from them; Timothy had been born six months after John and Kathleen had gotten married.
To say it was a marriage built on love was hardly believable- at first. Though Kathleen would be the first to admit that her son had made it easier to love the man who'd fathered him, there had been days when she'd had her doubts. But John had proved to be a good provider, husband and father over the years- until he joined the American Navy.
And then... things had turned... sour, to say the least.
"There are days when I forge' 'e's gone." Kathleen whispered, picking up a framed photograph sitting on the desk- one of them together not long after Sarah had been born. "Despi'e 'is faults, John was a goo' man. No matt'r wha' eith'r o' you think, your fath'r was a goo' man. And he loved you both dearly."
The siblings shared a glance, but kept quiet. They knew the stories, of how their parents had met, of how, after discovering she was pregnant, their parents had pushed them into marriage, and how the first few years were filled with arguments, rants and raves and threats of divorce, for they were only teenagers after all. Young adults, really. They also knew of the fierce loyalty the two held for each other... loyalty Kathleen still held towards her now deceased husband.
"How did you make it work? You were from separate countries, surely-"
"They are no' sep'rate countries, Sarah Aileen. 'tis one country, split in two by the bloody Engl'sh." Sarah glanced at her brother and her mother's soft growl as she set the photograph down. "We managed. As any young couple would. Kep' a roof ov'r your heads, an' ours, an' food on th' table an' in your bellies, or 'ave you forgo'en?"
"No, Mams." Sarah whispered, blushing. The siblings both had been born in Ireland, in their small corner of Dublin. And though they'd spent the first ten years or so of their lives in Ireland, eventually, the family had moved to America due to John's work with the Navy. The joys of their grandmother, Penelope Langston, having been born in America.
"Maybe you canna talk Ziva int' 'elping, Tim."
The young agent stopped sorting papers, gaze slowly rising to meet his mother's. "For that matter, Mams, let's just invite the entire team."
The raised eyebrow Kathleen awarded her oldest affected him little. The Irish beauty quite liked the Israeli her son had gotten involved with, and she hoped that an engagement would someday be in their future, for she felt Ziva would make the perfect daughter-in-law. She brought Tim out of his shell when required, and he reigned her in. They were complete opposites, but the kind that worked well together. The kind Kathleen had wished she and John had been. Considering they'd only been dating a little over three years, Kathleen felt she was being patient, allowing her son and his girlfriend time before she pushed for marriage and grandchildren. Though at this rate...
"Hey Mams?" Broken from her thoughts, Kathleen turned her gaze towards her son, who was pulling something out of the bottom of a buried desk drawer. Papers scattered to the floor, but the three McGee family members paid them no mind, as all eyes turned to the object in Tim's hand. "What's this?"
Her gaze flicked from the drawer to the small, leather-bound book in her son's grasp. "I... I dinna know."