Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Thanks to Reader aka Sun Samurai for reviewing 6.
"I am not going to lose another family member, Gibbs, and certainly not my daughter."
"She's eighteen, Ziva. We can't tell her what to do anymore."
"I do not care, Tim! I lost my sister and my mother to suicide bombings-"
"You lost both Tali and Ari to sniper bullets." He corrected; for though Tim didn't want to admit it, the training Gibbs had pushed on him when he first joined the team was reminiscent of sniper training. He could kill a man with a single shot if need be- and often times, when the case called for it, he did. Tim was a brilliant marksman- he rivaled even his wife in sharpshooting, and that was something, considering it was Ziva he was married to. Not that his wife seemed to care much in regards to marksmanship; Ziva was a sucker for combat- hand-to-hand more than anything- and oftentimes, she usually ended up winning the mock battles she and Tim got into when they spent time at the gym. Because, unlike Tony, who looked his age, both Tim and Ziva still looked as though they were in their late twenties or early thirties.
She turned to him, meeting her husband's gaze; Ziva still hadn't moved from the reading nook, and Tim refused to give up the chair, not that Gibbs cared. Instead, the Team Leader was leaning against the wall, listening to the argument; occasionally, he would interject, however, he spent the majority of the time listening as his agents tried to work out a compromise when it came to their middle child.
Though Tim was right; Yoni wasn't a child- none of the girls were, no matter how much their parents and the team wanted to think of them as- and she could make her own decisions. And clearly, she'd made her mind up about Syria.
Ziva turned her head, and it was then that Gibbs caught sight of the tears glistening on her cheeks. "She is my baby, Tim. She does not understand the ways of the world, or the dangers that can steal her breath without a hint of notice. I carried her for thirty-six weeks, and it took fourteen hours for that girl to enter the world, and I am not going to lose her to the violence in Syria! I understand that Yonah wants to do good, but she can go so many other places that need help!" The Israeli stopped, gathering her thoughts. "Mexico, or... India or... any country in Africa... anywhere but Syria, please, Gibbs! Smack some sense into her!"
"Talk, Ziva, the phrase is talk some sense, not smack." Tim corrected.
"No, I mean smack, Timothy! She needs to understand that she could get herself killed if she goes over there-"
"You think I do not realize that?" The pair looked up to see Yoni come into the study, eyes red and hair a mess. She swallowed, glancing at her parents each in turn. "You think I do not understand what I am getting myself into? I have done the research, I have talked to former students of Professor Marsden's that have been over in Syria, and the places they go are the most desperate- they need schools and clothing and food and... and I can help! Professor M. will be there with us- I am eighteen, Abba! You cannot tell me what to do anymore!"
Without a word, Gibbs made his way to Yoni, pushing her gently to the reading nook. The girl dropped onto the other side, moving as close to the wall as she could to avoid her mother. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, right now, you are pouting like a six-year-old, Yonah." Ziva muttered, glancing at her daughter. The girl narrowed her eyes.
"You let Shi go to Israel, and told Nar that she can go clear to L.A.- to be in a movie- but when I want to go to Syria and help, you tell me no! How is that fair, Ima? It is a... a complete... triple standard!"
"Double, Yonah. The term is double standard."
"Shut up, Timothy!" Ziva snapped, turning to face her daughter.
"Why don't you butt out, Ziva? She's eighteen; according to American law, Yonah is an adult, we have no say in what she does with her life anymore."
"But we are her parents, Tim-"
"That doesn't matter! Not in the eyes of American society! She's an adult, and we can't stop her-"
"You are just as opposed to her going as I am-"
"I know I am, but-"
First Ziva and then Tim jolted forward, eyes closing at the contact. Yoni watched as her parents each shook their heads to clear themselves before they opened their eyes. Gibbs studied his agents; he understood the fear they held onto- he wasn't to proud to admit that he had that exact same fear jolt through him whenever they walked into a scene that was going awry... he'd had that same fear when Kelly was alive, and when the girls were caught up in the shooting at their school- it was a parents' worst nightmare come to life, the knowing that while their kids would be as safe as they could, something could always go wrong-
"Let me talk to your parents, kiddo." Yoni didn't move; Gibbs turned to her. "Now." Without a word, the girl got up, leaving the study with a quick glance back. Once she was gone, Gibbs took a seat beside Ziva, beckoning Tim over to them. The trio huddled together in a campfire, the two agents waiting silently for the leader of their team to speak. The older agent glanced at his two youngest each in turn- unlike Tony and Abby, who still possessed a certain innocence about them, his youngest children had seen horrors, had witnessed death and pain and things no one should witness. Both of his youngest kids were jaded to the kindness of the world- while they acted often times as children, their playfulness hid painful pasts.
"Gibbs-"
"If she goes, then she will need to be properly trained. We can do that. I can do that-"
"No, Gibbs-"
The older agent held up a hand, silencing Ziva. "I will personally take over her training. And what I can't teach her, you both can. You are just as skilled in combat as I am, maybe more so. She needs survival training, to know how to act in a dangerous situation, how to handle and fire a gun properly, how to handle a knife..." His agents shared a glance. "If she's properly trained, properly equipped, will you both consider allowing her to go? I understand that she's your child, Tim, Ziva, but if she meets my requirements, will you allow her?"
His agents locked eyes, a million conversations from brown eyes to green and back in the course of a few seconds.
