Author's Notes: First of all, I really want to apologize for posting these chapters (I'm also posting the thirteenth one next to this) so late. I've been working on some other things since school started back again (and also another fic for a challenge in NFA), and I slacked off in posting. :P My apologies.

One day, I'd send a PM to these wonderful people, but for now I do hope that they'd take my overjoyed "thank you!" for leaving lovely reviews!

Abbers the Awesome :: Meilea2010 :: Tracey Clayborne :: shadowkitten701

DISCLAIMER: Anything, anyone publicly recognizable is not mine. :)


Chapter Twelve

The woman lightly frowned, smiling nonetheless. "I'm sorry?" she said.

Ziva looked at her, a mixture of hurt and jealousy possessing her heart. The woman had shorter hair than in the photograph, but she knew well that it was her. Her blue eyes that reminded Ziva strongly of Joshua effaced any other doubts that dared to exist. "Tim's wife," she repeated, the words rolling out like poison on her tongue.

"Tim?" the woman echoed the name. Her eyebrows furrowed more. "I'm sorry, Miss, but I'm. . ." she shook her head, and then a friendly chuckle bubbled from her. "I can't. . ."

The woman's metallic name tag glared at Ziva. Ashley—that was her name. "Timothy McGee," Ziva said to make it clearer.

The clouds of inquisition crowding Ashley's face vanished when the name registered to her. "Oh! Tim!" she laughed. She playfully tapped her right temple while rolling her eyes. "Man," she grinned. "I think I'm starting to have those senior moments. I apologize." She paused, regarding her customer pensively momentarily. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I recognize the accent. Tim has told me about it. You. You must be Ziva."

Discomfort clogged Ziva's ribcage. "I am," she answered.

"Well, we have lots to talk about—starting with Joshua. Tim has told me you've visited him, and from what I heard he is quite fond of you," Ashley giggled. Then, she looked up and down the streets. "Would you like to come inside? My boss is a little fickle about me leaving the counter to talk to customers. She said if I really needed to chat, I should do it inside the café." She led the way, still carefully holding close the cup Ziva used. As she set foot inside the building, she glanced back at her guest, making sure she was coming.

In all honesty, Ziva protested much into following Ashley. She knew she would only be pained by the young lovers' tales sure to ensue, and at the end of the day she would end up more distraught. However, before she could politely dismiss the invitation, she realized that he feet had already brought her at the counter, her body hesitantly mounting up on one of the stools.

Ashley began pouring coffee into the cup but halted when a thought struck her. "I do hope I'm not imposing on you," she turned around, an apologetic smile on her lips. "Um, you're not on a rush to get somewhere, are you? Like, maybe, work?"

Ziva shook her head slowly. "I have nowhere to go," she responded.

"Oh. Okay," she grinned, and then resumed what she was formerly doing. "I just did not want to be rude by taking your time. I have a tendency to talk people to death. So, you've been warned. I'm Ashley, by the way." She placed Ziva's cup in front of her, filled with coffee once more. Ziva opened her mouth to reject the offer, but Ashley cut her short. "On the house," she said, a hand on her hips, "and I don't take no for an answer."

Ziva cast her eyes down to the dark beverage. Ashley, she reluctantly admitted, was a charming woman. She was thoughtful, and her presence—her mere act of smiling—brightened up the room she was in. The act of kindness Ashley extended to her made her feel embarrassed, especially when called to mind the yearning she felt for the young woman's husband. Pondering about how she wanted to see him and to feel him before made her repulsed by herself.

Ashley, unable to recognize the inward shame her guest felt, smiled. "Tim has mentioned that you've come to see Joshua," she begun, amused by the information. "How was it? How was he? I hoped he was a good boy."

Ziva sipped some of her drink to ease the lump growing in her throat. "He was," she answered. She wanted to stop at that, but Ashley leaning forward at the counter, eager to hear her accounts, forced her to speak more. "I thought he was, ah, a cute little boy."

"He is, isn't he?" Ashley's eyes sparkled.

Ziva nodded. "He was biting his fingers all of the time—"

"I told him to stop doing that!" Ashley exclaimed, a bit upset.

"He keeps saying dada," Ziva continued, lightened up by the woman's reaction. "He said ba-bye as well."

Ashley grinned weakly, enamored by the child's actions. "He's a really smart kid. I'm so proud of him."

Ziva chuckled when she remembered something else. "There was this one time also when he bit Tony's fingers—"

Ashley gasped.

"—because he was messing with him."

Ashley clucked her tongue. "I need to talk to that Joshua," she said, disappointed. "Did you know that he bites other kids, too?" Ziva laughed. "I don't know what the deal is with him! It's not like they starve him!"

"He is just being a child," Ziva justified. Ashley shook her head, unimpressed by the boy. Ziva continued. "When I came back one time, he called me mam—" She stopped, feeling that she was crossing a boundary, both of hers and of Ashley's.

Ashley became downhearted, and it caused the smile on her face to wane down into an uncertain curl of the lips. She knew. "He called you mama, didn't he?" she asked almost silently.

Ziva avoided her eyes. "I am sorry, Ashley," she began to push out of her seat. "I should not have said—"

"No! That's. . . that's perfectly fine," Ashley forced a smile back on her lips. "It's, you know. . .something that I," she sat down on a chair opposite Ziva, "expected. And you shouldn't feel bad about it! No. You really shouldn't."

"Ashley. . ."

"I gave him up when he was five months old. Did Tim tell you that?" she asked. "I felt bad that day, watching him cry like that. He didn't want to let go of me, but he soon had to. Our life's a sad tale, really," she chuckled.

"What happened?" Ziva could not help but ask.

Ashley shrugged. "You know. The usual. His father and I fell in love, we got married—even if Dad didn't want me to—, something bad happened, everything got destroyed, had Joshua. Though, sometimes, I ask myself the same question. The only quirk we had way before was that Dad didn't like Fred. You know. My ex-husband. He kept telling me that he knows Fred doesn't love me, but I didn't listen. I thought he did. So, instead of forcing us apart, Dad made sure that we would be together. When I asked him why, he just said that he knew I was happy, so who was he to do anything that would hurt me?" She smiled at Ziva. "He was a very good Dad, you know," she said. "But then, after a few years, he was killed. Fred and I were good at first, but after years our marriage became shaky. I figured that maybe it would help if we had a kid. We had Joshua, but that wasn't enough for him. I just came to the conclusion that Dad was right—that jerk never loved me. He just. . . I don't know. I didn't even wanted to ask."

She sighed. "Anyways, he began cheating after I told him I was pregnant. He didn't even support me with anything. So, in my seventh month, when it became too much, I asked him for divorce, and. . .he told me he was happy that I finally 'gained a brain.'" She rolled her eyes. "That fool," she muttered. "The bottom line is that I couldn't do without any help, and I thought that Joshua would be better off with a family that can raise him right. Keep his stomach full, you know?"

Ziva felt the weight of Ashley's problems anchoring down on her conscience. The young woman desired a different life, and there she was taking it away from her by trying her chance with Tim. The more she thought about Ashley's story, the more compassionate she became. She also decided that any feelings she had for her friend should be forgotten. "Your father," she said, averting any more guilt within her. "You said he was killed. Did they find who killed him?"

Ashley looked at her, suddenly puzzled. Then, she began chuckling. "Yes," she responded. "You guys did."

Ziva frowned. "Your father's death was one of our cases?" she asked. "He was in the navy?"

"He was a metro cop," Ashley replied. "He died a few years back. Tim kept apologizing to me about his death, but I knew it wasn't him. The kill shot didn't come from him."

Memory dawned upon Ziva. "Wait. You are Detective John Benedict's daughter?" she inquired.

Ashley nodded. "Tim and I met at his funeral. That guy," she shook her head. "He was really sorry about what happened, but I told him that he should not be. I was told that Dad's partner had something to do with him being at that alley, so if I'm blaming anyone it's him."

"You and Tim have known each other for a while now," Ziva said, increasingly discouraged by the fact.

Ashley nodded again. "I wish we could have met in a much different circumstance, but I guess that's the only way," she said. "Still, I'm glad that when things were falling apart, he showed up. A real blessing, I tell you. He helped me start over by getting me a decent job," she glanced around the café, "and by promising that he would be a good Dad to Joshua." She smiled. "I trust that he will. I could see it when he's with Joshua, especially when he brings him to the playground that, he said, he used to go to when he was little. Tim's a very special guy, and I know my son will love him."

Ziva stood up from her seat, mustering all her might to pose a smile despite the ache in her chest. "Thank you for your hospitality, Ashley," she said. "I appreciated it."

"Oh, no," Ashley bit her lip. "I bored you with my coffee house drama, didn't I?"

"No," Ziva answered. "I just think that I should leave. I am rather. . .exhausted."

"Okay."

"I wish the best for you, Joshua, and your husband," she gave her a curt nod before turning.

Ashley's eyebrows creased. "My husband?" she repeated. "You meant Fred?"

Ziva swiveled to face her. "No. Tim," she responded politely, pushing the words out of her mouth.

Ashley was taken aback. "Tim?" she echoed. Then, she grinned, blushing slightly. "Tim's not my husband."

It was Ziva's turn to frown. "But. . .you said that he will be a good father to your son," she said. "And the letter. . ."

"I don't know about any letter, but," Ashley drew closer to her, "the closest relationship I have with Tim is that of a friend. He's going to be Joshua's new Dad because of the adoption. That's all."

The embarrassment Ziva felt, as well as the peculiar relief she felt, cemented her on her spot.

Ashley smiled. "Tim loves someone else," she said, gladdened by her conclusion. She looked at Ziva in the eyes. "He loves you, I know. More than anything in the world." Then, she crossed her arms, smirking. "Although, I hope you're willing to share that love with my Joshua. I will be upset if you take up all of Tim's attention."

Ziva chuckled. The doubt and the guilt that were locked inside her were finally freed as Ashley's words sunk into her. "Thank you, Ashley," she said gratefully.

Ashley grinned. "No need."

Ziva turned around then left. The rays of the bright light above, she thought, bathed the streets in such splendor it had not bestowed before. All was well, and the rhythm she had composed earlier was back to its pace. Tim was not married and—she hoped it was not false—he liked her. Scenarios of how she was going to find him, including the refreshed hope of seeing him, burned inside her mind.

However, Ashley's muffled yell as she drove away lightly disrupted her thought.

". . .to dress him up well! If not, he might get sick in England!"


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