Rifiuto: Non Miriena

"Ziva begged me to forgive her. I could not. Had any other agent come to the door, I would have said yes, Agent McGee! Why should she have the man that she loves, the father of her children, when she took mine from me?"

"I'm gonna find her, Dr. Bashan. She's my wife, I have to find her."

"Ziva is gone, Agent McGee. When she left me that night, she was not the same person!"

Deena's words filled his head as he rushed up the steps. Somehow, someway- he didn't remember how- he'd found the house in Be'er Sheva, the house his son had been born in, the house his wife had been born in. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the slightly open door, waiting. Several minutes passed, before the door opened, and he found himself staring into his wife's eyes. "Ziva." Before she could say a word, he'd stepped over the doorway, wrapping his arms around her and lowering his mouth to hers. She drank in his kiss, surprised to find him here. Eventually, she pushed him away, searching his gaze.

"Tim, what are you... what are... what are you doing here?" He searched her gaze, surprised that she had the audacity to ask.

"What do you think, Zi?" He asked, capturing her lips again, his anger retreating now that she was back in his arms. But the second kiss was short-lived, at the sound of small footsteps.

"Ima-" Shrieks soon sliced through their momentary bliss, and Tim pulled away as his children rushed to him. "Abba! Abba, you are here!" Liron and Zipporah rushed to him, and he pulled away from his wife, kneeling down, arms out, as his two youngest threw themselves into his arms. Tim scooped his youngest into his arms, kissing each multiple times as they wrapped their small arms around his neck. When Tim finally set them down, he turned to Asher. The boy stood back, watching his father silently.

"Is it really you?" The boy asked; he'd asked Ziva every night why Tim wasn't with them, and every night, Ziva refused to answer. After Ziva tucked him in and slipped out of the room, Asher would turn to watch the stars, wishing on the ones that fell. Always the same wish:

That his father would be with them, and every morning when he woke up, his wish went unanswered. But now...

Now it had come true.

Tim gave his oldest a small smile, nodding. "It's me, sweetheart."

Tears clouded the boy's green eyes as he rushed to his father, throwing his arms around Tim's waist, with a strangled, "Abba!" His father stumbled briefly, before regaining his balance and wrapping his arms around his oldest son. "It came true! It finally came true!" Slowly, Tim knelt to meet his son's eyes.

"What came true, sweetheart?" He asked softly. Asher's tear-filled green eyes met his, and he swallowed.

"My wishes." The boy choked out. "I wished and wished and wished on shooting stars, like you taught me too, every night, and they never came true." He sniffled. "But they did now. I wished on six shooting stars last night, six, and they all came true! They all came true, Abba! Because you're here!"

The boy broke down, holding tight to his father, sobs wracking his small body. His arms tightened around Tim's neck, and he buried his face in his father's shoulder. Tim held his son close, breathing in that beautiful, heady scent that only a parent could recognize and identify as belonging to his children. Tears in his own eyes, he pressed a kiss to his son's head, taking a deep breath.

Ziva looked up from the tea she was fixing. It had taken two hours for Tim to pry himself away from the kids, and he now wandered into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist slowly and resting his chin on her shoulder. Silence had reigned between the couple for the last two hours, almost as if Ziva hadn't wanted him there, when she'd asked for him to come.

He pressed a kiss to her neck, burying his face in her hair. It had lightened, thanks to her being out in the sun more here. His hands moved down, caressing her hips as he pulled her closer, needing the feel of her body against his. Despite the days, the hours- the weeks it seemed- both needed this simplest of caresses. She arched her back, pushing into him, laying her head on his shoulder, before setting the kettle down and covering his hands with hers. "Why did you leave, Ziva?" He whispered, brushing his lips against her cheek. She sighed.

"Parsa. I am his next target; I could not risk you getting hurt, you possess too much of my soul." He stopped, thinking.

"So you decided that taking our children and fleeing back to Israel was better than staying home so I could protect you?" She turned, meeting his gaze.

"No, Tim. I left because if I stayed, he would come after you, and our children would be in the crossfire. The further away from you, the safer you were." He pulled away. "I was thinking of you and our children."

"Did you ever think," He asked softly, "that maybe our children wanted their parents to stay together? Don't you think they deserve that?" Then, he left her in the kitchen, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Tim?" He looked up from his book. The children were in bed, but he'd been unable to sleep. His mind constantly went back to the conversation he'd had with Ziva in the kitchen earlier in the day. She hadn't denied, but she hadn't defended either. Now, he looked up, finding his wife standing in the middle of the room, in boxers and a tank, he hair down around her shoulders in tangles. He waited, silent. She went to him, holding out a hand. "Come to bed, Tim. Please." She bit her lip, thinking. "I... I know I messed up... Tim please, I need you. I need my husband with me tonight."