Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Gibbs lifted Maura into his arms, pressing a kiss to the girl's head. The remaining members of the team were at Ducky's house, for their usual dinner, and he gently spun the girl around, before his gaze landed to the TV. He shifted the child to his hip, reaching for the remote and turning up the volume. The others were in the kitchen, talking over coffee. "Hey! Quiet, all of you!" Instantly, silence fell as the others joined him in the living room.

"Jethro, whatever is the matter?" But Gibbs waved Ducky away, never taking his gaze off the TV.

"... saying that there are hundreds, possibly thousands wounded, if not dead... they say that the bombs were planted by Irish for a United Free Irish, a radical group who aims to reunite the North of Ireland with the Republic and remove it from British rule..."

Images, video footage, of what started out as a peaceful march, the marchers- the majority of them teenagers or young adults- were chanting and laughing, as though they were at a party. The footage continued, the camera crews following as the marchers made their way through the streets. As they made their way to Parnell Square, chaos broke out.

A building exploded, sending debris and shrapnel everywhere; people began to flee, screaming. They all watched as shots were fired, as people fell, clutching their stomachs or stumbling from shots to the back. They all watched a young girl go down, and then watched as a group of people rushed to help; one of the men fell before he reached the girl, shot himself, the back of his head exploding.

"Who would do something like this?" Sarah asked, holding her son close and covering his eyes with her hand. The boy whimpered and pushed her hand away, but Sarah returned her hand to his eyes, wanting to spare him the nightmares.

Bullets picked off people as they ran, as they struggled to get away; screams broke the air and mixed with the ripple of gunfire. People stumbled, crawling along the cement, or lay still, feigning death, in the hopes that they would be spared. At one point, three men and a woman were caught on camera carrying a young boy in their arms; the woman, in her white dress, had her hand pressed firmly to the boy's chest. The priest- for everyone watching could tell it was a priest leading the way- waved a white scarf before him, keeping close to the group that carried the boy. As he continued to wave it, people saw that part of the scarf was stained red, most likely from being held to the boy's bleeding chest.

When they reached the barricade, a girl rushed forward, pushing through the IUFI guards barricading the marchers in. Her scream cut through the crowd, a scream both Sarah and Tali recognized instantly; a scream that only the team would recognize when they thought of it the next morning. "That's my big brother! Oh God, Asher!"

Ducky quickly changed the channel to another news station, but again, there was footage and news on the violence in Ireland. Tali covered her mouth with her hand, struggling to keep from crying as they watched people flee, as they watched the building explode before them.

"... officials are calling the Massacre at Parnell Square 'Bloody Monday,' and equating it to 'Bloody Sunday'- the January thirtieth nineteen-seventy-two massacre in Bogside, Derry, Northern Ireland, that resulted in the deaths of thirteen men and boys. Many victims have yet to be identified, and-" Ducky turned off the TV, and Tali took a deep breath.

"That girl... that girl was Zipporah, and... and the boy they were carrying... it was Asher, wasn't it?" She turned to Gibbs, dark eyes swimming in tears. "Well?" Gibbs sighed; Tony had called him and told him the situation, asking him to keep it a secret until it was the right time to tell the others. He'd promised, but unfortunately, the right time would never come, and with Tali's dark gaze boring into his, he had no choice.

Slowly, the Team Leader nodded. "Yeah. Asher was participating the march and he got shot- bullet wound to the chest. It was the group Zipporah's joined that caused this."

Tali pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead, curling into herself for a moment. Meaning to comfort, Jackie Vance reached out to lay a hand on her back, but the young woman shot to her feet, quickly starting to pace. "Who would do that... who would shoot children like that? Block their escape and... and... and shoot... they are like... fish in a bucket..."

"Barrel, Tali." Sarah whispered softly, pressing a kiss to her son's head. Whenever the good doctor got flustered or upset, she often mixed up her idioms, much like her sister would do. "There's evil in Ireland..." Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she rested her cheek against her son's head. "And Tim and Ziva are at the center of it."

She glanced around, searching for the address written on the slip of paper. A month had passed since the march, since Asher and Devin had both ended up in the hospital, since Asher had been allowed to return home, since Devin had been confined to a wheelchair thanks to temporary paralysis. With the doctor's guidance, Asher had been allowed to return to Curling, but he was to take it easy on the rink.

But Devin had it harder than Asher; the loss of the use of her legs- even temporarily- had sent the girl into a state of depression. In between school and Curling practice, Asher spent time trying to get Devin to open up to him, but often, she would just give him a small smile and tell him she was fine. Enya had asked Tim and Ziva to help, and it wasn't uncommon for Tim to take the girl out for coffee so they could talk in private. Personally, Ziva was glad that Tim was so willing to take on the father-figure role for Devin- and it had taken great pressure off Enya- something the other woman constantly thanked them both for.

After a moment, she headed across the street, finding the number on the townhouse, and quickly, she knocked. It didn't take long for someone to answer. "Canna I 'elp ye?" The older woman asked, standing in the doorway. Ziva licked her lips nervously.

"Yes. Um... I'm looking for Emma O'Donnell. She... she was at the march about a month ago at Parnell Square and when my son was shot, she risked her life to get him to an ambulance. I just... I just wanted to thank her." But before she could say anymore, the woman started closing the door.

"There's no one 'ere by tha' name."

"Wait, please." Ziva reached out, stopping her. The other woman studied the young mother, sighing.

"There is no Emma O'Donnell 'ere. 'Asn't been for... near forty years, at least."

"Did she move?" The woman shook her head.

"Ye could say tha'."

"Well... where? I... I want to thank her-" But the woman cut her off, nodding to something further down the road.

"Keep goin' straigh' for 'nother... three blocks. You'll come t' a field. There'll be a wrough' iron fence; go through the gate, move straigh' forward, an' then take a righ'. 'Tain't hard t' miss." Ziva nodded, moving down the steps, but she stopped, turning back.

"How will I know-"

"You'll see the word Omagh, tha's 'ow ye know 'tis hers."

Ziva thanked her, and followed her instructions, walking for the next three blocks, before coming upon the wrought iron fence. The fence was at least five to six feet high, and after a moment, she slipped through the gate, picking her way along the path before taking a right like the woman suggested. She then looked around, reading the various names before coming to one that held the word she'd been instructed to look for.

Omagh.

Quickly, Ziva turned, searching the area for someone- anyone- to tell her that this was a cruel joke, for the sight of a camera crew, like those that worked on those stupid prank reality shows Americans loved so much. There was no one; no one but her, standing here, with Emma. She glanced back at the address on the paper in her hand, and sighed, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead before crossing her arms. There was no way this could be real.

She reached out, and shivered when her fingertips chilled to the touch.

Emma Brigid O'Donnell

Victim of the Omagh Bombing

30 January, 1971 - 15 August, 1998

Taking a deep breath, Ziva pulled out her phone, snapping a couple shots; deciding that the logical thing to do would be to look the woman up before she claimed to have seen a...

As she put the phone away, she decided that as soon as she got the chance, she would talk to Tim about it. But even as she made that decision, she couldn't stop the thought from worming its way into her mind-

Emma O'Donnell was dead. Her son had been saved by a ghost.