Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Thanks to puppypants for reviewing 36 and Reader for reviewing 35 and 36.

"Hey baby, did you find Ms. O'Donnell?" Ziva tossed her keys onto the kitchen table as she entered; she had removed her coat, tossing it on the back of the armchair after closing the front door. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, running a hand through her curls as she went to her husband, sighing.

Asher was upstairs in his room, sound asleep, the pain meds he was on having knocked the boy out, despite his protests that he wasn't tired. Zipporah was also upstairs, working on her homework. Neither she nor Asher had said a word to each other; something that worried Tim deeply, but he didn't press, knowing if he did, both his kids would shut down completely. At one point, Zipporah had come downstairs, fixed a cup of coffee, and returned; Tim hadn't heard from her since, just the soft lilt of music and the occasional shriek as she had a meltdown over something she wasn't understanding. Clearly, his daughter had inherited her mother's trait for absolute and complete verbalizing of frustration.

"Ken, I found her." Ziva replied, going to her husband and wrapping her arms around his neck from behind.

"So, what did she say?" She glanced at the chapter he was working on, reading a couple lines, before her gaze moved to the stairs.

"How are the kids? Have you heard from Liron, or has our son broken ties completely?" She pulled away, resting her hands on his shoulders.

"Liron broke ties with us long ago, Zi. The night he ran off to be with Keavy- thanks to his brother's stupid advice." Tim sighed. "That was the one time I wish to God Liron hadn't listened to Asher." She pressed a kiss to his head, running a hand through his hair. "I've tried getting in contact with him; he's the one refusing any chance of a reunion." He reached up, taking her hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips. "So what did Ms. O'Donnell say?"

"Nothing." She replied, pulling away from him and going to the sink. She leaned against it for a moment, before grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee. Tim raised his eyebrows.

"Nothing? Come on, Zi-"

"She said nothing, Tim. She couldn't."

"Why, because she was emotional, because she was tongue-tied, because she-"

"Because she's dead." Slowly, she turned, in time to see her husband's jaw drop and eyes widen in surprise.

"I'm sorry? What?" Ziva nodded, pulling out her phone and handing it over. "What do you mean she's-"

"I took shots." She said as he quickly brought up the photo gallery, pulling up the two most recent photos. "Because honestly, I don't even believe it." His green eyes widened before his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Omagh... wait." His head snapped up, and Ziva saw something spark in his green eyes. She watched her husband set the phone down and get up, shooting into the living room before returning with his scrapbook of articles. Quickly, he flipped through it, before finally finding what she wanted.

"Tim, baby, what is it?" He set the album on the table and pushed it towards her.

"The Omagh bombing. It's a small town in Northern Ireland, nestled between two rivers." She went to him and leaned close, reading the article over his shoulder. "In ninety-eight, a red Vauxhall Cavalier was parked on the street and abandoned. See?" He pointed to a before photograph in a newspaper article, showing the red car, before pointing to another one- one of what appeared to be the same street, just littered in debris. "At three-ten exactly, it exploded; destroyed businesses, residences... it killed twenty-nine people."

"Locals?"

Tim nodded. "Mostly teenagers- and tourists from the Republic." He flipped through another few pages, before slowly removing an article and unfolding it; each victim- name, photograph, and where they were originally from- was shown and listed. He quickly scanned the names before laying it before her. "Right there." Gently, he tapped the paper, sighing. She leaned close, reading through it silently.

Emma Brigid O'Donnell- Age twenty-seven. A tourist from the Republic of Ireland. Married to Patrick O'Donnell; twelve weeks pregnant with twins. She and a friend, Elizabeth Monaghan, were coming out of a shop, laden with bags. They were walking towards the bomb, were killed when it exploded. Emma died of her injuries on the way to the hospital; her husband confirmed her death at four-thirty a.m. the next morning. She and husband Patrick had only been married two years , and were planning on celebrating their anniversary the week after the bombing.

Ziva reached up, grasping her necklace. "Oh God..." She took a seat at the kitchen table, grasping her mug. "So... so she was... she was killed in a bombing in... in ninety-eight... Asher was... exactly a year old... and while I was raising our son and teaching him to walk and... and telling him stories I would make up about our lives with you, and... and how you would take us away from Israel... she was losing her life... and the lives of her babies... I can't... I can't imagine that..."

Ziva slipped into the kitchen at two the next morning; the bed had gone cold, and she'd awoken to find herself alone. Missing Tim's warmth and strong arms, she had slipped out of bed and headed downstairs, expecting to find him in the living room writing. "They call her the Woman in White."

Ziva looked up, to find her husband at the kitchen table, his laptop open, a cup of coffee in front of him. "What?" She furrowed her brow as she joined him.

"Emma O'Donnell. They call her the Woman in White. They say she's... a protector of those in dangerous situations, giving help to those who need it, just as she herself received it- even though for her, it was too late." She leaned over his shoulder, studying what he'd pulled up on the screen. Articles about the Woman in White of Dublin County. She gently poked him, silently asking for him to scoot his chair back; once done, she perched on his lap, reaching for his cup and taking a sip.

"So... a ghost saved our son's life." She said, meeting his gaze. He nodded.

"Pretty much." Silence fell between the two, and Ziva rested her forehead to his. She nodded, not fully wanting to believe it, but circumstances forced her hand.

"Okay."