Rifiuto: Non Miriena

2012

Kathleen watched her children, curled up together on the sofa, chatting softly in Gaelic. She reached up, scratching the back of her neck nervously, as her thoughts turned to none other than Ziva.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the woman her son was engaged to, but she was wary of her. Wary of the way she clung to Tim and Sarah, and the way she seemed to think she could fix this, fix them, simply by being there.

But in reality, she couldn't, she would never be able to.

Because what her family suffered from ran deeper than the deepest visible scars. The scars her family carried had festered for years, tainting the family despite every attempt to move on, to hide, to forget the suffering they'd faced. Like those who witnessed the collapse of the Twin Towers in downtown New York that sunny Tuesday morning in September, the violence her family had witnessed would be with them forever. And while they could try and move on, try and heal, the wounds would never fully close, they all knew it. The kids had just been denying it for years.

Which was why Tim and Sarah had shocked both her and John when they declared that they wanted to return to Ireland.

Yes, the violence had ceased, yes, peace talks were once more in play, yes, hundreds of Irish who had fled during the conflict were set on returning, but-

But Tim and Sarah were different.

They had seen so much in their short lives, lost so many loved ones, that she feared her children would never recover. She knew that what they'd witnessed affected their daily lives, even though now were both full-grown adults.

"Ye okay, Katlee?" She looked up as John slid his arms around her from behind, a sigh escaping her throat.

"Should we?"

"Should we wha'?"

"Ret'rn t' I'eland?" She turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. "Timmy an' Sarah... they 'ave good lives 'ere, John. Timmy's engaged...an' Sarah..." She bit her lip. "Wha' if we go bac' an' they relapse an' we canna 'elp 'em? Wha' if they 'urt 'emselves? Wha' if Timmy-" She stopped, eyes welling with tears.

Even all these years later, the discovery that her son had attempted suicide after Rowan's death was perhaps the most painful of all the events they'd survived in the house on Candlewick Drive. The sight of her only son hanging from the bar in his closet, a skipping rope around his neck, was burned into her brain and would be for all eternity. Somehow though, whether it was Sarah's discovering him or the quick response of the paramedics, but somehow, her son had managed to escape his attempt with little to no brain damage.

"'e won', Katlee. 'e 'as too much t' live for. Tha' girl o' his, f'r one..." He sighed, kissing her temple. "If they wanna go bac' we canna stop 'em. They're adults, an' we need t' trea' 'em as such."

She sighed, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair, knowing he was right. She'd treated her children as children for far too long. She needed to treat them as the adults they were. After a moment, she moved away from her husband, joining her kids on the sofa. She gently brushed Sarah's hair off her shoulder before rubbing her daughter's back. "D' ye really wish t' r'turn t' I'eland?" The siblings shared a glance, before nodding.

"Aye, Mams. More than anythin'."

"We need t' go 'ome." Tim whispered, taking his sister's hand. John sighed, taking a seat on his son's other side and brushing a hand through his son's hair. His gaze flitted to the scar on Tim's cheek, and he suddenly understood why it was so important for them to return. In order to move past everything that had happened, they needed to return. The only way they could get out of this alive was if they returned to face their past, together, as a family.

"'ow d' ye wanna go 'bout this? Ye 'ave work, Tim-"

"D' ye 'ave leave ye can use?" Kathleen asked, reaching over to trailing her finger over the scar on her son's cheek. Tim bit his lip, glancing between his parents. Sarah squeezed his hand, giving him her strength.

"Ac'ually, 'twas thinkin'..." He glanced at Sarah again, taking a deep breath. "'twas thinkin' o' resignin' from NCIS."

"Timothy, ye love NCIS."

"I... I know, Mams, bu'... bu' I canna go t' work like this. Since th' bombin'..." He stopped, taking a deep breath. "I canna d' it anym're. I jus' can'. Please, Mams, Da, I know ye always tol' us t' nev'r quit wha' we love-"

Kathleen reached over, taking his face in her hands. "'tis okay, Timmy, love. I und'rstan', we both d'. Th' bombin' brough' back a lo', an' ye... ye shouldn' 'ave t' deal wit' it if ye canna 'andle it. 'tis yer dec'sion, love. Da an' I'll suppor' ye no matt'r wha' ye decide."

Tim nodded, glancing at each member of his family. They'd all been through so much... their lives had been irrevocably changed due to the violence they'd faced in Ireland. And somehow, they'd managed to survive. Somehow, his family had gotten out with their lives still intact. Yes, this was the best course of action, for not only him, but all of them. It was time they returned to Ireland, and faced the demons of their past together, as a family.

"I'ma res'gn. T'nigh'." He turned to his father. "When can we leave?"

John chuckled softly, cradling his son's face in his hand. "If ye wish, I can book a fligh' f'r t'morrow."

The sibling shared a glance, before both nodded. "We'd like tha', Da." Sarah whispered, as Kathleen pulled her daughter into her arms.