Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: Okay, I hate that I can't keep this story under 50 chapters. Again, I'm so sorry, guys...
A/N: And a bit more background on Asher's early years in Israel with Ziva...
Thanks to Reader 50 and 51.
He turned another page in his book, humming along softly to the words. His parents were downstairs, his father working on his novel and his mother baking, since they'd finished their work for the day. Asher had helped Ziva bake from the moment he was old enough to hold a spoon, and he knew that it helped to calm the former Mossad officer down.
The last time he'd been downstairs- getting a cup of coffee- Devin and Keavy had somehow convinced Zipporah to let them do her nails. How the hell she'd agreed- since Zipporah was against any sort of pampering- Asher didn't know and he didn't want to know. Well, except when it came to her hair; those long, thick dark curly locks that Zipporah and her siblings possessed- their mother's beautiful, long dark curls- was his baby sister's only true vanity.
And why wouldn't it be, when it was coupled with that soft olive tone and those striking emerald eyes?
He knew that Liron was curled up on the armchair, legs over an arm, reading, Jethro laying on the floor beside him. And Liam had been helping Ziva, talking softly with her, telling her about his grandmother, who lived up north in Derry.
Another page turned, and he became even further lost in the story of Gregor Samsa, and how he became a gigantic beetle- because Asher considered the cockroach right up there with sex, disgusting- and he kicked his pillow reflexively. He stopped reading momentarily as the house shook from the force of another explosion, followed by the scream of gunfire, and then once things seemed to calm down, he returned to his book. Once again becoming lost in his book, he softly sang along with Eagles' front man, Don Henley as the 'seventies rocker sang about his arrival at the Hotel California.
"'Welcome to the Hotel California, such a lovely place, such a lovely face. They livin' it up at the Hotel California. What a nice surprise, bring your alibis.'" He turned another page in his book, taking a sip of his coffee. "'Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice. And she said, 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device.' And in the masters' chambers, they gathered...'" He set his cup down, turning another page. "... stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast...'"
He became lost in the book, not noticing when the track changed to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. It was then, during the first milky smooth notes of Freddy Mercury's unique voice, that Asher heard the knock on his bedroom door. "Bo henna." Silence met him on the other end, but by then, the guitar had taken over. And then the door opened, and Liron poked his head in.
"Asher?" The older boy looked up from his novel, green eyes wide. "Can I come in?" The other boy nodded, confused as to why his baby brother was asking.
"Yeah, I said you could."
"You did?" Asher nodded. "Oh, I... I didn't hear you."
"Bo henna? It means 'come in' in Hebrew." Asher clarified, as the boy nodded and closed the door behind him. He grabbed his cup and sat up, watching as Liron looked around nervously. "Did you just come in to look around, Brother, or-" Liron turned his attention from the stereo, eyes wide. "Oh, sorry." He quickly got up, moving to turn the music off, when the younger boy stopped him.
"I didn't know you liked Queen." Asher turned back to him, nodding.
"But... they're a band from the eighties-" He shrugged, turning down the music slightly and returning to his bed.
"I know." He bit his lip, glancing at his brother. "When I was growing up in Israel, with Ima, before we went to America and found Abba..." He glanced at the boy, as he took a seat at Asher's desk. "On her days off, Ima would sometimes go into Be'er Sheva and take me with her... and she would take me to this... to this little shop that sold... records and... and cds and... and dvds and..." He closed his book, setting it beside him on the bed as he pulled his legs underneath him. "and she would... she would let me pick out one cd that looked interesting to me."
Ziva knelt down, so that she was eye-to-eye with her son. She gently took his shoulders, searching his face. "You remember our deal, Asher Malachi?" The boy nodded. "One cd- one-" She said, holding up a finger. "and it has to be one that you think is interesting. Not one I think is interesting, one you think is interesting, otherwise I will not buy it. Okay?" The boy nodded and she stood, but stopped, thinking.
"Ima, you buy one if you think interesting?" His mother turned back to him and knelt down again.
"Would you feel better if I bought one also?" He nodded. She pursed her lips briefly, before, "Okay. I will find one that I think is interesting, and you will find one that you think is interesting, so we have two cds that are interesting. That a deal?" He nodded, and Ziva pressed a kiss to his cheek before she ruffled his hair. Then, she gently pushed the boy forward, and wandered off. The child watched his mother walk away, before turning to the bins and stacks of cd cases and records.
He wandered among the bins and stacks, before coming to a bin sitting on a low table. A moment passed, as he struggled to read the words written on the piece of paper taped to the bin- he'd been speaking Hebrew his whole life, but since his mother had been teaching him English after preschool, he kept getting his Hebrew and English mixed up. It was understandable, the boy was only four and a half, after all. He rose up on his toes, and looked through the cd cases, passing each one aside when he found he didn't like the pictures on the covers.
But he stopped, rising further on his toes to reach the cd at the very back of the bin. Losing his balance, he sat hard on the ground, cds all around him, and quickly, he picked them all up and put the bin back, making sure he'd left out the one that had caught his attention. Then, he sat back on the ground and picked it up, studying it. The cover was white, but there was a funny pattern on it, with different colors, and the album title in blue. He slowly opened the case; the cd had the same colors on the disc, and after a moment, he closed it. It was different- probably something most people didn't buy.
"Have you- Asher Malachi, what are you doing on the floor?" He looked up as his mother knelt down. "Did you fall, are you hurt?" He shook his head and held out the cd case to her. She took it, studying the case before reading the title. "Queen: A Night at the Opera. Are you sure you want to get this?" He nodded. "You are sure this is the one you want?" He nodded again. "You are positive?"
"Ken, Ima." He whispered. Ziva sighed and stood, scooping her son up and settling him on her hip.
"Okay." She made her way to the register and set down both cds- for she'd found a Michael Jackson cd- even as Asher whimpered and reached for his. "Shh. You will get it back, I promise, my angel. Mr. Hassan is just going to ring them up and then we can have them back. Okay?" The boy nodded, and she pressed a quick kiss to her son's cheek.
"He is certainly growing up, Ms. David." Ziva smiled, adjusting her hold on her son. "He will look like his father someday." A flash of sadness filled her countenance for the briefest of moments, before she forced a smile.
"Ken, he will. He already does." She whispered, reaching up and brushed back Asher's dark curls from his forehead as the boy laid his head on her shoulder.
Asher glanced back at the stereo; that cd, that he'd been so desperate to reach that long ago day in the store, that he'd toppled a bin to get, was now playing in his stereo, along with four others he'd picked out over those long months in Israel. It had been a tradition, from that moment on, when Ziva went down to the record store, that Asher would go with her, and they would each pick out a cd they thought was interesting or liked, and buy them. By the time they came to America, Asher had quite a collection of music- ranging from Queen to Ella Fitzgerald to Nirvana to The Mamas and Papas. "Even in America, we would still go to the record stores and pick a cd, each of us." He shrugged. "It's tradition." He turned back to his younger brother. "Sorry, Brother, what did you want to talk about?"
The younger boy bit his lip. He'd been grateful when Asher had been talking, cause then it meant that he wouldn't have to bring up what he wanted to ask, afraid the older boy would poke fun at him. "Um... I... I want to... to kiss Keavy." He glanced down at his hands, afraid to meet his brother's eyes.
"I thought you already kissed her." Liron nodded, studying his nails.
"I... I did. I... I do, I just... I kind of want to..." He looked up, meeting his brother's gaze. "French-kiss her."
