Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Washington, D.C.
He chuckled softly at the suggestion for dinner: beef ravioli or macaroni and cheese. Quickly he typed a response: spaghetti. Minutes later, he received a tart response: You're no fun, which he quickly followed up with, I'm your older brother. It's my job not to be fun.
Once their correspondence ended, he returned to his work, unaware of the young woman entering the bullpen. A quick glance gave him a glimpse of dark hair, summer tans and a small frame. As he stood, heading towards the director's office to get Gibbs to give him the latest reports on Ari, the woman reached out, grabbing his arm. "Tim."
He turned, his eyes connecting with hers. And suddenly, the world stopped. Flashes of memory moved before his eyes; quick film cuts left on the editing floor, from a summer that had both destroyed and defined his life. Afternoons in the bookstores, sitting down to formal dinners with others at the embassy, that summer afternoon at the café, when Sarah got whipped cream on her face. And that one night of unbridled passion that swept them both out of the embassy dinner and ball and back to her parents' apartment, culminating in sweet 'I love yous' and chaste kisses. All of it, brought back to the forefront, to find her standing before him, older, yes, but no less beautiful than when they'd first met. He struggled to breathe. "... Ziva?"
She smiled softly. "Hello, Tim." He blinked, not hearing the footsteps approaching from behind.
"Ah, Agent McGee, I see you've met our Mossad liaison, Officer Ziva David." He glanced over his shoulder at Director Shepard, before turning back to the woman in question.
"I... I've met her before, Director." He whispered, struggling to breathe. Only Ziva noticed the glances Director Shepard and the silver-haired man shared behind his back. Director Shepard quickly stepped in, for which he was grateful for.
"Hello, Ziva." Quickly, Shepard went to the woman, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "I trust you got settled in your apartment?" Ziva nodded.
"Yes. Asher is quite excited to have be here. He has never seen America, let alone Washington, D.C., and I promised if we had time, we would go see the sights."
"Um... Asher?" Gibbs asked, raising his eyebrows. Ziva nodded, turning to Gibbs but keeping her gaze on Tim.
"Yes. Asher Malachi. My son."
He felt his heart plummet into his stomach. Her son? He quickly glanced at her hand, but he saw no ring. Not unusual in this line of work; a safer way to keep loved ones from being targeted. After giving Gibbs the information he'd found, he quickly excused himself to the bathroom. Ziva watched him go, surprised at the response she'd elicited from him.
The water was cold against his skin, but he ignored the chill. He couldn't get her words out of his head, even as images of their night together all those years ago flooded his mind.
Cold kisses on hot flesh; goosebumps and warm breath; hands tangling in hair and digging into skin. The feel of her tight around him, her small, lithe body wrapped around him as they reached to their breaking point. The sounds of her sweet, wild surrender in his ear, as their eyes locked and they let their hearts take control. Soft, gentle, erotic in the gentlest of kisses and softest of caresses. Everything they wanted and needed in those few hours of erotic passion.
She had a son. Probably a beautiful little boy, with her dark eyes and dark hair and her husband's smile. And while he'd often thought of where she was, she'd gone off and married another man, having a child with him.
"Tim?" He glanced up, finding her reflection in the mirror. She stood in front of the door, blocking his exit. He quickly grabbed a towel, drying his face before making his way to the door.
"You need to move, Ziva." She met his gaze.
"I cannot."
"And why not?" When she didn't reply, he gently moved her aside and left, heading back to his desk. She followed, stopping in the hallway leading back to the bullpen.
"It is about Asher."
"Your son? I'm sure your husband is very proud of him." He replied, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. She swallowed.
"He would be, if I had a husband." He stopped, listening. She stepped closer.
"You don't know who the father is?" He asked, glancing briefly back at her before continuing into the bullpen and towards his desk. She followed, knowing she had to play her last card carefully.
"Of course I know who his father is. I have known who he is for the last eight years." He stopped. She waited, watching as he slowly turned towards her. Something sparked in his green eyes, and she bit her lip.
"I... I'm sorry?" He stammered, confused. Slowly, he stepped towards her. "What did you say?" She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze as she longed to close the short gap between them and throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.
"I know who Asher's father is. You, Tim. You are his father." She watched as he paled and staggered back briefly, unable to catch his breath. But before she could say anything, some grabbed both of them and yanked them from the bullpen. They were soon pushed into two chairs in the conference room, and the door shut behind them, leaving them alone as Gibbs stood guard.
"Jethro, we need to-"
"We need to leave them alone to sort this out, Jenny." Gibbs replied, stopping her from bursting through the door.
"But-"
"This is not our problem, Director. This is theirs. Now if she's lying to him-"
"Ziva wouldn't lie."
"How do you know?" He stepped closer to her. She stood her ground.
"Because she saved my life two years ago in Cairo, Jethro. I trust her. And so should you." And then, without a word, she returned to her office.