Rifiuto: Non Miriena

He moved closer, reaching out and taking her into his arms. "I'm so sorry you had to go through it alone. I should have been there." She pulled away, looking into his eyes.

"You were. In my heart. In my soul." He got up, going to the desk and leaning against the chair.

"What did he look like? After birth?" She sighed, getting up and going to him. She reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder but thought better of it.

She lay back in Rivka's arms, gulping in air, looking up to see Ari holding the baby out to her. "Here he is, Zivaleh. Here's your son." She reached out, taking the small body into her arms and holding him against her chest. After meeting her brother's eyes, she looked down at the baby against her skin.

He was small, still covered in blood and birth, and yet, he was the most amazing thing she had ever seen. He had a head of dark hair, and beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that she hoped would change to green as he grew. Tali leaned over her shoulder, watching her nephew.

"Why are his eyes not brown? Like ours?" Rivka shook her head, but Ziva only gave her sister a small smile.

"Because his father has green eyes. And his eyes will change as he gets older." The baby squirmed in her arms, and she choked on a sob. A moment passed, before she lowered the strap of her tank top, exposing her breast, and gently, she guided the baby's mouth. "He is all I have left of his father."

"He was beautiful, Tim. Curly dark hair. Blue eyes. Soft skin. Ten fingers and ten toes. He was perfect." Slowly, he turned to face her. His green eyes held a thousand emotions, and after a moment, she reached up, trailing her fingers over his skin. "Like you." She reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her close, breathing in her scent.

"I went through eighteen hours of labor and then he was there. Our son."

Ziva's words echoed in his head, and he swallowed. She'd endured everything- the changes in her body, the weight gain, the labor and delivery- all of it, alone. All because he hadn't known about the little boy they'd created together the night of the dinner. She hadn't told him, hadn't been able to get ahold of him. And while he was off at MIT and John Hopkins, getting his degrees and taking the FLECT, working at Norfolk and then transferring to Washington, she was taking care and raising their son; going to school and living in a house by herself. She was in the Army, before joining Mossad and working cases, all the while, watching their son grow- and then having to dodge his questions as to where his father was. He shook his head. He should have been there for her. He should have been there-

Tim looked up from his thoughts, at the sound of shuffling feet, to see Asher come into the kitchen, yawning. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was just a little after oh-five-hundred. He took a deep breath. How did he talk to the boy? How did he get to know him? This was his son, for God's sake. How did he even begin to make up for the eight years lost?

"Good morning... Asher. Would you like some tea?" The boy looked up at him, nodding sleepily. After fixing two cups of tea, he returned to his seat at the table. They sat in silence, unsure of what to say to one another or even how to begin. Eventually, the boy looked up at him.

"Ima says that you are my... Abba." Tim thought a moment, familiarizing himself with the scant Hebrew he'd picked up when he was there nearly nine years ago. After a moment, he nodded.

"Yeah, I am." He sighed, resting his arms on the table. "So... are you in school?" The boy looked up at him, green eyes drinking in the question before he nodded.

"Primary." He bit his lip, glancing at Tim before returning his gaze to his cup. "I am in... Class Ten."

"Class ten?" Tim asked softly. Asher nodded.

"He means Class two." Both looked up as Ziva entered, gently ruffling the boy's hair. Tim nodded, understanding.

"That makes more sense." He whispered; the boy blushed, looking away. "So, third grade." Ziva nodded, going to the stove and pouring herself a cup of tea. "What are you studying?" The boy thought a moment, glancing at Ziva. She nodded, sipping her tea.

"Ima teaches me English. She says that I need to know it so... so I would be able to talk to you when she... found you." Tim started, surprised. He glanced at Ziva, who nodded, sipping her tea silently. A moment passed, before Tim nodded, smiling softly.

"That's good. It's always good to know a second language-" He jumped as his cell rang, and quickly got up to answer it. Ziva went to their son as Tim slipped into the living room. She reached down, brushing her fingers through his hair.

"Ima." She glanced down at him, finding herself staring into Tim's eyes. "I do not think he likes me." She sighed, setting her cup down and taking a seat beside him.

"Oh my angel, it is not that he does not like you, it is that he does not know you." Before she could say anymore, Tim came back into the kitchen.

"That was Gibbs. He wants us in the bullpen as soon as possible." Ziva stood, nodding.

"Okay. I... I will go get dressed. Will he be okay-" Tim shook his head.

"No, Ziva. When Gibbs said he wants us in the bullpen, he meant all three of us."