Rifiuto: Non Miriena

She slipped back into bed after checking on Asher- a habit from living in Israel the last eight years and her maternal paranoia- to find Tim sound asleep, his back to her. At some point, he'd removed his shirt, and she could see the tattoo on his back in the moonlight. It really was a beautiful piece of artwork, that hid such horrible scars. How he had survived a beating as severe as that, she didn't know, but she was grateful he had. Ziva didn't know if she'd have been able to live had she come to America to find him, only to find out he'd died eight years earlier from his father's hand. How had a man as horrible as Ambassador McGee manage to have a son as loving and gentle as Tim?

It made no sense.

A moment passed, before she got up, slipping out of bed and pulling Asher's memory chest out of the closet. Then, she slipped out of the room and made her way to the living room. Once settled on the sofa, she opened the chest and sifted through it, finally finding what she wanted. It was a photograph, taken from that long ago day eight years earlier, when Asher had finally come into her life. Tears began to fill her eyes as she stared at the people in the photograph.

"He is so... tiny. How can something so tiny make you so... big, Zivaleh?" She chuckled gently, shaking her head.

"I do not know, Tali. And I do not care. All I care about is that he is here," She sniffled, tears glistening in her eyes. "And he is beautiful."

The baby squirmed in her arms, his cries the sweetest music to his mother's ears. She had let Ari clean him up, before accepting him back in her arms, and gently, she ran her fingers through his dark curls, staring into his face. He looked up at her with blue eyes, and she couldn't help as the tears slowly drifted down her cheeks. As she moved her fingers over his small face, he turned towards her touch, and she sniffled. Tenderly, she took his tiny hand in hers, admiring how small his fingers were, how tiny his nails. He wrapped his hand around her index finger, and she choked on a sob.

"What is wrong? Zivaleh? Are you in pain?" She shook her head at her sister's questions, never taking her eyes off her son.

"No, Tali, I... I just cannot believe he is finally here... After all this time, all that pain, all those hours of pushing... and he is here. And he is absolutely perfect." She sniffled, before leaning down and brushing her lips gently against her son's forehead. "I love you, my son."

Tali watched quietly, noticing a change come over her sister. One she desperately wanted to experience for herself. She'd watched the last nine months, as Ziva had gone from the carefree, strong, rebellious girl she'd grown up around, to this quiet, cautious, almost fragile woman who'd replaced the sister she knew and loved. Not that she didn't love this new Ziva, it just scared her. Tali didn't take to change that well, in regards to her family, and this big a change was something she may never get used to. She watched as her sister gently brushed her thumb over her son's tiny hand, fresh tears moving down her cheeks as she smiled at the newborn she cradled in her arms. "Shalom, my son. I am your Ima. Ken, I am. And you are so beautiful."

"Ziva?"

But she ignored her little sister. "I love you." She sniffled. "And I know, that if your Abba were here, he would love you, too. He would love you so much. Just like I do."

"Zivaleh?" Slowly, her older sister pulled her gaze away from her son. "What is his name?" Ziva bit her lip, thinking for a moment. She had settled on a name, but wasn't sure it was the right one. But she knew, when she'd looked at him, that it was perfect for him. And yet... she was afraid she'd made the wrong choice in choosing his name. She needed his father there, to help her; wasn't that one of the things parents did together, after all? Choose their baby's name?

"Ziva, sweetheart, what did you name your son?" She turned to meet Rivka's dark gaze, and then glanced towards Ari, who also waited patiently to hear the name of his newborn nephew. "You can tell us. I am sure whatever you chose is beautiful." After a moment, Ziva turned her gaze back to the baby in her arms. He was so tiny, and he depended on her. He depended on her protect him, and love him, and raise him. All the things mothers did, because she was a mother now. In a soft, tear-filled voice, she whispered,

"He is my blessed angel." She bit her lip lightly. "Asher Malachi David."

"It is beautiful, Zivaleh." Rivka whispered, pressing a kiss to her daughter's head. But Tali was confused.

"How come you did not give him his Abba's name? You know it, right?" Ziva slowly turned to look at her sister.

"I cannot." She sniffled. "Were I to give him his father's last name... it would be too painful, because it would remind me of what Abba took from me. I cannot."

"Not now, sweetheart, but someday." She turned to Rivka, who stroked her hair back from her eyes. "Someday you will have the strength to give your son his father's name." She nodded slowly, taking a deep breath.

"Um, Ziva?" She turned to her sister. "Can... can I hold him?" She studied her younger sister before nodding. Tali scooted closer to her, and gently, Ziva laid the baby in his aunt's arms. "You must support his head... in the corner of your elbow, and hold him close..." Once she made sure that her sister was correctly holding her son, she sat back, watching as Tali gushed over her nephew. "Ima taught me." She said, answering her sister's unasked question. The child nodded, smiling at the baby boy. "Shalom, Asher. I am your Doda, Tali. You are so tiny. I have never seen a person as tiny as you. You are so lucky, my older sister Ziva is your Ima. She is going to love you so much, and raise you and take care of you, because that is what Imas do." Ziva found herself chuckling softly at her sister's running conversation with her son.

Silently, she flipped the photograph over. There, was Ari's neat scrawl. She flipped to another photograph- of Ari laid Asher into her arms, just after being born. He was still covered in blood and birth, but it didn't matter, even now, she could recognize the love in her eyes as she accepted her son. "How much did he weigh when he was born?" She jumped, turning to find Tim behind her, his arms around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." She glared at him, as he moved around the sofa and took a seat beside her. "So, how much did our son weigh at birth?"

She sighed softly, sifting through the photographs before handing one to him. It was a close up of Asher after he was born, against her chest. He studied it, feeling the guilt he felt at not being there start to gnaw at him again. She had gone through everything alone- from the pregnancy to the labor to the birth, to all the milestones a child went through- alone; all because his parents had sent him back to America after disowning him. All because they'd been ripped from each others' arms before either knew that their son existed. But while he couldn't make up for not being there then, he could try and make up for not being there now. He wasn't sure how, but he could try.

After a moment, Ziva chuckled, saying, "Six pounds, eight ounces." Tim chuckled, handing the photos back to her.

"He was beautiful. Still is." She gently replaced the photos in the chest and closed it, setting it on the table, before shifting closer and curling into his side. "Just like you." A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and she nuzzled against his shoulder. After a moment, she looked up at him, whispering,

"Like you." He gave her a soft smile, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead.