Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Thanks to Sazzita, Reader and silvermoon217 for reviewing 36.
Tim had taken both Ziva and Asher to the National Mall, and they walked hand in hand the length of the mall, keeping a close eye on Asher as he rushed ahead. The boy was fascinated by the huge statue of Abraham Lincoln at his memorial and had hidden behind Tim as he told him about how the president had freed the slaves during the Civil War before being assassinated at Ford's Theater, looking up at the statue as if the gigantic man would come to life. They saw the Vietnam memorial, as well as Korea, and several of the Smithsonian museums. When they returned home, Tim and Ziva fixed lunch, leaving Asher to his own devices. When Tim poked his head in, Asher was curled up on the sofa, reading.
"He's quite the bookworm." Ziva nodded, pouring a glass of milk and setting it at the table.
"I used to read out loud when I was pregnant with him. It is said that hearing your voice calms the baby, and it was true. If he was... being particularly difficult, I would talk to him or read and..." She shrugged. "He would calm." Tim nodded, glancing back at their son. He was now stretched out on the sofa, the book in front of him, head in his hands; occasionally, the turning of a page could be heard, but other than that, complete silence from the living room.
Tim shook his head, chuckling. "I've always loved to read. I'd carry a book with me wherever I went-"
"I remember." Ziva interrupted, setting the napkins on the table. "You were reading the night we conceived Asher." He chuckled softly, mind going back to that night.
"The Great Gatsby, if I remember correctly." She shook her head, putting the milk away.
"Gone With the Wind." She replied, grabbing her mug and taking a sip of her tea. Tim turned to her, raising an eyebrow.
"How did you-"
"I was reading too, remember?" He nodded.
"I remember that part. You interrupted me." She set her mug on the table, and reached out, wrapping an arm around his waist.
"And, if I remember, you hopped at the chance to escape the dinner."
"Jumped." He corrected. She shrugged, reaching up and gently smacking his cheek.
"Same thing." A moment passed, as he thought about it, and then,
"Actually, no, they're not-" But Ziva was not longer paying attention. She moved away and headed into the living room.
"Asher, come on, put the book down, lunch is ready." He ignored her. Taking a deep breath, she moved to the sofa and gently ruffled his hair. He looked up.
"Ima!"
"Lunch." She nodded towards the kitchen. "Come on. You can read after you eat." He groaned, putting his bookmark in to hold his place before getting up. Once gone, Ziva picked up the book to place it on the table, when she stopped.
The Diary of A Young Girl.
It had been years since she had read the diary of the teenaged German Jew, forced into hiding because of her race. She knew of the Holocaust, had lived, as a child, two doors down from a Holocaust survivor, and the stories he had told scared her and her siblings. The book had been no less heartbreaking than her neighbor's stories, and for a time, she wondered who would hate Jews so much that they would massacre millions. She had even asked Tim that question, one afternoon as they wandered through downtown Tel Aviv.
"But why?"
He sighed, shaking his head in annoyance and returned to the back cover of the book he was holding. "I don't know, Ziva. Do I look like I have an insight into the German mindset?" She narrowed her eyes, shoving him lightly.
"You are supposed to." He turned to her, shock in his green eyes.
"And why is that?" She put her hands on her hips.
"Because you are American. And Americans know everything." His green eyes instantly softened, and he shook his head.
"Not all Americans are like what you see on TV, Ziva. Believe it or not, but some Americans do have heart." Then, he put the book down and continued on through the shelves.
She shook her head. Looking back, she realized how much of an annoyance she'd been to Tim; how haughty, how... mean.
But that was how she'd dealt with a crush; it was a natural reaction. She'd punched Shmuel Rubenstein after all, the boy who told her he liked her, when she was Asher's age, sending him out cold with a bloody nose thanks to one punch. She'd kicked Balthazar Mentzel when he tried to kiss her in the schoolyard when she was twelve, and sent him to the hospital for a testicle retrieval. She'd broken David Rosenthal's arm and dislocated his entire shoulder when he asked her out at age fourteen. She'd nearly beaten Solomon Kramer to a bloody pulp when he suggested having sex in the back of his dad's car when she was sixteen. And then, a year later, at seventeen, she'd slept with Tim and gotten pregnant; and by eighteen, she was a single mother, with her son's father all but returned to America in a coffin.
But now, here she was eight years later, living with the father of her child in Washington, D.C., working at NCIS. And she hadn't hit, broken, kicked or beaten Tim yet. That was progress.
Well, as far as she was concerned.
She took a seat on the sofa, opening the book to Asher's bookmark. Soon, her eyes began to skim the familiar words, and she found herself back in the Annex with Anne and her family.
"'Peter Schiff and Peter van Daan have melted into one Peter, who's good and kind and whom I long for desperately.'" She chuckled; yes, she had felt the same way in concerns to Tim. For the last eight years, she'd had quite the fantasy in her head in regards to Tim. But now that she was with him, she found that her fantasies were not all that far off; the kind, loving, gentle boy that gave her their son had just grown up, becoming a kind, loving, accepting man who had taken her and their son into his life, chaos and all.
"'I think, Kitty, that true love may be developing in the Annex. All those jokes about marrying Peter if we stayed here long enough weren't so silly after all. Not that I'm thinking of marrying him, mind you. I don't even know what he'll be like when he grows up. Or if we'll even love each other enough to get married.'" Her mind flashed to what she'd been reading on naturalization. She'd often thought, that if she'd ever found Tim, she would want to become a naturalized American citizen, so that they could be a real family and raise Asher together-
She shook her head. Who knew if she would ever get the chance to become a citizen?
"'I know I'm starting at a very young age. Not even fifteen and already so independent – that's a little hard for other people to understand. I'm pretty sure Margot would never kiss a boy unless there was some talk of an engagement or marriage. Neither Peter nor I have any such plans. I'm sure that Mother never touched a man before she met Father. What would my girlfriends or Jacque say if they knew I'd lain in Peter's arms with my heart against his chest, my head on his shoulder and his head and face against mine!'" She chuckled. By eighteen, she had already done that and so much more- conceived, carried and given birth to a child. But she understood what Anne meant.
Curling up on the sofa, she turned another page, becoming lost in another passage. "'Suddenly the everyday Anne slipped away and the second Anne took her place. The second Anne who's never overconfident or amusing, but wants only love and to be gentle.
I sat pressed against him and felt a wave of emotion come over me. Tears rushed to my eyes; those from the left fell on his overalls, while those from the right trickled down my nose and into the air and landed beside the first. Did he notice? He made no movement to show that he had. Did he feel the same way I did? He hardly said a word. Did he realize he had two Annes at his side? My questions went unanswered.'"
That, she knew. All too well. "You and I are one and alike, Anne." She whispered, glancing towards the kitchen briefly before continuing to read.
"'... a harder crowbar.'" She chuckled. "Tim will have to use a gun."
"'I know very well that he was my conquest, and not the other way around. I created an image of him in my mind, pictured him as a quiet, sweet, sensitive boy badly in need of friendship and love! I needed to pour out my heart to a living person. I wanted a friend who would help me find my way again. I accomplished what I set out to do and drew him, slowly but surely, toward me. When I finally got him to be my friend, it automatically developed into an intimacy that, when I think about it now, seems outrageous.'" She took a deep breath.
Tim was never a conquest. Tim had been...
"Oh, so you get to read during lunch, but I cannot? That is not fair, Ima!" Her head snapped up to find Asher standing directly across from her, hands on his small hips and a glare on his features. His green eyes sparked in annoyance and Ziva rushed to put the book away. But by then, he'd already rushed into the kitchen. "Abba! Ima told me I cannot read during lunch, but she is reading!" Tim chuckled as Ziva sheepishly entered the kitchen and joined them at the table.
"I have never seen him so frightened as he was this morning." Tim whispered, as Ziva climbed into bed after checking on Asher. After lunch, they'd gone to the park, and as she and Tim sat on a bench talking, Asher had gone to the swings, keeping a close eye on his parents. After about ten minutes, he'd returned, climbing into Tim's lap and curling against his chest. Ziva had watched as Tim subconsciously wrapped his arms around his son, pressing a kiss to the dark curls.
She pulled the blankets around her, settling into his embrace. "I have." She whispered, curling into his chest. "It is not uncommon to see fear such as that in Israel."
"Well, he's in America now, you both are, so he doesn't need to fear anything anymore."
She sighed. "I know." Then, she tilted her head up to look at him. "You did explain to him the ways to become an American citizen, ken? That he is American by blood, and that I will need to become an naturalized citizen?" He nodded. "Good."
"You been looking up on how to become a citizen?" She nodded against his chest. "You know, you can cut down the amount of time it takes to become a citizen by way of marriage." She pulled way, eyes wide in surprise as she sat up and pulled her hair over her shoulder. Her voice was soft as she jokingly asked,
"Timothy McGee, did you just propose?"
He chuckled, reaching up to caress her cheek. "Just something to think about, Ziva." He then leaned close, kissing her gently. She grinned, tapping his chest lightly before playing with the buttons.
"Just for something to think about, Tim, my answer would always be yes." She replied, kissing him again before settling down as he turned out the light.