Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Tim stretched, feeling the now-familiar weight against his chest. Ziva lifted her head, meeting his sleepy gaze with her own. "Morning." She smiled softly, reaching up to brush her fingers against his cheek. A moment passed, before she leaned close and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her dark hair. Before either one could think, Ziva found herself pressed into the pillows, Tim's mouth working diligently on her neck, scraping, sucking and biting gently at her neck. She reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair, dark eyes closing as she let him work on her skin. Eventually, he pulled away, and his eyes drank in the bruises appearing on her tanned skin. His green eyes sparked with pride, even if Asher hadn't been the defining confirmation that Ziva was his, the bites on her neck were ample enough proof that she belonged to him. Slowly, her dark eyes opened and she grinned, pulling him down for another kiss-

"Abba? Ima?" Slowly, Tim pulled away and rested his forehead to Ziva, before turning his gaze to their son. Asher stood at the side of the bed, watching with curiosity in his green eyes.

"Good morning, my angel." Ziva whispered, hiding the annoyance in her voice as Asher ducked his head.

"Sorry, Ima." She sighed as Tim moved off her, and got up, ruffling his son's hair before disappearing into the bathroom. She heard the shower start, and after a moment, she sat up, reaching out for her son. The boy quickly scrambled onto the bed and settled into his mother's arms.

"It is okay. Come here." She wrapped her arms tight around him, holding him to her chest. "Now, what is wrong?" She searched his face for a moment, before the boy shifted until he was leaning back against her. "Asher Malachi, tell me." She whispered firmly as the boy tilted his head up to look at her.

"Abba said that I am American by blood." He laid he head back against her chest, reaching down to play with his mother's fingers. He studied them, noticing how small his hand was compared to hers.

"Mmhmm." She murmured, lacing their fingers so that his hand was protectively held against hers.

"Because he is American." She nodded, pressing a kiss to his head. "And that... you are not."

"Abba is right." She whispered, reaching up with her other hand and brushing his bangs out of his face. She quickly glanced at her cell; a little after oh-three-hundred. Neither she nor Tim had to be at work until oh-six-hundred; sometimes they went in at five, if they could find the time and get going early enough. She thought a moment, and continued to stroke his head, before, "Asher, what is this about?" The boy tilted his head up briefly to look at her. He shrugged.

"What do you mean, Ima?" She narrowed her eyes. She could see straight through his innocent act.

"Asher." He sighed, laying his head back against her chest. He returned to playing with her fingers, picking gently at her nails and studying the lines on her skin.

"It says that... you can apply to be American if you... live in America for five years or more." He looked up at her again. "Are we going to live in America for five years?"

"Forever, if Abba has his way." Ziva whispered. He nodded.

"Good." Something nagged at her, that that wasn't his only concern.

"Keep going."

"About what?" She squeezed his hand, digging her nails gently into his skin. The boy whimpered in pain, pulling his hand away. He pouted briefly, before returning to playing with her fingers; once again, Ziva laced their fingers, waiting for him to speak.

"Asher." He swallowed, and looked up at her. She looked down at him, meeting his green gaze upside down. "What is the problem? Hmm? What has you so..." She struggled to think of the American expression, but gave up after several minutes. "What is wrong, my angel?" He shook his head.

"Nothing, Ima." As he laid his head back against her chest and returned his gaze to her fingers, he muttered, "It says if you live in America for three years you can apply to become an American... if you are married." Then, he pulled away and slid off the bed, rushing to the door just as Tim came out of the shower, a towel around his waist, his hair damp. He managed to grab his son's arm as he passed.

"Whoa, hey, what's a 'matter?" Asher glanced at his mother, before pulling away from his father and rushing from the room. His bedroom door slammed and Tim turned to Ziva. "Did you see that?" He asked, turning to Ziva, who was too stunned by Asher's response to hear Tim's. "Hey." She turned as Tim perched on the bed, reaching for her. "Hey, what's wrong? Ziva?" She shook her head, finally seeing Tim for the first time and giving him a small smile.

"Nothing is wrong, Tim, I promise." She leaned over, pressing a kiss to his lips before climbing out of bed. "Is there still any hot water left?" He nodded, turning to her and watching as she began to strip as she headed into the bathroom. "I will not be long." She shut the door, but opened it after a couple moments. "Would you check on Asher for me?" He nodded, just as confused to Ziva's behavior as their son's.

Once he was partially dressed, he grabbed his shirt and slipped out of the room, heading down the hall. A soft knock brought no acknowledgement, so he gently pushed the door open. Asher was curled up on the his bed, his back to Tim. "Asher?" After a moment, he went around the bed, perching on the side so he could his son's face. "Hey, what's a' matter?" The boy looked up, meeting Tim's eyes before his gaze moved, and he sat up, looking at the tattoo on his father's back.

"Is this the other one?" Tim nodded, shifting so his son could get a better look. Gently, the boy's fingers moved over the design, and he stopped, confused. Again, he ran his fingers over his father's back, and again, he felt the strange bumps on his father's skin. "What are these?" He asked, his gaze moving lower, past the tattoo to the scars on his father's lower back. Tim swallowed.

"Nothing you need to know about right now." He replied, pulling on his shirt. As he turned back to face his son, he asked, "Now, talk to me. What happened back in the bedroom, huh? Did Ima say something, or..." The boy kept quiet. "You can talk to me, you know."

"I know, Abba." Tim nodded.

"Okay. So... you want to tell me?" The boy sat up, moving to the edge of the bed. He bit his lip and glanced at his father. "I'm sure it's not as scary telling me as it was telling Ima." He joked, trying to lighten the mood. A moment passed, before the boy curled his toes in his socks before kicking his feet, his gaze never leaving his blue-colored toes. He swallowed, muttering,

"Abba, did you know that... that if you live in America for three years you can apply to become an American?" Tim nodded.

"Yes, I did." Asher nodded, looking up at his father as he bit his lip.

"But... but only if you are married." Then, he hopped off the bed, grabbed his shoes and his backpack and rushed from the bedroom, leaving Tim in the process of buttoning his shirt, stunned.