Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Thanks to Reader aka Sun Samurai for reviewing 19.

Dulles Airport,

Washington, D.C.

"Let her go."

"No."

"Baby, you have to let her go."

"No. Do not make me, please."

"She's going to miss her flight-"

"I do not care-"

"Ziva."

"It is okay, Abba. I do not want Ima to let go."

"... Ani ohevet otakh, motek."

"I love you, too, Ima."

"... Ziva, we have to let her go. We can't let her stay. You know that."

"So you would have me let her go, just as I let you go that day in Tel Aviv?"

"... Yes."

"So you... you would rather my heart shatter than to remain whole?"

"Ziva, baby, that's not what I meant-"

"Then what did you mean, Timothy?"

Yoni wrapped her arms tight around her mother's waist, resting her head on Ziva's chest. Despite her excitement at going to Syria, the girl was going to miss her parents terribly, no matter how crazy they drove her. She snuggled as close to her mother as she possibly could, burying her face in her mother's chest, trying her hardest to memorize the sound of Ziva's heartbeat. She wanted to remember the smell of her mother's jasmine perfume, and the feel of her arms around her, and the beat of her heart and the rush of her blood within her mother's veins, so that she could sleep and feel as though her mother's arms were still around her.

Tim sighed. They stood in the area near the loading dock, bidding Yoni goodbye before she boarded her flight for Syria. Only Ziva wouldn't let her go.

"Look, I'm not any happier about this than you are, baby, but we promised. And if we don't let her go now, she's going to miss her flight and hate us for the rest of her life. And ours."

"I could never hate you, Abba. I love you, both of you." Yoni replied, looking up at her mother as she rested her chin against her mother's breast. Gently, Ziva brushed her fingers through the girl's hair, tears in her eyes.

"Oh, ahuva." Yoni sniffled, taking a deep breath. "We have something for you, Yonaleh."

The teenager turned to her father, confused. "What is it?" Slowly, Ziva removed a small, wrapped package from her bag, holding it out to the girl. A moment passed, before Yoni slowly opened it. "The Dovekeepers."

"It is tradition, and we will not be there-"

"Oh, toda, Ima!" Ziva laughed softly.

"Open the book, ahuva, go on." The teenager glanced between her parents, before opening the book; it fell open to the center of the novel. Resting inside, was a necklace. Slowly, the girl lifted it from the center of the book; the charms flashed in the sunlight. Her brow furrowed.

"A... an Irish flag, Celtic knots and a number eight, a Hamesh hand, a Celtic griffin, dove, Jewish star, and ?"

"The hand protects against the evil eye, the number eight is for new beginnings, the griffin for protection-"

"The knots are for luck, strength and courage, the dove to remind you that we love you, the flag to remind you of the Irish in your blood, and and the Star to remind you of the strength of the Israeli blood in your veins-"

"Oh, it is beautiful..." Without another word, Yoni threw her arms around her mother's neck, before doing the same to her father. Silently, Tim took the necklace, draping it over her neck and clasping it. She turned to him, reaching up to caress the charms. "I love it, toda." Her arms went around Tim's neck and she buried her head in his shoulder, tears coming to her eyes. He chuckled softly, squeezing his daughter and pressing a kiss to her head. Silently, he set her back on her feet, taking her face in his hands.

"You call us when you get there, so we know you got in okay. And if you need anything or just... just want to talk or hear our voices, you call us, okay, baby girl? Doesn't matter if we're out on a case or not, Ima and I will pick up. That's a promise."

"Okay." She nodded, tears in her eyes. "Abba, Ani ohevet ot'cha."

"Ani ohev otach. So, so much." He pressed one last kiss to her head before pulling away. He pulled Ziva into his side as Yoni grabbed her things and left, rushing to join the others going on the trip; however, she stopped, turning back to wave goodbye.

Two hours later, Ziva crawled under the covers of their bed, snuggling into her husband's side. Coming home to a quiet apartment had startled both of them; the fact that all three of their girls were now gone, off living their own lives, was a shock to both Tim and Ziva. Tim had made a cup of coffee and slipped off to the bedroom, settling back on the bed to study the ceiling; and after checking her e-mail, Ziva had followed.

"It's too quiet."

She looked up at him. "I thought you wanted quiet, Timothy?"

"I did, but..." He sighed, shifting onto his side. "But I've been a father for the last twenty years, baby, and I... now I can't imagine how we ever stood it being just us in the apartment." Ziva shifted to face him, reaching up to cradle his cheek. "Now that our girls are gone... how do we adjust to it being just us again?"

"I do not know." She sighed, moving close and wrapping her arms around him. "Can you believe we ever wanted children?"

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest and she buried her face in his shirt. "There are times when I asked myself why I even wanted to be married." She lifted her head, and he smiled softly, reaching up and thumbing her bottom lip. "And then... I'd wake up at... four in the morning for my run and... find you wrapped around me... an later, find the girls curled up in bed with us or... come home from wrapping up a case when you'd left early to find the apartment mess and the girls playing in the living room or doing their homework at the dining room table... or... go to bed and find melted chocolate on the sheets and pillow cases or find dolls on the floor of the shower or... crayons scattered over the desk in the study and... realize that... that chaos is the whole reason I got married in the first place. Because I wanted us to be together, with babies of our own."

Ziva swallowed thickly, kissing him firmly. "Do you... remember when we... came back from dinner that night when Abby babysat? And Shirah had... convinced her that it was okay that she could play with my makeup, and so they got all dressed up in the clothes from our closet and put my makeup on and... put a little play?" She choked on a sob. "I was so angry at Shirah for manipulating Abby and at Abby for being manipulated by a nine-year-old... and they got makeup everywhere..."

"We had to throw out the sheets and half our closet, if I remember correctly. And I yelled at Abby while you yelled at Shirah... I'd never seen Abby's lower lip quiver like I did that night." Ziva nodded.

"Shiraleh did not speak to me for a week... but those pictures... and the stories..." She sniffled, reaching up and wiping at the tears on her cheeks. Tim pulled her close, as she broke down. "I would do it all again... I want my babies, Tim. I want them back in my arms..."

He brushed a kiss to her head. "So do I, Ziva. So do I."