He sits on a bench in the foyer of his suburban home. He listens to the sound of rain hit the panes of glass nearby. He reaches down, and unlaces his shoes. He shoves his boots under the bench, and he vacates his seat. He takes a few steps, and then veers to his left. He enters the living room, and finds a blue TV screen. He flips off the television. As he moves forward he nearly eats the floor after tripping over a fire truck in the middle of the floor. He heads towards the couch. The living room is sparingly illuminated. A single bulb, from a lamp sitting on an end table at the end of the couch provides just enough light for him to see. He takes a seat on the end of the couch.

A three year old boy wearing superhero pajamas lies face down on the couch. His left hand dangles off the side of the couch. He carefully scoops the boy off the couch. The three year old presses his head against his shoulder. His dark brown ringlets tickle Tony's neck. Tony flips off the lamp, and carries the toddler up the stairs. He makes a right at the top of the stairs, and heads to the end of the hallway. He pushes the door open to a room that is lit with an airplane night light. He pulls down the covers of the bed, and carefully tucks the boy in. He plants a kiss on his cheek, and sits beside him, on the bed for a moment. He glances at the wall behind the bed. Letters adorn the wall above the headboard, reading, Malachi.

He vacates his seat on the bed, and exits the room. He heads into a room, adjacent to his son's. He pushes the door open, and enters the room with bright pink walls. He finds his daughter lying in her bed, with a book lying on her chest. He reaches out to turn off the lamp sitting on her bedside table. She feels fingers wrap around her wrist. He bends down, and plants a warm, wet kiss on her forehead. "Night, love you," he whispers. He flips off the light, and heads out of the room. He peels off his clothes the second that he reaches the master bedroom. He is too tired to take a shower. He climbs into bed in his boxer shorts, and a t-shirt. He rolls onto his side, and wraps his arms around the woman in his bed. His right hand comes to rest on her swollen abdomen. He kisses her temple, "Good night, Ziva."


Somewhere across town Gibbs tiptoes into his own master bedroom. Both lamps are on in the room. He approaches the bed, and finds a pair of feet resting on a pillow in the middle of the bed. A head rests, next to the feet, on the far side of the bed. His wife exits the bathroom in a pair of pajamas.

"Why are they in our bed, again?"

"They were waiting on you to get home," Hollis explains.

"Will you carry them to bed while I jump in the shower?"

"I'm not waking them up," she argues.

"Then, I'll get a shower, and we can sleep in Jackson's room," he suggests.

"His room smells."

"Like what, now?"

"It smells like glue from whatever project he was working on earlier."

"Now what is he up to?"

"He's seven, he doesn't even know most of the time."

"Then we can sleep in Jenny's room," he suggests.

"Fair enough," she agrees.


She collapses onto her bed, on top of the covers, wearing a black Metallica t-shirt. She rolls onto her side, and proceeds to roll her eyes at the party lying next to her.

"What are you doing here, again?" She queries.

"I don't know," he shrugs.

"Why do we keep doing this?"

"I don't know, Abby."

"Why is it that we keep coming back to each other?"

"Maybe, we're meant to be together."

"You really think that? After twelve years, not much has changed."

"Neither one of us is invested in a relationship," he argues.

"So you are perfectly content with casual sex?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Why are you here, in my apartment, again?"

"What do you mean?"

"You sleep here a lot. What is wrong with your place?"

"You're not there," he admits.

"I'm glad that you feel that way."

He furrows his brow, "Why is that?"

"Because we have to figure out just exactly what this is," she insists.

"Why? Up until now you insisted that you just wanted things to be casual. You said that you didn't want to put a label on things."

"Yes, but our lives were not as complicated then," she replies.

"Our lives aren't complicated now," Tim argues.

"I need an answer."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Why did you break up with Delilah?"

"You know why."

"I need you to quantify it for me."

"Abby, why does it matter?"

"Tim I need you to answer me."

"I just didn't want to be with her."

"That doesn't help me any," she growls.

"Can we just go to sleep, and talk about this later?" He reaches over her to turn the lamp off. She pushes him away.

"That was uncalled for."

"We can't talk about this later," she tells him as she reaches into the pocket of her hippo pajama bottoms.

"Why not?"

She tosses an object at him, it lands on his chest, "Because our lives just became complicated."

He stares blankly at the plastic stick lying on his chest, "What's this?"

"It is a pregnancy test."

"Wait, what?! You and I…" he begins to stutter, "It's only been… you can't be…" he tries to rationalize.

"I'm pregnant."