"Ziva," Tony whispered as he gently shook his partner's shoulder. "Ziva, wake up."

She wouldn't wake. But she was breathing.

Knowing he would probably regret it, he proceeded to pinch the Israeli on the shoulder, which caused her to awaken and sit up abruptly.

Ziva's heart was beating fast. "Where are we?" she asked.

"I don't know. I think we were gassed at Christopher Mason's house," Tony replied solemnly.

"I could smell it," Ziva recalled, rubbing the bruise on the back of her head from when she hit the floor.

"Yeah, before you passed out. That's all I remember."

Ziva nodded and stood up to investigate their 'prison'. Even she couldn't see a possible escape. There was a loose tile on one of the walls, but behind it was concrete. And it was small. Half the size of the shipping container they got stuck in a few years back.

"How long were we out?" Ziva asked, speaking before turning around to meet Tony's eyes.

He glanced at his watch. "It was nine when we got to the house, so...six hours."

"Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year."

After a few seconds of peaceful silence, Ziva growled and punched the wall with her fist, hard.

"Hey, calm down, you'll hurt yourself," Tony said, rushing over to see if she was alright.

"Don't tell me what to do!" she yelled, stepping away from him. "We're stuck in here, Tony. We have no food, no water, and we have no idea where we are." She pulled out her cell phone. No reception.

"Braless again, Ziva?" Tony asked, smiling. "You should really—"

Tony couldn't finish that sentence before he found himself pinned against the wall.

"You're picking now to make jokes, Tony?" asked a clearly very worried Ziva. "You couldn't do it in the office, or the field, but as soon as we're trapped in a small space with little hope of survival you just..." She took a deep breath and released her grip, turning away.

"Alright, I'm sorry," Tony said sincerely. "That was uncalled for. But it could be worse."

Ziva looked at him expectantly.

"We could be stuck here with McGee."

Ziva rolled her eyes and mumbled something angrily.

"What was that?" Tony asked, growing frustrated himself.

"I said," Ziva repeated loudly. "I'd rather it was McGee!"

That remark hit Tony hard. After all they'd been through together, Ziva preferred McGee to be with her in what could possibly be her dying hours? Tony couldn't even think of a witty retort to throw back at her.

"Do you really hate me that much?" Tony asked, his emerald eyes pleading for honesty. It wasn't what she said, but how she had said it.

Ziva thought about the question she was being asked. She didn't hate him. She sometimes acted as though she did to distract herself from the fact that she felt quite the opposite. But she owed her life to Tony, and although he could say the same about her, it didn't make it any less special.

She didn't really want McGee here. Tony could read her in a different way than anyone else ever had. They were partners, joined by a strong bond, and after the years they had spent together, it seemed right that they go down together, too.

She only said it because she was scared. Scared that they wouldn't get out of this. Scared that she would die pathetically in this little room, after surviving so much worse. It surprised her just how terrified she was. She remembered this feeling. She felt it in Somalia, only there it was much worse.

She was scared that she would never settle down and have a family, find the right man and have little children. She would teach them so many things, tell so many wonderful stories. Until Somalia, until coming so close to death, she didn't realise just how much she wanted that.

"I don't hate you," Ziva whispered after a long time, her brown eyes shining with tears. "And I'm glad you're here with me, and not McGee."

Tony smiled. "It'd kill me to think you did hate me, you know."

He studied her closely, watching her brows furrow in worry and confusion.

"You really don't think we're gonna get out of this one, do you?" he asked.

A look of pain crossed the Israeli's perfect face as she ran to the corner and threw up violently. Tony didn't hesitate to run over there but all he could do was hold back her hair.

When she was finally done, she fell to her knees, tired, embarrassed and sobbing.

"Are you alright?" Tony asked, very concerned. He kneeled next to her and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Ziva shook her head and grabbed her stomach.

"Are you gonna hurl again, 'cause—"

"No," Ziva answered groggily. "Not now, at least."

"Then why are you holding your stomach like that?"

She didn't answer but squeezed her eyes shut to hide the tears.

"How long's this been happening?" he asked, rubbing her forearm gently.

"Only a few days," she replied.

"You got a...stomach bug or somethin'?" he questioned wearily, a fear growing inside him that he knew what was really going on with her.

Ziva shook her head as tears tumbled down her face. "I didn't want it to be like this," she sobbed. "I didn't want to tell you like this. Please forgive me."

Tony was completely silent, but the look on his face begged for her to finish.

"When I was in Miami..." she started.

Oh, God. Please don't let this be what I think it is.

He looked at her hard. He could tell how hard it was for her to say it. Carefully, he placed a hand on her cheek.

Her heart was racing.

She had to tell him now. He deserved to know.

"I'm pregnant."

A/N: reviews rock my world!