Hello. Hello, hello, hello. I am back. More unforeseen circumstances have put It Takes Two on hold for a little bit whilst I work out what I am going to do. It should not take long, the next couple of chapters just need rethinking and reworking.
Anyway, so, remember this long one-shot? Probably not. Well, I would go back and recap. Although that is probably not necessary and this would probably work as a stand alone if you could not be bothered to read back on it.
Of course, if you are reading this in the future, then first off, let me say hello. Hello. Oh, wait, I have already said hello. Oh, well. Secondly, you are lucky. You have probably just read the last chapter and this might just make a little more sense.
I had not planned on continuing this, honestly, I had not. But on the plane on my way back from the business trip that kept me from doing any writing, I borrowed a pen and a pad of paper from the guy sat next to me and wrote this. It is not very good. A bit of fluff.
So, um, where are we now… let us see, we left off with Tony and Ziva accidentally-on-purpose announcing Ziva's pregnancy to Abby and McGee, yes? Right, well, this is set a few months down the line, although I do not think there is a specified time.
Bedtime Stories
Tony grinned as he walked into his apartment to see his girlfriend laying on the couch with a Sinatra record on in the background and a book in her hand. Her other hand was drawing patterns on the side of her distended stomach, a soft smile touching her lips every so often. "You are home late."
"We wrapped the case up. The wife did it, like I said."
"And that is why we are not getting married." She muttered, still not looking at him. "I would hate to end up having to kill you."
"Thanks, Sweetcheeks. I love you, too." He dropped a kiss to her forehead. "How is my little baby today?"
"Bored." She sighed, finally putting the book down and looking up at him, pouting.
"And how are you?"
"Ache."
"What aches?"
"Back."
"Am I going to get more than one syllable answers?" He chuckled, twirling a strand of her hair in his fingers.
"No."
He sighed and nodded, removing his suit jacket and throwing it onto the armchair. She sat herself up slightly and he sat down, letting her lay her head in his lap and stroking her hair. "Is it story time?" She nodded and he smiled. "Okay. It's your turn to choose."
She stood up and walked over to the bookcase. Her fingers grazed over the battered, loved spines before lingering on one and plucking the volume out. She handed it to him and grinned at his sigh. "Crime and Punishment."
"Ziva, most people read their kids stories with well-dressed rabbits and poorly-mannered Tigers and caterpillars with eating disorders."
She frowned, puzzled, before shrugging. "Since when have we been most people?"
"That, my love, is a very good point."
He had barely been reading for fifteen minutes when her light snores filled the room. He smiled and put the book down on the arm of the chair. He relished in the peaceful look on her face as she slept, tracing his fingers down her jaw bone to wake her up. "Why do I bother reading to you when you fall asleep like that?"
"Because you love me? Because Baby likes to hear your voice?"
"That must be it." He smiled. "You can't sleep here though. It is not comfortable for you or Baby."
"Carry me?"
He shook his head. "My knees are playing up."
She snorted. "Your knees are not playing up."
"You're right, they're not, but you'd kill me with Anna Karenina if I said you're heavy." He nodded to the book she had left on the coffee table when he had gotten home.
Her eyes narrowed to a glare. "And I will kill you with War and Peace if you lie to me. Which you just did." She growled at him.
"You know, poor old Tolstoy here, I'm sure he never intended for his books to be used as possible murder weapons." He tried to distract her from her train of thought and the consideration of his demise.
"Maybe he should have thought about that before he wrote books that were the ideal weight to bosh someone on the head with."
"Bash, or bang, not bosh. And I don't think things like that frequently occur to authors when they're writing. I know, we'll ask McWriter if he has ever thought whether his book could be used as a weapon." He grinned DiNozzo-ish-ly as she rolled her eyes.
"You are so mean to him."
"What? You feeling protective over McGee now? Do you love him more than me?" He mocked offence.
"Yes." She played along, giving a nonchalant shrug. "In fact, I am thinking of replacing you with him?"
He smirked. "You wouldn't dare. You'd miss me too much. Besides, what does McGee have that I don't?"
"A maturity level over that of a fourteen year old boy?"
"Hey, that hurts! I am mature. I'm gonna be a dad." He beamed proudly, puffing his chest out slightly.
"Yes, yes you are." She smiled, reaching up and brushing her fingers along his jawbone. "You are going to be an amazing father. And this baby, our baby, is going to be very lucky." She took his hand, kissing his palm before laying it on her stomach and covering it with her own, splaying her fingers between his.
"Bedtime?"
"Mmhm." She nestled her face into his stomach, chuckling when his laugh rumbled through his body.
"Not here, Ziva. Bedtime means bed, not sofa."
She shook her head and mumbled into his stomach. "Mi mn mumfy mere."
"What was that?" He laughed, playing with her hair.
She sighed and turned her head to look up at him, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "I am comfy here."
"But you won't be in the morning, and nor will I. And then we will be grumpy, which will result in Gibbs being angry with me, which will lead to me either being head-slapped into oblivion or loosing my job, neither of which will in any way benefit our baby. Therefore, we are going to sleep in our bed." He breathed and looked down, sighing when he realized she had, at some point during his explanation of why they should go to bed, fallen asleep again.
It was going to be a long night.
Cupcakes to whoever works out correctly which three kids books Tony described. Well, imaginary cupcakes...
