A/N: Thought I'd get the second one up fast to make up for the fact that I abandoned the story's original path. Keep in mind that the time frame is alway shifting.

Chapter Two

Thursday, September 23rd

Gibbs sighed when he hung up the phone and turned to look at his team. This investigation was going nowhere. They had a makeshift office set up in one of the base conference rooms. There were only three NCIS agents permanently stationed at Oceana and their offices were about the size of the Gibbs' private conference room. It was nothing close to the amount of space the MCRT was used to working with, but they knew how to adapt.

McGee was working with a couple of Oceana's NCIS agents, reviewing base security footage. So far, they'd been unable to come up with any footage of Megan Bradley – neither before she disappeared, nor while she was being taken. They had no leads and Gibbs was almost at his breaking point.

Ziva was sitting at the table in front of him, her back towards him, consoling Amy Bradley. Megan was their oldest child and Lt. Bradley was due to ship out in two weeks. If Gibbs had any say, they'd find Megan way before that.

He'd seen a shift in Ziva in the last few months. She had relaxed a bit – settled back into a routine. He wouldn't comment on the fact that Tony probably had something to do with that. Not that he wasn't happy for them, he was – he was pretty sure that they were now headed down the right path, but Gibbs was still a little nervous. He didn't want her to get hurt; she'd been through enough and deserved so much. He also, though, didn't want his team destroyed. They were a talented bunch and he was hoping to keep them together until he retired – whenever that would be. Despite his history, though, he knew that Tony was doing his best and that he wouldn't let her down. So, for now, Gibbs was content with just sitting back and watching – seeing what happened with them. They had been able to keep it out of the office.

He moved from his place against the wall and took a seat next to Ziva. He waited until she finished her latest thought with Mrs. Bradley and then asked the anxious parent if she wouldn't mind him stealing Ziva for a moment.

In the hallway he sighed and told her that he had an idea – an idea that she probably wouldn't like.

Friday, October 8th

Tony was greeted by complete and utter darkness when he returned from the Navy Yard.

He had figured she would be resting – she certainly needed to and he definitely wanted her to, but it looked as if no one was home. There wasn't a single light on in the whole place and he held his breath for a moment, determined to hear a noise, indicating her whereabouts, but simply heard the hum of the radiator.

Tony shut the door behind himself and dropped his backpack on the ground. He slipped his shoes off in an effort not to disturb the peace.

It wasn't until he turned on a lamp on the table next to the couch that he noticed her sleeping form on the cushions below. Wrapped in a blanket, she was curled up on only one cushion of the couch, her head buried in the pillow.

He crouched down by her head and looked at her for a moment. Her hands were curled under her chin, her knees, almost touching her chest. Her lips were pursed together and she wasn't moving at all. Tony watched her chest rise just a bit and determined that he didn't need to check for a pulse.

"Zi?" he whispered, "Ziva?"

"Mhmmm."

She still looked so pale – so stark and gray. He'd been hoping that she would look better than she had when Abby drove her home from the office. He'd spent all day thinking of what the grayish tint to her skin and the lack of equilibrium could mean – overtiredness, dehydration, iron deficiency. It could be any number of things.

"Have you had anything to drink?" He asked. He ran his fingers through her hair.

"Mhmmm."

"Anything to eat?" he prompted.

"Hmm?"

"Ziva," he rubbed her shoulder still trying to pull her from the boroughs of her REM cycle, "Come on, you should have something to eat. I'll make you anything."

She didn't make any move to get up so he ran his hand along her cheek and spoke again. "Zee-vah?"

She sighed and, he sensed regretfully, opened her eyes. Tony offered her a trademark smile as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "I can't eat," she yawned, "I have the most unbelievable cramps." She groaned, collapsing against the back of the couch again. "I just want to go back to sleep in bed."

And he swore that she sounded like a grumpy, whiney child.

He nodded his head in understanding and sighed along with her. How could he force her to do anything she didn't want to when she sounded like that?

Getting up from the floor, he offered her his hand. She took it and pulled herself off of the couch. As she moved to take her first step towards the bedroom, though, her gait faltered and she fell backwards into Tony's chest.

"I've got you," he said, he caught her and then scooped her off her feet, one arm under her knees and one arm sliding around her back.

"I can barely move," she groaned, laying her head against his shoulder.

"If you're not getting better in an hour or so," he said, carefully making his way down the hallway with Ziva in his arms, "We should really get you to the hospital."

"Tony, I'm not that sick." She scoffed, life suddenly filling her voice again.

He fought the urge to say right, that's why I'm carrying you to bed and just sighed. "I'm worried about you." He sat her down on the side of the bed so that he could pull the covers down and fix the pillows. When he was done, he helped her settled against the mountain of support that he had created.

"I know," she said, unwilling to argue with such genuine motives. "How about this, I won't let you take me to the hospital but, you can sit here and wait on me hand and leg."

"Yeah, alright," he said, choosing to ignore the mistaken idiom. "Good compromise – unless your skin color doesn't come back to normal." He ran his thumb along her cheek.

She rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm going to make you some tea, okay?"

He patted her leg before resigning himself to the kitchen. Tony turned the kettle on and waited a moment for it to whistle.

She really didn't look good. He couldn't remember a time when she'd been this sick. Everyone got sick – a common cold and the occasional flu and he doubted that she was any different, but he sensed that this was something different. She just didn't look right and he didn't feel right about it. The kettle whistled and he poured the steaming hot water into her favorite mug.

"Tony?" she called from the bedroom.

The tone of her voice made him stop sifting through the various packets of tea that they kept in the cabinet. She sounded so…scared.

He caught her wide and anxious and all together frightened eyes first when he came through the door. Then, looking down to the bed, he saw that the place that she'd been laying was covered in blood. The white sheets were stained bright, crimson red – the circle extending almost a foot in diameter.

Thursday, September 23rd

Rachel was reviewing the list of suspects when Ziva walked into the room. She had taken her work into another room at the beginning of the investigation, unable to concentrate with all the noise going on around her. That, and she needed to be alone. It had only been a week since she'd broken up with Aiden and, truth be told, she hadn't realized that it would be so hard. They had a great summer together, but, ultimately, Rachel didn't think it was fair to lead him on when she had no desire to move the relationship forward at all.

Still, she missed him.

Rachel looked up from her work and caught the look on Ziva's face. "What happened?" she asked.

"I just spent an hour talking with Mrs. Bradley. We still have no leads."

"You're kidding me."

Ziva shook her head. She sat down at the table in front of Rachel and clasped her hands together. She took a deep breath and then looked up at Rachel. "You have been in here reviewing suspects for the past week?" She asked.

"Yeah…" Rachel said. Her training from the CIA made her the optimal person to try and put the pieces together. She was happy to do her part – always happy to be needed.

"Gibbs has asked me to speak to you about something. He knows that you would never say no to him… but that you would waver in front of me."

"What does her want me to do, Ziva?" She had Rachel's full attention now.

"Rachel, you can say no if you're uncomfortable." Ziva reminded.

"What am I saying no to?" She asked, confused as to why Ziva was being so evasive, it was unlike her.

"Obviously, it has been a week without any leads and the clock is clearly ticking. If we want to find Megan alive, it's going to have to be soon. Gibbs is worried that the situation is escalating and quickly getting out of hand. He thinks the only chance we might have –"

Rachel cut her off, "He wants me to go undercover."

Ziva sighed, unable to read her friend's face. "Yes."

I'm in," Rachel said. Because she had no reservations about going undercover with this team – none. And Ziva would think that she was lying, trying to prove herself, but she wasn't. This was her specialty. She was the young female on the team. It was her place and she would do it and if something went wrong there wasn't a doubt in her mind that they would come for her.

"Rachel," Ziva said, "You don't have to do this."

"I know," Rachel said, getting from her chair, "But I want to. Trust me, Ziva… I trust you."

Friday, October 8th

The only time that he seriously considered calling someone – and by someone he meant Rachel – was during the fifty-five minutes that he spent in the waiting area of Bethesda Naval Hospital's Emergency Room. He had sworn that he was going to go crazy and thought she might be able to witness his certification. He hadn't called her on their way to the hospital – he'd been too busy driving erratically and worrying about Ziva.

Ziva.

Ziva, who had been sitting in the passenger seat next to him, silently shaking and scared out of her mind.

That made two of them.

He didn't actually want to call anyone because telling people that he was scared and that there was something wrong made it actually true. He couldn't tell himself that this was a nightmare. If others knew then this was, once again, real life.

He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and thought about what he was going to say. There was the classic DiNozzo humor deflection. Hey, Rach, how's your evening, I think I'm losing Ziva again. Rachel would see through his humor and be next to him in heartbeat. Then, there was the more serious one. Rachel, Ziva's sick. I don't know what's wrong. He thought he'd go with some combination of the two.

"Mr. DiNozzo?"

A young brunette in a white lab coat broke him out of his trance and prevented him from taking the plunge and dialing the numbers. She held a file in her arm and didn't look a day over thirty. Had his life – or, Ziva's life, not currently been in this particular state, he would have dared to think she was attractive.

"Ah, yeah, that's me," he snapped out of his seat.

She smiled, slightly amused at him and took a seat in the chair next to him. Her coat said OBGYN on it and his world got just a bit more confusing. Why was a pregnant lady doctor talking to him? She opened the file, looked at a paper and then looked back up at Tony.

"You're Ms. David's next of kin, are you aware of that?" She asked, her tone professional and straight to business.

"Um… yeah, yeah I knew that." Because he had, right? They'd done that a while ago – before anything had happened. Partners needed access to each other's medical information in case of an emergency. It was only practical.

"Okay, well, I'm Dr. Samantha Blair, I treated her when she came in," she reached out her hand and he shook it. "Now, would you like to go somewhere more private or is talking here alright?"

"Umm…" he thought for a moment and glanced around the nearly desolate waiting area, "Here's fine," because moving somewhere else would take time and he really just wanted to see Ziva as soon as possible. He sat back down in his chair, still a little unsure of what was going on.

"It's a formality," she said, her tone softening and a small smile warming her face, "And this is a formality, too – what's your relationship to the patient?"

He scratched the back of his head, "Dating?" But married in my head?

"Monogamously?"

"Yeah, we live together." He said, slightly skeptical as to why he had to answer such a question and whether Dr. Blair thought that he was doing extracurricular activities.

She noted his answer in the file and then shook her head, apologetically, "Sorry, I always hate asking that." She offered him a friendly shrug of the shoulders, but he was still too confused and bewildered at the whole situation to form an opinion of the seemingly bubbly OBGYN.

He nodded.

"Anyway, I was just able to fully go through Ms. David's medical file and with this new information we are pretty sure that she has a bacterial infection steaming from…" She paused and pursed her lips, a telltale sign of discomfort, "…the series of sexual assaults she endured while being held prisoner. It isn't all together uncommon due to the region."

He recognized that the Doctor had chosen her words carefully and tried to lessen the blow, but it only reignited an old fire inside of Tony that could still burn brighter than the sun. "That was more than a year ago." He countered.

Dr. Blair nodded. "This particular strain has a tendency to lay dormant until a change in hormone levels. Mr. DiNozzo, there's no easy way to put this –" She paused and he noticed the empathetic look cross over her face that always crossed over his own before he notified the family of a deceased sailor.

"What?"

Dr. Blair sighed and clasped her hands together over the folder, "Ms. David was just about three weeks pregnant. Unfortunately, due to the infection and its symptoms, that pregnancy was lost earlier this evening."

And Tony was convinced, in that moment, that everything ceased. Because not only had he and Ziva had a baby – they'd had a baby together - but they'd lost it. It – because they would never know if it was a boy or a girl – was gone. And he wanted to kill Saleem Ulman and, hell, Eli David, all over again.

"She was pregnant?" he repeated slowly. Because there was no part of him that could believe that this horror was currently playing in front of him.

Dr. Blair nodded. "She was, yes." She sighed. "Though this doesn't make it any easier, Mr. DiNozzo, it isn't uncommon for high risk pregnancies – which Ms. David's would have been classified as – to end very early like this."

He nodded slowly and, no that didn't make it any easier because a twenty-eight year old in perfect physical shape, should not have a high-risk pregnancy. He ran his hands up his neck and over his face and through his hair. They'd been pregnant? Pregnant. He looked back up at the woman in front of him and suddenly, he felt stupid for not putting the pieces together earlier.

The cramps.

The blood.

The OBGYN.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered, his voice choking on the words, "What exactly happened?"

"So, when Ms. David –"

"Ziva." He corrected.

"Ziva." She nodded. "When Ziva's body first registered that she was pregnant, her hormone levels began to rise – all something that is to be expected. This caused the dormant bacteria inside of her, though, to…sort of… gain back its vigor. The bacterial infection went into high gear, you could say. This, of course, caused the fever and the appearance of anemia. This led to the early loss of the pregnancy."

"So, if we'd been in earlier?" he dared to ask.

She placed a comforting hand on the almost father-to-be's arm and shook her head. "No, Mr. DiNozzo, this infection would have been deadly had it gone for a prolonged period of time without treatment. Unfortunately, there was no way to save both lives."

He nodded again.

"You did all the right things." She assured.

He continued nodding, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him, because he was pretty sure that there were tears coming out of them now. He knew that there were probably more questions that he needed to be asking. But right now, he didn't even know what they were.

"Can I see her?" he asked.

Please let me know what you think!

: ) Cara.