A/N: So, yes, I am being quick with updates because 1.) I am SO happy that summer is almost here 2.) I love you guys immensely and 3.) this is really a fun plot to map out (I am trying to undo and avoid every major pregnancy fic cliche possible). Now, that being said, you all are too sweet to even express -your reviews are making this week just awesome. Now here we go: I like the part with Gibbs, I'm a little unsure about my characterization on Abby and McGee -and nobody ask about the bunnies (consider it a plot bunny Mary Sue). Anyway, much love, Kit.
DISCLAIMER: I only on a nice shiny B on the Chemistry exam from hell. :^) NCIS? Not so much.
The Telling
He leaves Ziva at his apartment and returns to work and the smile on his face is a permanent fixture for the remainder of the day. No cases come across his desk, which is fine by him as it means he will be home at a decent hour tonight. Gibbs keeps glancing at Ziva's vacant desk and then at Tony because he knows her absence more than likely is linked to DiNozzo two hour disappearance earlier –Ziva is rarely ever 'sick'. McGee is keeping his eyes glued firmly to his monitor as Tony's happy stupor is vaguely unsettling . . . . He is almost fearful to ask why as they gather their respective things to leave hours later.
"What's got you in such a good mood, DiNozzo?" McGee's voice is suspicion smothered in genuine curiosity.
"Life." Alas a vague and wistful answer that beckons more inquiries and does not supply much resolution, but asking for clarification would seem intrusive. So McGee settles for asking another question that is, as far as he knows, completely unrelated to Tony's elation.
"What's up with Ziva?"
And again, frustratingly, the answer is, "Life."
And it isn't a lie nor is it a diversion or a variation of the truth. It's the uttermost veracity. But it isn't really what's up with Ziva, per se, but what's in Ziva. Life. Half of him, half of her with a heart that beats in a double time tempo.
Life. In the glorious form of their baby.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asks worriedly as he holds open the heavy elevator door for her.
Ziva sighs, pressing the level three button, and turning to address her partner. "Tony," she says gently firm, "it is going to be a long eight months with you if you do not stop this incessant worrying. I am fine, I am tired, but I promise I am fine." Her palm connects with his cheek in a light slap and he grins in surrender.
"Getting off your case now," he promises as the elevator reaches their floor with a cheerful ding.
"Thank you," she replies, dropping her bag behind her desk and rousing her monitor with a tap of the spacebar. "Good morning, McGee," she calls warmly after she takes her seat, modifying the height because Abby had obviously spent yesterday upstairs and fiddled with the adjustments.
McGee's head appears from underneath his own respective desk, one hand holding a cable, the other a screwdriver. "Hey, Ziva," and he seems surprised to see her.
"What're you doing, McFixIt?" Tony wonders aloud, craning his neck to get a better vantage point as to what the younger man is doing.
"Re-routing my modem-"
"So you're doing your thing-"
"Yeah. Re-routing my modem-"
"I'm gonna be re-routing your jobs if you don't get busy," Gibbs interjects, striding into the bullpen with a full tray of coffee. He inclines his silver head toward the first desk on his left, greeting, "Ziva."
"Gibbs." And she's smiling beneath the smirk.
Styrofoam cups are passed around, each finding its way to its intended recipient –and it seems to be a job requirement here, knowing how your coworkers like their espresso. The take-out cup is set on the edge of Ziva's desk with a muted thunk and she utters a grateful, "Toda," but does not touch in. In fact, she's trying not to inhale because the rich, suddenly omnipresent odor seems to be rolling her stomach.
Her expression, as indiscernible as it may be, does not go unobserved by the former gunnery sergeant. "Something wrong, David?"
Dark eyes meet blue. "Not at all."
And he lets it go. For now.
When McGee finally untangles himself from the cables and wires and random cords, retreating to the confines of Abby's lab for, what most likely is, an early lunch, Gibbs is thoroughly stumped. Because Tony is actually behaving, he's grinning like a Cheshire moron pleased with his own joke, but he's behaving. Like he's trying to earn karmic points or something.
It's the rolling of Ziva's chair and the woman herself rising from her seat that pauses his train of thought.
"Ziva?" She doesn't seem distressed, she's actually smiling a little. Her eyes are calm and her shoulders relaxed as she comes to stand before his desk, leaning against the desktop, hands griping the edge.
"I need to talk to you. It is important," her voice is giving nothing away, but DiNozzo's eyes are wide and that alone is an indication that whatever comes next must be significant.
Gibbs leans back, hands folding on his chest, eyebrows raised in permission for her to continue.
"I am pregnant, Gibbs," and now her face has come alive and there's that hopeful anticipation leaching into her eyes, a brightness that seems happy and excited. And she doesn't even have her sentence completed when he rises out of his chair and navigates his desk to stand within arms open to his probationary agent.
His smile almost rivals Tony's, the younger man now lingering just beyond Ziva's shoulder. Gibbs pulls her to his chest, hugging her tight, rocking her slightly, his cheek against the side of her head and it's to hell with office protocol. And this may be the best news he's heard in quite a while. "Mazel tov, Ziver," he murmurs and she grips the back of his jacket and he knows she heard.
He holds her for a few more heartbeats before relinquishing her and meeting DiNozzo's guarded gaze –and Tony's trying to decide if he would rather be slapped or hugged and neither sound rather appealing. Instead, Gibbs steps around Ziva and extends his hand to Tony, who meets him halfway. And the younger man's green eyes register everything that is conveyed through that simple handshake. "Congratulations, Tony."
The ding of the elevator is obscured by the pulsing rhythm of heavy rock music, the noise pollution assaulting their ears the instant the metal doors slide open. However, it isn't the thunderous drum solo that causes the raised eyebrows and exchanged look of intrigue that pass between the two partners. Nor is it the woman dancing unawares before a complex tangle of machinery. Or the fact that the hem of her starched lab coat is longer than the plaid miniskirt she is wearing. And the tattoos inked across her alabaster skin is not out of the ordinary in the least.
McGee is sitting calmly at one of Abby's computers, the clacking of his fingers flying over the keys inaudible in the booming vortex of Spinal Tap. He seems immune to the racket spewing from the speakers, utterly focused on his current task. But McGee being in this basement domain, working with a PC, is no more extraordinary than the bubbly Goth working her forensic brilliance . . . . The playpen in the corner that seems to be teeming with squirming bunnies? Yes, that is new.
Tony attempts clearing his throat, but, alas, it is heard on ears that are deaf from Abby's preferred choice of music. Therefore, he resorts to yelling, "Abby!"
And in a swirl of black and red and lab coat white the music is gone and a bright, cheery, "Hi guys!" echoes around the new found silence.
Ziva is still staring at the rabbits, eyebrows furrowed as she takes in their presence (her life seems to be full of little things suddenly). She can't quite decide what is more bizarre: Rabbits in an animal rights activist's laboratory or, well, the rabbits in general.
"I see you see my little buddies," the scientist follows Ziva's line of vision and gravitates toward the pen. "I'm babysitting them for my friend, she had to go help her brother's friend's cousin move and couldn't leave them alone. They're just babies, after all." The irony of baby bunnies is not lost on Tony or Ziva.
"So," Abby's voice draws them back into the moment and the words perching on Ziva's tongue. "What brings you down here to my dwelling place? Do we have a case?" And the Goth's energy is mingling with Tony and Ziva's own excitement and the synergistic reaction is nearly too intense to comprehend.
Tony is trying really hard not to smile and Ziva has already failed miserably at her attempt to curb her own grin. And now Abby is looking expectantly back and forth between them, head cocked to the side and pigtails lopsided. "What's going on?" she presses earnestly, begging to be let in on the apparent secret.
Tony looks at Ziva, whose consent is given in the slightest of imperceptible nods. "Ziva's pregnant," and his hundred watt smile is now in full beam as a squealing Abby launches herself at the petite Israeli.
Ziva takes a staggering step backward, laughter spilling from her as Abby delivers one of her trademark hugs before belatedly realizing that crushing Ziva's internal organs is not beneficial to mother or child. The brunt of the reserved hugging force is redirected at Tony, who at least had time to brace himself, but cannot help the grunt that is forced from him as Abby bruises his ribs.
"Omigod . . . . Really? . . . . Like, ahhh! . . . ." and the rest is a garbled mess as Abby's enthusiasm spills over, everywhere. McGee is up now, bestowing his own congratulatory hug upon Ziva, granted he was able to restrain himself and not smother his coworker.
"Good for, Ziva. Both of you." And another handshake is exchanged with Tony –as well as a brotherly 'embrace.'
And happiness and liveliness abound and Ziva cannot help but think here may just be love.