A/N: Hello, again. And ... unfortunately ... farewell. The end of another story. But hey, that opens up many windows for little blurbs here and there, right? I've heard a lot of requests lately so, let's see where they take us, shall we? I hope you've enjoyed this ...

Disclaimer: Ziva David isn't really pregnant. Especially not with Tony's baby. Shane Brennan has that right, and only he can make Tiva happen, even if he's opposed to it. ::shrugs:: Oh well. Hey, for that matter, I don't own NCIS, either!


"Are you sure?" McGee asks me, taking a small sip of wine. His face would imply he is open-minded and friendly about the conversation, but his eyes hold disbelief. "I mean, are you absolutely positive?"

"I think that, as a woman, I would know how to read a pregnancy test, Tim," I tell him, scorn rolling off of my tongue. "I went to the doctor and their test was positive. The four following take-home tests also read 'pregnant'."

He shakes his head. "Whose is it, again?" My heart stops beating and I stare at him for a moment with wide eyes before pressing my lips together and fiddling with the string of my teabag. "Ziva? Who was it?"

I stare at him imploringly and declare, "You must tell no one, nor can you admonish me."

"Ziva, you know me better than that. Whose baby are you pregnant with?" McGee's voice is full of concern and I can see that he will not judge me.

Drawing a shaky sigh, I mumble, "Tony's." I have timed my response well enough, it seems, that the second the words leave my mouth, McGee raises the crystal wine glass to his lips. Shocked, he starts to choke on the acidic, delicious red liquid and takes several minutes of hacking and gagging before taking several deep breaths and finally looking at me.

"What did you do undercover?" he demands.

"No admonishing!" I remind him, on the verge of hysterics (the onset of which was quite sudden, I realize), and groan, "There was alcohol involved."

For some reason, McGee looks almost relieved to hear about the alcohol. This is a surprising reaction, as Ari most likely would have hurled insults at me. I sit there silently, wishing that I could have a beer…or four.

"Well, at least we know it wasn't because you two were, like, sober and professing your love to each other, or something," he laughs, blue eyes sparkling. When I do not answer, his smile drops quite rapidly and he repeats, "It wasn't because you were professing your love to each other, right? It was just…just a mistake, right? Ziva?"

I shake my head. It was not because of the alcohol, and I suppose it was not because we were 'professing our love for each other,' but it was definitely not a mistake. I thought perhaps it was, this morning when I received the test results, but after considering how long I have known Tony, and how much we actually do care about each other—even if it is plutonic…which it obviously is not—I have come to the conclusion that everything will be okay.

Make that five beers.


"So?" Gibbs raises his eyebrows as mine furrow deep in my forehead.

"'So' what?" I return, sipping on my N/A beer. Gibbs made it clear when I showed up at his door that I wouldn't be having alcohol tonight. Obviously, he's punishing me. Showing me that I'm actually quite an irresponsible person. "No, I don't have a plan, Boss. I don't have a plan, I knocked up my coworker, and I broke about seventy of your rules. I'm an idiot."

"There's only fifty, DiNozzo," he corrects softly, "and I know you didn't get any lawyers involved. You broke seven, as far as I'm concerned." Gibbs doesn't need me to ask what those three are before he clarifies, "Let's see. One, three, four, six, eight, and eighteen. Oh, and you can't forget—"

"Twelve," I groan, raking a hand through my hair and rubbing my eyes with the other. "I know, Boss. I'm sorry." In my mind, I'm running down through the list he's spouted off.

Never screw your partner. Or, well, you know, screw them over. Either way, that works. Don't believe what you're told; double check. If you have a secret, the best thing is to keep it to yourself. The second-best is to tell one other person if you must. There is no third best. Never say you're sorry; it's a sign of weakness. Never take anything for granted. It's better to ask forgiveness than ask permission. And, the paramount rule of them all? Never date your coworker. Damn it, DiNozzo…

Nodding, I sip again at my beer. "Yup. I screwed up."

"Yeah?" Gibbs murmurs, crossing to the fireplace and retrieving the massive steak from its spigot. "Well, there's an easy way to fix it."

"What's that?"

"Fifteen. And once you do that, forty-five's pretty easy."

"Are those positions, boss?" I joke, taking out my pocket-knife. "You giving me sex advice?"

Gibbs stares me down, fatherly sternness pulsing from his blue crystal eyes. "No, DiNozzo. Those are rules."

"Oh. Right." Always work as a team. Clean up your messes. "Gotcha."

There's silence while we chew. Gibbs makes some of the best steak that I've ever had, and that's saying something since Jea—Doctor Benoit took me to some pretty ritzy places. Suddenly, my phone beeps from its spot on the coffee table, drawing a disgruntled sigh from my boss.

I think we need to talk.
Ziva.

Snapping the thing shut, I stuff as much of the steak into my mouth as I can and chew before saying, "Boss, I'm sorry, but I gotta—" Gibbs waves toward the door, effectively shutting me up.

"Fifteen."

"On it, Boss."

"Plan."

"Right, Boss."

"See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Boss." With that, I fly out the door and down the front steps of the porch to my car.

Yes, Miss Davíd, we do.


When my doorbell rings, I all but sprint to it, straightening my blouse—and my shoulders—while smoothing my hair over one shoulder. I swing the door open and am faced with a humongous bouquet of beautiful flowers. Tony's face pops out from behind the bouquet and I catch a glimpse of both guilt and happiness spread across it.

"Hello," he greets me, thrusting the bouquet at me. "Try to name all of them."

I stare at the flowers and then glance at him, blinking several times. "Why?"

"Because! There's a meaning to them. To all of them!"

"Are you drunk?"

Tony shakes his head. "No. Gibbs wouldn't let me drink. But name them."

"Well, this one is alstroemeria, and that one is amaryllis," I state, pointing at each colorful petal. "…Anenome, carnation, freesia…I have no idea what that one i—"

"Gladiolus!" he declares enthusiastically.

I plow on with suspicion. "Okay; gladiolus, heather, hyacinth…" I smell a lavender colored flower and murmur, "Hydrangea."

I see my partner nod. "You have…" After counting in his head, he continues, "…four more."

Rolling my eyes, I look at the flowers and then heave my shoulders in a sigh. "I have no idea, Tony, but we really need to talk."

"This is us talking," Tony says softly. "After you name these, I'll tell you what they mean, and you'll understand…"

"Fine. This one is larkspur, and peony, and Queen Anne's lace, and ranunculus," I tell him, pointing to each flower as I name it. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." He gently places the bouquet on my kitchen table and leads me to the couch. "Alstroemeria means friendship; Amaryllis means beauty; Anenome, anticipation; Carnation, pride. Freesia represents innocence; Gladiolus, strength of character. Heather means admiration and hyacinth is constancy." I stop him with a confused look. "What?"

"Why are you telling me this? And why did you bring me flowers?" I ask, searching his face.

"Because I'm going to make this right." Tony closes his eyes and continues his list. "Hydrangea means sincerity, larkspur is levity, Queen Anne's lace is sanctuary, and ranunculus is radiance."

"Okay?" I murmur, trying to comprehend his words. I am seriously considering calling for an ambulance; his forthright and giddy manner disturbs me.

"I guess my point is…" He clears his throat and, taking my hand, continues, "You're my friend. You're beautiful, funny, and strong. I'm proud of you for all that you've gone through and I admire you more than even Gibbs sometimes. You radiate this joy and happiness that makes even the toughest days worthwhile. I didn't think you and I would ever get along, but here we are just the same. And we're having a baby, Ziva. Yeah, that really sucks in some ways, because we're not married and we work for NCIS and it's going to be a huge responsibility, but…it's a baby nonetheless. Ours."

"Tony, what are you—"

He cuts me off with a swift hand-motion. "I don't often make promises and when I do, I know I have a tendency to not follow through. But this one means a lot to me." Tony swallows and then looks me square in the eye. "I will stay here, by your side, until whenever you want me to leave. Mi casa es su casa. My house—"

"Is your house," I jump in, translating for him. "Tony, what—" Again, he stops me from speaking.

"I will keep you safe and nothing can happen to you. If you need anything, you can call." I nod and wait for him to continue. When he does not, I hesitantly place my hand on his.

"Thank you, Tony," I tell him softly. "But …"

"Yeah, Zeev?"

"What does a peony represent?"

Tony looks at me, deep into my eyes, and murmurs, "I love you."

Tilting my head just so, I smile. It only takes a moment for us to understand the other perfectly.


A/N: Well, there you go! hope you enjoyed it...::draws heart on screen:: Stay tuned for another one! Love, Kat