Rifiuto: Non Mirena

"Welcome home, Tim."

He looked around, struggling to remember aspects of their life together in this house, but kept drawing a blank. Dr. Beniot had said that it would take time-

"You want something to drink? Tim?"

"Sorry?"

"You want something to drink? I was gonna fix tea."

He watched her go towards the kitchen to the right, but didn't move from the foyer. "Um... s... sure... if that's all right."

"Of course it's all right, why wouldn't it be?"

"I... don't know."

Without another word, he made his way to the left, towards the living room; bookcases filled the back wall, a desk and computer sat in the corner, with the sofa facing the TV, which sat above the fireplace. Silently, he turned from the room, going back into the foyer, and glancing towards the kitchen. Ziva was babbling on about something, not that she noticed he wasn't listening. His gaze flicked to the staircase before him, and after a moment, he made his way upstairs.

The hallway was silent, darkened, with doors on either side. A quick check to the left brought the master, with an attached bath; he hurriedly closed the door, before moving down the hall. A check provided two guest rooms, another bathroom and-

He stopped, reaching out to grab the doorknob. If the other two rooms were guest rooms, then that meant this one was the nursery.

But did he really want to step inside, and see the room where the son he didn't even know about, didn't remember, would sleep?

Curiosity got the better of him, and he pushed the door open, poking his head in. It was dark, so naturally, he reached in, flicking the light on.

The nursery was small, the walls painted a soft green and outlined in pink, the furniture lovingly hand-carved. A rocking chair sat in the corner near the window, a blanket draped over the back. He turned to the other furniture- a changing table, dresser, toy chest, crib... all the essentials expected within a baby's room. But his gaze returned to the chair, and after a moment, he made his way towards it and lifted the blanket from it.

The blanket was soft, sewn from hundreds of tiny squares in shades of green and blue. In the center of the blanket, was a symbol- a Jewish Star of David and a Celtic knot entangled together. Above the symbol was the baby's name, and below was the meaning of his name- Amal and Hope- both stitched in white thread.

"Ima made it."

He turned, startled, to find Ziva standing in the doorway, two cups of tea in her hands. She set them both on the dresser top, making her way towards him. The blanket feel from his hands, and he quickly knelt down to pick it up, feeling his wife's eyes on him, that same stare he'd been giving her for the last week and a half when he was studying her. "Sorry.. who?"

Gently, Ziva took the blanket, folding it until the symbol stared up at them. "Rivka, my mother. You've met her. You probably don't remember- she was here for Passover last year. She made it a couple months ago, sent it here from Israel. I told her the name, and she made it for us. Amal works as both a boy's name and a girl's, so it wasn't a problem for her to make it." She returned it to the chair, before going to the closet across from the crib, beside the dresser. "Gibbs made the furniture, and Tony and Abby helped me paint it. I wanted to surprise you when you came home."

He turned, watching a she removed something from the closet. She moved to join him, and he realized it was a tiny white coat with blue buttons, the perfect size for a newborn. "Ima made this too... she made several things for the baby... coats and hats and mittens and booties... she loves to sew, and since this is her first grandchild..." Without a word, she held it over her belly; Tim scoffed gently, a smile tugging at his lips. Ziva met his gaze, folding the coat and resting it on the arm of the rocking chair. "Well, clearly she got carried away."

"Not necessarily. Babies need a lot of things after they're born." He replied, looking around the room. On one of the shelves screwed into the wall was a photograph- a different one from the wedding photograph in the book. In this one, they were sitting together on the bottom steps of a staircase; Ziva was sitting on the step below him, nestled between her legs, her back against his front, and he had his arms around her. Their hands rested over her belly, forming a heart, and both were grinning at the camera- the message was clear.

"We took that the day we found out. Sarah took it for us... I don't think either of us had ever been so excited about something in our entire lives before that moment." She moved closer, sliding an arm around his waist cautiously. His gaze moved to hers, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she moved closer, resting her head against his chest. "I am just glad you are alive... even if you don't remember our life or our son..." She lifted her head, meeting his gaze as he pulled away.

Tim stumbled back, holding his hands out, keeping her at arms length. "I... look, I'm sorry that I don't remember you or the baby, but..." He stopped, seeing the tears in her eyes. She nodded, giving him a small smile.

"It's okay, I... I understand. I just... the last few months have been... torture without you... feeling our baby grow and knowing that you weren't there to see it..." But she quickly shook her head, giving him a big smile before collecting the two mugs from the dresser and holding one out to him. "How about a toast?"

He raised an eyebrow. "To what?" She shrugged.

"To..." Her gaze darted around the room, before she stopped and glanced down at her belly. "To our son." They locked gazes. "To the new new beginning his presence brings and... and the hope that... that he can help us find what we lost."

Slowly, Tim nodded, holding the mug out. "To our son." A smile graced Ziva's lips and they clicked mugs, gazes locking over the rims.