Tony let out a sigh of relief, as he walked into his house. It had been a stinkin' hot day, and the short walk from the garage to the cool air conditioning of the house, had caused him to break out into a sweat.

"Ziva," he called, as he dumped his backpack on one of the dining chairs. He looked over the table, Ziva's smaller backpack was sitting on the table, and her keys were next to it. It was a Monday, she usually worked later on Monday, so she could leave early on Friday, but her car had been in the garage.

He walked through to the living room, and saw a Ziva sized lump on the couch. Hair matted to her paler than usual face. She usually got so tanned in the summer months.

The scene in his living room told him one thing. Today had been a bad day.

A very bad day.

"Hey," he said, as he moved closer to her.

She blinked at him. Careful blinks. He noticed the bucket on the floor next to her. The bucket that had moved from the garage to the house, the previous weekend when the morning sickness had peaked. She had spent the entire weekend moving between the bed and bathroom.

He had felt so helpless listening as she wretched. At first he tried to help her, rubbing her back when she threw up but she sent him away. Needing space. He had spent the weekend, bringing her crackers, water, and set up movies on her laptop, which she always fell asleep halfway through.

He had tried to suggest that Ziva take a couple of days off of work, to recover, but Ziva had refused. She was new at the job, and did not want to look like a bad employee. Nor did she want to let down the people who queued from the small hours to get help from the centre.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

She frowned. He had asked the worst question, in the history of bad questions.

"Better," she said. Her voice hoarse. It was most definitely a lie.

"Did you last the whole day?" he asked.

She shook her head. Then closed her eyes. It seemed to help with the nausea.

Ziva had started her contract at the asylum seeker resource center, the Monday after she they had returned to D.C. The job had proved as useful distraction, and she came home both tired and fulfilled. Sometimes she shared stories of the clients, who visited the center. Many of the stories were remarkable feats of courage, stories that should be in the movies but were too harrowing. People who had walked for days to get to safety. People who had lost everyone, but were rebuilding their lives.

It was Ziva's job to direct the asylum seekers to services that may help them throughout the DC metro area. She helped people with the resumes, explain what could be bought with food stamps and to understand pharmacy instructions. Four afternoons a week, she also taught an English as a second language class. The centre was only a few years old, and was transitioning from almost solely volunteers to paid positions. Much of the work Ziva did, had previously been done by the founder of the centre. This meant Ziva's role was fluid, and her responsibilities changed often. The previous week, she had helped fill in funding applications.

He rubbed her wrist.

Tony felt a pang of deja vu. They had the same conversation two years ago, except Ziva had been taking classes rather than teaching them.

"I got sent home," she said. Her eyes still closed. "I was supposed to teach this afternoon."

He hoped it would not end up like last time. All this suffering, only be compounded by a worse suffering.

"I had to tell Thida," Ziva said. She took a deep breath in.

Thida was Ziva's boss, a refugee from Cambodia, who had come to the US over two decades ago as a young child after being born in a Thai refugee camp. While, she had thrived her mother who had been older had floundered. Thida along with other colleagues had started the ASRC for those who were struggling. Tony had listened over the last few weeks, as Ziva spoke of her boss with awe. He had joked, that Ziva was a little bit in love with her. Ziva might not be in love with her boss, but was definitely in love with her work.

"Okay," he said. "What did she say?"

Ziva pulled herself up on the couch, and reached across to the coffee table.

She grabbed the plastic bottle of gatorade, and put it to her lips. She had gone through gallons of the stuff over the weekend. Some of their glasses were stained with the blue of the sports drink. It gave Tony flashbacks of his college basketball days.

"She is happy for us," Ziva said, as she held the bottle in her hands. "But, I was not planning on telling people so soon."

They had just hit nine weeks. The pregnancy was not yet noticeable to the untrained eye. If Ziva wore a tight top, there was a bloat, but to the uninitiated, it might look like she had enjoyed too much ice cream. However, perhaps out of habit from living in a warmer climate, and having to conceal a weapon, she tended to prefer a more baggy fit when she wore blouses. Especially, when it was so hot.

"She probably had her suspicions," Tony said, as he watched her drain the bottle. "I mean not many people schedule two dentists appointments within starting a new job."

Ziva had a doctors appointment which officially confirmed the pregnancy within their first week back from Israel. She had tried to schedule the appointment for early morning for before work, but the appointments had ran late that day. The pregnancy had been confirmed, and Ziva's HCG levels were normal unlike last time. Everything looked healthy.

Ziva was still so fearful of a miscarriage.

The next appointment was the following week, where they would finally hear the heartbeat. Tony had booked the day for that appointment as well. His colleague Dan had raised his eyebrow when Tony had said he was going to a dentist appointment. Dan, was one of the few colleagues Tony was close to, as they were a similar age. Dan had been a former ATF agent, who had been injured on the field. Dan was recently separated from his wife, and a had son who was in Pre-K. He and Tony kept making plans to carpool to work, as Dan now lived a little further out, but their plans never quite panned out.

"I know," Ziva said. "It is just so early."

Tony nodded.

Last time they had made it to ten weeks and six days. Tony knew that because of the stupid app on his phone, which had buzzed the morning after the miscarriage informing him that the baby was now size of a fig, as it was now eleven weeks. Tony had smothered his phone with his pillow.

It had been a cruel kick in the guts. One that had left scars.

Maybe Ziva would be more excited, when they passed eleven weeks. Once they had heard the heartbeat. One she was sure the baby was not going away.

He hoped that the dark clouds would lift soon, the rainbow was trying to peak through.

"Still," Tony said, as Ziva handed him the gatorade bottle. It was empty, with a drip of blue on the sports lid. There was another empty bottle at the other end of the table. Tony would have to go out for some more. "It's good that she knows."

She leaned over, her head floating above the bucket. She started retching. A dry retch.

Tony sat there. Feeling useless.

Eventually, she stopped, rubbed her mouth, and laid back on the couch. Beads of sweat formed on her head.

The bucket was empty except for some spit.

Apparently, an overproduction of saliva was a product of the hormones.

"I will not get maternity leave," Ziva said as she adjusted her position slightly. Her back was flat, and she looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling fan whirred. Ziva looked away.

She closed her eyes for a long time.

"Did your boss tell you that?" Tony asked.

He had never really looked into maternity leave, mostly because of his gender, and because of his unmarried status until a year ago. Even last time Ziva was pregnant, he had not really given it much thought.

"No," Ziva said, taking little breaths between words. "But, I am on a contract, and the organisation does not have to offer FMLA because it only has four paid staff members."

Tony knew that maternity leave was unpaid, but had been a federal employee for so long, that it had never really occurred to him that people would not be eligible for it. He had seen a few people at NCIS go off on maternity leave, but had not really known them well enough to ask them about it.

"Okay," he said. The baby actually being here, still seemed so far away. "You said they like you. Maybe you can work something out with them."

Ziva nodded. Still quiet.

"We'll be okay," Tony murmured.

Ziva opened her eyes. A confused look on her pale face.

"Financially," Tony said, his voice firm. "We can afford maternity leave, and if it's longer than three months we can do that too."

He would not be like his Dad, dodging debt collectors, and making bad deals. He would provide for his family. Honestly.

Ziva took in a deep breath. Then let it out.

She was probably about to blast him. They were firmly in the middle class, earning more than enough to live comfortably. Ziva's income was mainly spending money, though they had told themselves they would save it. As long as he did not lose his job, they would float along nicely. Even, if they did they had enough money for a few months thanks to Eli's impressive investment portfolio.

He knew his money worries were irrational. Born from years of cleaning up his Dad's money messes.

"We can talk about it later," Ziva said, her voice more of croak. "Closer to the time."

He nodded. Ziva had touted that line dozens of times over the last few weeks, when he started talking about the baby. He had also heard her say, when it's safe, and the most heartbreaking when we know for sure it is happening.

"I want to start telling people," Tony said, after a few minutes of quiet. "And, I want to start talking about the baby. I know your scared about what happened last time. I know your not feeling well, but it's hard to be the only one who is excited. I mean we're married, we were trying for this baby, I don't understand why you're treating this baby like its a secret."

He had imploded.

Ziva looked at him. Her mouth open, but she made no noise.

"You have told people," Ziva said. Sounding petty.

"Dad guessed," Tony replied, taking a calming breath. "I just confirmed his guess. Technically, you've told two people now."

He could feel himself getting petty.

"One of those people was dying," Ziva said. Her voice raising. "And one of them was my boss, because I nearly threw up on her."

Ziva pulled herself up on the couch. Sitting up. She gripped the armrest.

"Fine," he said. "I know I'm being irrational now. I know I'm overreacting. I know it's really not the time. It's just whenever I try to talk about the baby, you just shut down."

Tony often showed Ziva links of things he had found, while idly messing around on the internet. A baby monitor with a camera. A cute coming home outfit. A stroller with jogging wheels, so Ziva could take baby for long walks. He knew how much she liked to get outside. She had acknowledged the links, but then changed the topic of conversation. She had suddenly become an expert on the weather.

"I do not want to get attached," Ziva said. "It is still so early."

They were at nine weeks and three days. They were getting closer to the second trimester. To the safe zone. This baby seemed to be sticking around.

"That worked so well last time," Tony muttered. There was still some fire left in this fight.

Ziva's eyes widened. He had cut close to the bone, way to close.

He had lit the fire, and been the one who got burnt.

"Exactly," Ziva said, her voice falling. "Last time it hurt. It hurt so much. I cannot do that again."

Her lip quivered. Tears.

Tony felt his heart sink.

"Every time I go to the bathroom, I am scared of what might be there," Ziva said, her voice shaky.

A tear feel down her face.

"Last time, I got too comfortable," Ziva said, running her hand under her nose. "I thought that because the morning sickness had stopped, that it was okay. I started to get excited, and I had gone to get the paperwork to organise my degree. Then it got taken away. I went to the bathroom and there was blood."

The cruelness of the situation, had been that Ziva's morning sickness had stopped right on ten weeks because the pregnancy was fading away. The hormones were flushing out of her system, no longer needed. She had gotten comfortable, as the pregnancy was in trouble.

"It didn't happen because you got comfortable," Tony said. His voice softer. Kinder.

The anger had dissipated, like a wave breaking on the shore.

"I know that on an intellectual level," Ziva said, "But, that does not stop this fear. Every time I go to the bathroom that fear is there, just for a second."

Tony felt his heart sink into his stomach.

"Why didn't you tell me all of this?" Tony asked.

They were supposed to share secrets. They were married now.

"You are already so excited," Ziva said rubbing under her eye with her bent finger. "And, I keep expecting it to get better. There are little moments, where I start to get excited, but then I always get pulled back. Do you remember that family in the airport lounge?"

While, they had been waiting for their plane out of Tel Aviv, they had been sitting close to a little family. Two parents, who appeared to be religious by their head coverings, and a little baby dressed in blue. They had been doting parents, taking turns to settle the small tyke. He had watched as Ziva had watched, a soft smile on her face.

He moved closer to her on the couch.

"I watched them, and started thinking that will be us soon," Ziva said softly. "You said you wanted to take the baby to Israel, and I started to wonder if the baby would be a good flyer, or fussy."

Tony nodded. The parents and their kid, had been in the premium economy seats, behind business class. The kids wails had kept the whole plane awake. One of the other passengers had made a killing by selling off his sleeping pills.

"Then I felt this cramp," Ziva said softly. "It was not the same pain as last time, but for a moment it was all I could think about. That's why I rushed off."

Tony remembered, when she had suddenly bolted upright. Asking if he was hungry as she walked back to the food court. She appeared twenty minutes later, with a bottle of gatorade and a packaged cookie for him. Her eyes had been red from tears. He thought it was to do with Schmeil. He had asked her if she was okay, but she had brushed it off.

"Are you talking to anyone, about this?" he asked.

He could not bear to see her get so distressed.

She shook her head.

Why wasn't she talking to him about this?

"It will pass," she said quickly.

God, he hoped it would.

A dark thought slipped into his head. Schmeil would have been the person she talked to about this. He was the only one who had her confidences. The only one she could be completely honest with.

"I asked the doctor about the risks," Ziva said. Looking away from him. "She could not give me an answer."

He remembered last time, in those weeks after the miscarriage. She had been so desperate for answers. Desperate to know why it had happened. Desperate to know what she had done to cause it.

It had not been her fault. No matter who told her that, she still did not believe them.

She was so certain, the baby had been taken away, to make up for previous sins.

"I want to be excited like you are," Ziva said looking back at him. "To be one of those women who enjoy pregnancy."

She had been miserable, these first few weeks. Physically, she was exhausted and nauseated. Mentally, she was anxious and grief stricken.

"Wouldn't blame you for not enjoying it, right at this moment," he said softly.

She smiled. A slight smile.

The rainbow after the storm.

"I'll talk about it less," Tony said. Offering an olive branch. "Until you are ready."

He could not keep pulling them along, when she was pushing back. He wanted them to be excited together.

"No," Ziva said shaking her head. "It hurts, but I cannot bury my head in the beach."

"In the sand," he replied. "Been a while since you've had a Ziva-ism."

"I have been here so long," she declared. Over a decade now. She had made a life here. A home. A baby. "My English is better than my Hebrew."

Schmeil had kept Hebrew alive for her. While, she could go to synagogue and here Hebrew, but the religious Hebrew, was not the same as the day-to-day Hebrew she had been raised in.

"When your father worked it all out, he was so happy," Ziva said softly. "I could see this happiness even before you told me what was going on. I want to be happy about this."

"He was wasn't he," Tony said.

Senior had sent him dozens of links over the last few weeks. Pretty baby outfits from an expensive store, that had a flagship store in Alexandria. Sometimes, Ziva lusted over its window display, especially at Christmastime.

"I tried to fake it, especially with your father," Ziva admitted. "That is the saying is, yes."

Tony rubbed her wrist. Trying to comfort both of them.

The previous Friday Senior had arrived at their house for their usual Friday dinner, and found Ziva kneeling in front of the toilet in the half bath behind the kitchen. He had been the one who had helped Ziva to bed, and called Tony as he was driving home. Senior had started on a easy pasta meal, while opening all the doors and windows so the smell did not linger. By the time, Tony came home Ziva was asleep, and Senior had made enough food for the neighbourhood.

"Please don't fake it," Tony said softly. "I prefer us being honest with each other."

Honesty. They had promised each other that, long before their wedding.

"Can we wait a little longer before we start telling more people?" she asked, after a few quiet seconds. "Just until I am further along, until it is safe."

Her logic about not telling people, had serious holes. Last time, all of their loved ones had found out after the miscarriage, but they had still surrounded the couple with love. If the universe was cruel, and took this baby away from them, he was sure their family would surround them again.

He hoped when they told the family this time, it was a joyful occasion.

"Whatever you need," he murmured.

They were not expecting to see the wider family, for a few weeks. Technically, the Friday Night dinners were open to all, but between their jobs, and their friends busy lives, weeks easily passed without seeing them face to face. His Dad was the only guaranteed attendee.

The last time that everyone in their makeshift family, including his Dad, Breena and Delilah had been together under the same roof, had been when Ziva held a Passover seder in their dining room. It had been rather lite on the Jewish stuff with Breena ending up reading out the four questions as she was the youngest of their little group by a few months. Though technically Breena was reading on behalf of sixteen month old Tori who was on her lap.

Tony kept meaning to invite McGee out for a few drinks to check in and ask how the wedding preparations were going, but the MCRT were currently going through a spike in cases. The heat seemed to give people short fuses.

He had thought about inviting Abby to the winery tour Senior had gotten him for his birthday, but that would require explaining why Ziva could not go. It seemed as the weekend got closer, that Senior had latched onto the idea of a father-son weekend anyway.

Tony still worried about leaving a sickly Ziva home alone.

Ziva had also been distant from their extended family. She had for obvious reasons, not joined Ellie and Breena for their weekly Krav Maga training. Her new job was in Silver Spring, so far enough away from the Navy Yard, which meant she did not have to avoid lunch dates.

There were daily texts,and regular conversations of the long running messenger app they all used, but family were overdue for a in person catch up. Maybe, when they did see each other face to face, they would share their good news.

She moved away from him, and reached across the coffee table for some water. The water bottle was yet another thing littering their usually clear coffee table. She took a few tentative sips of water.

The waves were back. Tony watched as she took the careful sips.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She looked at him. Not saying anything. She took a few careful breaths, trying to soften the waves. The sea was getting choppy.

"For overreacting," he added.

She nodded.

"I am sorry too," Ziva replied, her voice hoarse. Before she could say anything more, her hand reached for her mouth.

Tony picked up the bucket and placed it under her.

She retched. Then the smell of vomit filled the room. The actual vomit ended up only in the bucket, not that Tony was above cleaning up vomit. He figured he needed the practice. Jimmy had told him that the first year of parenthood, was just dealing with the kids bodily fluids.

"I'm really sorry for this," Tony said, as she came up for air. "If I could do pregnancy, I would."

She moved away from the smell which made her feel more sick. He picked up the bucket and moved it away. He would clean it out soon. He made a mental note grab a wet washcloth for Ziva, when he returned. He had read that one of the Daddy-to-be websites he now frequented, that the wet towels sometimes helped morning sickness. Or at least to help the one throwing up to feel less yucky.

"You would be a whiny mess," Ziva declared, before taking another sip of water.

"You betcha," he replied, as he got up to clean out the bucket.

A/N:

I don't own a thing.

I know the Ziva being anxious storyline might be getting old, but remember our girl has been through a lot.

The next chapter will focus on similar feelings, but moving forward. We'll have a few more chapters of early pregnancy.

Thanks again for all the love.