I will have a boy and a girl.
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A week after Ziva finishes her second semester of school, Tony is jarred awake at three in the morning by her standing over him in a panic, yelling that they have to go to the emergency room. He accidentally bangs his elbow against the side table in his rush to get out of bed. It is only after he has yanked on a pair of jeans and is ushering her out the front door that he thinks to ask what's wrong. She tells him that she had gone to use the bathroom and discovered blood in her underwear. His chest constricts, but he manages to stay composed for her sake.
It is a long night. Ziva is examined and diagnosed with placenta previa, meaning that one of the placentas is blocking her cervix. Everybody is fine- Ziva and both babies- and Tony almost weeps with relief when they are assured of that. However, she will almost definitely need a C-section when the time comes to deliver, and when her OB arrives just after dawn, Ziva is put on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy. "And no sex," the doctor orders sternly. "At all."
Tony knows this isn't nearly as troubling to Ziva as the prospect of lying around for the next few months. She would never jeopardize the babies' safety, so she follows all of her instructions to a T, but she is certainly not above complaining about it. While it's true that he sometimes rolls his eyes after hearing her groan dramatically for the fiftieth time in one day, he harbors genuine sympathy for her. Much of his free time is devoted to making her feel better in any way he can. He doesn't mind. There are worse things in life than thankful kisses.
She practically squeals with excitement (a first for Ziva, he's pretty sure) one afternoon when he walks in the door with a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream. As soon as he has changed out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable, he dishes out two bowls and carries them over to the couch. She accepts hers gratefully and balances it on her sizable belly. Tony sinks onto the floor beside her. "How's my clan?"
"We are fine."
"No problems?" There haven't been any since the trip to the ER, but he always checks.
"No." Ziva moans as she takes her first bite of ice cream. Sex-deprived as he is, Tony can't help but be a little turned on. "This is so good. Is it still humid outside?"
"Yeah. Not as bad as yesterday."
"I suppose being stuck inside with the air conditioner is not all bad," she concedes.
He leans over to rest his chin briefly on her shoulder, brushing his lips against her neck. Ziva turns her head to draw him into a kiss. Tony indulges her until she gasps into his mouth and jerks back.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing. Somebody kicked me."
After giving her another peck, Tony moves her ice cream onto the coffee table with his own forgotten bowl, then slides her shirt up. "Hey," he calls softly, rubbing the underside of her stomach. "What's going on in there?" Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees Ziva smile up at the ceiling, the way she always does while tolerating his one-sided conversations with their son and the other baby. (He wanted to keep the genders a surprise and she didn't. So they compromised.) He kisses the spot right above her belly button and smiles when he feels a little nudge. Resting his forehead on top of her, he quiets, enjoying the moment.
"Tony?" Ziva asks.
He sits up, one hand still rubbing across her swollen abdomen. "Yeah."
"Do you think I should quit school?"
"No," he says, taken aback. "No. Why would you? Just because you're gonna miss a semester?"
"Not because of that. We are going to have a family of four to support, Tony. I just don't know that this is a good financial decision."
Moving back toward her head, he cups her chin. "Do you want to finish?"
"Yes, b-"
"Then I want that, too."
"Tony," Ziva sighs and reaches up to caress his cheek. "You know our family must come first."
Wrapping her hand in his and bringing it down to his chest, he regards her intently. "Yeah, and you know what our kids are gonna want? They want their mom to be happy." She opens her mouth to argue, but he forges forward. "You've been a new person since you started school, Ziva. You love it. I love seeing you that way. Hell, I've even grown kind of interested in women's studies, myself." At that, she giggles. Tony grins at his small victory while simultaneously realizing that he wasn't even lying. "I would hate for you to lose your niche just as you've found it. That's all."
She shrugs. "No sacrifice is too large for the well-being of our children, Tony."
"I don't think this one's necessary." He places a kiss on the end of her nose. "Maybe it'll be tight at first, yeah. But we'll manage."
Ziva chews her bottom lip as she looks at him. Then: "If I plan to continue with school, are you okay with putting off the wedding until after I graduate? I would rather not have to worry about the stress and cost of that, too."
A man less assured of his future might have been hesitant to accept this condition. And Tony does want this wedding; he wants it so much that his heart tugs when he thinks about it. There is no rush, though. He knows she isn't going anywhere.
"Sweetheart," he tells her, "you're the one chained to the house with two people growing inside of you. Your wish is my command."
She laughs and tugs him toward her by the shirt collar. The time for serious discussion is over, he assumes, slipping one hand beneath her neck as she smashes her mouth against his. Although their awkward position is uncomfortable and they are unable to do anything more than make out and that belly prevents him from being as close to her as he would like, something about her kiss takes the weight off of Tony's shoulders, if only for a moment.
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Her water breaks at thirty-two weeks.
It is too early, she thinks in horror as she stares at the puddle gathering on the kitchen floor. It is not time.
But her babies appear not to care. They are on their way.
With shaking fingers, she calls Tony. He very loudly yells, "what," when she tells him what has transpired, then frantically informs her that he's in Arlington with McGee, following up on a lead. "Gibbs is still at the office," he says. "I'm gonna send him to get you. We'll meet you at the hospital."
"Please hurry," she begs as pain shoots through her middle, causing her to grab the edge of the counter for balance.
"We will. McGee's calling Gibbs right now. It's gonna be okay, ninja," he says. "I love you."
Ziva closes her eyes. "You too."
Fifteen minutes later, Gibbs barges through the front door just as she is zipping up a hastily assembled overnight bag. He shoulders the bag and tucks her under his arm, effectively taking charge, and she is content to allow it.
"I am early," she says. It's an unnecessary utterance; he knows that her due date is in mid-September, and today is August 12. If he is worried, he is doing an excellent job of not showing it. Then again, when has he ever betrayed emotion?
His only response is to stroke her hair and drop a kiss on the top of her head. She fiercely grips her stomach with both hands, as if that will keep the babies from entering the world until they are ready.
At the hospital, Gibbs helps her into a wheelchair. "I'm gonna wait for DiNozzo in the lobby, tell him where to go," he says, leaning over her. "You hang in there, Ziver."
"Okay," she whispers.
Then the nurse pushes her away.
There are too many people around, all speaking way too fast. The one word she keeps hearing is Caesarean. She was told after her bleeding scare that a vaginal delivery would probably not be possible, and she has been preparing herself for that. Now that she is actually in a hospital bed, her contractions growing more frequent and closer together, she realizes that she is not ready. Not at all.
An hour has passed, she's already had her epidural, and Tony has still not arrived. She begs the doctor to let her wait for him, but the older woman shakes her head firmly, saying that time is of the essence and the babies need to come out now. Ziva fights tears as she is transported to the operating room. She needs him more than anything else in the world right now, and he isn't here.
Just as a cloth is hung to block her view of her own abdomen, a presence beside her and a repetitive chorus of "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," causes her to look up.
And there he is, clad in scrubs, face red and chest heaving, as if he's been running.
"What the hell took you so long?" she yells loud enough that one of the nurses looks over, raising her eyebrows.
"I'm sorry," he says again, sinking into a chair and grabbing her hand. "Traffic was a bitch and McGee, the dumbass, he took a wrong turn and got us lost for ten minutes."
"He took a wrong turn? He has probably driven to this hospital a hundred times!"
"I know. I was two seconds away from strangling him."
"Here we go," the doctor calls from down near her feet, putting an end to their McGee bashing and drawing them back to reality.
Inhaling deeply, Ziva turns to Tony. "Thirty-two weeks," she says softly. "That's how far along I am."
"I know."
She swallows. "I am so scared, Tony." It is not an easy thing to admit, but she can see the fear festering in his eyes and knows that he understands.
"So am I." Combing his fingers through her sloppily done ponytail, he rests his chin next to her head and lowers his voice. "I have something to tell you. Might help a bit."
Narrowing her eyes, Ziva asks, "What?"
"Last time we went to the doctor," he whispers like he has a secret, "when neither of you were paying attention, I looked at the file."
For a moment, she is confused; then she understands what he's saying. "You were the one who wanted a surprise!"
"I changed my mind." Tony flashes her a tiny little grin, and the mere sight sends a new ray of hope shining down on her. "So. You wanna know?"
"Yes," she hisses. "Now."
"The other one is a girl."
Despite their current situation, Ziva cannot hold back a smile. "Really?"
"Yep. Just like your list."
Her list. It seems so long ago that the two of them were in Israel, creating that list together. She had nearly forgotten. Now that he's mentioned it, he is right: when she decided to start over, she had come up with lots of new goals, but she kept one from when she was young: I will have a boy and a girl.
And soon enough, she sees her girl, clearly not as big as she should be, screaming and covered in blood yet somehow beautiful, lifted up briefly by the nurse before being whisked away. The boy follows soon after. He is smaller, Ziva can tell on sight. Then he is gone, too, and she starts to sit up, desperate to keep the babies in her line of vision. Tony gently nudges her back down.
"They're probably gonna take them right to the NICU," he reminds her. "We'll get to see them later."
"I need to make sure they're alright."
So Tony flags down the doctor; she assures them that the babies are as healthy as they can be, having been born prematurely, and that they should be fit to go home after a few weeks in the hospital. Their girl is nearly four pounds, she adds, and the boy is barely over three. It is likely that she will be released first.
After Tony and Ziva have had their initial questions answered, the doctor congratulates them and takes her leave. Ziva relaxes into the operating table on which she still lays, covering her face with her hands.
"Ziva?" Tony asks softly. "You okay?"
Her response is to burst into tears. She isn't even embarrassed.
Their babies will survive.
Nothing else matters.
That night, she and Tony sit side by side in the NICU, their chairs tucked in between two incubators. The babies have feeding tubes and respiratory equipment to help them breathe. Their diapers are much too large. It is hard to witness her children like this, ill-equipped to handle the world they have been thrust into, especially because she and Tony are not yet allowed to hold them. She is restricted to sticking her fingers through the holes in the sides of the incubators and stroking the soft skin of her babies' arms.
"I gotta say," Tony tells her, "this wasn't really how I pictured their very first birthday."
"I know." Ziva nestles against him, ignoring the twinge of pain in her sore torso. "Next year will be better, I'm sure."
She feels the corners of his mouth lift as he kisses her forehead. They settle into a peaceful silence until he asks, "So do you think we're done with having kids? Are these two it?"
Yes, they are. She has no desire to endure another pregnancy, not after the complications with this one. Besides, she imagines that once they bring these twins home, there will be very little time over the next eighteen years to even make another baby, let alone raise it.
"This is it," she tells Tony. "This is our family."
As she considers her own statement, she finds that, despite some lingering anxiety about embarking on motherhood- and, at some point, marriage- she is excited. The life laid out in front of her is one she truly wants.
And even more than that, it's a life worth living.
Consider this chapter my Christmas gift to you all! Have a good holiday! : )