"I know that the two of you have expressed interest, in an open adoption, but... I would prefer not to. If when he is eighteen he has questions, I will be glad to answer them, but... I don't be involved. I can't be. I don't want letters, or cards, or emails, or pictures. I don't need to know how he is doing. I wouldn't choose parents for him that I could not trust. If you are those people, then I have no reason to need to know anything. You can be in the hospital when he's born, and take him with you, when you leave. You can name him whatever you want. I do not want to have any say. If I chose the two of you, then he's yours, and only yours, do you understand?"
They both nod.
She pulls a picture, out of her purse. She slides it across the table to them. It is one of the dozens she had, in a book, for later.
"I thought that you might want to have this," she offers.
Emily looks at her, and smiles, choking back tears.
"Thank you," Ben tells her.
Hours later, Ziva has just gotten out of the shower, when he knocks on her door. She looks through the peephole, and unlocks the door. She pulls it open. She smiles at him as he stands before her, with a paper bag.
"Tony, what are you doing here?"
"You're hair is wet."
"I just got out of the shower."
"Cute outfit," he jokes.
She looks at the pajamas. A men's NCIS t-shirt. It's grey. It covers her stomach like a tent. Underneath she wears short, hot-pink, pajama bottoms.
"Why are you obsessing over my clothes. I just put on whatever I feel like wearing to go to bed."
"It doesn't really match."
"They are pajamas, they don't have to. Besides, it's not like I can see the shorts anyway."
"They're pink. You know that right? I never pegged you as the hot-pink type."
"They are comfortable, now drop it, ok?"
"Don't you want to know what I brought you?"
She closes the door behind him, as he heads into her kitchen.
"I am guessing that you brought me food, since you insist on me eating every two hours."
"You are hungry every two hours."
"So, are you going to tell me what you brought me?"
"I will, but you're being cranky with me, so I don't know if I'm going to share."
"Tony!"
He pulls the food out of the bag. He hands her the container.
"You brought cupcakes? Why did you bring cupcakes? What is the occasion? You already had your birthday, a few days ago."
"Who said anything about a birthday? Can't we just eat cupcakes?"
"If you keep eating cupcakes you are going to look like the pregnant one in this relationship."
"I think I have already gained more weight than you have."
"Are we celebrating something?"
"Are you giving the baby to the Hanson's?"
"Yes."
"Then I believe we have a reason to celebrate."
"With cupcakes?"
"You sound disappointed. Would you have preferred I brought cake?"
"I would have preferred a stiff drink."
"But you can't have one, because you are pregnant."
"It is not fair. I did not want this. I do not want this baby, yet..."
"You have been diligent."
"I may eat too many sugary snacks, but..."
"You don't drink caffeine, or smoke, or do drugs, or drink. He is going to be all cute, and fat, and squirmy. Just what all those adoptive parents dream of."
"You mean he's going to be healthy?"
"Yes, that is what I meant."
"Can I have my cupcake now?"
"Just one?"
"Just one? You are the one who eats for two, Tony. How much weight have you put on?"
"Just a few pounds. After all, I didn't spend four and a half months throwing up every single thing that I ate."
"I would have gladly traded you places. What is the number?"
"You first."
"Twenty one pounds."
"That's it? Is that twenty one pounds on what you weighed before, or twenty one pounds, when you stopped losing weight, and started gaining?"
"The second one. How much have you gained?"
"Twenty three pounds."
"Yours will not magically disappear, I think that you should go on a diet," she pats his belly.
"Don't touch mine. I am not allowed to touch yours."
"That is different," she argues.
"Yes, yours moves, mine doesn't."
Her face scrunches, "Do you want to touch it?"
"That depends, how hard are you going to hit me, if I say yes?"
"I won't hit you," she promises.
"You're not going to hit me?"
"No."
"But you aren't going to let me touch you, either, are you?"
"I have not decided yet."
"You are actually considering it?"
She doesn't answer him. Her hand touches her stomach, holding her shirt against it. She looks up at him.
"Go ahead," she agrees.
His hand moves. He hesitates. His hand hovers inches from her stomach, afraid to actually touch her.
"He does not have teeth, he cannot bite. He is still inside of me, what are you afraid of?"
"That you'll bite."
"I do not bite. Go ahead."
He touches her, and she doesn't even cringe. She watches him, as his hand rests on her stomach. She waits a few seconds. The baby kicks Tony's hand. Tony moves his hand.
"Why does he always kick me?"
"He probably does not like you."
"That's rude."
"Did you know that when he kicks if you watch closely you can see his foot?"
"You're making that up."
"I am not."
"How do you know?"
"I spend all day, every day, with him inside of me. Sometimes he wakes me up in the middle of the night, kicking me in the rib, if he doesn't like the way that I am lying. I try not to think about it, I try not to accept the fact that there is a baby inside of me, but it is very hard to deny."