"I would like to have a word with whoever writes these things," Ziva gripes, her brow furrowed at the creased paper stretched out over her lap. "How hard could it be to write comprehensive instructions?"
Tali smirks. "Told you we should have waited for Ari." They are sitting on the floor in their room, a pile of miscellaneous parts and pieces scattered on the rug in front of them.
"No, Ari would be no better at this than us. It is these instructions, I am telling you! There are four different sizes of screws and two different wood pieces labelled 'L3' and they don't even mention where this weird plastic piece is supposed to go!" Ziva huffs, then pats her abdomen. "At this rate, ahava, you will be sleeping in our bed."
"We'll figure it out," Tali assures her, but the mess of wood in her hand that is supposed to be one of the crib's legs begs to differ.
Suddenly feeling incredibly overwhelmed, Ziva heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I cannot even put his crib together," she mutters, more to herself than to her sister.
"Ziva…"
"Tali, I do not… I do not think I am ready for this."
"For what?" Tali presses, despite already knowing the answer.
"Motherhood. I… I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. What do I know about babies? What do I know about raising a child? Nothing," she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.
"That's not true," Tali counters, a frown appearing on her young face.
"The books hardly count," Ziva negates, gesturing halfheartedly toward her nightstand at the copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting that Dr. Kendiss gave her. "They are words on paper. Instructions, no more useful to me than this." She tosses the piece of paper on top of the pile of parts.
"So maybe you do not know much about newborns. Most people don't, and that's okay because you will learn and you will do a fantastic job."
"You cannot possibly know that," Ziva dismisses.
"I can," Tali assures her, "because in my opinion you've done a fantastic job with me."
"I did not raise you," Ziva insists. "Ima raised you."
"You helped."
"And then I left."
The words fall away and leave silence in their wake. Tali's eyes grow wide and child-like, a sight that sends Ziva's heart straight up to her throat.
"Is that what this is about?" Tali wonders.
"I… Perhaps…" Ziva purses her lips. "I do not know. Maybe."
"Ziva, I forgive you for leaving me," Tali promises, scooting across the rug to be closer to her sister. "And I know you're not going to do that to your own child."
"Tali…"
But the younger girl is not finished. She places her hand atop her sister's and continues. "Besides, since you came home you've loved me like a daughter. You've given me hugs and kisses and you cuddle with me at night. You speak with my teachers and make me lunch in the morning and make a snack for me when I get home. You help me with my homework and are always there when I need you. Tell me, which of those things is not something Ima would have done?"
"It is different," Ziva answers, her voice almost pleading for understanding.
"No," Tali replies. "It's not. Maternal instinct is maternal instinct. So what if you don't know exactly how to take care of a newborn? That's not the point. You'll make mistakes but you'll learn and as long as you don't drop him you're not going to completely screw up his future."
"That is not funny," Ziva scoffs, but the tiny smile pulling at her lips suggests otherwise.
"Everything will turn out fine," Tali assures, giving her hand a gentle pat. Her eyebrows knot together. "Except maybe this crib. This might end up being a disaster."
Ziva just laughs, picking back up the instructions with a new confidence in her heart.
"Two smart women like us? We'll figure it out."
The old, rickety stairs creaked and groaned under Tony's wet boots, the smell of damp wood and sawdust welcoming him with open arms while he shakes rainwater off his coat. Gibbs barely glances up from his work.
"Hey, Boss."
"What brings you here, DiNozzo?" he inquires, continuing to rub the sandpaper against the frame of his boat.
"Got a question for you," Tony replies, "But first, got any borboun?"
Gibbs nods towards the cabinet to his right, "The good stuff." Tony crosses the floor and pulls the bottle out, tipping nails out of a mason jar and filling it a quarter of the way with the pungent, amber liquid. He takes a sip, and it burns going down—an acquired taste, obviously. Gibbs does not prompt him to speak again, rather fills the silence with the sound of abrasive paper against coarse wood and waits for his agent to speak.
"You take commissions, Boss?"
"Depends. You got a boat that needs building?"
"Not a boat. And it's not for me, it's a gift," Tony corrects, moseying over towards the other side of the boat in order to be facing the man he's speaking to.
"For Ziva." It's not a question, and it catches Tony off guard. He flounders.
"Well, I…"
Gibbs looks up at him and smirks to himself. "Thought so. What am I making?" Tony is grateful that he says no more to question the subject. He leans forward on the boat, supporting himself on his elbows. Overtop of the boat he can see that Gibbs has put down the sandpaper and leaned back on his stool.
"Well she's due in the beginning of June, so… almost a month from now. I've been talking to her about what she plans to do as far as a nursery, and there isn't much in the works yet. She's just planning on putting a crib in her room, crossing other bridges when she comes to them."
"So, a crib?" Gibbs asks, his characteristic impatience and hatred for unnecessary background information shining through.
"Actually, no. She actually already went crib shopping this week. But, I thought maybe… a rocking chair?"
One of Gibbs' eyebrows rises ever so slightly, and Tony sighs. "Not a good idea?" Gibbs shakes his head.
"It's a good idea."
"Then what's the problem?"
He smiles smugly. "Just surprised."
"Hey, I can be thoughtful," Tony objects. "So you'll do it?"
"'Course."
"Okay, well I figure whatever you want to charge is good with me, and I can even go and get the lumber from the—"
"DiNozzo." Gibbs voice interrupts him sternly. "You're not paying me. And I got plenty of wood here."
"Look, Gibbs, I—"
"Nope."
Tony sighs, exasperated. "You sure?" The annoyed look Gibbs shoots him is answer enough. "Okay, well I appreciate this. A lot."
"Not like you're asking me to give you a kidney, Tony. It's just a chair."
"Yeah but… I think to her it would be more than that."
A beat, then, "The way you talk about her… it's like she's your whole world."
At this, Tony falters. It's an astute observation, but of course, "A bit of an overstatement, Boss."
"I disagree."
"Oh, do you now?"
"Look, DiNozzo," Gibbs responds, standing from the stool and heading over to the workbench to pour himself some bourbon, "you've changed a lot since I first met you. And don't think you're a man who's easily changed." He takes a sip then and leans back against the bench, arms crossed in front of him.
"Then what am I?" Tony is less defensive now, recognizing how curious he is to hear what his boss's notorious gut thinks.
"A man in love."
Ah, and how afraid he was to hear that… but once the controversial words die away in the static air he realizes he can't quite remember why. His mouth twitches and he licks his lips, but he neither confirms nor denies the claim.
"There any particular reason you're telling me this?" he wonders.
Gibbs just gives a noncommittal shrug. "It needed to be said, and you weren't about to do it."
"It's a hell of an assumption."
"I'm an investigator, DiNozzo. I don't assume."
"Ah. So you've cracked the case then? Ms. Regev in the dining room with the candlestick?"
"Somethin' like that." The words are followed by a long, loaded silence while Tony contemplates his boss's words. Something jumps to the forefront of his mind, however, and he straightens.
"Oh, yeah, by the way, you think you could engrave something in it for me?"
"Sure. What?"
Tony's fidgety fingers slip into his pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper. He walks around to the other side of the boat and hands it to Gibbs, who opens it and stares blankly at the characters he does not recognize.
"I took it downstairs and had Ari translate it, after swearing him to secrecy of course."
"Don't speak Hebrew, Tony. What's it mean?"
With a smile, Tony responds. "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."
She almost could not believe the sight in front of her. It was home, plain and simple, looking the same as it always did. The already hot mid-morning sun beat down on her shoulders as she stared, taking it in. It was not the most beautiful building—the white stucco walls could do with a washing and in some places vines clung to the sides, but it was such a welcome sight.
Too bad she would be leaving the first chance she got.
Deciding that it was probably a bad idea to linger and risk being recognized, she hurried up the stairs to the front door and punched in the code, holding her breath until she heard the familiar beep that meant the lock had disengaged. She stayed up against the walls as she headed towards the stairwell, then ascended two flights, which brought her to the second floor since all of the apartments in the building were two stories.
She peeked her head out, ensuring that the hallway was clear before she left the cover of the stairwell. Out of her pocket she pulled two bobby pins that she had swiped from a woman on the train and knelt down in front of their apartment door. It took a few minutes to pick the lock—she was very rusty—and when she heard the click she sighed in relief. The door swung open.
The apartment lacked a woman's touch, she noted. It was hardly all she took the time to notice, however, before heading up the stairs and turning the corner into her room.
She frowned when she entered. The bed was unmade, random articles of clothing scattered across the floor that Ziva knew did not belong to her. A quick peek in Tali's room showed that it was immaculate. A layer of dust lay on the bedposts.
"Oh, Tali…" she muttered, guilt rising in her throat and turning her stomach upside down. "I am so sorry."
Her unmade bed called to her, and she decided quickly that nothing sounded as good as a nap. It was a little risky, she knew, because theoretically Eli could return at anytime. But it was not too crazy of a gamble, because she had never known him to return before eight o'clock, and even then he would not leave his study until nearly eleven.
She lay down on the bed and pulled the comforter over her aching body, relishing in the incredible luxury of a real mattress and a real pillow and fluffy blankets. It took a few minutes for her to find a position that would not cause her to feel the wounds on her back, but once she did, sleep fell over her almost immediately.
Her sleep was not as peaceful as she would have hoped. In front of her floated the images of the girls she had abandoned. They had not known it, but she was their only hope of ever getting out of there, and when she had given up on the mission she had in part also given up on their futures. Their accusing faces swarmed all around her, enveloping her in a liquid guilt that made her want to cry.
She awoke to a scream.
Strangely, the scream did not belong to any of the tortured girls haunting her dream. It belonged to someone else, to reality, to the girl backing slowly against the peach colored wall with terror etched in every feature.
"Tali," Ziva whispered, jaw dropping as she took in how much her little sister had changed. Her cheeks were less chubby, her hair was longer and curlier. She was at least four inches taller.
And she was absolutely terrified.
Confused, Ziva sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed, extending an arm to the girl pushed flat up against the wall.
"Get away from me," Tali whispered, shaking like she might fall apart. Ziva's eyes grew wide.
"Tali, motek, it is me—"
"This is sick," the younger girl interrupted, the words coming out in something just slightly less than a snarl. "This is a sick joke, I… I don't…" Her breath began to come out in little pants, eyes filling with water and spilling soon after.
"I know I was gone a long time," Ziva began unsteadily, speaking slowly and gently so as to not terrify her sister even more, "but I'm back now. I am so sorry, I never should have left, I—"
"No!" Tali screamed, hysterical, and Ziva's jaw fell slack. "No, you… you… You should not be…"
Ziva stood up, extending a shaking hand. "Tali, what is going on?"
Tali gulped, managing to get a grip of herself long enough to form a comprehensive sentence. "You… were dead! Dead! You left and the plane crashed and Abba had all these pictures—"
"Tali," Ziva tried to interrupt, her eyes wide with abject horror. Tali, however, was too panic-stricken to notice.
"—and I went to your funeral and there were all these people and you… there was a coffin and…."
Ziva took a tentative step forward, reaching out gently to place her arms on her sister's trembling shoulders. Tali flinched when their bodies made contact, as if she almost did not expect Ziva to be anything more than a ghost.
"Tali," Ziva began, her voice quavering, "are you telling me that Eli told you I was dead?" Tali could only manage to nod frantically, her breath catching as she reached out to touch the sister she had assumed dead for two and a half long years. The shaking turned almost violent then, the young girl struggling to breathe as sobs wracked her whole body. She doubled over, her head falling into Ziva's shoulder.
"I am so sorry," Ziva whispered, bringing her hand up to cradle her sister's head against her, her fingers becoming tangled in Tali's hair. Tali's trembling arms were wrapped around her, holding tightly as if she were a life raft. Ziva cringed inwardly as the small hands irritated her injured back, but she did not complain.
"I don't understand," Tali sobbed. "How could… he just…?"
"I don't know," Ziva muttered into her hair.
"He lied to me. For years he lied to me!"
"I am so sorry, Tali. He is not a good man, I know that now. We cannot stay here, and we are going to leave as soon as we can," Ziva promised.
Tali did not reply to that. She simply clung to her dead sister and cried for all of the years she had thought she would never again be able to do this.
Ziva clutched her right back, whispering soothing nonsense phrases to try to soften the blow as her sister's world came tumbling down.
Tony pulls the key out of the lock and pushes the door open, holding it as Ziva steps through. Even after almost a month and a half of weekly movie nights, seeing her in his apartment still makes his stomach do gymnastics. The sight of her plopping down on the couch and putting her feet up on his coffee table is even more welcome, as it means she's grown comfortable around him. He no longer has to tell her to make herself at home.
"Pizza should be here in ten," he informs her, heading to the kitchen to pour her a ginger ale—he learned on the second night that it was her favorite, and from then on out made sure that whenever she came over he was well stocked in the drink. He cracks open a beer and heads back to the living room.
"Thank you," she accepts. He raises his bottle.
"Cheers."
"L'chaim."
Tony heads over to his movie cabinet and starts to read off the names of movies, giving her a brief synopsis of each one.
"We've got comedy, action, fantasy, the classics… not too many rom-coms, but if that's what you're in the mood for I'm sure we could settle on one of the few I've got."
Just before the pizza arrives they settle on Ferris Buehler's Day Off. She tries to get up to answer the door, but he insists vehemently that she stay put.
"You're due in like, what, two weeks? Stay. You're supposed to be on partial bed-rest anyhow."
"Yes, mom," she teases. Tony pays the delivery man and takes their dinner into the kitchen, a tantalizing aroma trailing behind him and making her mouth water.
"Do you happen to have any peanut butter?"
Tony pokes his head around the corner, eyebrows raised. "Peanut butter?"
"Yes. Peanut butter on pizza sounds good."
He just smirks. "Man, pregnancy is weird."
"Do not make fun. Do you have it or not?"
"Yeah. You want it on the side or on top?"
"On top, please," she replies as she takes a sip of the soda in front of her.
A few minutes later, the food is in their hands and the movie is in the VCR. The screen comes to life.
Not too long into the movie, Ziva speaks up. "I think I know why you like this movie so much."
"Oh you do, do you?"
"You think you are like Ferris."
He grins broadly. "Hell yeah I do! All my friends at boarding school used to tell me I was just like him. Smooth talker, good with the ladies, got away with anything..."
"Reckless, caused a lot of trouble…" she adds, sending him a teasing smile.
"The price you gotta pay, sweetcheeks," he responds, elbowing her gently. "Although for the record I never stole my friend's dad's car."
"No?"
He sends a mischievous smile her way. "I stole my dad's car."
"What kind of friends am I making, hmm? Trouble makers and criminals?"
"Or, you know, law enforcement agents. One and the same. Careful I don't rub off on you." He winks.
Principal Rooney is trying to break into Ferris' house when Ziva feels a pain much sharper and in a very different location than the stitches in her side she gets from laughing. It feels like menstrual cramps; she chooses to ignore it. It eventually fades away, but twenty minutes and four scenes later it returns. Her hand balls into a fist.
Tony notices her tense up and looks over at her with concerned eyes. "You okay?"
"I am fine," she lies, quite literally through her teeth. He sighs and pauses the movie.
"You're not. What's wrong?"
She frowns. "I… I am getting cramps. They come and go, it is no big deal."
"The hell it's not! You might be—"
"I am not," she cuts him off. "I still have another two weeks."
"Babies come early all the time," he insists.
"My doctor told me that I might experience these… these… well, there is a name for them and I do not remember. But they are contractions that you get well before you go into labor. She said this is what they would feel like," Ziva assures him. "It is nothing."
He stares at her skeptically for a long moment, before picking up the remote again. "You promise you'll tell me if they get worse?"
"Yes. Now play the movie."
The familiar pain comes and goes at regular intervals. She breathes through it, trying to keep the panic from bubbling up in her throat, repeating to herself the words of reassurance she spoke to Tony. Still, even if these are pre-labor contractions, that can only mean that the true labor is sometime in the near future.
She still does not feel ready, and she doubts she ever will.
The credits begin to roll and Ziva listens to Tony speak, not understanding anything he is rambling about because she had stopped concentrating the last half of the movie. When he helps her stand up, however, she feels something trickle down her leg.
"Tony…" she whispers, squeezing his hand tightly in her own.
"Is something wrong?"
"I… I was wrong. About the cramps. They were contractions."
"How…?"
"I think my water broke," she admits shyly, not meeting his eyes. She can hear the panic in his voice when he responds—he is less prepared to deal with this than she is.
"Um, okay, well, we need to get you to the hospital," he decides, trying to take it one step at a time.
"Can I take a shower first?" she inquires, suddenly incredibly self-conscious of the liquid running down her leg. "I would like a few moments to… to myself."
"Uh, yeah, sure, no problem. The, uh, the towels are in the cupboard below the sink. I'll just… I'll clean this up and wait out here." She can tell that he is frazzled, and for a moment it makes her smile because she knows it means he cares.
She practically waddles into the bathroom, the tile cold against her bare feet and causing her toes to curl inward. She turns on the water, letting it get hot as she pulls her clothes off and grabs a white towel from below the sink.
Stepping into the hot water, she deflates. It soothes her incredibly tense muscles, nerves running in rivulets down her body and swirling around the drain before disappearing. She takes these last few peaceful minutes to decompress and think logically about the situation.
This throws her off, certainly, because she was not expecting to have to deal with this for another two weeks, but she knows she must shake it off. It is a good thing, she assures herself. Pregnancy is miserable and cutting it short is hardly a bad thing. And besides, two weeks in the future, will she truly be more prepared to have this child than she is now? No, she decides, she will not be.
She rubs her hand over her wet abdomen and takes a deep breath, readying herself for the uncertain but exciting future. This is where everything changes.
He's pacing back and forth outside the bathroom, wringing his hands. He has never been nor will he ever be good with things like this. The only information he has to go off of is from movies he's seen, none of which he is sure are accurate representations.
Hey, look on the bright side, DiNozzo, he coaches himself, at least this isn't "Father of the Bride II."
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sits down on the edge of the bed, going through his contacts until he gets to the R's and finds Ari's number.
"She's in labor," is all he says. Ari just asks which hospital and informs him that he and Tali will meet them there.
Tony hangs up the phone and runs a nervous hand through his hair, praying that he hasn't bitten off more than he can chew. He needs to keep his calm, to be a rock for her, but what if for some reason he can't? He's never been in this situation before.
And then, as if to test him further, he hears a crash and a yelp coming from the bathroom. Multiple scenarios flit through his panicked brain, none of them favorable to the incredibly pregnant woman in the next room. Springing into action, he launches himself off the bed and towards the door, not stopping to knock.
He flings the door open, his eyes immediately searching the small room for the cause of the noise. They quickly land on the shower stall, and through the beveled glass he can see the blurry, olive-toned outline of her body. One of her hands is pressed up against the sliding glass door, the other clutching the built-in shelf on the far wall, supporting her at an odd angle. The bottles of shampoo that belong on that shelf lie on the ground near the drain.
"Ziva?" he calls, heading through the foggy room. He slides open the glass panel that she isn't using to support herself and turns off the water. Keeping his eyes averted, he extends his arm. "Alright, here we go," he coaches, and she pulls her hand off of the panel and grabs his, pulling herself upright. With his other hand, he wraps a white towel around her shoulders. "You decent?" he asks.
"Yes," she replies after a moment, her voice soft and embarrassed. At her word, he allows his eyes to settle on her face. Her brown hair, long and straight from the water, is plastered to the sides of her face. Water drips off the end of her nose, and he can tell that she is breathing heavily. She has wrapped the towel around her and under her underarms, holding it together by the corners at her chest.
"Did you slip?" he inquires, not letting go of her hand as he helps her out of the stall. Once her feet are on the shower mat, he feels comfortable letting her go.
"Yes, I… I lost my balance and grabbed the shelf, and…" she begins to explain, twisting around to use her free hand to gesture to the shelf. When she turns, however, his eyes do not rest on the objects she is pointing at but rather on her back. The towel, since she is holding it solely by its corners in front of her, is not pulled taught, and it swoops freely down to just below the two dimples at the bottom of her spine. Her dripping hair falls to the middle of her back, the area between where it ends and the towel begins naked to his eyes.
For a moment he cannot not tear his eyes away—they remain fixated on that small portion of skin she accidentally bared to him, moving in crisscross patterns as they trace the angry red lines. Their meaning does not fully register at first, but ever so slowly the horrid realization begins to dawn on him.
Bile builds in his throat and he tears his eyes away, shutting them against the proof of the cruelty his Ziva has endured. The blackness behind his lids, however, offers little reprieve—he can see the pattern even then, dancing like fire burned into his eyelids. Opening them again, he looks up to find that she has turned her head back to him after realizing that her halfhearted explanation was falling on deaf ears. He can tell precisely the moment that she realizes the issue—her eyes flutter and refuse to meet his, and she turns her torso back to face him, pulling the towel tight against her.
"I need to get dressed," she tells him, her voice timid, "before the contractions come back."
Tony nods almost too eagerly, licking his lips before replying. "Yeah, 'course. I'll… just be…" He gestures awkwardly towards the door. The smile she responds with his half-hearted, there only to placate him. He hurries out.
After that he returns to his pacing with a vengeance, his steps more hurried and tense than before. He cannot stop seeing the scars. They dance in front of his eyes, causing his brain to attempt to come up with some sort of explanation. It does not take long. He has seen enough abuse in his time as a law enforcement official to know exactly how she must have gotten those scars.
He knows nothing for sure, but suddenly her reluctance to talk about her father makes much more sense.
When she emerges it is with tentative steps. Whether that was due to what just happened or because of her precarious physical state, he is not sure. He stops his pacing and looks up at her, expecting her to avoid his gaze. Instead, she looks directly into his eyes. Tony fidgets. Serious situations like these are hardly his forte, and he usually manages to screw them up one way or another. He knows this about himself, so he lets her make the first move.
"I… I did not intend…" she begins hesitantly, fingers playing with the fabric of her pants. This kind of nervousness is rare for her, at least in his experience. He wonders if perhaps this is a bigger deal for her than it is for him. After all, he already knew she had been hurt.
"I know," he replies gently, offering her a small smile. He sees her swallow, but she still does not look away.
"Please," she begins shakily, "do not ask." The second part comes out so softly that he has to rely on the motion of her lips to understand. He nods in response, and hesitates a moment before taking a small step forward and opening his arms.
And then, she defies all expectations by entering into them without a second thought.
Her skin is warm and soft against his as he pulls her into him. The large bump requires a little bit of extra maneuvering, but she still manages to fit comfortably against him. She lays her head on his shoulder, her hot breath against the side of his neck. Her arms slide under his and she rests her hands on his shoulder blades. He lets his head fall slightly to the side so his cheek rests on her forehead and then takes a deep breath. She smells like him, he notes with a tiny smile.
"I'm sorry," he breathes, joining his hands together at the small of her back. He's not positive what he's apologizing for—walking in on her, not looking away quickly enough, that this happened in the first place?
"I thought Gibbs had a rule against apologizing," she responds. He chuckles.
"Yeah, well, it doesn't count between friends." At his words, she pulls back. Her hands find a home on his shoulders and his at her hips, almost as if they were about to slow dance to some inaudible tune. Her molten chocolate eyes captivate him and he cannot look away.
"Well I have my own rule," she informs him. "No apologizing when you are not at fault. And what happened… both today and… before… was no fault of yours." He gives her a slight nod in response.
"Ziva… do… do you want to talk about it?" It's a long shot if he's ever heard one, but he knows that he has to at least try. She opens her mouth to shoot him down, but the words die on her tongue. She bites her lip, thinking for a moment before answering.
"I… I am not ready, not today. It is too…"
"Close?"
"Yes. It is not the right time, please understand."
"Okay. Just know that if you ever get tired of carrying all this alone…" he offers. A warm smile touches her red lips and she moves her left hand from his shoulder and lays it gently on his cheek. He involuntarily tilts his head into the motion, his eyes not leaving hers.
"I will not keep you in the dark forever, Tony. One day, yes?" Her vow is gentle and falls like music on his ears, carrying with it a promise of a future, a Tony and Ziva that are more than just… this. It frees his heart.
"One day."
The perfect moment is rudely interrupted by the pained look that slowly takes up a home in Ziva's soft features.
"Oh," she gasps, eyes widening and her hands pulling away from him to cradle her swollen abdomen.
"Are they getting worse?" he asks, feeling that familiar uncertainty rising once again in his chest.
"Yes," she hisses, doubling over.
"Okay… um…" He hesitates, trying to remember every movie he's ever watched with a birth scene. "We gotta get you to the hospital. Just… breathe. In… out… in… o—"
"Hospital," she interrupts, "now." It is moments like this that he remembers that she used to be Mossad, and that he should be very afraid when she is pissed off like this, unless he wants to end up with something broken.
"Right. Hospital. Got it."
And with that, he wraps his arm around her waist and helps her out of the apartment, into the elevator, and to his car.
A/N: Well, this is a monster of a chapter. Hopefully it makes up for the long wait! I had a lot I wanted to fit in. I haven't even proofread it I'm too tired… my vision is wonky. Hope you all liked it! You can thank Fatima for kicking my sorry butt into writing it…
The flashbacks will end next chapter, just a heads up. There's still a lot I want to fit in in that timeline before they end, so basically next chapter will be pretty flashback heavy. But it will also be the baby's birth, something I know a lot of people have been looking forward to.
Just so you all know: the baby's birth is in no way the climax of this story. That will come later (four chapters, five chapters? Who knows with how I write) and last a good long while, and then the aftermath will be pretty crazy, and then eventually fluff (which I know a LOT of people are looking forward to, including me).
To those eagerly awaiting Part II of All the King's Horses: sorry, I've been spending all my time on this. Soon, though. Soon.
I am continuously blown away by the response that I've been getting! I treasure each and every review. Thanks a billion to Abby, prince-bishop, shortcake99, slurmina, J09tiva, mishka, theroseshadow21, libby, Alaina E, cotesgoat, jgibbs7, nevergiveuphope2, miss suave, amaia, dvd123, mari83, aquasm, simsee, and JG for the fantastic feedback! I appreciate it more than you know.