Rifiuto: Non Mirena

He looked up as the door shut softly, his gaze tugged from the window towards the woman making her way towards him. He realized, as she got closer, that it was the woman who called herself his wife, the woman who was carrying his baby...

"Ziva, right?"

She smiled softly once she reached the side of the bed, watching as he slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. Without a word, she rushed to help adjust the pillows before perching on the edge. "Yeah."

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" His gaze flicked to her stomach, but she shook her head, reaching out to take his hand.

"No, just... I have been waiting for you to come out of this coma for three months and now... I am just happy you are awake." Her free hand moved to rest against her belly; this ever present need to protect their child from the harsh reality of what fate had befallen them while it still resided within her womb was strong, as strong as her desire to take her husband by the shoulders and shake him roughly, to scream at him to remember her, remember them, and the baby they'd created-

"Is it moving?" Once more, his gaze moved to her stomach, confused concern filling his eyes. "The baby?"

She met his gaze, shaking her head. "No... it's too early... I won't start feeling movement until twenty-five weeks, from what Jeanne said."

"Jeanne?"

"Dr. Beniot? She's an obstetrician and a neurosurgeon, though she deals more in delivering babies than fixing brains." He nodded slowly, digesting the information. Ziva could tell her husband was storing it away in that mind of his- that beautiful, brilliant mind of his that had wiped clean any memories of her and their life together. A moment passed, before he swallowed.

"Um... I... I'm sorry, but... how long did you say we've been married for?"

She bit her lip. "Four years. We... we got married on May sixteenth, at Gibbs's place, in his backyard. And we spent our honeymoon in Fiji. Remember?"

He screwed up his face, struggling to recall any images of backyard weddings or Fiji honeymoons, but eventually shook his head. "No... I... I don't. I'm sorry."

Ziva nodded, glancing down at their hands. "It... it's okay. When you come home, I'll show you the video."

"Home? Where is that?"

She looked up at him, swallowing. "We live in a brownstone, in the historic part of Georgetown. It's two floors. We bought it... not long after we got engaged. Remember, love?"

He glanced at their hands, studying their joined fingers... yes, there was something there, in the back of his mind... the smell of paint invaded his senses, and the overwhelming feel of exhaustion after a long day of moving settled briefly into his bones. "Vaguely. Did we... paint the place?"

"Yeah, the bedrooms in the upper floor. Took us three days, but we did it all ourselves... moved all the furniture in with the teams' help and... had our first dinner party on the living room floor, eating delivery pizza from-"

"Paper plates."

"That's right. You remember that night?"

He shrugged. "Kind of. It's hazy, but-"

"But it's a start." She finished, hiccuping. They let the silence settle around them, both too unsure of how to address the current problem staring them in the face. Finally, Tim spoke up, his gaze latching onto the small swell of her middle.

"You aren't very big for twenty weeks." Ziva followed his gaze, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

"It's common for a woman in her first pregnancy to not show so soon. I may be small at the moment-"

"But it won't last." He finished, and she nodded, head snapping up. Fresh tears came to her eyes; it was common for Tim to finish her thoughts... so common that Tony often joked that they shared one brain, split between them. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" She nodded, choking on a sob, the tears coming fast and strong now, increased not just from the situation-

"Damn hormones. I have been nothing but weepy and girly for the last three months, over the tiniest things."

"What's wrong with being girly? My younger sister went through three years of elementary school where she wore nothing but pink dresses. There's nothing wrong with girly-ness; it's just another aspect of your personality." Ziva sniffled, wiping at her nose.

"You remember Sarah?"

"Of course I remember Sarah. She's my baby sister-"

But you don't remember me or our child. She quickly shook the thought away. At least he was talking to her, despite the rawness of his voice, the blankness of his memories of her, the confusion in his eyes, at least he was talking to her, as opposed to completely shutting her out.

It was a start.

A start she could live with, if it meant getting her husband back in the long run.

"Oh, I almost forgot." She got up, going to the closet across from the bed. Since the accident, she'd spent more time at the hospital, not only for her prenatal check ups, but also because she didn't want to leave him unless he woke up, and so she'd brought a few things, leaving them in the closet. A moment passed, before she returned to her place beside him on the bed, holding out the book. Slowly, he took it, glancing at her.

My Journey, from Being in Mommy's Tummy to Being in Mommy and Daddy's Arms

A baby book, hardbound with a soft cover, the title written out in what appeared to be glittering craft glue, and beneath it was the baby's name, Amal, in yellow scrapbook cutout letters across the bottom. The book itself was light pink and green. Tim glanced at her.

"I was raised in Israel. My Ima- my mother-believed that... that pink was a boy's color and blue a girl's, because-"

"Pink is closer to red, which symbolizes masculinity, and blue symbolizes femininity. I... took a course on stereotypes in college once, and that was one of the things we had to study." She blushed, nodding. Without another word, he slowly opened the book to the first page, where a photograph of he and Ziva stared up at him. Taken on their wedding day, Ziva was curled into his side, one arm around his neck as he wrapped an arm around her waist; their eyes were locked on each other, brilliant smiles on their faces, their free hands linked together. Over the photograph were the words,

My Ima (Mommy) and Abba (Daddy)

Ziva David and Timothy McGee on their wedding day,

May 16th

He studied the photograph, searching for any form or recognition, but he came up empty. Ziva had to force herself to remain beside him, to keep from grabbing his face and ordering him to remember her, as Dr. Beniot's words rang loud in her head.

"He won't recall everything right away; this isn't TV. It's going to take time; it's going to be an extremely long, tedious process, his recovery, and you need to be there helping him through it."

"It... it looks familiar, but..."

"It does?" He nodded once, before slowly shaking his head.

"But I can't place it, I'm sorry."

She gave him a watery smile. Looks familiar, he'd said. It looks familiar.

Though it wasn't what she wanted, it was a start, to getting him back to where she wanted him to be.

Looks familiar.

By God, she'd take it.