Rifiuto: Non Mirena

He tried pulling away, but Ziva tightened her grip, and after a moment, their gazes locked. "What are you-"

"It... it's moving... the... the baby, he... he's moving..."

A small smile appeared on Ziva's face, and she nudged her nose against his shoulder. "I know. I feel him move every day." She gently squeezed his hand, leaning up to kiss his cheek softly. "I want you, Tim. I want you to hold me and... kiss me and... make love to me and... remember me... and I know that it's going to take time, but... I can't help wanting it."

He studied her for a moment, biting his lip. "Do... do you want me to make love to you?"

"Yes, but... but I don't want to force you to. I... I want you to come to me when... when you're ready." She pressed another soft kiss to his cheek and then got up, heading into the kitchen.

Tim sighed, resting his elbows on his knees. He struggled to get his thoughts in order, before getting up. Without a word, he grabbed his keys and slipped out of the house, shutting the door softly behind him. It didn't take him long, before he finally parked the car and got up. After quickly locking the car, he headed across the lawn and onto the small porch.

Yep, just as he thought.

Quietly, he slipped into the house, heading for the basement.

Gibbs looked up as he made his way downstairs, a bourbon-filled mason jar in his hand. "What can I do for you, McGee?" The younger man sighed, taking a seat on the bottom step. "If you're going to ask to come into work this week, I'll ask Vance to extend your leave until the baby's born-" But he instantly softened, seeing the defeated look on his agent's face. "What happened, McGee?" He asked, emptying another jar of nails and pouring a bit of his bourbon into the second jar. He made his way to the agent, holding the glass out to the younger man before taking a seat beside him.

"I felt him move today... her... my... our son. Gibbs," He shifted to face the older man. "I rubbed her feet and... and she kissed me on the cheek... and... and for the... the briefest of moments I... I wanted to kiss her back." He stopped, swallowing thickly. "But... but I don't remember her! Barely! I... I've regained a few memories over the last couple months, but they're just... just flashes. Quick film cuts that are there one minute and gone the next."

"Hold onto them."

"That's the same thing she said last week-"

"Hold onto them, Tim."

"I can't."

"Because you don't want to."

"I do." Tim took a sip of the bourbon. "Besides, how would you know?"

Gibbs briefly considered smacking his agent upside the head, but given the fact that his amnesia was due in part to the head injury he'd sustained, he opted instead for reaching up and gently squeezing the back of his neck. "Because I've been there." Tim met his gaze.

"Mexico?" His boss nodded. "But... you... you lost... years of your life... that's entirely different to this. I... I have no memory of my wife or our baby... how do I deal with that? And what... what if I never get those memories back? Dr. Beniot said that... that I may never get those memories back, that... that it depends on the extent of the damage-"

"Tim, do you love Ziva?"

The younger man thought a moment. Did he love her? He certainly felt something for her- strong affection, happiness... but love? At one point though, he must have loved her, because he'd married her-

"I don't know. I... I don't remember."

"Tim, do you feel affection for Ziva? Happiness when you're around her? Do you feel the need to protect her?" He nodded. "You still love her, and no matter what happened thanks to that accident, that feeling doesn't go away. It doesn't matter how much time you lose, you'll still love her. She's your wife. And as far as that baby is concerned, you'll love him from the moment he's laid in your arms. But you need to let yourself love her, let her help open up those memories."

"I'm trying, Gibbs."

"I know you are, Tim. And I know this distance between you two is because of the amnesia- but Dr. Beniot has said you're getting better. It's gonna take time. And I know you want to rush it; I can see it in your eyes, but you need to give it time."

"How much time, Gibbs? That baby is going to be here in four and a half months, and I... I don't know him. I don't remember conceiving him, I don't... I don't remember him. I spent the first three months of his growth in a coma... how is he going to react when he's born, and she... she lays him in my arms... what if I don't love him? What if I don't remember loving him?" Tim stood, pacing back and forth across the basement. "What if... what if she goes into labor and... and starts giving birth and... and then he's born and... and he doesn't want me near him? Or to hold him or talk to him?"

"Tim, he's your son. He loves you while he's in her womb and he'll love you after he's out. That won't change. He recognizes your voice and responds by moving, doesn't he?" Tim shrugged. "He's going to love you, no matter what happens, because he's your son, Tim." The older man got up, taking the jar from the younger man and setting it on the workbench. Then, he made his way to the younger agent, taking his shoulders. "Listen to me, Tim." When the younger man didn't look at him, he reached up, taking his face in his hands. "Tim, look at me." Slowly, green eyes met blue. "Give it time. And let Ziva help you to remember."

"Why?" Tears choked his voice; clearly, he'd been holding this in for weeks-

"Because she loves you, and you love her."