Rifiuto: Non Mirena

They returned home two days later, tired but content to be in each other's presence. Those three little words buzzed in her head like wasps in a nest, and she kept stealing glances at her husband throughout the day.

He said it, he told you he loves you... that means he must be remembering!

She told herself, however, not to get her hopes up so soon. Jeanne said that it could take months for him to regain his full memory back. But Ziva would take his confession as progress, either way.

So it was that afternoon that she found herself sitting in the middle of the nursery, baby clothes spread out around her as they got everything organized. Her belly protruded in front of her and she had her legs spread out, a pile of baby clothes in front of her. Tim had, out of the blue, grabbed his phone and begun recording, and she looked up at one point, grinning at him. "So what are we doing today, Mommy?"

Ziva sighed. "We're going to be sorting through Amal's baby clothes, putting away the things that will be too big for him after he's first born, and keeping out the things that he'll wear in his first... six months of life."

Tim chuckled. "And... how many weeks are you, exactly?"

She raised an eyebrow, but played along anyway, knowing that it was helping her husband to remember the child he didn't remember making with her. "I'm twenty-seven weeks. So, next week is the official start of my third and final trimester, which means our little baby track star will be born soon." She reached up, resting a hand on her belly.

Ziva felt most comfortable in nothing but her husband's sweats and a bra, and so that was what she wore half the time when they were home. With her expanding belly, she didn't feel as comfortable in clothes now, mainly because the skin of her stomach was so sensitive. "Is he moving?" She nodded, meeting his gaze.

"He hears your voice, Abba." She winced, gritting her teeth, and after a moment, Tim set the phone down, leaning it against the shelf of the bookcase in the room before joining her. "Our little one likes your voice. He is very active when he hears you. More so than when he hears me."

"Well he hears your voice all the time. And your heartbeat, and the expansion and contraction of your lungs, and all the other things a baby hears when they're in your womb." A moment passed before he slipped behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and squeezing gently. She reached up, catching his shoulder gently. "He loves you, just like I do."

They shared a soft kiss before he moved to help her. In minutes, they had everything sorted and either safely tucked away or hung up in the closet. Ziva held a pair of pink booties her mother had made for the baby; she hadn't moved from the floor, and was sorting through a small chest of things her mother had made for her first grandchild. "Oh, Tim, look." She held the tiny shoes out to him. "In thirteen weeks, our little Amal is going to be wearing those."

Her husband chuckled, handing them back before he slowly lifted another pair of booties out of the chest, this pair crocheted grey with black buttons. Ziva took them with a smile, studying them momentarily before holding them over her belly. Tim shook his head, a glimmer of amusement in his green eyes. "I don't think they'll fit you. They might be just a little too small."

She rolled her eyes, smacking him gently on the arm. "Very funny." A soft sigh escaped her throat, and she studied the shoes. "Ima's made all of these-"

"She's made enough for an army."

"Yeah, she has." They locked eyes. "She's convinced that after Amal is born, we will have another. Both she and Abba... they want as many grandchildren as we can give them... but I am not going to be like that woman on TV who kept having babies into her fifties, one right after another. I want to wait a couple years before we decide to have another."

Tim swallowed, paling slightly. "Can... can we... get through having this one first? He... he hasn't even come out yet..."

She nodded, reaching up to caress his cheek. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. But Ima was in tears when I told her you'd out of the coma. She truly thinks the world of you, Tim. She and Abba both, which surprises me, because Abba is so particular. But there must have been something in you that he saw that he liked, because he didn't forbid me from dating and marrying you." She then returned the shoes to the box and held out her hands. "Help me up, please."

When she was finally back on her feet, she rested her hands on her back, a small smile tugging at her lips. He went to the bookcase, picking up the phone and turning off the camera. "What?"

"Tim, could... could I have some hot chocolate, please?"

He rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. "You had some this morning."

"I know. But I want some more. Please? Pretty please?" He chuckled softly.

"Fine. Now go lay down. You look exhausted." She kissed him quickly, before going to the door.

"I am growing your baby, Timothy. Of course I am exhausted. Growing human beings is hard." Tim shook his head, going downstairs. He'd made the drink that morning after Ziva had woken up due to the cramping in her legs, as a way to help her feel better. It had taken him an hour to work the cramps out of her legs, not that Tim minded. She was growing his baby, after all.