Rifiuto: Non Mirena

Week Thirty-Two

"Be safe. Let us know when you get back."

"We will." Tali squeezed her sister's shoulders gently before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her belly. "You be good for Ima and Abba. Don't give them too much trouble. I look forward to meeting you soon, little one." She then stood, pressing a kiss to her sister's cheek. Once they were gone, Ziva slipped into her flats and grabbed her purse, allowing Tim to hold the door open for her.

The wait at the doctor's office wasn't very long, and soon Ziva found herself lying back on the exam table as Jeanne examined her. The doctor glanced at Tim, who leaned against the nearby wall, watching silently. "Come here, Tim." She grabbed his wrist, tugging him over to her. Then, softly, she pressed his fingers against the bottom of his wife's belly. "Right there, you feel that?" He nodded. "That's your son's head." Tim's green eyes widened in surprise, and Ziva lifted her head, watching them silently. "He's settled back into the head down position, which means he's getting ready for birth."

"Meaning he'll be here soon, right?" Tim asked, pressing gently on the bottom of his wife's belly. The baby shifted against his hand, and Jeanne nodded, seeing the amazement light in his eyes.

Jeanne nodded as she helped Ziva sit up and removed her gloves. "Have you been experiencing any Braxton Hicks contractions, Ziva?"

"A few. That's... that's common right? They aren't regular or anything, and they don't last very long."

"Good. It's only when they start coming in regularly that you should be worried. But as of now, all they're doing is practicing for when the real thing happens."

"Anything specific we need to do?" Tim asked, as Ziva buttoned her blouse and tossed her braid over her shoulder. Jeanne thought a moment before shaking her head.

"No, just... be sure to get plenty of rest, eat right, and... enjoy these last eight weeks before your son comes. Okay? I'll see you next week."

Once they returned home, Ziva headed upstairs, unbuttoning her blouse as she went, letting it drop to the floor before slipping out of the sweats she wore and settling among the pillows of their bed. As it was getting closer and closer to her due date, Ziva found clothing less and less comfortable, preferring to go only in her bra and underwear when she was home alone with Tim. He joined her, handing her the cup of tea he'd made before coming up, camera in hand. She looked up at him, watching as he set the camera up, pointing it at her belly.

She rubbed a hand over her stomach, sighing in contentment as Tim propped himself onto his elbow. "Eight weeks." She glanced at him as he reached over and rubbed her belly, something that seemed to relax Ziva further. She watched him, as he stroked his fingers over her stomach.

"I like it." He raised an eyebrow. "When you rub my stomach, and play with our son." She sighed. "I... don't know, I guess... the feel of you touching me... touching our son... after... after months of being in a coma and weeks of not touching me, not touching our son... the fact that you're finally touching me, touching our son, and talking to him and playing with him... it gives me butterflies..."

Like when I look at you.

Without a word, Tim leaned over, capturing her lips in a firm kiss. She reached up, caressing his cheek, deepening the kiss-

They broke apart when the baby stretched against her skin, and after a moment, Tim got up, taking the camera and holding it so that it captured the movement of her belly. Despite shifting into the head-down position, Amal was still able to give Ziva some really good kicks and punches, and the young parents watched as the skin on either side of her belly button moved out and in. "Looks like just because our baby boy's getting ready for birth, doesn't mean he's going to stop moving any time soon." Ziva chuckled, realizing her husband was right.

"Are you still moving, Amal, hmm? You rambunctious little boy." The baby kicked at his mother's voice, before continuing to stretch. She scoffed gently. "Look at that, that's... that's his hand, see it?" She giggled softly, before a soft groan escaped her throat. "Oh, it hurts when he kicks... I think it's because my skin is getting so thin-" Tim hmm-ed softly in response, reaching out and gently rubbing his hand over her belly. Ziva sighed in contentment, visibly relaxing as she watched her husband. "Don't stop, sweetheart, please. I think you doing that clams both Amal and I down."

"Clams?" Tim asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She met his gaze, reaching up and covering her face briefly.

"You know what I meant, Timothy!" She replied, giggling. "God, this pregnancy is messing with more than just my body, it's messing with my brain-"

Tim chuckled, moving the camera closer as he continued to rub her stomach. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Once he's born, you won't have to worry about that." Once more, the baby stretched and kicked, moving to the sound of his father's voice. "As soon as he's big enough to walk, we'll be chasing after him... hell, knowing our son, he'll be keeping us on our toes from the moment he slides out of you and into the world."

Ziva grinned, a small smile coming to her face. "If he ever comes out. He's so content to be inside me that I'm a little afraid he won't want to come out when I go into labor."

"He'll come out, sweetheart. He won't have a choice." The baby kicked in response, as though arguing against his father. Tim chuckled, knowing this was one argument Amal was going to lose."