Rifiuto: Non Mirena

Thanks to Reader aka Sun Samurai for reviewing 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37 and 38 and DS2010 for reviewing 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 38 and 39.

She lay on the floor of the living room; before Tim left to have lunch with Sarah, she'd asked him to bring the pillows and blankets down from their bed and lay them out on the floor, so she could lay down. There was a Harry Potter marathon on and she wanted to watch it- never having seen the movies- just not on the sofa. While she could stretch out on the sofa, it wasn't as comfortable as the Serta mattress on their bed and the other beds in the guest room. So Tim, realizing what he wife was really asking, stripped one of the beds in one of the guest rooms, and brought the small double down from the first guest room and, after moving the coffee table out of the way, laid it against the foot of the sofa, before spreading the blankets and pillows about the mattress, so she could lie on the mattress and watch TV.

So Ziva now reached up, shifting the video camera that rested on the coffee table beside her, tilting it down towards her belly. It was on this rare occasion that she was feeling up to wearing clothing- after they'd returned home, Abby had come over; Ziva had had just enough time to pull on a knee-length, inch-wide strapped, surplice-neckline wrap dress that tied just beneath the corner of her right breast. Abby had been thrilled to see her, and the Goth managed to reel in her usually backbreaking, heart-stopping hug, instead opting for gently touching the Israeli's cheek before slipping her arms around the expectant mother and holding her close. Ziva slid her arms around her friend for a moment before pulling away.

The older woman- for Abby had been with Gibbs the longest, and so was looked on as the big sister of the close-knit MCRT- had just come from afternoon mass, and so wore a short-sleeved, dark green dress that hit a couple inches above her knees, and a pair of ballet flats as opposed to her usual ten-inch platforms. Ziva had to admit to herself that she was jealous of Abby's trim waist, of her small breasts. But then Abby had gotten excited about the baby and Ziva had realized she was being ridiculous, especially when Abby told her that she couldn't wait to see the baby, and determine who he looked like. Of course, the young mother had instantly said that he would most likely have the majority of his father's features. Abby had left not long after, saying that if they needed anything in the next eight weeks to let her know.

Ziva now lay propped against the pillows, stroking her fingers over the beautiful throw Abby had picked up when she went down to New Orleans the week before to visit friends. The handwoven throw- a gift for Ziva- was decorated in blues and greens and had a simple quote in the center, by Rajneesh,

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.

She never existed before.

The woman existed, but the mother, never.

A mother is something absolutely new."

It was a beautiful gift, that touched Ziva deeply, and after a moment, she gently folded it and rested it on the sofa, before returning to the movie. She sighed, her gaze moving to her stomach, and after a moment, she reached down, lifting her dress up and exposing her belly. She rubbed a hand over her belly before folding her hands near her breasts. Gently, she stroked her stomach, before returning her attention to the movie-

Amal stretched, and Ziva sighed, pushing gently on the top of her belly, feeling him kick in response. She glanced over to the camera, before reaching over and lifting the camera off the table. She then pushed herself up, setting the camera on the ottoman at her feet; she then lay down, satisfied that the camera was balanced a few inches above her, so that it would video her belly from above.

She then gently pressed against the top of her belly, feeling his foot kick out in response. Sighing, she quickly untied her dress and sat up, removing the garment and dropping it to the floor before lying back down. Her hand moved, stroking up and down her stomach slowly before resting near her breasts again; she could feel him stretching and punching, and watched as her skin dipped and rose. Despite being in the head-down position, Amal was still as active as he'd been weeks ago, and with Ziva's thinning skin, it was getting easier to see and distinguish his kicks and punches.

A soft sigh escaped her throat, and she reached up, gently pushing on either side of her belly; pushing turned to rubbing, and she soon lost interest in the movie, choosing instead to watch the skin of her belly stretch as the baby moved. Her fingers skimmed over the skin of her tummy, and she sighed deeply, the action relaxing her, though it seemed to rile up her son. She chuckled softly. "I know, ahuva. I asked Dr. Beniot a couple weeks ago if you can feel it when Abba or I rub my tummy. She didn't have an answer for me, but I think you can." She stopped, thinking. "I know you you can distinguish when it's me rubbing my belly and when it's Abba, even if you don't hear our voices."

A moment passed, before Amal kicked hard at her mention of Tim, and she chuckled. "You may be my boy, but you are not my boy. You are definitely Abba's boy. And you know what, Amal? That's okay." He kicked again, hitting her ribs and she winced. "But you know what, sweetheart? I like it when Abba rubs my tummy. It..." She stopped, mentally berating herself for telling this to her unborn son. "It makes me feel beautiful. Feel... wanted, loved."