Rifiuto: Non Mirena

Week Thirty-Four

Ziva rested a hand on her belly; she'd gotten used to lying on the mattress bed in the living room, watching TV or a movie- it felt so much more comfortable than the sofa. Tim settled beside her, Amal's baby book in his lap; he was flipping through the pages, studying the earlier ones, trying to remember. Eventually, he gave up, flipping back to the current page.

Thirty-four Weeks!

I'm facing down now, and the doctor said that it means I'm getting ready to be born!

Tim chuckled, flipping the page back to the previous week. Directly across from the writing, on the back of the previous page, was a photograph-

It was Ziva, standing on the street, in front of the coffee shop, gaze locked on her belly. She was stroking her tummy, a faraway look on her face, in a world all her own. Behind her, cars and people alike blurred as they hurried about their lives, but for Ziva, time seemed to stand still.

It seemed the photograph was the perfect representation of the last few months of their lives. Between Tim's amnesia and Ziva's pregnancy, the couple hadn't really had a chance to just sit, talk, and reconnect- and they wouldn't, not until Amal was a couple years older at least.

"Sarah took this?" Ziva looked up, her attention from their son's movements diverted as she turned to him, leaning close. A soft nod met him.

"Yeah, she... she took a few. They're on the desk." Without a word, Tim got up, finding them. He returned to the mattress, studying them.

"She really has a way with that camera." Ziva chuckled softly, her gaze going back to her stomach. She bit her lip.

"Hey, Tim?"

He glanced at her. "Hmm?"

"Will... will you still love me... even if I don't lose the weight after he's born?" His head snapped up, and he quickly put the book and pictures aside.

"Ziva... where is this coming from?" She shrugged, patting her stomach gently.

"I just..." She sighed. "I've put a lot of weight on, and... even though I'm small, it... after Amal is born, and even if I don't lose the weight, will you still love me, Tim?"

He moved closer, reaching out to rest a hand against her belly. "Sweetheart, I'm going to love you whether you're a hundred pounds or two hundred, because you're my wife, and the mother of my child. What should it matter, how much you weigh after he's born? You're going to be beautiful either way." She reached up, gently tracing his jawline with a small smile before leaning close and kissing him softly.

When they finally broke the kiss, Tim stretched out, propping himself up on his elbow. He gently stroked her belly, tracing the stretchmarks on her skin with his finger. She giggled, gently pushing his hand away. "Stop, Tim! Why would you want to touch those? They're hideous!"

"They're not hideous, Ziva, they're beautiful."

"How are stretchmarks beautiful, Tim?"

He shrugged. "Think of them as... as a badge of honor. A... a memory of our son that you'll have... even after he grows up." She looked down at her belly, rubbing gently up and down her stomach. The baby kicked, and after a moment, Ziva moved her hands to either side of her belly. Tim watched, silent, as Amal kicked and stretched against his wife's womb, as her hands pressed upwards gently before moving and rubbing gently in, towards her belly button. She then rubbed her hands up and down her belly, letting out a soft sigh as the motion helped to relieve some of the itching. "You're growing more beautiful every day, sweetheart, because you're growing our son."

She rested her hands at the top of her stomach, watching as Tim gently pressed against the skin of her stomach; Amal kicked hard, hitting Ziva's ribs. She grunted, wincing. "I'm telling you, he likes my ribcage-" She stopped, feeling another sharp jab to the bones, followed by another and another. A soft whimper escaped Ziva's throat, and she turned to her husband. "I think he's... practicing kickboxing in there." Tim chuckled, leaning down and gently brushing a kiss to his wife's skin. After he pulled away, Amal reached out, punching hard.

"Do you like to practice with Ima, hmm? Is that what you're doing, Amal? Practicing- even though Ima isn't putting up much of a fight." He chuckled, glancing at his wife, who rested her head against the pillows, reaching down to stroke her fingers through his hair. "Because, you know, Ima is quite the martial arts expert. She'll have to show you some time."

"If I'm ever able to get back into it." She whispered, glancing at her stomach. Tim chuckled, sitting up and kissing her quickly.

"You will, after he's born." He pulled away as the baby kicked hard against his hand, and Ziva laughed.

"Amal doesn't want you to stop rubbing him, sweetheart. He likes feeling your hand against my tummy. I think... I think it makes him feel protected, it... let's him know that you're here, and that you love him."

Without a word, Tim returned to rubbing her belly, and the baby responded with eagerness, kicking and stretching and pedaling as his father rubbed his hand over the stretching skin. With each brush of his fingers over the swell, Amal moved, responding excitedly to his father's touch. The agent chuckled softly, patting his wife's belly, before pulling away. "I love you, sweetheart." He pressed another soft kiss to her belly before getting up. Ziva smiled softly, skimming her fingers lightly over her tummy, pressing gently on the bottom of her belly, where his head was. The baby shifted, turning towards her touch and then back.

A soft chuckle escaped her throat. "You have made our son very happy, Tim. Now maybe he'll settle down for a while. Tim?" She struggled to get up, and once having done so, she made her way into the kitchen. "Tim, what's-"

He stood in the foyer, the door open. And standing in the doorway, was Sarah.