Rifiuto: Non Mirena

Ziva looked up as Tim came into the living room. She paused the DVD she'd put in and sat up. "Hey. Sarit just left. Where were you?"

He sighed, joining her on the mattress, reaching out to gently rub her belly. "I called Dr. Cranston, asked her if we could meet for coffee and talk."

"The... psychologist Jeanne suggested?" He nodded. "What did you talk about?"

"The amnesia, how I'm doing in regards to it, and... and why I might had forgotten you and our marriage and Amal." The baby kicked hard at hearing his father's voice.

"And what did she say?" Tim wrinkled his nose.

"That my brain might have associated you and the baby with the accident and that's why I can't recall any memories in regards to you." His wife nodded softly.

"That could very well be true. It makes the most sense." He shrugged.

"So what did you and Sarah talk about?" His wife sighed.

"Motherhood. And... our babies and... our partners and... how we both ended up so lucky to have beautiful, amazing men in our lives." He chuckled softly, leaning over and capturing her in a gentle kiss, before settling down beside her and returning his attention to their son.

"He's going to be beautiful."

"Who, ahuva?" Ziva asked, reaching down and tangling her fingers in his hair.

"Our son. He's going to look just like you, with your dark features-" She reached down, resting a hand against her belly as she rubbed slow circles over the skin with her other hand. A soft sigh escaped her throat, and she turned to look at him.

"As long as he has your eyes, Tim." Gently, she reached up, trailing a finger down his jawline gently. She then returned her gaze to her stomach, watching as Tim continued to stroke and rub her belly, and how Amal continued to kick and shift in response to his father. "You're one active little boy, aren't you, Amal? Yes, you are. I've never known a little boy as active as you are- you're always moving. Have been ever since you were a tiny little bean of a baby..."

Tim stopped, watching his wife for several minutes, before he pressed a kiss to her head and got up. "Do you want some tea?" But Ziva didn't hear him; she was too busy talking to their son, rubbing slow circles on her belly as she spoke, stopping occasionally to press against the bottom of her belly where the baby's head was nestled, preparing for birth. When the baby was feeling too cramped, however, she'd get up and walk around or shift positions.

"You know, when I got into labor, you're going to have to stop moving, because then you'll be coming out of me. But once you're out of me, then you can move all you want, and Abba and I will be there to hold you, and Auntie Sarit is going to video your birth and take pictures-" She looked up, to find Tim standing beside the makeshift bed, watching her. "What?" He shook his head.

"Nothing. I just love watching you talk to him." He set the cups on the coffee table before joining her. He reached over, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together, resting their hands against her stomach; Amal kicked, feeling the change, and Ziva giggled softly.

"See? He knows when you're touching him. He can feel the change on my skin." She turned back to her son. "Do you feel the change on my skin, ahuva? Yeah, that's Daddy, he's touching you too." The baby kicked hard and Ziva released her husband's hand, reaching over for her cup of tea. Tim moved closer, pulling his wife into his side. "Here, hold on a minute." Once she set the mug down, she scooted forward, moving until she was sitting back against her husband, nestled firmly between his legs. "There, that way Amal can feel you on both sides of my belly instead of just the one."

She relaxed as Tim gently stroked the skin of her stomach, his fingers running gently over the stretchmarks on her skin. "I can't believe he's going to be here soon." Ziva nodded.

"He is." She turned to him. "And he's going to be beautiful, because he's ours." The kiss was soft, tender- and interrupted by a hard kick. Ziva laughed softly. "I know, baby boy. You don't want us to be paying attention to each other, you want us to be paying attention to you." Gently, she reached down, rubbing in a slow circle, before coming to rest her hand on her right side. She patted her stomach gently, a soft sigh escaping her throat. "Do you want me to keep playing with you, ahuva, or do you want Daddy to play with you?"

The baby kicked in response, and Ziva shook her head, but continued rubbing. Soon Tim followed, his hands working slow circles over his wife's stretched skin. The movements seemed to rile Amal up more, and at one point he started pedaling- something that had Tim chuckling softly. "I think that's his favorite movement." She nodded as he kissed her temple. "You know, once he starts walking, we won't be able to sit down for a moment, right? We'll be chasing after him, stopping him from getting into everything, keeping him out of trouble and trying to get a handle on him."

"I know. And I look forward to it." A moment passed, and Ziva seemed to deflate slightly. "As strange as this sounds- I'm actually... I'm actually going to miss being pregnant. I know that sounds... crazy, but... but I am. I... I'm used to feeling him move inside me all the time, and... and feeling him grow and change and... and soon he's going to be out in the world and... and then, eventually, we'll... we'll have to let him go..." She turned to him. "I'm not ready to let him go, Tim. I'm not."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, holding her close.