Rifiuto: Non Mirena

Week Forty

"Hey, Tim?"

He returned from the living room, carrying the photographs he'd printed for Amal's baby book, and took a seat beside his wife at the kitchen table. "What do you need, sweetheart?" He kissed her quickly before leaning close to study the pages they were working on.

Forty Weeks!

Ima's officially at the end, but just because she's at the end, doesn't mean I'm coming yet! I might want to stay inside a little longer!

His wife quickly pasted the photograph beneath the lettering, before turning to him. "I've been thinking-"

"Oh God, we both know how dangerous that is." She smacked him lightly on the shoulder, shaking her head. "Sorry, darling." He propped he elbow on the table and resting his temple against his knuckles. "What have you been thinking about?"

"I know Sarit agreed to film the birth, but... would you object to her staying with us until the baby's born?" He raised an eyebrow. "Just... just so she can be here when it really starts. So she's nearby. Please, Tim. Would you at least consider it?" He pretended to think a minute, furrowing a brow before chuckling.

"Did you even have to ask, sweetheart?"

She met his gaze. "I thought I should."

"Well you don't always have to."

"So it's okay if Sarit stays with us?"

"Of course, do you even have to ask?" Their lips met in a soft kiss, and after a moment, Ziva slid a hand along his neck, pulling him closer. Amal kicked firmly against his mother's belly, and Ziva pulled away, whimpering softly. "You okay, sweetheart?" She nodded, glancing down at her belly.

"It just... it hurts when he kicks... because of my skin being stretched so..." She bit her lip, momentarily closing her eyes; she released a slow breath, reaching down to caress her stomach. "Easy, ahuva. It hurts when you kick." She winced as the baby kicked hard in response. "I know, baby boy. I want you to come out too. But Abba and I are anxious to meet you."

An hour later, Ziva rested her head on his shoulder as the warmth of the water began to relax her. She'd begun to find in the last week that spending this time in the bath was soothing, and that having Tim to relax against brought its own comfort in and of itself. Yes, her husband was going be a wonderful support when she went into labor.

No, active labor- when you go into active labor. You're in labor, well, early labor- though at this point, it's more along the lines of pretend because this kid is never coming out!

"What are you thinking about?" She lifted her head, meeting his gaze.

"What makes you think I'm thinking of something?" Tim rolled his eyes.

"Seriously? Ziva, I know you. I know everything about you. I know that you like Berry Mango Madness smoothies, and that you preferred G.I. Joe over Barbies," His wife blushed. "And that your foot size is a seven, but occasionally you wear shoes in a size five-"

"Not anymore." She muttered, lifting a foot a few inches out of the water. "I will be surprised if I'm not wearing a size ten or twelve once Amal is born, from the size of my ankles alone."

He chuckled softly, kissing the top of her head before continuing. "I know that you can play the piano exceptionally well- and can carry a tune better than I ever could," She laughed. "and that you have a set of Kerouac's works that are falling apart because you've read them so much,"

"I like Kerouac."

"I also know that your favorite perfume is Haviar Christian Number Five, because I gave you a small bottle for our second anniversary and you treat it like it's gold in the jungle."

"It's expensive and you spent a lot on-" She stopped, turning to him. "You remember what you got me for our anniversary?"

He met her gaze. "Yeah. We went out to dinner and I slipped you the box during dessert. You just about shattered the windows, with your screaming."

"I was... surprised." She whispered, meeting his gaze. Gently, she reached up, brushing her knuckles against his cheek. "See, ahuva, the amnesia's letting some memories through. By the end of the year, I bet it'll all come back."

By the time they had gotten out of the tub and gone into the bedroom, Ziva had to laugh. "You have an uncle that bred Arabians and you wanted a pony when you were three..."

"Make your point, Timothy, my love?" She replied, helping him turn down the covers before climbing underneath and settling back against the pillows that had been propping her up for the last several months.

"My point, Ziva, my darling, is that I know everything there is to know about you. I know what you like and what you don't like, what drives you up the wall and what makes you laugh and the various ways you've considered killing Tony. I know your favorite sex position and how you like crushed Oreos in your vanilla pudding. I know you have an addiction to Once Upon a Time and that you're favorite Broadway musical is a tie between Rent and Wicked. I know where you keep your fluffy pink socks for winter and where you hide your Harry Potter novels. I know you'd rather wax than shave and that up until the pregnancy, you hated bacon." He reached over, resting a hand on her belly and rubbing gently. "I know that it took you years to finally accept that you were part of the team, and that maybe you could love me, and that you're terrified of being a horrible mother, or of something going wrong and having Amal grow up to hate you..." He pressed gently on her belly, feeling the baby kick hard in response. "I know that the thought of going into labor terrifies you, but I also know," He reached up, lifting her chin. "That you are going to be an amazing mother, Ziva."

"How, Tim? Amal isn't even born yet-"

He smiled softly. "Because you already are, sweetheart."