Rifiuto: Non Mirena

"You sure you don't mind me staying with you for the next couple of weeks, Timmy? This is your house, after all."

Her brother waved the question away, setting her bag on the bed in the remaining intact guestroom- because Ziva refused to let him put the first guestroom back in order- and took a seat on the bed. "Sarah, if Ziva and I didn't want you here, we wouldn't have asked." She sighed, taking a seat beside him.

"I just... don't want to be in the way, or... feel like I'm gonna be a third wheel-"

"Sarah, our son is going to be coming into the world sometime in the next three days or so, so you being here isn't a third wheel, it's the whole car. And if you feel like you're in the way, let me know, I'll kick you out." She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Besides," He reached up, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. "This is important to us. Our son is going to be here soon, and we want Auntie Sarah there to help us document his arrival. It wouldn't be right, if you weren't there with us." She gave him a small smile before wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"I love you, Timmy."

"Love you, too, Sarah." He kissed her forehead, pulling away as Ziva entered the room, hands resting on her back.

"Come on, we're gonna be late, Tim. My appointment, remember?" He nodded, getting up, before turning back to Sarah.

"Come with us?" A moment passed, before a smile tugged at the end of Sarah's lips.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

An hour later, Sarah leaned against the far wall, watching in silence as Jeanne checked her sister-in-law. Ziva turned towards the younger woman, holding out a hand. "You don't have to stand all the way over there, Sarit, you can move closer. Nothing bad is happening."

"I know." The younger woman whispered, before slowly making her way towards the exam table and taking Ziva's hand. While Sarah went willingly, Tim still held back, and often had to be pushed into taking her hand.

"You've still got a bit of your mucus plug, and you're about three centimeters dilated now." The Israeli groaned in annoyance, flinging an arm over her eyes.

"Why won't he just come already?" Jeanne chuckled, moving to gently feel along her stomach.

"I know, it's frustrating. You aren't the first mother to be upset because you aren't making much progress, trust me." She stopped, feeling something. "Have you been having regular contractions, Ziva?" The young mother bit her lip, pushing herself onto her elbows.

"K... kind of. They... they kind of feel like Braxton Hicks, and then sometimes they feel little bit stronger, and they're kind of irregular."

Jeanne nodded. "Well, your cervix is softening and moving, and it's starting to thin. I'd say it's probably about... fifteen or twenty percent effaced at the moment. But give it time. You'll get there. Okay?" Ziva sighed, nodding. "Will a little bit of patience, he'll be born soon."

Her head snapped up. "Soon?" But Jeanne just smiled.

They stopped by the birth center on the way home, bringing a few things to place in the room- extra pillows, a few blankets, a couple books- so that when she went into labor, they weren't scrambling for things, which was fine. Emily, the receptionist, quite liked Ziva, and, having nearly lost her own spouse to a car accident six years earlier, felt protective of the young mother, for she knew what Ziva was going through, being pregnant and adjusting to having her husband home after such a traumatic accident. And, she was happy to see Tim a bit more cooperative than he'd been before, though, considering the fact that he was acting like most first-time fathers, she let it go with a pat on the back.

By the time they arrived home, Ziva was exhausted and slipped upstairs to take a quick shower, leaving the siblings in the kitchen fixing dinner. They worked in silence for several minutes before Sarah finally spoke.

"Is it... does it... make me a horrible person, Timmy?"

"Does what make you a horrible person, Sarah?" He asked, adding chopped onions to the sauce. His sister met his gaze briefly, before returning to the oregano she was chopping.

"That I... I wish it was me and not... not Ziva... at... at forty weeks." He stopped, turning to her.

"Sarah, what's wrong? Talk to me."

The photographer shook her head, taking a deep breath. "You'll just think I'm being petty."

"No I won't. Sarah, I'm your big brother. Overachieving and smart-mouthed, yes, but petty? Never, Sarah. You don't have a petty bone in your body."

She moved away from the island until her back hit the sink. Without a word, she crumpled to the floor. "I just... Jason and I wanted Shanti so bad when we found out... and we got her... and we had her for... for twenty-four weeks and then... and then my stupid body turned on itself and... and I lost her... I only felt her breath for an hour... she didn't cry... she didn't look at me... she couldn't, her eyes were closed... she held my finger and... and her heart stopped..."

"Oh, Sarah." He joined her, reaching out to rake his fingers through her hair. "You don't have to do this, Sarah. You shouldn't be doing this. Ziva and I can get along fine without-"

"No! No, Timmy, this is important! This is your son!"

"Babies are born all the time without being filmed or photographed during labor, and you're in not shape emotionally to-"

"I'm not backing on my promise, Tim! I'm going to film Amal's birth, because something good has to come out of Shanti's death! If it doesn't... then all I've done is fail..." He pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently back and forth. Sarah clung to him, breaking down, finally letting go of the pain and heartache she'd carried since her daughter's death. When Tim looked up, it was to Ziva in the doorway, tears in her eyes. Gently, he pressed a kiss to his sister's head.

"You're not a failure, Sarah. You're not weak... if anything, you're one of the strongest women I know. If not the strongest."