Rifiuto: Non Mirena

"Eight hours. Is it common for a woman's labor to last this long?" Sarah met Tim's gaze, after glancing at the time on her phone.

Eleven-thirty p.m.

"I wouldn't know. My labor was fairly fast. I went from active labor to transition to pushing in the course of four hours. I never got to experience the typical natural labor." Tim sighed, noticing how these last couple days seemed to age his sister overnight. A moment passed, until Ziva came out of the bathroom, and Tim got up, going to her. She slid her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder and taking several deep breaths. He slid his arms around her waist, running a hand up her back and down over her hips as they began to gently sway back and forth. Tim, having easily fallen into the role required of him, made sure that he was always available whenever Ziva needed him.

Sarah sighed, adjusting the video camera from its new position; she stopped, however, hearing the familiar lullaby her brother was humming- the song their mother used to sing to them when they were both babies. A small smile tugged at her lips; it seemed only fitting that one of their children grow up hearing the lullaby- and since her daughter was dead...

Sarah quickly shook herself free of the notion. No, there was no reason to think that way. Amal was just as important as Shanti.

Ziva let out a groan, pulling away. "Sarah, can you- get the stool." She nodded, rushing to get the birthing stool the center had in each room. Once it was settled in front of the sofa, Tim helped his wife sit before taking a seat on the edge of the across from her so that she was facing him, nestled between her legs. With the stool being slightly lower than the sofa, Ziva reached over, folding her arms around his neck, and resting her head against his chest as he pulled her closer, allowing her to snuggle into his chest. His hands worked up and down her back, rubbing her hips and pressing in to help relieve the pressure.

His wife whimpered, burying her face in his chest as the contraction continued-

She pulled away, resting her hands on her husband's knees, head hanging as a groan escaped her throat- one that soon turned into a bellow that sent Tim's heart jumping for his throat. He moved to continue stroking her back, and when the contraction finally passed, Ziva collapsed against him, gulping in air. She was shaking and coated in sweat, her dark hair clinging to her skin. When another contraction camel-ed onto the last, she burrowed into his chest, fresh sobs clambering up her throat. "Sarah, go get Jeanne. Now!"

Once his sister was gone, Tim turned back to his wife. "Shh, it's okay, Ziva. I've got you. I'm right here." She shook her head.

"No... you're not..."

He slid his arms around her, gently rocking them back and forth in an effort to help her hips loosen further and calm her down. "Yes, I am, sweetheart. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, I promised, and I'm going to keep it."

Again, she shook her head. "No... not... mine... not... my... Tim..."

He furrowed a brow, slowly pulling away to meet her gaze. "Ziva, sweetie, take a deep breath. What do you mean I'm not yours?"

She met his gaze briefly before closing her eyes and swallowing. "You... not... not my... husband..."

"Sweetheart, yes I am."

She shook her head, continuing to rock back and forth, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Not... not who... who I remember..." A moment passed before she rested her hands on her belly, taking a deep breath. "Not... not the father... of my son..." She choked on a sob, wrapping her arms around her belly and leaning forward as another contraction hit. Tim reached out to continue stroking her back- "Don't... touch... me!"

"Okay, Ziva, let's-" But Jeanne and Sarah stopped as the young mother lifted her head, both surprised by her outburst. Without a word, Tim got up, quickly slipping out of the room. Jeanne nodded for Sarah to go after him while she took care of Ziva, and after a moment, she did so.

"Tim? Timmy!" She found her older brother in the hallway, near the stairs. "Timmy?" He looked up, tears in his eyes.

"What am I doing wrong, Sarah?" The photographer stepped closer, being cautious, not wanting to spook her brother.

"Nothing, Timmy. You're not doing anything wrong."

"Then why does she think I am, Sarah? Why does Ziva seem to think that I'm not who I was before the accident? Like just now- she told me that..." He took a deep breath. "That I'm not the father of that baby... that he's not my son, because... because I'm not the man she remembers..."

"Timmy-"

"Yes, I have amnesia, but it's getting better!" He stopped, something dawning in his eyes. "Or... at... at least... I... I thought it was." When he met his sister's gaze she realized what he'd been fighting doing for so long: giving up. She rushed to him, taking his face in her hands.

"Timmy, listen to me. Ziva doesn't know what she's say, okay? She's been in labor for the last several hours, and she's in a lot of pain. That much pain- that kind of pain- makes a woman say things that she normally wouldn't. I know, I said things to Jason that I would never say in a million years, had I been in my right mind at the time. She doesn't mean it, Tim. Amal is your son-"

"No, he's not." He pulled away. "He belongs to the man I was before the accident-"

"Oh, Timmy. It doesn't matter to Amal if you're the man you were before the accident or if you're the man you are now. All that matters is that you're there to welcome him into the world, and love him and raise him from the moment he leaves your wife's womb. So whatever Ziva says, at the moment, she may mean it, but it's the pain talking, Timmy. That's all it is, it's just the pain talking."