Rifiuto: Non Mirena

Ziva let out a moan, resting her head on Tim's shoulders. Her dark hair clung the her neck and back, having come out of the messy ponytail it was in, and she glistened in sweat. She was shaking, every muscle in her small body as taut as a piano string. She groaned, shifting on the birthing stool she was seated on. "Oh, I can feel him moving closer... oh God..." She let out a deep breath, digging her nails into Tim's arms. He sat on the sofa behind her, his chest against her back and his arms around her, hands resting on her belly.

"Keep breathing, sweetheart." She whimpered. "Remember what Jeanne said? You're almost done? After he crowns you can start pushing and then he'll be here."

She shook her head, nuzzling into his neck, exhausted. "No... he's never coming out..."

Tim chuckled softly, continuing the gentle stroking of her belly; the movement- so familiar to both her and the baby for all those months- seemed to calm Ziva and help relax her. "Amal doesn't have a choice in this, Ziva. He's coming out, we know it, and he knows it. He's just..."

"Being... stubborn."

He grinned, pressing a kiss to her head. "Taking his time."

"Just like his... Abba." She took a deep breath, resting her head against his shoulder again as Jeanne came back over and checked her progress. The doctor gave the younger woman a smile as she knelt before her.

"I can see his head, Ziva." The young mother moved away from her husband, sitting up, resting her hands on her knees as she spread her legs a little more.

"You can?" Jeanne nodded, glancing up at her before she glanced back down.

"I could. And then he slipped back inside."

Ziva swallowed thickly. "What? Why?"

But just as Jeanne opened her mouth to reply, Sarah, who'd been sitting close by, filming the conversation between her brother and sister, laughed softly, causing the others to turn to her. She had since moved the camera down to between Ziva's legs, after asking her sister's permission, of course. Not that Ziva cared how close Sarah got- as long as the birth of their son was on film. "He appears and then disappears again. I think he's playing with you, Ziva." Her sister furrowed a brow.

"What?"

Sarah met her gaze. "Amal just wants to play, Ziva. That's all."

The Israeli groaned. "Amal... has been... playing long enough... I don't want him to play, Sarit. I want him to come out."

"He will Ziva, don't worry. He'll come out, he has no choice." Jeanne replied, checking her quickly. Ziva hissed, leaning back once more against Tim's chest, her breathing heavy as the pain got worse. She didn't see how her mother could go through this twice- she couldn't even handle it now.

"Oh... oh God, it burns..."

"That's because he's starting to crown, Ziva. He's stretching the labia so that he can come out and into the world. Just breathe through it- nice deep breaths, that's it, that's a good girl."

She choked out a gasp, taking a deep breath, struggling to get through the pain as the baby continued to stretch-

"And there's his head again. He's starting to finally crown. Ziva, do you want to see?" She nodded, exhausted, as Jeanne got up to grab a small mirror. Sarah moved a little closer.

"There's the baby. He's got a head of hair- oh, Timmy, you're gonna be the daddy a beautiful curly-haired little boy! He's gonna be like his Mommy with those dark curls." She briefly moved the camera up to her sister-in-law's face, but Ziva had her eyes closed and was trying to breathe. "You're doing good, Ziva." She backed away as Jeanne returned, holding the mirror down at an angle, and Ziva slowly opened her eyes. A soft gasp escaped her throat at the sight reflected in the mirror.

"That's our son?" Jeanne nodded, as Ziva tilted her head back. "Tim-"

"I know, sweetheart, I see him." He pressed a firm kiss to her head. "He's beautiful."

"He is not even fully born yet, Timothy-"

"It doesn't matter, Ziva. He's absolutely beautiful."

Briefly closing her eyes, Ziva turned her head, capturing Tim's lips in a kiss. "That's our son..." Her whisper was soft, breathy from exhaustion. "That's our Amal..."

"I know, sweetheart."

She turned back to the mirror Jeanne held, and the reflection of their baby's head. "That's our little Amal..." She stared at the image on the mirror and then let out an exhausted laugh. "Oh God, look at that hair!" She choked on a sob as Tim reached up, running a hand through her own loose dark curls. "He's going to be fighting those curls for the rest of his life..."

Sarah snorted softly. "If they're anything like Timmy's were when he was little... good luck."

"Ziva, do you want to feel your son's head?" She nodded, and after a moment, reached down, a gasp escaping her throat when she felt the soft mound of the baby's head against her fingers.

That's my son. After all these months, I finally get to touch my son.

But something Sarah said caught Ziva's attention, and she turned to her husband. "You had curly hair." Her husband blushed, before turning green daggers to his sister.

"What? Just because you grew out of your curls, doesn't mean Amal will." But the conversation quickly ended as Ziva rested her head on Tim's shoulder, the burning sensation returning as the baby continued to crown.

"Ziva, you need to take deep breaths, okay?" She nodded, reaching up to take Tim's hand and squeezing. "Keep breathing, no pushing, are we clear?"

"You're doing good, sweetheart." Tim pressed a firm kiss to her head, whispering softly as he continued to rub her belly. Ziva nuzzled into his neck, the feel of his fingers stroking against her skin helping to keep her calm. Finally, Jeanne looked up, a smile on her face.

"Okay, Ziva, listen to me. His head's out-"

"Completely?" She asked, lifting her head from Tim's shoulder. Jeanne nodded.

"Yeah. And I've removed the chord and everything's fine. So when you feel the next contraction, you're gonna push, okay? But only when your body tells you too, are we clear?"

"C... crystal."