65 reviews, 118 follows. Every chapter I get more, and I'm super grateful that you guys still like this story. This is a chapter, by the way, that was sent to three or four different people just because I was going through a time of second guessing my writing, so I let a few people proof read it for me. And I feel much better now.
Anyway, hope you like it. It's a tad on the short side, and by that I mean its just under 1900 words. But carry on. :)
There was a reoccurring nightmare Tony had every once in a while since he'd found out Ziva was pregnant, and as the weeks went by, it occurred more and more often. In the dream, Ziva came up to him with her stomach swelled to the point she looked as if she was about to pop. She looked at him every time and said something. Each time it was different, but each time it was a positive statement. Once she would tell him that she was happy to have him, and in one, she would tell him how excited she was to have the baby. Then, suddenly, she was back to her normal size, with the deadest look in her eyes, and she would turn and walk away from him.
Each time, there wasn't a child to be seen anywhere, and if the dream ever continued past that, all he could remember was Ziva sitting across from him, a blank, almost lifeless look on her face.
Every time he woke up from this dream, he was shaking and it usually took a few hours to get the feeling of dread to leave him alone enough to go back to sleep. So he would get up and go sit on his couch, staring blankly at a random movie until he could get the images out of his head.
Except they were never completely gone.
They haunted him to the point that it took him longer to fall asleep at night, and some nights he would wake up so often that any sleep he did get wasn't worth it.
He wondered if everyone could tell that he wasn't getting nearly as much sleep as he needed, but most days he figured nobody was paying him enough attention to notice. Everyone was giving any extra attention they had to Ziva as the bump between her hips started to become more and more noticeable.
Most of them barely even knew her, and it made him feel sick to see them asking her twenty questions as if they cared, when all they really cared about was the fact that there was something new to talk about.
"When do you find out what you're having?" Samantha from Human Resources asked, eyes wide. He held back a scoff and tried to focus on playing Solitaire.
"Uh, I have an appointment next week. If he or she cooperates, they should be able to tell then." She replied, smiling kindly.
A small gasp of excitement escaped the older woman, and she put her hands to her heart. "That is so wonderful."
Solitaire didn't exactly work out, so, closing the game, he put on his best fake smile. "Hey, Ziva, I'm about to head down to Abby's lab to see if she has anything on the case. Want to come with me?" he asked before Samantha had the opportunity to open her mouth again. He stood and walked toward her desk, begging her mentally to say yes.
Ziva looked at him like she wanted to turn down his request, but something in his eyes must have convinced her otherwise, because she told Samantha goodbye and followed Tony to the elevator.
"What was that about?" she asked once they were inside the steel walls and heading down to Abby's lab.
"Nothing." He shrugged, staring at the lit up number on the elevator wall intently.
"You are lying." She accused, and he shrugged again.
"It's just... I mean all those people who barely know you asking so many questions... Do you really think they care?" He asked, feeling like a jerk as soon as the words had left his mouth.
He narrowed his eyes at the elevator wall as she responded slowly. "It is nice to believe that they do."
He nodded once, swallowing any other words that he wanted to say. He wasn't in the mood to argue with her about anything today. Thankfully, the elevator reached their desired floor, and Ziva stepped off before him. It took him a moment to follow her, though, because the view he had from behind her was exactly the one he'd been seeing in his nightmares.
He was standing at his kitchen counter eating a sandwich that night when his phone rang, and he picked it up without looking at the caller ID, already knowing who it was.
"Hey, need something?" he asked, holding the phone with his shoulder in order to open his refrigerator door and grab a soda. He opened it, taking a sip.
"What did you mean by what you said today in the elevator?" she asked pointedly.
He cursed under his breath, because he'd hoped she would just drop it. He put the soda on the counter, sighing. "Nothing, Ziva. I was just... mad."
"Why were you mad?" She asked, persistent.
"Does it matter?" he retorted, taking another sip of his Coke. It suddenly didn't taste as good.
"Yes, why wouldn't it matter?" she snapped in return, and he could visualize her narrowing her eyes.
He paused, biting the inside of his cheek and taking a deep breath. "Because… it just doesn't matter. I was mad, but I'm not now. Case closed."
"Are you jealous of all the attention?" she inquired.
He scoffed more loudly than necessary. "Hell, no. I'm just sick and tired of all those people acting like they care about you when they probably couldn't care less. They just all drop 100 IQ points when babies are mentioned."
He closed his eyes, mentally kicking himself.
"Oh."
He slapped his hand to his forehead, rubbing circles into the skin there, feeling the beginning of a headache. "Sorry. I didn't mean to say that."
"It is what you think. No need to apologize." She said, her voice suddenly resigned.
"No, there is. I didn't mean to upset you, okay? I'm sorry." He apologized, leaning his head against his kitchen cabinet, willing the ever growing pain in his head to go away.
"You shouldn't worry so much about upsetting me." Her voice raised an octave.
He rolled his eyes, lifting his head and walking over to the cabinet he knew held Tylenol. "If you say so. Have you taken your medicine tonight?"
"Are you trying to change the subject?" Another octave higher. He pushed a bottle of Nyquil out of the way to reach the Tylenol bottle behind it.
"Actually, yes, Ziva, because I am not in the mood to argue with you tonight." He sighed, opening the Tylenol bottle with one hand and shaking out three pills.
"You have never tried to avoid arguments before." She snapped, accusing.
He groaned. "Not that you've realized, anyway." He said, already knowing it would earn him a harsh response.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Yeah, he'd been right about that one.
"Nothing, Ziva!" He exclaimed, wincing at the sharp pain in his head. "I am trying to avoid arguing with you, okay? No matter what the reasons behind it is, that's what I'm trying to do here. Why can't you just accept that and stop trying to pick a fight with me?" he tossed the pills in his mouth and swallowed them with a swig of soda.
The other end of the line was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was chilled, and lower than her normal tone. "Why do you insist on treating me like a child just because I am having yours?"
He put his forehead back against his cabinet, a little harder than necessary. He winced, picking his head back up. "I'm not treating you like a child."
"Yes, you are." An octave higher again.
"You're going to drive me to drink, Ziva." He whispered, walking into the living room and collapsing on his couch.
"You're treating me like a child!" she fumed. "I do not need you to avoid telling me what you think because you do not want to upset me! I do not need you to try to avoid arguments with me, and I definitely do not need you to remind me to take my medicine! The fact that I am pregnant does not make me fragile or forgetful or dependant on anyone. I do not appreciate being treated like a child just because I am having one!"
Great. She was pissed now.
"Maybe I'm just being protective of you! Have you ever even considered that possibility, or do you just assume that I'm trying to make your life miserable or something? I actually do care about you, you know." He retorted, wishing the Tylenol would hurry up and take effect.
"Are you suggesting that I don't care for you?" she questioned, and he could picture her pacing her living room.
He opened his mouth to snap back at her, but paused. "You're going to be mad at me no matter what I say, apparently. So what does it matter?"
She didn't say anything, and he assumed that she was taking a moment to think about what she wanted to say. He took the opportunity to breathe deeply through his nose, and finally, his headache started to lessen. He sighed in relief, but then paused.
The line was too quiet.
"Ziva?" he asked once, even though he knew that he was no longer on the phone with anyone. He pulled the phone away from his ear, and his suspicions were confirmed.
She'd hung up on him.
"Ah, damn." He redialed her number, listening as it rang and rang. It went to voicemail, and the next two calls he made did the exact same thing.
He thought back to the last thing he'd said to her, about insinuating that she didn't care for him. He could understand why that had upset her, but he'd been angry and hadn't thought about the effect his words might have. He knew she cared about him, too. She just didn't care for him in the same ways that he cared about her, and that, he decided, was ultimately what caused him to snap at her like that. She just treated him as if it were only a friendship, which was what he was to her, he supposed.
Which, if one was to reference the growing being inside of her, it would obvious that the label of "friendship" wasn't exactly accurate. It went deeper than that, apparently.
Unless it was just a mistake.
He groaned, walking into his bedroom, throwing his phone on the floor blindly and collapsing on his bed face down. He stayed like that for a few minutes, feeling more exhausted than he had before their entire conversation. Finally, he got back up, retrieving his phone from under his nightstand, only to pull up her contact information and stare blankly at it.
He supposed he could text her, and apologize for being inconsiderate, if that was what his comments had been considered. He decided against it after a moment, plugging his phone into its charger and then climbing into his bed, which felt unusually cold. He laid there for a long time staring at his ceiling, feeling guilty.
He hadn't meant to snap at her.
He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings.
After a while, he finally turned onto his side and closed his eyes, already knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight without getting a visit from his nightmare.