Tim couldn't be sure how long they lay there, naked and bundled together in a blanket cocoon. His mind was occupied with more important matters. How hurt was Ziva? Did she need medical attention? How could they get out of here quickly?
"Do you suppose the rain will ever stop?"
Ziva's question—asked in a voice softer than Tim had ever heard her use—pulled him from his own thoughts. "It will have to eventually."
"Eventually," she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. "Eventually we could succumb to hypothermia and die."
"I won't let that happen."
"I am sure you would like to think you wouldn't, but some things are beyond our control."
They were both silent as a crackle of thunder echoed nearby. A gust of wind blew through the broken windshield, bringing with it a multitude of raindrops which it sprayed against them.
Ziva scrunched her eyes closed. "All of this…it could have been avoided."
"Maybe; maybe not," Tim replied, pulling her closer.
"No 'maybe.' If we had not gone out tonight, we would not have gotten in an accident."
"You can play the 'If I hadn't' game all you want, Ziva. It won't do you any good. Then you'll just waste energy second-guessing every decision you've made up to this point."
"Perhaps I need to. My judgment has not been very good lately, so perhaps I should look at the many mistakes I've made these past few months."
"What mistakes?" Tim asked. Ziva was no longer talking about that one night, that one accident. There was something more on her mind. "Ziva, what's going on?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes never flickered as she stared out into the black, stormy night.
"Ziva, tell me what's wrong," he implored, stroking her hair as he did so. "Did I do something wrong."
"I do not wish to talk right now."
"We're stuck here alone. All we can do is talk."
"Very well then. Horrible weather we're having yes?"
He closed his eyes in frustration. "What are you doing?"
"I am making conversation as you wished."
"You're sidestepping my question."
"That's because nothing is wrong."
"If I can see through your lying, something must be wrong."
She sat up, holding the moist blanket around her naked form. Her wet hair fell in front of her face, but even through the soaked tresses, Tim could see her eyes blazing. Her body trembled, because of rage or the cold, Tim didn't know. Likely it was a combination of both.
"Why must you always fix everything?" she snapped. "You are so determined to fix all of my problems! Did you ever stop to think that perhaps there are some problems you cannot fix? Or do you think yourself a god?"
Tim was flabbergasted at her reaction. "Of course I don't! I'm worried about you! Is that such a crime?"
"It is not your place to worry for me."
"I'm your boyfriend!"
"I can handle my own problems!"
"So you admit there's a problem!"
"Yes!" she screamed. "Yes, there is a problem! There, I said it! Now are you happy? Are you content to let me be?" Her words echoed slightly, hitting Tim from all sides.
Now it was Tim's turn to be silent. He looked at her, studying her, all of her. He didn't see anger in her face and body language, though. "No…I'm not going to let you be. Something has you scared."
"Nothing has me scared." Her declaration had little conviction behind it.
"What on earth could frighten you this way, Ziva?"
She leaned her head against the glass of the window. "I think I need to throw up." In a way, it was an answer to his question.
Tim gave her a worried glance, concerned that her brief romp through the rain had made her ill, something that would only be exacerbated by her extended exposure to the elements. He leaned over and placed the back of his hand against her cheek and forehead, looking for sign of a fever. He didn't care if she snapped at him for his concern. "You may have caught something when you were out there."
"No," she told him, shaking her head. "I have been vomiting for almost a week now."
"A week?" he asked incredulously. "If you had told me that, I would called off dinner tonight! You should go see a doctor."
"I did," she told him weakly. "I saw him three weeks ago."
Tim furrowed his brow, not at all understanding her. "But if you've only been vomiting for a week, how could he have told you three weeks ago…" He trailed off as it hit him.
He didn't even need to ask; Ziva's nodding confirmed it. "Yes," she told him. "I'm pregnant."
Tim, in his state of shock, confusion, and slight anger asked the worst question he possibly could. "Is it mine?"
"Of course it is!" she spat out. "Do you think I sleep around with just anyone?"
He regretted the question immediately, but wasn't without his own ire. "Well I assumed that if I were the father you'd have told me when you found out instead of giving me the silent treatment and only admitting it to me when we're both stranded in the rain! I guess I gave you far too much credit!"
"Shut up!" she screeched, covering her ears like a child. "Just shut up!"
Tim leaned his head back, running a hand through his hair. Pregnant? Him a father? But…but this wasn't how it was supposed to go! They weren't prepared!
He then asked the second worst question he possibly could. "How could you let this happen?"
Ziva looked at him as she blinked back the tears which threatened to spill from her eyes. She had thought Tim would be the sane and sensible one of them, the one helping her get through it, giving her support. He was the last person she had imagined would play the blame game.
"Oh, so it is all my fault?" she asked in anger and hurt. "You are the smart one, Timothy! I thought you of all people would know it takes two to make a baby! So don't you dare load it all onto me! Don't you dare!"
She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "I should not have told you!" she proclaimed. "It would have been easier to simply take care of it myself!"
"You think you could have hidden being pregnant for nine months and then hidden the fact that you suddenly had a baby?" he asked naively. "Someone was bound to notice at some point."
"Not if I did not let it get that far," she muttered.
Her comment made the entire situation far more real for Tim. He sat there stunned and quiet. This woman—a woman he loved dearly—was carrying his child around inside of her. A little part of him was currently embedded in her womb, developing day by day and waiting until it could finally squeeze through. But there was a chance the child wouldn't get that far. When Tim thought about their baby, he couldn't stand the thought of not being able to welcome it into the world, to meet it, even if it meant a difficult road getting there.
As nervous and as anxious as he was, the situation was now in perspective for him.
"Ziva," he whispered. He tried to pull her into a hug, but she was having none of it. "Ziva, please…we need to discuss this."
"So now it's 'we'?"
He felt his stomach churn in guilt. "I'm sorry for getting angry. I'm sorry for what I said and for hurting you. I'm as much to blame in this situation…probably more to blame than you are. But can we talk about this before making any rash decisions?" This time when he pulled her in for a hug, she didn't resist. He gently rested his cheek against the top of her head. "You're not alone," he promised. "You don't have to pull the stoic act. It's okay to let me help you."
"I have the choice, yes?"
Tim closed his eyes. "Ultimately, yes. If you want my opinion—I'm sure you don't, but in case you do—I think we should have the baby. We're both responsible adults with good, steady jobs. I'm willing to give up whatever I need to. I think we're strong enough to get through this and to come out possibly happier on the other end." He paused to let her speak. She didn't. He sighed, taking her silence as a sign of disagreement. "But…but if you want to…terminate the pregnancy–"
"I don't."
He looked down at her. "What?"
"I don't," she repeated, her voice quivering. "I don't want to get rid of it…I want to keep it."
After she said that, Ziva did something Tim had rarely seen her do before.
She cried.