The tears which streamed down Ziva's cheeks matched the tears of rain which trickled along the car windows. Her sobs resonated as loudly as the roars of thunder, though they didn't cause the ground to shake quite as much.

They did, however, cause Tim's heart to break.

He caught her quivering body in his arms and pulled her against him to quiet the cries. "It's going to be okay," he said soothingly as he gently rubbed her back. "We'll be fine."

"No!" she yelled. Her face was pressed hard against his shoulder, so her interjection of disagreement was muffled. "No, I have ruined everything!"

"You haven't ruined anything."

She ran the heel of her hand along her cheeks, wiping away the tears which continued to flow. "I wanted this baby…I was frightened to death, but I wanted it! But now I have gotten us into this mess and for all I know the baby was killed in the crash!"

Tim hadn't thought of that. He didn't know much about the gestation period of the human female and what developmental stage the child was at any given moment. He had no idea how likely it was for a fetus at least three weeks old to survive a crash. But right now, it wasn't his place to play scientist and spouter of facts. That wasn't what Ziva needed. What she needed was to be reassured and helped, so that was what he would do.

"You only hit your head. I'm sure that can't hurt the baby."

"We will die here," she said matter-of-factly.

"We won't."

"When the car runs out of gas—which should be very soon—we will freeze out here."

He looked down at the hysterical woman. She was pressed against his side, holding on to him for dear life. Her eyes gazed out the window into sheet of rain which covered them. Her hand laid upon her stomach, the thumb gently stroking right about where the child would be.

Tim reluctantly let go of Ziva and began gathering his clothes. They were still wet. "Okay," he said as he pulled on his boxers, "I am going to go out and get help. You stay here and keep warm."

"Tim!" she admonished, pulling him back against her. "It is storming out there!"

"I know, all the more reason for me to go look for help. No one's likely to see us stuck down here in this weather."

"Please, don't go," she begged. "I do not want to be alone again."

"Do you want help?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to get out of here and somewhere safe?"

"Yes."

"Then let me go find someone."

"But–"

He held up a hand to silence her. "Ziva, I cannot sit here and argue with you! Either I go get help or I stay here with you! I can't do both.!"

She nodded pitifully. "I understand."

He settled her down on the back seat, wrapping the blanket around her once again. "I don't want you to get out of the car for anything," he ordered. "You stay right here until I come back with help."

"And if you do not come back?" she asked in a strained voice.

Tim looked down at her, his heart once again breaking at her apparent fear. He gently stroked her cheek and promised, "I'll come back."

He pecked her on the lips, slipped on his trench coat, and once again stepped out into the rain.

After a brief look to both sides, Tim decided to head in the opposite direction than he had when he'd gone to get a cell signal. He remembered seeing some signs of civilization about ten minutes before the accident occurred. Of course, that had been in a car going well over the speed limit, but with a little luck (and as much speed as he could muster), maybe he'd reach someone in only forty minutes.

He shivered. His clothes were soaking wet. They didn't so much hang on his body than they did cling to it, sucking in against every crevice. His hair hung down in his face. Water dripped into his eyes. Wind blew against him, sometimes pushing him back a couple of steps. The road was on a slight incline, making the trek even more difficult and tiring for him. His ankle was still bothering him and he was forced to stop now and then to rest it.

Through it all, though, Tim had one picture in his mind: Ziva, about seven months into the pregnancy, sitting in a rocking chair as she gently caressed her rather large belly. What kind of pregnant woman would she be, he wondered. What kind of cravings would she have? What kind of mood swings would she suffer? Should he make sure not to give her any weapons for the next nine months?

Above, lightening cracked across the black sky, illuminating it for only seconds. It was followed by a rumbling crash of thunder which made Tim's heart skip a beat. This wasn't the kind of weather for someone to be out and about in.

"Come on!" he muttered beneath his breath as he still saw no sign of another human being. "There has to be someone around!"

Indeed, as soon as the words had left his mouth, twin beams of light came around the corner, nearing him at a slow pace. The vehicle—a truck of some sort—was the answer to Tim's unspoken prayers. He waved his hands up and down in an effort to catch the attention of the driver. "Hey! Over here!" he called out above the loud pitter-patter of rain. "We need help!"

The vehicle showed no signs of slowing down, though. Tim was desperate. After on a split second of consideration, he ran out into the road, still waving his arms like a lunatic. His bad ankle buckled beneath him and he felt his body slump down onto the paved road. Right before he hit his head, the sound of screeching tires resonated in his mind.

Back at her car, Ziva was still huddled up in the back seat, the blanket tightly fitted around her frame. She had managed to fall into a fitful sleep, her arms encircling her lower stomach.

As she slept, the needle on the fuel gauge gradually inched its way closer and closer to the large 'E.' When it finally hit it, the engine puttered a bit before dying out. The heat gave out.

Slowly, the temperature in the car fell lower and lower.