Ziva shivered. She was aware that it had grown colder, but felt there was little she could do except pull the blanket closer around her. Even that didn't help her much.
Tim had left…was it an hour ago? Maybe more? The clock in her car was off, so she couldn't be sure. It seemed like it had been forever, though. The sky was still dark, so she guessed he couldn't have been gone more than an hour or two.
As she lay there in the cold, Ziva's hand instinctively trailed down to where her womb was. She knew that the child—if it was even still alive—couldn't have been developed enough to begin kicking or rolling about or whatever it was that babies did while still firmly nestled within their mothers. Still, she could help but stroke the area, hoping for a response, for some sign that the yet-to-be-born baby had not been harmed.
How had this even happened, she wondered? She, of course, knew how it had happened…but not quite sure what had gone wrong during one of their multiple trysts to result in this. She had always made sure he was wearing a condom, even though she was on the pill and never missed a day. She knew that no contraceptive—save for the less popular abstinence—was completely effective and that there was always a chance something could go wrong. But for two different forms of contraceptives to fail? It was very unlikely, though, obviously, not impossible.
She shifted on to her side, arms still cradled around her lower abdomen. When she had been late six weeks ago, she had thought little of it. It wasn't uncommon for her period to be late or even be skipped altogether, especially when she was under stress. She simply shrugged it off, assuming it would come eventually. But it hadn't. Worse, she had begun throwing up in sudden bursts with no foreboding stomach aches. She would simply feel it spurt out and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
On a whim, she had grabbed a couple of pregnancy tests from the convenience store. She told herself it was foolish and that she was wasting money, but she liked to err on the safe side.
The little blue line which appeared nearly caused her to drop the test. Hurriedly, she did another test, praying that the first had been a fluke. Even when that one came out positive, she did yet another, claiming the other two could be coincidences. She didn't think, however, that three positive tests could be considered coincidence. There was no avoiding the obvious.
A quick visit to the doctor confirmed what she'd feared: she was carrying a baby. No, not just a baby; Tim's baby. Somehow, that made all the difference. She knew having an abortion would be like aborting Timothy; it was unfathomable to her.
Most people didn't think of Ziva as the mommy type. After all, trained killers don't sit up at night rocking a little bundle of joy back and forth and humming a soft, saccharine tune…right? They're too busy readying themselves for the next day, centering themselves in mind, body, and spirit for such domestic responsibilities.
It's true, Ziva could never picture herself as the happy little housewife who spent the days cleaning, cooking, and caring, with only her daily soaps to liven up her dull life. That did not mean, however, that the idea of having children had never once entered in her mind. In fact, Ziva could clearly remember carrying a baby doll about her house when she was young, cradling it as though it were a real little baby. So yes, children and family had been the subject of her thoughts at times, especially after things grew so serious with Tim. He was, after all, what many thought of when they thought of family men: dependable, hard working, caring. One could easily see him walking down the street with a child on each arm.
So why had she been so reluctant to tell him about her pregnancy? Perhaps she had second-guessed her instincts. Perhaps she had feared that he wasn't the man she thought he was and that he would abandon her. Or perhaps she realized that verbally admitting it to him would make it real, but if she simply didn't acknowledge it, she could pretend like it wasn't true…at least until the baby was born.
She curled her knees up to her chest. It was growing colder.
She wondered how things would proceed from here, assuming the child was still there. Would she and Tim have to get married? She wasn't opposed to the idea, of course, but she hated the idea of having to rush into it. Of course, married or not they would likely move in together. Hopefully he wouldn't mind moving into her place; his apartment wasn't the most ideal of places to raise a child. Or maybe they would find a new apartment all together.
It was only a matter of time before she started to show. Her wardrobe would have to change to accommodate the changes. She didn't mind the idea of the weight gain, though; she only hoped she wasn't afflicted with the same food cravings her mother had while pregnant. Pickles dipped in caramel didn't sound very tasty at all.
Then she would be restricted to desk work. No way she could go out into the field while with child. That was assuming, of course, that she still had a job with NCIS…or Mossad. She had a feeling neither agency would be pleased with the news. NCIS frowned upon inter-agency relationships and Mossad…well, that was more of a personal problem. Her father would not be pleased. A child out of wedlock—and with a man who wasn't Jewish at that! Most of all, though, he would scold her for allowing herself to lower her defenses, allowing herself to be vulnerable. Things like this didn't happen to Mossad operatives who were always on their guard.
She tossed and turned a bit more before giving up and simply lying on her back, eyes cast upward. Tim still hadn't come back and she had a sinking feeling.
A harsh gust of wind blew in through the cracked windshield, spraying her with drops of water. She shivered.
Her body felt like ice.