A/N: Mm, this one was tough to write, simply because I had a lot to do. I had to write a script, two stories, and I had rehearsal and classes and a dinner with my Youth Court director and it just all piled up and POOF, here it is. ::smiles:: I hope you enjoy it, but I don't want you to be mad at me about anything that happens. Or doesn't happen. Have at it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Tippi Hendren, The Birds, or really anything else in this other than the plot.

After dreams full of cows, babies, and copious amounts of cappuccino ice cream—of course, that was just because I have not been able to have any for quite some time, for some reason—I wake to a gentle hand on my back and a kiss to the crown of my head. "Morning, sunshine."

"Mmpht," I groan, rolling over. Opening my eyes, I find myself looking up into Tony's face, mere inches from my own. "Hello." I stifle a yawn for fear that I have morning breath.

"Your breath doesn't smell," he reassures me quietly, as if reading my thoughts. "Nothing about you smells. You smell good. All the time."

"Have you been drinking this morning?" I ask with a chuckle, relishing in the feeling of him on top of me.

"No, of course not. Why would I have?" Knowing I do not believe him, he lets out a soft sigh, which tickles my lips and makes them tingle. There is not a hint of alcohol on his breath. I grin up at him. "There, trust me now?"

My incredulous stare should speak for me, but I still feel the need to retort, "I always trust you. Whether I buy your oftentimes crazy stories is another matter…"

"I haven't told a crazy story in quite a while, though. I've been good," Tony mutters, a small pout forming on his lips. "Doesn't mean I don't have crazy thoughts, though." His words are almost like an afterthought.

"And what, Mr. Stadelvard, are you having crazy thoughts about right now?" Tony gazes down at me, a surreal depth to his incredibly blue eyes. "David?"

Hoarsely, he says, "Doing socially reprehensible things with my gorgeous wife," before capturing my lips with his and rolling both of us over so that I am lying on his chest. I feel a tug at my hair and see that one of his hands is tangled in my locks, the other running exhilarating lines along my jaw. We only break once to breathe before his lips are attacking my neck, and I know they are leaving patches of red as he works his way to the center of my collarbone, where he pauses and continues up the other side.

When he reaches my mouth again we are back to kissing like fiends. My tongue finds its way to his mouth, trailing across his lower lip, then dancing with his in a sort of tango. I am so entranced that I barely notice when my vocal chords emit a low moan. Tony stops immediately, pulling back enough to look into my eyes.

"Are—you—okay?" he asks breathlessly. "Too fast?" I shake my head and kiss him. Hard. Wrapping my arms around his neck, and my legs around his waist as I flip him over on top of me, I let my body press against his. I feel so wanted, so needed, so—dare I say it—loved.

I let my fingers rake through his hair, squirming closer to him when I feel his warm hands working their way under my pregnancy pack. But I am not squirming out of discomfort; rather, it is out of desire to be rid of the pregnancy pack completely. His lips leave mine and I hear myself emit a hum of protest, but am soon contented when I feel his lips on my jaw, trailing kisses back and stopping below my ear, nipping a small patch of skin. I jump when his teeth make contact with my neck but ease into him, my eyes fluttering closed.

"Ziva," he whispers, so hushed I can barely hear him.

"Mm," I murmur, unable to say much else.

"Would you be opposed to—" Before he can finish, I roll onto my side and slip beneath the covers. This stupid thing is coming off. Shimmying out of the pack, I hastily pull my shirt back down to cover my abdomen and pull myself back on top of the duvet and sheets.

Casting him a curious look, I ask Tony, "Would I be opposed to what?"

"Never mind." He carefully tucks a loose curl behind my ear and cradles my face in his palm. "We kind of started something bad, huh?"

"But is bad not good?" I smirk at him, but my stomach flops. "What did we start?"

"I…" He hesitates. "Temptation, Ziva, is not a good thing to have." Tony stares at me solemnly, removing his hand. "Not when you're partners. Not when…Rule Number Twelve."

"Tony, I thought married couples made out regularly?" I rise to my knees and lean back onto my heels. "I thought we were supposed to—"

Tony squeezes his eyes shut and rolls onto his back. "I know," he murmurs. "I know."

And before, when I felt so wanted, so needed…now I feel completely alone. I furrow my eyebrow and lay back down, turning away from him.

He does not say another word.

The tension lasts well through breakfast and partly through the afternoon until Gibbs passes through the kitchen and gives us both a head-slap.

I look up. "What was that for?"

Gibbs stares at me icily before murmuring, "For being stupid." This has caught Tony's attention and he looks up from his newspaper. "What's more important? Your own … 'thing', or solving this case?"

My partner and I both murmur, "Solving the case." A light flush rises in my face.

"Good. Then get to work. You can deal with each other later." Our boss heads toward the kitchen door. "I know it's tough, but could you at least try to look like you want to be married?" Winking, he whisks outside, most likely to tend to the new mother in our barn.

While daydreaming about the calf and its adorable nature, I feel Tony's eyes boring into the side of my head. "Staring at me is not going to solve the problem."

"Didn't think it would."

"You are insufferable," I snap.

"Hey, I'm not the one shoving my tongue down your throat."

I narrow my eyes. "Who kissed whom first, hm? I believe that would be you, saying you have 'crazy thoughts' about doing 'socially reprehensible things' with 'your wife.'" He just looks at me for a few moments before averting his gaze to the floor. "If you had not wanted to kiss me, you could have resisted. Then we would not be in this mess."

Tony's head snaps up. "You think it's that easy to not kiss you whenever I see you? To just say, 'Ah, fuck it, better luck next time' and walk away?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Is it not?"

"No!" he shouts, jumping to his feet. He takes several strides away from me and paces back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't you know what it's like to see someone and want to just grab them and never let go?"

"Is that not why we are fighting?" I reply snidely. "Because we both want the same thing?"

"We can't," he hisses. For a fleeting moment I am worried that Tony is going to punch the wall, and I know very well that he would never hit me, but his temper often gets the best of him. He takes a deep breath and walks out of the room. Ever the determined woman, I follow him.

"Why can't we?" I murmur, stopping so that I am safely behind the counter. "Is it because of a rule that your father has or is it more of a question of fear?"

Whirling around, Tony drops his voice very low to say, with pain in his very blue eyes, "It's got nothing to do with fear. Nothing."

"Then what does it have to do with? Is it about your pride? Is it because you still want to be that promiscuous college boy that you regale everyone with tales about?" I stare at him, trying to make eye contact. He avoids my eyes and I let out a sigh of frustration. "You are scared of commitment. I understand that. But I do not think I should have to suffer."

Tony shakes his head. "If I were scared of commitment I would have refused to do this assignment."

"Just like Jeanne, right? You were scared of committing to her so you told Director Shepherd you could not follow through, hm?" I blurt. As soon as the words are out, I realize I have made a horrible mistake. "Tony, that is not what I—"

Somber, he takes several steps toward me. "Yes, it is. It's exactly what you meant." He retreats two paces and runs a hand through his hair. "I treated her like shit. I know it. I don't deny it. I should have told her sooner. But that doesn't help me, does it? Because I've already proven to you that I'm a dick."

"You're not, Tony," I argue, sighing. "But you have some pretty bad judgment sometimes."

"Bad judgment?" His lip curls upward. "Really? I have bad judgment? I was trying to save my job. You were just sleeping with a terrorist."

Jaw slack, I stare at Tony for a moment. "Are you implying that my judgment is poor?" There is a fleeting moment that I think perhaps I might hit him, but I clench my hands at my side and restrain myself. "I see."

"No, I'm saying that you and I haven't really made the best decisions. Neither of us is right, neither of us is wrong." Tony looks at me, but I can tell he is not finished talking. "You let Rivkin do to you what I did to Jeanne. You let him use you. And then I had to pick up the pieces."

Blinking away tears, merely because his words sting worse than the realization that they are true, I cross my arms, though keeping my eyes trained on his. "You realize, I hope, that I tried to pick up the pieces after Jeanne, right?" He tries to break eye contact but I duck my head, determined to hold it. "Because I cared about you. I did not want you to be in pain anymore than I would want to be."

"You have no idea what I went through, Ziva," he snaps. "You think it was a joyride? Really? That it was all rainbows and butterflies?" I shake my head. "Sure you do. But it wasn't."

I glare at him. "I would appreciate it if you did not tell me what I do and do not feel, Tony." After a moment, I murmur, my voice dangerously quiet, "Maybe I was wrong about you."

"What do you mean?"

Drawing a shaky breath, I elaborate, "You are revealing a version of Tony that I do not care for. An assumption-driven, angry version." When he says nothing, I declare rather loudly, "I do not think I would ever be able to handle being married to you."

"Oh, no? And why would that be, Ziva?" Tony yells, throwing his hands in the air. "Because I don't just roll over and take whatever shit you decide to give me on a given day? Because I'm not daddy's little prize?"

I shake my head and swallow hard. "No, because people who love each other would never use such hurtful things from the past against the other. You obviously do not love me, and I cannot believe there was any possibility of me loving you, so there is no point in even trying." Slipping the ring off of my finger, I press it onto the cool, granite countertop. My jaw is set. I try to remain calm, but inside, my heart is beating a million times per second, my palms are clammy, and I can tell there is a flush rising in my cheeks.

Tony stares at the ring for a second before picking it up and holding it out, looking on the inside rim. It is obvious that he is hurt by my statements. "The point is looking where you normally don't. In this case, it's the inside," he tells me softly. Tossing me the band of gold, he turns on his heel and walks out. I hold it up to the light the second he is out of the room.

Non posso vivere senza di voi.

I gasp and clench the ring in my palm, pulled back suddenly to the intense, cloying, hot air of Somalia, tied to a chair, staring into his eyes.

"Why are you here?" I stared at him, searching his eyes.

I was not expecting him to say, "Just couldn't live without you, I guess…" His small laugh did nothing to cover up the truth to his words.

And now I had accused him of not caring about me. How heartless could I possibly be?

Three hours later, I have finally worked up the courage to talk to Tony again. As I approach him in the piano room, where he is playing various chords, I notice his back is once again tense.

"Tony," I mumble, "I apologize for earlier." He does not look up. "I should not have accused you of not caring about me." Again, my words go unanswered. "I know you do, and you saved me, and your words from Somalia have not gone forgotten, and—" He chooses this time to turn and look at me. I cannot bring myself to finish.

After a pregnant pause, he murmurs, "Yeah, Ziva."

"What do you…?"

Averting his eyes to the piano keys, I hear the words I have been waiting for. "Apology accepted."

"Thank you."

"Yeah."

Another lengthy silence ensues, during which I am slowly drawn toward him by some unidentifiable force. "Tony?"

"Mm," he hums, pressing an 'A'.

"Non posso vivere senza di voi." I whisper.

"Yeah, what about it?" Tony's voice is raspy.

"Why did you choose that quote?" He takes a while to answer. After several minutes, I prompt, "Tony?"

He looks up at me. "Yeah."

"Why did you choose—"

"Because it's true, Ziva." There is desperation—a sad, angsty desperation—in his eyes, glittering beneath their rim of long lashes. Imploring me.

"What is true?" My stomach flops.

"I can't live without you." Tony stands and makes his way over to me. "Just…can't."

"You can't?"

He shakes his head. "Nope."

This is one of the few awkward conversations he and I have ever had.

Hesitantly, I tell him, "I could say the same about you."

Tony stares down into my eyes. "You could?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess we shouldn't." A large hand finds its way to the back of my neck, cradling my jaw, tangling in my hair.

"Should not what?" It is a miracle that he can even hear me, my voice is so low.

But as his lips near mine, I hear him sigh, "Live without each other."

Never before has a kiss ever felt so good. So right. So fresh, so old, and so comforting. All at the same time.

Dinner is cut short by a movie on television that Tony insists would look better on the flat screen in the bedroom. After I rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher, I join him. The weather has turned even colder, my pack larger, and it seems as the stairs have grown taller.

How incredibly frustrating. When before I could easily sprint up the stairs without feeling winded, I must now take them a step at a time, grasping the railing.

Five minutes later, I am at the top of the stairs, catching my breath and pressing a free hand to the arch of my back. If this is what it is like to be pregnant, I am not sure I want to have kids after all.

Especially when my mood swings are as extreme as they are without the hormonal changes pregnancy can initiate.

As I climb into bed, I see that Tony is already nestled into his pile of pillows and has the blankets and sheets pulled up to his chin. I, too, slip beneath the covers and snuggle up next to him. Out of the corner of my eye, light from the lamp catches on my ring. I smile to myself and rest my cheek on his chest. "What are we watching?" I ask.

"The Birds."

"Am I going to be scared?" I mutter, keeping my voice light and face partially covered by the duvet.

He chuckles, and I hear it rumble from inside him. "It's mostly psychological," Tony murmurs, smiling. "And besides, I'm right here." Pressing a kiss into my temple, I can hear the smile on his voice.

Yes, you are. You always have been, and you always will be.

No sooner has the movie begun than I am pressed into his side, hiding my face in his shirt. "The birds, the birds!," Tippi Hedren shrieks, fleeing from a swarm of white seagulls. And it is this moment that I know.

I have another fear to add to my ever-growing list.

A/N: Hey, so, yeah...I don't like it when Tony and Ziva fight. So. I hope this was good. Five more chapters. The countdown begins. ::smiles:: Enjoy...

PS: 'Non posso vivere senza di voi' roughly means 'I cannot live without you,' if you couldn't already guess... ::laughs::