Cripes. I keep telling myself that I'm going to write on the plane, only to realize time and again that sitting with my knees in my mouth in coach for six hours with no computer is just not condusive to writing for me. So it's been a while since my last update. Sorry.
There's some T rated sex stuff in here, without an actual sex scene, so don't say I didn't warn you. And don't get your hopes up. THAT whole scene is in a different chapter, which is coming. Soon. Les prometo.
Once again mil gracias to all who read and especially all who read and review, it's encouraging to say the least. Thanks. Keep'em coming. Jeanne
X
Ziva stood by the window and adjusted the focus of the binoculars as she directed her gaze across the darkened street and down one storey. The damn things just happened to be equipped with night vision.
In Tony's apartment, her mother was quietly reading on the sofa, one hand placed over her cell phone, waiting for a call from her contact she imagined. She wondered if she'd bothered to speak to her father. They were archenemies but had always managed to pull together when it came to her.
She shifted her gaze to Tony's-no, their-bedroom. He hadn't pulled the drapes and she could see him now fresh from the shower, a towel around his waist.
He paused in the window and his gaze drifted upwards to her prison. She knew he wouldn't see her. She'd spotted him and her mother on the street earlier and screamed until her voice was gone and hands were swollen from pounding on the window. She'd resigned herself to the fact that Hannah had imprisoned her in not only a soundproof box, but one safe from the view of prying eyes as well. She hoped whomever had invented darkly tinted unbreakable glass was currently suffering from a painful rash. Or better, dead.
She followed Tony with her gaze as he locked his bedroom door and let the towel drop. Good move, locking the door. Of course it won't stop mother if she wants to get in to see you. I know that from experience. But she'll probably take the hint that you don't want to be interrupted.
He pulled back the top blanket and lay down on top of the sheet. Figures. Saturday night. No date. Stressed. Got to, what do you call it, clear your head?" She set the binoculars down on the sill and forced herself to retreat into the bedroom. Pounding and screaming was a fruitless waste of energy she dearly needed to conserve. As was watching Tony. She knew what came next and didn't want to see it. At least not when I can't join in.
She stretched out on top of the comforter and pulled a small wool throw over herself. Her head was pounding and vision fuzzy. She felt woozy and weak and knew. Any fight would end poorly for her. She'd rest and then resume the search for a way out.
She closed her eyes against the garishness of the bedroom. It was done in a shade of pink that Abby had once described to her as Barbie Barf. Double bed. Nightstand bolted to the wall with a yet unopened copy of 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' laid out on it: closet full of hideous maternity clothes. Under normal circumstances she'd have been pissed about the appearance of floral tie back tops and jeans with large elastic panel in her wardrobe. They were the least of her worries. If she could get out, she'd gladly wear the stupid stretchy pants.
She cradled her stomach as the internal debate raged on. Did she fight her way out? The baby wouldn't make it and it might be the end of her as well but she'd go down fighting. Or she did she wait and get herself out with more cunning than brute force?
Her mind's eye played back over the past forty-eight hours. There was a whirl of discombobulated faces and haze of voices in the cloying antiseptic room. A doctor warning her about bed rest: a serious young nurse who promised to bring Tony in to see her. Then a pinch in her arm followed by a floating feeling. Then: the tomb like silence of the soundproofed attic.
The closest thing to a weapon she'd found so far was the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, unabridged and leather bound. It was unwieldy and a last resort since popping Hannah in the face with it was likely only to make her cranky. And as long as Hannah was happy with her little delusion that Ziva was going to roll over and give herself up to save the baby, she'd have time and relative freedom to think of a way out. Or at least recoup enough to go down fighting.
Beeping sounded from the door as Hannah keyed open the external lock.
She sprang from the bed and paused in the entrance to the bedroom. Hannah entered accompanied by two neckless troglodytes armed with rifles. Fighting her way out was going to have to go on hold for the present. She'd have to go with cunning.
Hannah clicked her tongue. "You should get back in bed."
Ziva met her with a cold stare.
The leather sofa squeaked as Hannah sat on it. She patted the cushion next to her. "At least sit down if you're not going to lay down."
"Screw you." Her voice was low, husky. It felt scraped raw from screaming.
"I think you're by definition the one who's screwed. Both literally and figuratively." Hannah patted the sofa again. "We used to be friends you and I."
"Attempted homicide has a way of ruining friendships." She said dryly.
Hannah pulled out her cell phone and held it out. "Look. I'm prepared to let you call your beloved. If you sit down."
Ziva crossed the room in two steps and sat, dismayed by how quickly she had complied. She stuck out her hand.
"Not so fast." Hannah nodded at goon number one. He went to the window and leveled his rifle. "He has a clear shot. So unless you want Tony dearest sniped while he's relieving some pressure all by himself in bed, don't tell him anything that could get him killed." She dialed and hit speakerphone.
Tony picked up on the third ring.
Hannah spoke first. "You have sixty seconds. I'm counting."
"Hannah." He said, his voice hard.
"Agent DiNozzo."
"Special Agent."
"I'll make a note of it. But you're wasting your time. I have some one here who wants to talk to you."
"Tony." She hoped her voice sounded strong.
His response was just short of a gasp. "Ziva."
"She wants the baby."
"I know. Do what you need to do."
"I see."
"Where are you?"
"I can't say."
Goon number one joined goon number two at the window: "Seriously, you think he would have taken care of that in the shower"
Hannah clicked the phone off. "Idiot." She hissed. "You'd better hope he didn't hear that."
The baby swooped down low in Ziva's stomach so quickly she thought she might wet her pants in front of all of them. It did a dance on her bladder for a second and zoomed back up. She rubbed it, willing it to be still. If Tony were there, she'd tell him it was time for sex. Sex seemed to lull it to sleep.
Hannah reached out to touch her stomach. Ziva grabbed her wrist and squeezed, halting her fingers millimeters from her skin.
Hannah giggled. "They discovered a little mistake when they took you in. You're two weeks farther along than they thought. I'd say you'd need to fire your doctor, but, like you'll be seeing her again."
She yanked herself free of Ziva's grasp and went into the kitchen and returned with the calendar. She flipped it open to the end of March and looped a large red circle around one of the days. "I've taken the liberty of scheduling your C section."
"Too bad you won't be able to attend." Ziva smirked.
Hannah's eyes turned cold and steely. She pressed her hand uncomfortably to her abdomen. Ziva forced herself not to flinch. "I promise I'll let you hold her before you die."
The tiny voice that she heard could not have been her own. "It's a girl?"
X
Abby jolted from sleep as a contraction crushed her body. She lashed out with a kick and made contact with McGee's calf. "I hate you."
He snorted groggily and sat up. "What was that for?"
"You suck."
"Are you in labour?"
"I feel like my body wants to push itself inside out. Through a very… small… hole..." She punctuated each word with a swift kick to his calf.
He jumped out of bed and raced to her side, helping her ease into a sitting position. At two weeks past due, sitting up was no easy task for her. "I'll call the doctor from the car. Look on the bright side." He said, feeding her feet into her slippers. "It's Friday the thirteenth."
X
The snoring, the kicking, the gun under the pillow, I can't believe I actually miss it. Missing sex is a given. Missing her cooking is given. But that? It's true. I love her.
Tony slid his hand under Ziva's pillow and fingered the filmy material of her black nightgown. She'd worn it when they went undercover together and he'd always liked it. Sleeping with it under her pillow was a silly gestured he knew: she'd never let him live it down if she ever found out. But being the butt of her joke for the rest of his life suddenly didn't seem as bad as it would have two weeks ago.
He worried the silky material between his fingers and wondered if she would actually still fit into it when he found her. Would her stomach have grown any in the past two weeks? Would she look noticeably pregnant? Was she actually still? Since the one brief call two weeks ago they hadn't had one lead that panned out.
He heard the front door creak open. Gun in hand he cracked the bedroom door open and took in the dimly lit hall.
Sarah moved like a wraith past him. She'd gotten a phone call over an hour ago and left, refusing his plea to go with her.
He pushed open the door. "How'd it go?"
Unphased, she turned to him and removed her jacket. A spray of blood decorated her shirt. "If we don't know in the next twenty four hours, then not well."
She pulled open the louvered doors in front of the stacked washing machine in the hall and proceeded to strip down to a sheer white bra and matching thong.
She flipped open the lid of the washer and stuffed her clothes in. "You have anything you want me to wash?"
"Nut uh." He choked. His dismay at watching his quasi mother in law stuffing bloodied laundry into the washer was waylaid by the fact that if she was anything to go on, Ziva was going to look damn good when she was older.
He shifted his gaze to the carpet as she stripped off her bra.
"Where's the detergent?" She asked.
"I'm out, actually."
"Bugger. It'll just have to soak." She pulled her thong down her legs and stuffed it in as well. "You don't have to stare at the carpet. Breasts are not naked."
He picked his gaze up and concentrated on her face. "It's the bare ass I'm having trouble with."
"Just a moment." She strode past him into his bedroom and pulled a clean set of Ziva's clothes from the drawer Ziva had claimed for herself months ago. After their fight, she'd never asked for them back and he hadn't bothered to clean it out. She selected clean underwear, a pair of jeans and long sleeved top.
He stood in the doorway, his back to her as she dressed.
"You can turn around now. I am, as you say, decent."
He did. "You shouldn't have left me behind. You need me."
"Ziva needs you. The baby needs you." She corrected. "And that is why I left you behind." She sat on the edge of the bed. "Would you mind if I used the bed for a few hours?"
"Not at all."
In the kitchen he plugged in the coffee pot. On autopilot he turned to the fridge to get the cream and froze with his hand on the handle. He'd stuck the baby's picture onto the refrigerator. He smiled. In profile, it looked very much like Ziva. It's got to be a girl. Only a woman could ever cause this much trouble.
The phone rang and he snatched it from the hook. "DiNozzo."
McGee answered with a high-pitched whine of pain. "Abby. Don't squeeze me there."
"Abby in labour?" he asked, feeling a twinge of sadness.
"Uh huh."
"I'll be there in fifteen."
"Unnnnghh kay." McGee wheezed and hung up.
Tony went into the bedroom. "Sarah." He called. He had no desire to startle sleeping assassin.
"Yes?"
"Abby's in labour. I'm going to the hospital."
She didn't open her eyes. "Just remember. She won't mean anything she says."
X
So let me know what you think. Thanks again for reading and thank you thank you for reviewing. And now that I'm home I should be a little bit swifter. Jeanne