"I donated blood."

"Huh?"

"They wouldn't let me donate, because they said that I was anemic."

"So you thought that you were pregnant?"

"No," she shakes her head, "they recommended that I go to see a doctor."

"And you listened?"

"I didn't want to, but... I haven't seen a doctor in... a long time. I didn't think it could hurt."

"And he told you that you were pregnant?"

"He drew my blood, and told me that he would call me the next day with the results."

"And?"

"He did. He confirmed that I was anemic. He told me that he wanted me to come in, because he had something he wanted to discuss with me. I told him that I didn't have the time, to just tell me over the phone."

"He didn't want to?"

"He thought we should talk in person."

"You disagreed," he guesses.

She nods, "And finally he told me."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything."

"Why not?"

"I was at work. I couldn't do anything."

"You found out at work?"

"Yes."

"How did you keep it together?"

"It didn't really hit me, until I got home," she admits.

"It felt surreal?" he guesses.

"It still feels surreal. To be perfectly honest, I'm still not sure that it has sunk in. It seems like someone else's life, someone else's mistake. It's hard to believe, I guess."

"Why?"

"Right now it's just an idea. At some point it's going to be more than that. It's going to be real."

"I don't understand."

"Nothing is really different."

"You're pregnant."

"Know one else knows that, but you. I mean, it isn't like people can look at me and tell. I don't look any different. I don't feel any different. But I am. I have something growing inside of me, and..." she trails off.

"And?"

"It kind of freaks me out."

"Why?"

"Because soon things will change. People will know. I will be able to tell a difference. I..."

"Why are you so afraid? Are you afraid of giving birth?"

"No."

"What do you have to be afraid of?"

"I am afraid that I'm going to do it wrong."

"Do what wrong?"

"Everything. I don't know what I'm doing. What if I get shot? What if..."

"Ziva, don't play the what if game."

"I have to. What if I'm not good enough?"

"Good enough for what?"

"This baby."

"Why wouldn't you be?"

"I don't know how to be selfless. My whole life I have put myself, and my wants ahead of everything else. I put myself into dangerous situations. I don't know how to change that. I don't know if I can, or even if I want to."

"You're afraid that if you give too much up, you'll end up resenting the baby?"

"I don't want to lose myself."

"You can't be found, without being lost first."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know," he shrugs.

"You don't know?"

"I think everything is going to work out."

"That's reassuring."

"Ziva everything will work out."

"You are just saying that. You don't know that."

"No, but I know you."

"I am not sure what your point is."

"You're tough, and you try not to feel things, but this is something you have to feel. That scares you. You're afraid to put your heart on the line, again, because it's been stomped on so many times. You hate when you're not in control. You hate when things change, and you aren't ready. I know you're not ready. I know you're scared. I know that you're confused, and that's ok. Because you're going to be great."

"What if I'm not? What if I lose control? What if I get through all of this, and decide that I want to start over?"

"You can't go back."

"But what if I want to?"

"You won't."

"I..."

"You don't want to be an assassin. You never wanted that."

"No, but I was good at it. I was good at it, and... I don't know that I will be good at this."

"Then quit," he offers.

She looks at him. A light bulb goes off in her head.

"That isn't an option?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"Ziva you either do this, or not. It's up to you."

"I'm tired of this."

"Of what?"

"Doing this alone."

"I'm right here."

"But..."

"You made a bad decision, but I'm still behind you. I don't always agree with what you do, but I'll always help you through."

"What if you can't help me?"

"I'll find someone who can."

"How can I even think of bringing a child into the world like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I am damaged goods."

"So is the rest of the world's population."

"I don't know how to fix me. How can I possibly raise a child, to be a normal, healthy, human being?"

"That's what you have to figure out along the way."