"You're being awfully quiet."
"I am fine," she insists as she picks at her lunch.
"Really? You're fine? You've barely touched your lunch."
"I am not that hungry."
"Why not?"
"I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow," she replies.
"You're nervous?" He guesses.
"Yes," she admits.
"Why?"
"I don't know," she shrugs, "I guess that it is some irrational fear."
"The baby is going to be fine," he reassures her.
"But..."
He wags his finger, "No buts. Now eat, please?"
"Fine," she grumbles.
"So are you going to find out what you're having?"
"I haven't decided yet," she admits.
"Are you going to ask Gibbs to go?"
"No. I am not."
"You don't think he should be there?"
"He can be there, after the baby is born."
"So have you come up with any baby names yet?"
"How many times are we going to have this discussion?"
"Until you come up with a name."
"I have a name."
"You have a name for a girl, but you are not having a girl."
"Why do you keep insisting that it's a boy?"
"I just know. Don't ask how I know, I just know. Can you come up with a name, please? Any name. You can name it Kermit the Frog for all I care, you just have to have a name for a boy, when you find out that I'm right."
"Would you like to make up a name?"
"No. Didn't you read that name book I got you?"
"Cover to cover."
"No you didn't," he argues.
"Ok, I got to C, an I had to stop."
"Are there any that you even remotely like?"
"I like the name Benjamin."
"Really?" he nearly spits.
"It doesn't sound like you believe me."
"Benjamin? I mean that's so plain, and boring. I can't picture your kid, with Gibbs, being named Benjamin. Good ol' Ben Gibbs. That's real catchy. Wait, are you going to give the baby Gibbs' last name?"
She shrugs, "That remains to be seen. I think that Benjamin is a perfectly good name."
"For a master chess player, or an eighty year old man. Would you actually call him Benjamin, or would you call him Ben? That drives me crazy, you know. When people name their kids one thing, and call them something else."
"Your name is Anthony, and we call you Tony," she points out.
"My point exactly. Why didn't may parents just name me Tony? Another thing that I don't understand, is when you name your kid one thing, and then you call them by their middle name."
"Like Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"
"Precisely."
"Now, are you going to tell me what's wrong with my name?"
"No," he shakes his head.
"Why not? You don't want to offend me? You are afraid, that my hormonal imbalance will cause me to fly off the handle, and hurt you?"
"No," he shakes his head.
"Why not?"
"There is nothing wrong with your name."
"Really?"
"No. It's a nice name. It's fitting. It's pretty. It's not your run of the mill name. It's not something everyone else is named. I like your name."
"If I have a boy, I'll just call him Ziva, then."
"Ha, ha, very funny."
"If it was your decision, Tony, what would you name the baby?"
"I would name him..." he pauses for a moment to think, he smiles, and then answers, "Sig Sauer, your favorite man."
"You want me to name my son after my gun?"
"Yes," he nods.
"Could you be serious, please?"
"Ok, how about... Colt? Or Bullet? Or Magnum? Or Pistol? Oh, I've got it. You can name him Outlaw."
She waits patiently for him to finish. "Are you done now?"
"Cool hand Luke?" he adds.
"This is why you do not get any say. You can never be serious."
"I can be serious, if I try."
"Try."
"Can I talk to your belly?"
"Can you what?"
"I'd like to consult with the baby."
"I don't think so."
"Can I at least see your belly?"
"We are in public."
"And you're hiding under the table."
She rolls her eyes, and pushes her chair away from the table. She scoots out, so he can see. He looks. She looks back at him, sharply.
"Do not touch me," she warns.
"Touch what? There isn't even anything to touch. You can't even tell. You are ridiculous. You should be as big as a whale by now. You don't even look pregnant, and you're like halfway done."
"I'm sorry?"
He looks at her stomach. To the untrained eye, or anyone else in the world, it would probably just look like a little bit of a beer gut. It wasn't. There was something swimming inside there. He's watching her, as her hand flies to her stomach. He looks up at her, locking eyes with her. He shoots her a questioning look. Her hand retracts.
"What was that about?"
"Nothing," she lies.
"It was something."
"Nothing unusual. I am just still getting used to it."
"To what?"
"The kicking."
"Oh. Can I feel?"
She stares at him for a long time, with a scrutinizing glance. She cocks her head, trying to gauge his intention. Eons later she responds. She doesn't say a word. Finally she responds.
"No. I am not ready for that, yet."
"Ok," he concedes.
"So did you come up with a serious answer, yet?"
"Maybe you should name him Jackson, after Gibbs' father," he suggests.