It took nothing more than a shuffle to wake her. She has been a light sleeper for as long as she can remember, waking to her parents nocturnal movements in their apartment. Listening to her mother's sobbing carrying through the hallway, or occasionally her fathers late night rumblings, fighting the monsters in his mind. Her own monsters keep her awake now.
It is not, the memories that wake her now, but the overwhelming nausea that rolled through her body. Waves lapping at the sand. She thought of the beach at Haifa, where she spent her summers.
She sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, hoping to dissipate the nausea. It was nothing more than a distraction. Yet she could not run from this. It is inside of her. The cause of the nausea was a happy one, but still old instincts made her want to run.
"There you are," she heard as she slowly opened her eyes. A warm feeling washed over her, glad to see him. Glad for this normalcy.
Tony stood at the edge of the bed. A huge smile on his face. He was so happy to see her. He had been so happy in general, in the last week. Excitement ran through him like a second pulse.
She opened her mouth, wanting to greet him, but instead a the nausea rose. She swallowed thickly, hoping to stop it, but instead it rose up, burning her throat. She raised her hand to her mouth, hoping to contain it, and tried to sit up.
Tony perhaps sensing what was coming, they had always been so in-sync when they were on the field. He disappeared for a moment, and then appeared with a plastic bowl, procured for this very purpose. The cheap bowl was meant for fruit or perhaps chips for a party, but so far it had only contained her expelled bodily fluids. As soon as the bowl was safely underneath her, Ziva let go.
"Well, that's the first time you've had that reaction to me," Tony said, as he sat down on the bed next to her. Holding the bowl with one hand. "I have a feeling that won't be the last."
She looked up at him weakly. Exhaustion shrouded over her, a heavy blanket. She had never been this weak. Not when she took a bullet, for the red-headed woman who would later become the director, not when she had to be helped out of Salim's dusty cell, and not after Ilan Bodnar crashed into them.
"I guess I should get used to this," he said, still talking. He was afraid of silence, she had known this since their first case together. "I'll probably end up wearing spit-up to work."
She half-smiled for a second, as she thought of him holding a little baby. Rocking said baby, while he paced around the crib. Half of him, half of her, all mixed up to make a whole new person. The idea was basic arithmetic but it felt like magic.
"Good thing, I got that second interview," he said, eyes focused on her. Hand rubbing up her back, perhaps noticing the wave of nausea was rising, before she even felt it herself. "Wouldn't look good in an interrogation-"
The retching drowned out his babbling. The bowl filled once again with warm bile. Her throat burned.
"Have you eaten anything today?" he asked, rubbing her hand, fiddling with her engagement ring.
"Some crackers," she uttered, after a couple of deep breaths. The nausea pittered out into little waves, like there always is before the big one. Her throat aches.
"Okay," he said softly, trying to soothe. "I'll get some more."
It has been just short of a week since they found out, that it wasn't just anemia. In that short time, the so-called morning sickness graduated from a sick feeling, to regular episodes throughout the day a few days ago. Everything seemed to be moving so fast. In those few days, her entire sustenance, has been prenatal vitamins, and plain water crackers, with not so much as a seed in their beige circles. The nutrient value is negligent. Still, she has lived on less.
"This will be over soon," he whispered. Trying to soothe. "That's what it said online."
She had barely digested the news, that they were expecting, when he had downloaded a daddy-to-be app to his phone, hoping the app could guide them in the place of wise grandparents-to-be. How she longed for the wise words, of a council of women who had done this before, mothers, and grandmothers. Instead, she had to settle for the app with its bright colours and comparisons of fetal development and fruit.
He had also spent the weekend looking up rental properties. She wanted a two-bedroom apartment, but he was ready to go full-on house, dreaming of backyards and basements they could turn into playrooms. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that this was the same man who was scared of the Vance tweenagers. So much was changing. Everything was changing. All at once.
"My mother was sick the whole time with Tali," she said, her voice still hoarse, but the nausea calming. For now.
"How do you know that?" he asked. Genuine surprise etched into his face.
"I remember," she said feeling the wave lap closer to the shore. She had a minute or so before, it happened again. "Or at least I think I do."
She thinks of her mother pulled over on the side of the road, hurriedly throwing up into a grocery bag. She thinks of the Passover Seder, where her mother ate nothing but the matzoh. The colour drained out of her, as Ziva uttered the four-questions for the last time, because she would never again by the youngest child at the Seder.
Wisps of memories. That's all she has. Little white froths on the waves of pain. How quickly it all hits the shore, undistinguishable. All just pain.
She remembers, a firm memory this time, of her mother telling another woman of the horrors of pregnancy. Where exactly they were, when this was all happening. The endless elevator in her apartment building perhaps. Or maybe, in that huge shopping mall, the one that got attacked a few years later, walking toward that bookshop her mother liked. Ziva and Tali, making noise and disturbing the adult conversation. Ima, Ziva's poking me. Ima, Tali's being a baby. Girls, Ima is trying to talk.
"Okay," he said. His eyes glassy. He gets jealous sometimes, that she can remember her mother, better than he can remember his. "Maybe, you'll have an easier time than your Mom."
Mom. Mommy. Mom. She could almost hear it. She could picture a tiny mouth, with loose brown curls. Her olive skin mixed with his Northen Italian paleness. Her heritage easily explained by his last name. This is the consequence of coming to America, she has told herself. To the children she may have, Israel will just be another country.
"I thought you read something-" and with that her thought was lost.
The smell of the city wafted past her window. The buzz of the air-conditioner made her head swim, and she is back over the bowl, before she can do anything else.
His hands run circles around her back. A first she resists, years of hard training and threats, have created subconscious reactions. A few deep breaths later, as the room stops spinning, she eases. A warm feeling runs through her. Maybe, it is the distant memory of her mother doing the same too her, as a bug caught from nursery school ran through her system. Maybe, it is the idea of Tony doing this to their own tiny human.
"Come on kid," Tony said, once he was sure the spell had faded. He slowly inched the bowl away, and moved his face closer to her still-flat stomach. "Let's be nice to Mom."
Mom. It bounced around her head. How strange it sounded?
"I want to be called Ima," she said, not noticing her words until she heard them. "I know it is silly."
"It's not silly," he said, a smile dawning over his face. "I mean it makes sense, I know you want to raise the kids Jewish."
She noticed the plural of kids. Perhaps he did not understand the magnitude of the miracle inside of her. He still harbored visions of the picket fence life, with two point five children.
"I do," she said.
Realising then, she had not really thought beyond the pregnancy. For the moment, it was all about managing the nausea, and trying to plan the logistics of finishing her degree. She had not thought of the thousand and one decisions they will have to make, both significant, and not so. This school or this one? Will they introduce their child to the piano, hoping it inherited their musicality, or let it be discovered? What would they name this new creature?
"I do not want you to feel left out," she said after a quiet second.
"I won't be," he said. His hand tentatively on her stomach. Eyes gazing at it. He was so in love. "And to clarify what I said earlier kid, be nice to Ima."
"It cannot hear yet," she said, lightly encouraging his hand away. It was all happening inside of her body, but what did she feel like he was two steps ahead.
"Don't call it an it," he declared. Genuine offence stitched into his features. This was all so real to him. Already.
"We do not know if it is a boy or a girl yet," Ziva clarified. "What else can we call it?"
"The baby," he answered quickly. "We're going to have a baby."
More memories came forward. She thought of Ari's medical books, littered on the kitchen table, as he did one his fly-in fly-out visits, always feeling uncomfortable in Tel Aviv, despite how far away it always felt from all the 'conflict', because for Ari the 'conflict' was always inside. His two halves never made a whole.
Still, she thought of the chapter on embryo development, she and Tali looked at, barley understanding the medical jargon, in their limited English. She remembered the intricate diagram, of a first trimester embryo, and how Tali did not believe it, thinking Ziva was mis-translating the words. It looked like something out of one of Tony's alien movies. It is not about what it looks like now, Ari had said when Tali asked questions later that day, it is about the promise of what it will become.
"Okay," she said, with a heavy breath. She did not want to fight this. This was already so real for him. What was the point of cutting him down.
"Maybe, when we see it we can come up with a nickname," Tony said. She had an appointment in another week, for the first scan. "Mr and Mrs Autopsy Gremlin call their's the parasite."
Ziva grimaced. Admiring her friends sense of humour, especially considering, how hard it been for them become pregnant.
"I nearly told him," Tony said. Excitement running through him. "It's been really hard to keep this secret."
She looked up at him. Eye's wide.
"We agreed," she started.
"I didn't tell him," he said, quickly, his hand on hers. "I wanted to. He was talking about all of Breena's weird cravings. I was making mental notes. Apparently, Breena really likes tuna melts with pickles, and side of gummy bears."
Ziva made a gagging noise. Even food she had always loved caused this reaction. She had not been this averse to vegetables since her age was measured in single digits.
"I'm sure you'll send me out for some crazy things," he said, with a warm smile. "Jimmy said the second trimester is easier. Breena was pretty sick at first, too."
Maybe, they should tell Breena and Jimmy, if only to get people to share their miseries with. They were having dinner with the two of them soon, maybe they could tell them then. Maybe, she and Breena could trade war stories, and Ziva could learn some tricks for dealing with it all. Maybe, they could actually share some of the joys.
"I missed one of my classes," she uttered. The nausea gone for a few more moments. She wondered how long this would last. "I cannot keep missing class."
Summer school had ended with good results, but the fall semester meant more more classes actually om campus. Getting there was proving to be difficult. She spent so much of her day, trying to keep her food down.
"Maybe, you can cut back," he said softly. "Go part-time this semester."
"No," came her reply. Quick and tinged with anger. Anger underscored by fear. She could not let this be taken away. She had worked so hard. "I need to get as much of my degree out of the way before the baby comes."
She thought of her mother, and the never started masters degree.
"Why?" he asked softly. "What's wrong with taking things slow?"
"There are women in some of my classes who have children," she begun. Thinking of all the complaints she heard, and how tired they always were. "It is very hard for them."
"They don't have me," he told her, with a huge grin. "I know how much you want this degree, and I'm going to support you every step of the way. You're not going to be stuck holding the baby."
"Still," she said, her eyes welling with tears. "I cannot spend my entire time in the library, and leave you holding the baby. I know what it is like not to have a parent around."
She thought of her mother, pacing Tali around the apartment. Tali was a colickly child, always crying Always needing to be held. Her mother would cry as much as Tali in those early days. Holding her slashed-open stomach, she shouldn't have been carrying Tali, but her father was away, and her Aunt Nettie could not keep missing work.
Would Tony be doing the same, trying to soothe a sobbing infant, while she sat in front of the books?
"I do too," he reminded her, unnecessarily. "And you managing study and the baby, isn't going to be like it was with your Dad. The kid will get plenty of Ima time, and plenty of Daddy time. We'll be those over involved parents, that we always wanted, I promise. We'll be able to tell the baby, how amazing their Ima is for raising them and getting her degree."
How did he make it all sound so easy?
"I will see how I go," she offered. Meeting him some of the way.
"I don't want you to wear yourself out," he said, leaning over and picking up the bowl. "And I know you, you'll just keep going. Let me help you for the next few months."
The smell wafted through the bedroom with the movement, as he stood up and walked to the en-suite. She heard the water running.
"Have you told Schmeil yet?" he shouted over the gushing of the water.
She thought about laughing but did not want to aggravate her stomach.
"It is still very early," she replied, moving ever so slowly on the bed. Laying down felt like a good idea. She was so tired. Still, she stayed up, knowing if she laid down, she would be asleep within seconds.
"Yeah, but Schmeil's family," Tony said, appearing back in the bedroom with the clean bowl.
"Does that mean you've told your father?" she asked.
"No," Tony said. "I wanna tell him in person, and he's gone to Monaco."
He'd also paid his rent four days late, but she wasn't going to mention that. Things were so tentative between father and son.
"He will be back in week, no?" she asked, placing the bowl of her lap. The waves were getting stronger again. The sea was choppy tonight.
"Yeah," he said, "Maybe we'll tell him together."
She could already envision Seniors face as they told him the news. How happy he would be? It would be moment of pure joy.
"Maybe," she said softly. Tasting that all too-familiar feeling in her mouth. How she hoped this had passed.
"Why don't we tell Schmeil in the meantime?" he asked. "He's pretty handy with the old Skype."
Schmeil was a little removed from family life. The sole survivor of his family. The last moments he had with his family, had been on the crowded train to death camps. He had never married, and never had children. She had never asked why, at least not directly. She could recall Tali asking their mother once, and her mother fobbing them off. Not everyone has children, that's what makes them extra special. She had also read Kaddish for an Unborn Child, and wondered if childlessness was a choice Schmeil had made. Or perhaps one of circumstance, would Schmeil had been branded with the pink triangle as well as the golden star, as he was death marched. So much about her Schmeil was unknown. So many secrets buried deep.
She was prevented from answering by the rising bile. Her throat burned. When would this end?
He sat in front of her, watching as it happened, distress all over him. It was more of false alarm this time. Just gagging and a bit of bile.
"If it's bad tomorrow, I'll call in," he said, rubbing her back. "I can't leave you like this."
How badly he wanted to make this better for her.
"You cannot just avoid Gibbs," Ziva said softly. "You should talk to him before the second interview."
"I know," he said. "I will. I'm not avoiding him, I'm trying to take care of you. He'll get me wanting to take care of my family."
Let me take care of you, he was asking her. Begging her.
"Water," she said taking a breath. "Can you get me some water, please?"
"Do you want me to get some crackers too?" he asked. "Do you think you could keep 'em down?"
"Maybe," she said, not really sure.
He slipped out of the room, a spring in his step. The nausea slipped away, the waves were smaller. Perhaps it was passing for now. Hopefully. She moved her hand to her stomach. Hovering just above her still-flat abdomen, just above her baby. Their baby.
They were going to have a baby.
A/N: I don't own a thing.
Yay, for cancelled plans meaning I got to write this.
I have never been pregnant, and don't really have many recent parents in my life, so this chapter might not be as medical accurate as I'd like it to be. However, the girl who sits behind me at work, only found out she was pregnant about a week ago, and we're already stashing crackers in our desks for her. She was trying too, so they found out about this quite early on.
I owe so many review replies, I'm sure you can understand the desire to put out a new chapter first. I will reply soon. I'm aiming for another chapter next week.
Also, how amazing was it to see new Cote pics at the film festival, those twitter pics got my through a difficult work week. She looks stunning as per usual. Hopefully, she is living all of her dreams. (I wish people would stop asking her about NCIS though). That totally helped me write this chapter.
Kaddish for an Unborn Child by Irme Kertesz, (sometimes translated as Kaddish for the Unborn Child) is a very slim, but dense novel about a male survivour of the Holocaust who said no to having children, because he could not bear to bring them into the world after everything he had seen. It is absolutely haunting. All of his novels are beautiful.
Trust the journey that this fic is going to take our dynamic duo, and their family (chosen and otherwise) on.