For three months, Gibbs heard nothing by the barest of news from Ziva. Though he wished for more, he didn't begrudge her. She was busy with moving the girls, and he wouldn't get in the way of that. He kept himself similarly busy, welcoming each new case as it came. Still, it was always a jolt to come home to an empty house. Tonight was no different as he opened the door and stepped into the dark foyer. Then he froze, his instincts sensing something off. The house was as he left it, but in the air there was the faintest scent of the desert—sand, sweat, and sun.

"Ziva?" He had no reason to expect a visit. He had no reason to believe she was here, and yet there wasn't a fraction of doubt as he peered into the shadows. He passed the foot of the stairs and leaned into the living room. He froze when a touch brushed hauntingly against his arm.

"Jethro."

Gibbs flipped on the nearest lamp and squinted in the sudden light to see her descending the stairs. He allowed himself a smile when her features split into a beaming grin, happiness pouring from her in waves as she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, welcoming his embrace. He hugged her fiercely, only to release her immediately when she stiffened at the sudden pressure. "What is it?"

He scanned her quickly. Though he saw no visible bandages and she had moved naturally enough, he noted that her jacket hung oddly on her. Ziva shook her head to dispel his concern. "It's—"

"Don't say nothing," Jethro warned. Ziva sighed, relinquishing the pretense.

"Help me with my jacket," she conceded. Gibbs gently lifted her coat by the collar and carefully eased it down her arms. Underneath she wore a loose tank top, and in the dim light Gibbs saw a spidery burn that covered much of her shoulder blade and part of the way down her arm. It was pitted and rugged, and while it was no longer raw, it still retained the tender pink of new flesh. He'd seen the same kind of burn on who they'd thought was Sergeant Moreno, the honor killing that had led them to Kabul in the first place. He cursed.

"We ran into a little trouble when we moved the girls to a new safe house a few weeks ago. One of the girls' families had contracted a man to punish her. I almost didn't spot him in time."

"She all right?" he asked, drawing his fingers lightly along the edges of the wound. Ziva nodded.

"I caught the worst of it shielding her. She only got some splash-back. Most of the acid ended up in the dirt," she admitted with a derisive chuckle. "He had poor aim."

Jethro was quiet for several minutes. It wasn't difficult to imagine Ziva throwing herself between the attacker and her charge. "You get checked out by a doc?" he asked finally. If she hadn't, he had a mind to call Ducky, regardless that it seemed to be healing well on its own.

"I did," Ziva reassured him. Then her voice softened. "That's actually why I'm here. I—need to talk to you about something. Come sit?" She took her usual spot on the left side of the sofa. Jethro followed hesitantly, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He sat and waited for her to continue, thoughts swirling of illnesses like Jenny's or old injuries resurfacing. After several moments, she found the words she wanted.

"When the UN doctors were treating me, they found something irregular in my blood panels. They ran some additional checks to be sure." She took a deep breath, and reached out to take his hand. "I'm pregnant, Jethro."

Gibbs froze, stunned. When he saw her lips continue to move, he realized his ears roared. Forcing himself to resume breathing, the rushing of his blood abated until he could hear Ziva, who had continued to speak but then backtrack when she realized she'd lost him along the way.

"Jethro?"

He swallowed. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she confirmed with a smile. "They estimated I was about 3 months along. I've skipped cycles before, and with my activity in Kabul I didn't think anything of it. But there's no doubt now. Already my clothes are a little tight."

She was right. The unnatural fit of her clothes he'd noticed before was a result of the subtle changes her body was already undergoing. Now, he recognized them as signs of pregnancy, and nothing more perilous than that. Gibbs' heart slowly tried to crawl up his windpipe. This was a chance to regain what he'd once had. A child, a family—he clamped down on those thoughts as soon as they popped into his brain. He knew what he wanted, but it was not his decision to make.

"What do you want to do?" he asked hoarsely. Ziva's features darkened suddenly, clouded by doubt.

"I never thought I would have children. I never wanted any, but then I thought I'd be in a position to have one with someone I loved." She paused, studying her hands. "I considered abortion. But I realized, I don't want to waste this chance to build a new kind of family. To provide for a child what I had with Tali and Ari, when we were young. I want this baby."

"Ziva—"

"Please, let me finish," she interrupted, her tension rebuilding once more. "I don't expect anything from you, Jethro."

Gibbs' heart slammed against his ribs. "What does that mean?"

"We never discussed having children. We are not married. We have barely spoken in the past year. I made my decision fully prepared to do this on my own. I expect nothing."

Gibbs didn't say anything, unable to speak. If she was prepared to do this without any kind of help, then it was likely she didn't want him involved. At the prospect of being shut out, Gibbs knew without a doubt that he did want to be involved. He wanted to take her to the appointments she would soon have, help pick out names, hold her hand through all of it and then, at the end, hold his child in his arms. But was that what she wanted? He couldn't begin to guess, and he wouldn't ask her to sacrifice one more ounce of the peace she'd found. Her scarred arm already bore the consequences of the last time he'd asked her to put her journey to happiness on hold. So he remained silent.

"That is what I expect," Ziva continued hesitantly. "What I hope…" Gibbs' gaze flew to hers, which was carefully averted. "I hope for a great deal more." Her lips pressed nervously into a thin line. "But I will not ask you to do anything you do not wish to. You are free to make your own decisions, but regardless of what you decide I wanted you to know—"

She quieted at the touch of his palm on hers, interlocking her fingers with his. He shifted closer to her, closing the distance between them.

"Yes," he said plainly. "To everything."

Ziva laughed then, a shaky breath of air that shook the tears loose from her lashes. They splashed and scattered on her cheeks. She wiped at them hurriedly, and chuckled with embarrassment when she felt his gaze. Gibbs opened his free arm. "C'mere," he beckoned. She leaned into him, wrapping her own arm under his shoulders. As her heat bled into his skin, and the scent of her hair filled his nostrils, his own eyes began to burn. The gaping hole in his chest he'd been living with since Ziva had last left for Israel was finally filling back in, in the form of the woman dampening the front of his shirt.

"Welcome home, Ziva."