Twenty five minutes later, Tony entered his apartment with a bag full of orange popsicles, along with some saltine crackers, bananas, peanut butter, watermelon, pretzels and lemonade. Though he had promised that he would only be fifteen, he had sat in his car in the parking lot of the grocery store, googling 'foods to help with morning sickness,' which had led him to pick up the latter items that were not requested. He didn't know if she'd want them, or be able to stomach them, but he wanted her to at least have the option for something else too.

He inhaled sharply and his heart leapt as he closed the door quietly behind him, his eyes catching a glimpse of her asleep on the couch. The twelve hour flight from Tel Aviv to Washington was exhausting at the best of times, as he remembered how he had been utterly drained at the end of it, twelve weeks prior. But then, perhaps that had more to do with the fact he had left his heart behind than the physical toll of it.

But still, he could only imagine how uncomfortable and tiring making the journey must have been for her — especially pregnant. Pregnant.

During the entire five minute drive to and from his apartment to the grocery store, he couldn't help but repeat the word over and over again to himself. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.

How was it possible that she — Ziva David, his best friend, and the woman he was so irrevocably in love with — was having his baby?

His mind flickered to the farmhouse.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her, as she lay on the bed beside him, their clothes discarded. Her head was propped up by her arm, and his hand rested against her waist, drawing slow circles on her skin. There had been an abundance of kissing, and lots of touching — gentle and slow. In some ways it had surprised them greatly, because their attraction was undeniable. They had assumed that the sex between them would be fast and frantic, an amalgamation of eight years worth of desire. But, instead they found themselves savoring every moment, for hours, before they finally allowed themselves to commit their bodies to each other completely.

"More than anything," she whispered against his lips, pulling him in for a deep kiss before he slowly slipped himself inside her. The two of them moved so synchronously, their bodies as one, as she rolled her hips on top of him, his hands resting on her waist so gently to hold her steady. They discovered the perfect combination of what felt overwhelmingly good and pleasurable for both of them, while their names rolled off each other's tongues, panting, moaning, gasping and climaxing, over and over again under the stars, until the golden glow of the sunrise spilled in through the windows.

He placed his keys as gently as he could on the sideboard, not wanting to wake her. And he couldn't help but smile as he watched her chest rise and fall, her curly hair splayed about the pillow she had tucked under her head. It was not the first time he had found her like this, as she had spent many nights watching films with him during the summer before she returned to Israel, often falling asleep on his couch (or on him.)

But there was something about seeing her in this state, knowing that she was carrying his baby, that made his heart race. She really was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

The last time he had seen her sleep so peacefully the way he was looking at her now, she had been curled in his arms and he had resisted telling her he loved her, so as not to complicate matters further, after they made love for the sixth, seventh, and eighth time during his visit. Eight times for eight years of being enamoured with one another.

He crept as softly as he could into the kitchen, placing the bag on the counter. He unbagged the items one by one, laying them out in front of him. Was six boxes of orange popsicles enough? How many did she go through at a time? He made a mental note to ask her once she awoke.

He opened the fridge, filling it with the items he'd purchased, ready to show her.

"You are back," she said, leaning against the doorframe of his kitchen. He jumped at the sound of her voice, smacking his face against the shelf inside the door.

"Jesus, Ziva!" he exclaimed. He closed the door, rubbing the red mark on his forehead. "What happened to not sneaking up on people?"

"I was not sneaking. I was creeping."

"Same difference."

She chuckled. "I am sorry — I did not mean to fall asleep on your couch."

"That's quite alright," he replied with a smile. "The journey must have been difficult for you."

"I have not slept much in two days. And the flight had some unexpected turbulence… which did not do well for the sickness. I do not wish to be cramped back into that tiny bathroom throwing up again any time soon," she laughed.

"Then stay here." He had been entirely unaware the words were going to slip from his mouth, until he spoke them. Their eyes grew wide and he detected a hint of a smile on her face.

"I told you three months ago that it was not a good idea," she replied.

"I'm not talking about staying in DC," he echoed his words from the olive garden. "Stay here. With me."

She gulped. "Tony—"

"Ziva," he said, taking a step closer to her. "I want you. I know you said you wanted to change… and things have," he glanced to her belly and then back to her eyes. "We can change here. Together."

"But you and I… this complicates everything."

"More complicated than us having a baby together, but you being eight thousand miles away? I don't want this to be some Parent Trap situation, where I only get to see my child every couple of months or years. I want to raise this baby with you."

She bit her lip, her eyes welling up. When she had arrived in DC she had been building up the courage to tell him that she was not expecting anything — that he did not need to be involved if he did not want to be, but she would ensure that her child knew of their father either way. And yet, there he was, the love of her life, expressing that he wanted this. Her. Them. Their child.

"You have known about this baby for all of an hour," she confessed. "How can you be so certain that this is what you really want?"

"You think I don't know what I want?"

"I think that you are still in shock. And I do not want you to be saying this out of a sense of obligation that you feel. I am perfectly fine raising this baby alone."

"Is that what you want? To raise this baby alone?"

She hesitated. She was not expecting such a question from him, but he had every right to ask her. And in the newfound spirit of open and honest communication — something which neither of them had ever been very good at towards each other before — she answered.

"No," she shook her head. "That is not what I want."

"Then why are you making this so difficult?" he asked her. She was pushing him away and she didn't even realise it.

"Because it is difficult. It is a difficult decision. It is complicated."

"But it isn't, Ziva. It couldn't be more simple. You and I raise this baby together."

"You would be willing to uproot your entire life?" she asked, sincerely.

"If that's what you wanted me to do, then yes. If you asked me to move to Be'er Sheva and raise the baby with you there, I'd be walking into Vance's office tomorrow and quitting my job."

"Is that what you want? To quit your job?"

"What I want, Ziva, is you."

"But your whole life is here," she said. "You cannot just pack up everything and move to Israel?"

"I was ready to pack up everything and move to Israel three months ago if you had asked me to stay."

"You cannot be serious."

"I am. I'm serious about this. I'm serious about the baby. About you. I don't care where we live — Israel, DC… hell, we could move to Paris if you wanted, and raise our baby on baguettes and berets!" he laughed, before continuing. "Where we live is not important. What is important is that I've spent countless hours imagining a future with you. Our future. You know you're the first person I think about when I wake up in the morning, and the last person I think about at night? Why do you think I've been drinking so much without you here?" He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and cupped her face. "I made a mistake leaving you on that tarmac, Ziva, and I'm not about to let you leave, and I'm not going to walk away from you again."

She stared at him, and her mouth parted as he spoke. Words which she was not expecting. He had imagined a future with her? What happened to the guy who was terrified of commitment?

"You are just saying this—"

He took another step closer to her, his lips finding hers, as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. She resisted the urge to cry as she kissed him back.

"I'm not saying this because you're having our baby, or because I'm in shock. I'm saying this because…"

"I love you," she confessed, beating him to it. How good it felt to say it out loud to him.

"I know," he replied, grinning. "And I love you too." He kissed her again. "I'm sorry. I should have told you in Tel Aviv."

"Perhaps you already did," she said, moving his free hand to her belly, while his eyes sparkled at her with recognition.