Ashleigh Anpilova


Ziva is sick. Tony doesn't know what to do to help her, so he asks Ducky to visit her.

An established relationship story.

Written: January 2012. Word count: 500.




He finds her kneeling on the floor by the toilet being violently sick. "Ziva!" He crouches down, takes the hair she's grasping and holds it back. He puts his other hand on her forehead; it's clammy. "Are you -" he stops abruptly, of course she's not 'all right'.


Finally she stops heaving and sinks onto her heels. "I am all right," she manages. She turns to face him. Her face is ashen and sweaty; he's worried.


She doesn't get sick; she's like Gibbs in that respect. He's never seen her look so awful, not even when he'd rescued her from Somalia. "You're going back to bed." His worry increases when she doesn't argue.


He leaves her tucked up in bed, a glass of water on the nightstand, a bowl on the floor, her cell-phone on his pillow. He doesn't want to leave her, but he has to.




Again she is on her knees in front of the toilet when she hears the front door opening. Automatically she reaches out for her gun, but she's left it in the bedroom.


Another wave of vomiting overwhelms her as a voice she knows calls out. "Ziva dear, it's Ducky. Where are - Oh, you poor thing." Once more a hand takes her hair from her, while the other goes to her forehead.


Once she stops being sick, it's Ducky who helps her to her feet, supports her while she rinses her mouth, brushes her teeth and washes her face; Ducky who guides her back to bed; Ducky who helps her into bed and pulls the covers over her; Ducky who pats her hand and hurries back to the bathroom - she hadn't quite made it to the toilet in time.


"Thank you," she whispers, when he returns. She can't even feel embarrassed that Ducky has had to clean up after her; that Ducky is now washing her face and arms with a cool wash-cloth.


"When is it due?" He sits on the edge of the bed and takes her hand.


"How did you know?"


"I'm Ducky," he says.


"I think I am six or seven weeks pregnant."


"You haven't been to see a doctor?"


"No. I have not yet - Is it always this awful?"


He is silent for a moment before saying gently, "For some women, yes. Some are worse, some sail though it."


"I do not know if I can - Ducky, I do not know if I want it."


He pats her hand again. "Don't you?" His voice is still gentle.


"I do not know if I can go through this. Will it get better?"


"Hopefully, yes. But there is one thing I can promise you, Ziva. It will be worth it."


"Will it?" she pleads.


"Yes, my dear. Now close your eyes." He kisses her forehead.


She feels her eyes grow heavy. "Thank you, Ducky," she murmurs.


"It's my pleasure, Ziva. And when Anthony comes home tonight you can tell him he's going to be a father."


She smiles as she slips into sleep.



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