#did i spend a solid hour scouring name sites trying to figure out wtf tiva might name a kid after running out of Important Dead People

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

39 from the fanfic prompt list please!!!!!

Fanfic Prompt List (Again!)

#39: “I love you. I just love her more.”

“Hey, Tony?” Ziva calls.

“Yeah?”

She finds him in the kitchen.

He’s been working all afternoon, giving his very best effort to decorate their almost 7-year-old son’s birthday cake. Ziva watches him for a moment, suppressing a smile when she sees his tongue poking out between his lips. Does that help him concentrate on the task at hand?

Well, what she’s come to say certainly won’t.

“I am pregnant,” she tells him.

He crumples silently to the floor in a dead faint, and Ziva thinks she should have seen this coming.

_________________

When he comes to, he asks if she was joking.

“I was not,” she answers, and this time, she’s close enough to catch his head before it hits the tiles under her feet.

_________________

Tali is none-too-thrilled when they announce that they’re expecting a new bundle of joy.

“Dad, babies cry all the time,” she informs Tony, irritated and determined to convince him what an awful idea this is. “Did anyone ever tell you that? Plus, I didn’t sign up for this—I bet it’s not even going to be all that cute, and it’s going to be loud.”

“Yeah, and we all know you need your beauty sleep, sweetheart,” he teases, unmoved by her arguments.

She whacks him—she’s as strong as Ziva.

At fourteen, she’s old enough to have unshakeable opinions, the most emphatic of which is that having one kid brother is more than enough. “Can I move out before the baby comes, at least?” she tries.

“Sure,” her dad agrees easily. “You just have to come back every night and twice on weekends.”

Tali frowns at him. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

He mimics her expression. “And you’re not as grown up as you think you are, baby girl.”

_________________

Tony and Ziva are old enough now that rather than being met with ecstatic surprise when they give people the news, what they get is a number of polite variations on the theme of “oh, how… nice.”

McGee helpfully suggests that Tony get a vasectomy before the baby is born to avoid this happening again later.

“Excuse me?” Tony demands, offended by the very idea. “I’ll have you know that my manhood is in perfect working order and will stay that way until I—”

He stops when Ziva smacks the back of his head.

“What does manhood mean?” their son Adam pipes up curiously, and Ziva leaves Tony to figure out how to answer that one on his own.

_________________

All the pregnancy clothes Ziva can find as her belly grows are meant for younger women. She’s approaching fifty, and a floral romper just doesn’t suit her like it might have twenty-five years ago. She ends up wearing mostly old sweatpants of her own and old sweatshirts of Tony’s. When Tony finds her in front of their bedroom mirror, critically examining her polyester-clad bump, he pauses to watch her.

“You’re still the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he tells her, wearing a smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

Ziva decides the polyester isn’t too bad after all.

_________________

This baby, informally dubbed Tadpole, refuses to cooperate at ultrasound appointments, so going into the last few months, they’re still not sure what they’re having. That means they have to settle on not one name but two. Making the decision requires twice the bickering, twice the disagreements, and twice the competitiveness.

“And just to make sure we’re agreeing on the rules,” Tony reminds Ziva sternly, “this challenge will start with sixty seconds on the clock. Whoever can balance the most spoons on their face without dropping one gets to pick Tadpole’s middle name, right?”

“Right,” Ziva agrees, brandishing a large serving spoon that she’s already selected as her first choice for balancing.

When they’re tied forty-five seconds in, four spoons on each of their faces, Tali walks in to get a glass of water. She observes them for a moment, nonplussed, before shaking her head, throwing her hands up in exasperation, and walking right back out without the drink she came for.

“Do you guys always have to be so weird?” she complains as she goes.

_________________

Ziva’s third pregnancy is more physically uncomfortable than her first two, and she grows bigger at a much faster rate.

One night, she puts her palms on her rounded belly and groans in annoyance, making Tony ask what’s wrong. “I am all blubber. I feel like a fat whale,” she decides.

Her husband disagrees. “I’d say you look more like a cute little cow.”

If not for the saving grace of “cute”, he would be spending tonight on the sofa.

_________________

Tony has always been protective of Ziva, but that reaches new heights when she’s pregnant. She’s nearly due when, crossing the street hand in hand with her husband, disaster strikes. Tony sees rapid movement from the corner of his eye and reacts without stopping to think, yanking Ziva back to the safety of the sidewalk to avoid what he thinks is a vehicle.

There was something coming, as it turns out, but it wasn’t a car. It was a large page from Le Parisien newspaper, carried speedily toward them on a gust of strong wind.

They watch it pass. “I am glad you still have your lightning-fast reflexes, my love,” Ziva says dryly. “We would have been crushed, otherwise.”

“Sarcasm isn’t a good way to thank someone for saving your life, sweet cheeks,” Tony replies, his twitching lips matching hers. He lunges forward to tickle her, and it doesn’t matter if he acted unnecessarily this time. He’ll pull her out of the way of every non-threatening item in Paris if it’ll keep her safe and by his side, giggling like she is now.

They both find it relaxing to stand on the side of a random street in the 8th arrondissement and laugh at each other…

…at least until Ziva pees herself. Oh, the joys of pregnancy.

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In the end, Ziva’s labor is astonishingly short, which is both a blessing and a curse. It’s wonderful because the process is, of course, incredibly painful, and there’s little to be gained by suffering for longer. It’s also a problem, though, because they barely have time to leave Tali and Adam with friends in their hurry to get to the hospital.

Ziva is in such rapidly progressing labor when they arrive that the wheelchair phase gets skipped entirely and they put her straight on a stretcher. Then it’s a race to reach a room before the baby can make its grand entrance in the hall.

As they rush, the doctor can’t make Ziva respond to her instructions, and she turns to Tony instead. “You must convince her not to push yet,” she insists, emphatic.

Not sure Ziva will listen to him, either, Tony passes on the message. “I will push if I want to!” his wife snarls, which is more or less what he expected.

They finally arrive in the delivery room, huffing and puffing—Ziva because she’s in agony, and Tony because he’s not used to exercising this intensely anymore. (He’s getting old.)

Not three minutes later, their third and final baby is born.

_________________

When things are settled again, they’re left alone with their newest family member to bond. “She is so lovely,” Ziva murmurs, mesmerised. Tony can’t agree more. Maybe they didn’t plan for her, and maybe they didn’t expect her, but… her tiny face, fresh and new and hopeful, is something they must have needed.

Later, the exhausted Ziva falls asleep in her hospital bed, and Tony bounces their newborn daughter as he paces the room. “We’ll do our best by you,” he promises the little one softly, “but I don’t think this is one of those times when ‘third time’s the charm’ really applies. I’m afraid you’re stuck with the same clueless parents Tali and Adam have had. If we’ve learned anything from raising them, we’ll probably have forgotten it by the time you’re old enough to benefit from it.”

She feels indescribably tiny in his arms, and he runs a single finger through the hair on her head. There’s a lot of it, and it’s the fairest, most unusual shade of strawberry blonde he’s ever seen. It seems odd, since he, Ziva, Tali, and Adam all have dark hair, but the reddish color seems to suit this sweet Tadpole. Everything about her is light. “You’re just the prettiest thing, aren’t you?” he coos. 

He hears a tired, croaky laugh, and he looks up to see Ziva observing them. “There is nothing I need to be jealous for, is there?” she teases hoarsely, watching the pair with groggy affection.

“I’m afraid there is, actually,” Tony answers grimly. He sits down in his chair next to the bed and leans over the baby to kiss Ziva’s forehead. “I love you. I just love her more.”

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Tali surprises everyone by bursting into joyful tears upon meeting her brand new baby sister.

“I thought you didn’t want another sibling,” Tony recalls. (His heart aches a little at the sight of her tears, though, no matter their cause.)

“I was on my period when you told me!” she protests, her chin still trembling. “You can’t hold that against me!”

Her dad isn’t sure what to say to that, but, careful not to jostle the baby Tali’s holding, he wraps her in a tight side hug.

“Alright, Tali-Tee,” he agrees, kissing her temple. “I won’t.”

He can’t hold anything against her, and he already knows it’ll be exactly the same with the new baby.

_________________

It takes them a week to name the little girl, and when they finally do, it’s during a midnight feeding.

Ziva strokes the baby’s hair as she nurses. “Did you know that traditionally, Hebrew names are considered prophecies? People often choose names of people they respect, or virtues they hope their children will embody.”

Tony snuggles in closer to the two of them and rests his chin lightly on Ziva’s shoulder. “Well, what do we want for her?”

Ziva smiles. “The same things we want for Tali and Adam.”

“And those would be?”

“Joy, I think. A life full of love and with as little pain as possible—a stable life.”

Tony nods, thinking about that. He reaches over to the bedside table where a well-loved name book rests, and he thumbs through it for a moment.

“What are you looking for?”

He holds up a finger, and it doesn’t take long to be ready. “I was remembering a few Hebrew names that I thought would fit that theme. Here’s what I’ve got: Rena, meaning joy, Ora, meaning light, and Tova, meaning good. Any of those sound right to you?”

Ziva glances from Tony to the baby and back, and then she shrugs, taking care not to make the baby unlatch. “I think they are all nice. You should choose.”

“Me? Why?”

He seems surprised enough that she laughs quietly; it’s a sweet sound. “I am the one who named Tali, and you did not have any input. We named Adam together. Now you can choose.”

Something soft about him grows softer, and he kisses the heads of both wife and daughter. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“In that case, maybe… Ora. I want her to have a life full of light, you know?”

“I think it suits her.”

“Ora it is, then.”

When Ora is done nursing, he tells Ziva to stay where she is and let him return the baby to her crib. He places the newborn gently on her miniature mattress, watches her fondly for a moment, then leaves.

Instead of going straight back to Ziva, though, he checks up on the other two. Tali is, as usual, barely visible under a vast mound of blankets; her feet are sticking out, however, so, shaking his head, Tony tucks them back in. Adam, on the other hand, is curled in a tiny ball, both little fists clenched in the fur of a stuffed buffalo someone gifted him on their last trip to the United States. Tony tucks him in again, too, because his heart is very full tonight.

He returns to bed, thinking about the meaning of his new daughter’s name: light. They’re all living a life full of that now, aren’t they? Things are happy, and easy, and they haven’t always been.

He can’t stay up long, exhausted as he is, but when he curls against the curve of Ziva’s back and goes to sleep, it’s with a faint smile on his face.