She opens her eyes, and finds herself alone in bed. She was alone in bed, naked. Obviously she had won. Had he really snuck out? To avoid the walk of shame? From her room to his? Was he in his bed, asleep? She hears footsteps coming down the hall, towards her.

He pushes the door open, and tiptoes back into the room. He climbs back into bed. She rolls over, towards him.

"You're awake, aren't you?" he senses her eyes staring at him, in the dark.

"Yes. Where did you go?"

"To feed the baby. I didn't want to wake you up."


"Do you want me to go to my own bed? I can, if you want. I just thought it might be awkward. I mean we live together, we had sex, and I slip out in the middle of the night."

"I am not really a fan of cuddling."

"That's what you think."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"When I woke up you had your arm wrapped around me."

"I did not mean to."



"Do you really think that this is going to work?"

"Raising a child, together?'

"Raising a child, being partners, with benefits. Do you really think that we can do all of that, without developing some sort of feelings for each other."

"No, I am not that naive."


"She comes first. That is all I know. The rest will just have to wait."

"For how long?"

"Until she doesn't need us anymore."

"You mean forever? She is always going to need us."

"We can't..."

"You won't," he corrects her.

"My feelings for you... they are not important, right now."

"Feelings? What feelings."

"The ones I have."

"You have feelings? For me?"

"Maybe. Go back to sleep."

He rolls towards her. He scoots next to her. He wraps his arm around her. She doesn't squirm, or protest. She closes her eyes. He closes his eyes and whispers, "The feelings are mutual." Her eyes pop open. Twenty minutes later he is sound asleep. She is wide awake. She stares at the clock. She could get up now. It was late enough. She carefully slips out from under his arm. She pulls on her panties. She slips his button down, on. She tiptoes out of the room.

She walks down the hallway. She stops in the doorway of the nursery. She listens closely, as the baby sleeps. She wanders into the room. She stops at the crib. She looks inside. Emmy sleeps soundly. Ziva retreats to the rocking chair, in the corner of the room. She sits in silence. She stares at the crib.

Was this her life? An instant family. A baby. A partner. Her partner. What had they just done? Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this was too much. Soon they would go back to work. She would leave the baby. Their baby. No, it wasn't their baby. Not biologically. Then why did she like the sound of it, so much? Their baby. Their house. Their life. They were sharing a life. They were sharing a bed. Was that enough? Was it naive to think that it could work out? Of course, there was no such thing as happily ever after. This wasn't a fairytale. There would be no storybook ending. They would probably end up hating each other. They would be bitter, and divorced. Divorced? Where did that come from? They weren't married. So why would they be divorced? That would require marriage, first. Marriage? To Tony? To her partner? Maybe she was just sleep deprived. She rocks back and forth in the chair, until she falls asleep.

When she opens her eyes, she realizes that she is not alone. She looks around the room. She finds Tony, standing next to the crib. He holds Emmy in his arms. He stares at her, in amazement. He talks to her softly.

"So, Emmy, what do you want to do to day? I know. You're a baby; you don't do much. Eat, and sleep, and poop. That sounds like a pretty good day. A boring day, though. What am I going to do, while you're sleeping the day away? Do you have any suggestions? Maybe if sleeping beauty would ever wake up, we could go do something. Maybe she should sleep in the rocking chair every night. She doesn't snore, when she's in the rocking chair. Or, maybe she's just too exhausted to snore. You're a lot of work. So are we doing ok, so far?
Listen, I know that you had a dad. I know you had a mom, too. They're gone. I was hoping maybe, we would be ok. I'm sure that we'll make a lot of mistakes. Promise me, you'll love us anyway. We love you, your mommy, and me. You can call me dad, or daddy, I guess. It's up to you, really. Just remember, you have to say my name first. Ok? I think that it's funny when you're mom gets irritated. There is this vein, in her forehead, that throbs, when she's mad. Her eyes gloss over, and her face turns red. I've seen you make the same face. Of course you make it because you have to poop, not because you're irritated. Maybe she does it for the same reason. Do you think we should be worried? Maybe she's constipated."

"Tony, she can't answer you."

"Oh," he turns and looks at her, "You're awake?"

"I've been awake long enough to hear your rambling."

"She likes it."

"Just because she can't tell you otherwise, does not mean that she likes it."

"She is the only one who listens to me, without interrupting. She likes the sound of my voice, it puts her to sleep, see."

"Tony, we need to talk."

"About last night? Is this where you tell me that it can't happen again? We can't cross the line in the sand? We'll get too involved. Our feelings will tangle us in a web we can't get out of. We'll end up bitter, and divorced," he looks at her, in bewilderment, as the words tumble from his mouth.

She looks at him, and smiles.

"Why are you smiling? Is this where you kill me?"

She shakes her head, "No. It's nice to know that I am not the only one thinking it."

"Thinking what?"

"Bitter, and divorced."

"We'd have to be married first. That is never going to happen."

"Because of your commitment issues?"

"Because of yours," he retorts.