This is a short and sweet little fic that came to mind when I had a short convo with a friend. That, and, the marathon on USA didn't hurt ;)

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

"Babe, how Italian can I go here?" Tony had asked her simply over the brim of his water bottle.

The question itself hadn't startled Ziva in the least, if anything; she had to give it to Tony for not having asked the question sooner. In short, she had given him the ultimatum of 'If the baby were to come out a boy, you would get to name him, no questions asked. But if the baby comes out as a girl, I get to name her. No questions asked.' He had nodded his complete approval and went on yelling at OSU's football game, as if that were to somehow change the outcome of it. In between his fits of displeasure, she had managed to slip over to the nursery that had been painted (to her anyways, and Tony as well much to her delight) a neutral green color. They had both agreed that there was no possible way that yellow was an actual neutral color because they had failed to see many men and women's bedrooms painted in the clearly disinterested shade.

Managing a glance at the craftsmanship that had been applied by none other than Gibbs, the man clearly having talent, she felt two hands envelop her distended belly and a chin rest comfortably over her shoulder. She looked back to see Tony looking serenely at the walls in front of him.

"I'm assuming they are winning?"

She felt him nod. "Yep. Up by 3 touchdowns with 2:42 left in the 4th."

"Hmm. I'm glad."

"So am I." Tony shifted and checked his watch. "Hey, Zi, c'mon, we're gonna be late for your appointment."

"So, back to what I had said earlier-"

She directed a sly smile his way. "However Italian as you want it to be."

He tapped his chin in contemplation. "So I could go super Italian like ...Francessco, or Luciano or Salvatore or hell, why not since we're at it already, Dino! ... Wait. Dino DiNozzo. No, that ... sounds like a really bad mob boss's name in an equally bad movie not filmed by Scorsese."

"The Departed, yes?"

He smiled fondly. "Oh, you just dig your way deeper into my heart every day, ya know that?"

She smirked and continued ready an article in which she had lost interest two sentences in. She was thoroughly intrigued at how much thought Tony had been putting into the babies name. On one occasion, she had found him late at night (she had had a sudden craving for pita bread and feta cheese) researching both traditional Italian and Hebrew names. He had chalked it up to cross referencing the names he had in mind with any know terrorists, murders, arsonists and anyone whom they encountered on the other side of their line of work.

"Cristiano? That could work. He'll become a soccer player and get a bunch of chicks." He chuckled to himself and replaced the Sports Illustrated (The sports one, Ziva had given him a hard glare at the mere look of the 'other' one) with another one set to a newer date.

"Cristiano Ronaldo has some very sexy ... legs," she had said, knowing it would get a rise out of him. He cleared his throat and loudly opened to the center fold article.

"Over paid soccer players," he had muttered to no one in particular. Ziva silently laughed to herself and continued on with looking at the pictures in the old magazines.

"Have you thought of any names?"

Ziva stopped reading and set it aside, placing her hands in her lap. "I am partial to ... Aila. She was," Ziva inhaled and exhaled slowly, Tony fully aware of the despondent and reminiscent gleam that laced past his wife's features, "like a mother to me. She had the job of taking care of me when my father was working, which was a fair portion of the time," she said on a dry chuckle, "but she taught me most of the things in which I know now."

"I thought Mossad did that," Tony began, hoping to lighten the mood, which he did with diminutive success at the quick quirk from Ziva. She continued, "They tailored it. She literally taught me some of the things I know. She practiced Krav Maga when she was a child. Her brothers worked for the Israeli Army and would teach it to her when they had time. So she taught me it as well. Aila had also picked up knife throwing by mere visual. I was completely fascinated. I learned to mimic her movements. The way she carried herself, with such confidence. She was an extremely strong and independent woman." Ziva exhaled and blinked away tears threatening to spill over.

She blamed her emotional state on her hormones.

"What happened?" Tony asked softly.

"She was murdered. Retaliation, in which one of the members of that family had died by the hand of Aila's brothers."

"Oh ... I'm sorry to hear that."

She shrugged. "It is fine."

"Okay. Just, promise me one thing Zi."


"Don't teach our little bundle of joy how to throw a knife before he or she can walk, yea?"

Ziva barked a laugh. "I do not think I could keep that promise."

Tony smiled and set aside his own magazine. "Tony?"


"Thank you. That is the first time in which I speak to anyone about Aila."

"Hey," he tapped his chest with both hands, "that's what I'm here for."

"Speaking of names, have you thought of any? Besides, Cristiano," she said with a predatory gleam.

"Ya know, my grandfather's name was named Alessandro. I had two of them actually. One, whom I fully understood contributed with the biological aspect of the whole," he motioned between them gaining a slow mouth curl from the woman sitting in front of him, "ya know?"

"Oh, very much."

A corner of his mouth quirked at her sultry reply, and he resumed speaking, "And the other whom I called grandpa. My actual grandpa. The one who I associated with my family despite the difference in last name. So for a choice, I like Alessandro. In memory of my grandfather."

"That is very thoughtful of you."

"So is your choice."

"Mrs. DiNozzo," the nurse had called out with a smile, "Dr. Oldman is ready to see you."

"We'll continue this later," Ziva said, placing a reassuring hand on Tony's forearm. He followed her the small distance from the door to the observation room. A young, but an extremely accredited doctor stood before them waiting to examine Ziva. She did the usual procedure, and pulled out the ultra sound machine. Placing some gel onto Ziva's stomach, the monitor whizzed on. Dr. Oldman spread the gel around with the wand and focused in on a section of Ziva's stomach. After a few seconds, a strong, steady heartbeat echoed in the room. She pointed at the screen. "There we go."

Tony and Ziva looked at each other contently, before turning their attention to the monitor displaying their child. After a questionable 'hmm' from the doctor, they looked at each other with concern.

"Something the matter?"

Dr. Oldman laughed. "Quite the contrary. Looks like you guys ..." she moved the wand around once more before a second, steady heartbeat resonated, matching the first. "Are going to have twins."

He scoffed in surprise. "Plural? As in two?"

The OB glanced at the ultrasound monitor easily and nodded. "Well, there happens to be 4 feet present. Now either your wife is carrying 'The Thing' or she's pregnant with two of your children Mr. DiNozzo. I would believe that the latter is found to be easier to accept."

He pointed at her. "Oh, sarcasm, and a person who appreciates a cult classic. I knew I liked you the second I smelled the coupling gel."

Her eyes crinkled in laughter. "Would you like to know the sexes of your babies?"

"Ah, what the hell. She's already carrying 'The Thing' how much more surprised can I get, right?"

Ziva glared at him facetiously but didn't act on her usual impulse to somehow physical harm Tony in some way. She knew that behind the confidence he was exuberating at the moment; lay a rarely seen layer of him that was threatening to topple over. To put it simply, he was nervous. Nervous as hell was the expression Ziva had come to learn. He fidgeted slightly on place and grinned at the news.

"A little girl," she began, gaining a victorious 'yes' from the woman being examined, "and a little ... c'mon, turn around. We wanna see what you are ... ah, there we go, and a little boy. Congratulations you two." Tony faltered slightly and regained his equilibrium at the amused looks being thrown his way.

"Hey," he began in an accusatory tone, "A man can be just as emotional as a woman when he knows the sex of his kids, okay?"

Outside, Tony literally bounced with joy causing great amusement for Ziva. There were times when he acted childish, and had placed the term in use far more often than not, but there was something about watching him literally bound with joy and root on the space in front of him that Ziva found ultimately fascinating.

"So we 'both' win then!" he had said with a more then graceful jump in front of Ziva, blocking her path toward their car.

"I didn't realize we were playing a game."

"Oh c'mon Z-"

"I get what you mean Tony. We each get to name, respectively, a child each."

He gave her his patent smirk. "Aila and Alessandro, then? I like it. Aila and Ale for short."

"Yes, I like the names as well."

"Hmm." They walked in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before it was cut off by Ziva, speaking in her native tongue.

"אני אוהב אותך."

"I know," he quoted calmly, which prompted Ziva to smack him playfully. He rubbed deftly at the apex of his arm, wincing lightly at the mild sting. "Pregnancy has gotten you more primal somehow. And frankly, it kind of scares me."

She barked a laugh and walked past him. "Think of all of the positives that brings you," she threw over her shoulder.

Tony's mind reeled for a moment before snapping out his reverie. An inane smile was plastered on his face before he realized that Ziva had managed the short trek to the car unassisted.

"Zi!" he called after her, "Wanna test out that theory when we get home ..."

אני אוהב אותך means 'I love you' in Hebrew.

R&R. *smiles indulgently*