They took their seats in the restaurant; Vicky slid her hand into Ziva’s beneath the table, nervous at how Rylan would react. Ziva began with a pleasant conversation, enquiries on how Eliza was finding high school and Emilie’s fears regarding Patrick starting school. Rylan knew Ziva had something to say, rare his sister was coy, she kept looking at Vicky, their fingers interlaced out of sight. The twins loved their food; seeing Ziva’s plate untouched for once, caught his attention. Vicky squeezed, encouraging Ziva, she had made her peace with her life, the choices that led her to this moment, and if their desire, the last piece of what they wanted to call home was nothing but a pipe dream, she knew she could live with that. Emilie and Rylan shared a puzzled look; Ziva continued, adoption had been their first thought, their age meant the agency wanted to place older children someone Eliza’s age into their care. Vicky had no issues regarding her fertility despite being in her forties, she was healthy, but they declined to assist. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her eyes, nervous with her question; they wanted to try, even if it failed, to conceive using an insemination kit at home, for that Ziva hoped Rylan would be willing to help.
Silence, the request hung in the air, Ziva thought she would cry, the bite of dinner lodged in her throat. Emilie, agast, said nothing; Rylan’s face broke the seriousness, he grinned, enthusiastically agreeing to whatever they needed. He was happy the responsibility stopped when he handed them his essence. Relief was short-lived, Emilie worried, she loves her in-laws, they would have been wonderful parents, but they were older. It concerned her they would die before the baby became an adult. Jose died when the twins were children, and although Aria lived to see them become young adults, it had affected them both; their choices and behaviour. Vicky agreed, adoption may be the better option; holding Ziva’s hand again; they wanted to create something with their love. Rylan repeated his agreement, ignoring a disappointed Emilie, his mind made, she needed to accept.
Ziva wondered if she should have made this special; the process was clinical, unromantic, her brother in the bathroom, as she and Emilie sat uncomfortably. She pondered what Vicky may have liked, scented candles, a moment or two being a couple, the thought that her brother and sister-in-law were in the house, made her shudder. Vicky waited upstairs, praying her dates were correct; it felt strange, cold. Afterwards, did she need to lay, legs raised high? A headstand? Panic: what if it failed? This process had given them both hope; Vicky wanted Ziva to have everything, her wife confessed her secret desire, holding Eliza; Ziva knew she wanted children. Both accepted their preference, or at least Vicky’s preference, meaning they required a third person. A gentle tap interrupted her train of thought; Ziva lay, the warm pot in hand. Had Vicky changed her mind? She shook her head kissing Ziva; their future was somewhere in the gloopy chaos of this decision.
By the Grace of Sim Gods 