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She called him Poppy. Not because she didn't like the word 'dad' or 'pop' or 'pa' or any other word for father, but because it seemed to fit him more. He was considered 'old'.
He'd been 35 when she was born and had been 41 when it happened. Of course, she didn't remember anymore, her memories were long gone, but he remembered. They'd been working on his boat when there was a knock at the door.
He'd assumed it was her mother who's been on a business trip for a week and was ready to pick up her daughter. He wished he could spend more time with his child, but the fact was, his work schedule was nearly random.
The little girl squealed with delight, even though she loved her father she was glad to see her mother again. Running ahead of him she asked something about opening the door, but ever conscious of safety, he say no, that he would open it. She gave a small pouting face, but he managed to resist.
He opened the door a crack saw it was her mother then opened it wider. She glared at him as usual, and was about to step in when… BAM! A gunshot echoed through the air, and she fell to the ground, her back arching oddly.
The little girl screamed and he slammed the door shut and used his body as a shield to protect his daughter, while her cries and gunshot echoed through the air. Then suddenly they both stopped. And there was a strong pain in his leg.
Involuntarily he looked at it then turned to his daughter. Sirens were in the background, but he couldn't hear them as he begged his child to please wake up. But it was useless. Somehow a bullet had gotten past him and pierced through her head.
As the EMT's took her and he mother away he screamed and reached for them, hoping his child would reach back, but as they covered her in a white sheet he knew there was no hope left, and he did something he hadn't done for a while.
Gibbs cried.
The End.