Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Sadly, they belong to some other people.
AN: I woke up with the idea for this fic and I had to write it out. It's different from what I usually write in that it's AU. I have a couple of ideas for this story, but I'd like to know if you guys are interested in reading :)))
It's not like in the movies: Gibbs is no Magneto and doors don't fling open on demand. But there is Abby, who opens the door to the ER for him, a gesture he wouldn't have tolerated under any other circumstances. Still, the corners of his mouth lift in a small smile, a token for his gratitude and perhaps, the only visible indicator of his emotional state. He has seen families rush into the hospital, faces stricken with panic and grief, people who barely hold back the tears as they ask a nurse for help. Gibbs is not doing this, because that's the only thing he has control over, his response to the situation. And also, he is holding an ever shifting 4-year old in his arms. God. Besides, physical expression of emotion is just a setback, a limit to the endless sorrow and worry one could feel. Anxiety is most often internally bound, and tears are just a distraction from the problem at hand. Tears don't fix anything; more so, they can't change what's already happened.
Once inside, Gibbs is thankful for keeping it cool, at least on the outside. It's a complete pandemonium on the ground floor of Bethesda hospital and he finds himself pulling the little girl a tiny bit closer to himself. There, all better now. Interns are running around, scared stupid, – and he knows they are interns, such shock is not engraved on a resident's face – doctors are shouting out orders over restless shrieks of pain, and paramedics are wheeling in stretchers with more people. In other words, it's total chaos in the eyes of the beholder, to the shaken outsider, and a well-oiled machine to the parties involved.
The noise draws the attention of his daughter and she shifts ever so slightly in his arms, her warm forehead no longer resting on Gibbs' shoulder. Then, ice blue eyes take in the surroundings, blowing wide open at the sight.
"Don't look, baby," Gibbs' soothing voice is in stark contrast with all the yelling of the medical personnel and the cries of patients. Only Gibbs knows how he's keeping it together. He runs a hand down Em's back, but the girl is stubborn – doesn't matter if the 'stubborn' gene is recessive, considering who her parents are – and doesn't look away; she even tries to wriggle out of his hold. He doesn't let her go. Gibbs notices the way her lower lip sticks out, a sure forecast for tears, but she keeps them at bay, for now, tiny arms tightening around her father's neck.
He finally sees it – the information desk, at the opposite end of the hall. A stout brunette clad in light green slacks, most likely a nurse, is talking on the phone, sighing and shaking her head. Gibbs doesn't wait one bit but heads her way with Abby following suit. Even as he is approaching the woman, he knows the right thing to do is to let Abby hold Emory, but he doesn't – the front of his shirt is now damp with the little girl's tears, yet she doesn't let out more than a whimper. He can't let her go.
By the time he reaches the station, the nurse is no longer talking on the phone, thankfully, and turns to look at him, kind brown eyes instilling nothing but a sense of trust in Gibbs. Things are not okay, they might not be okay again, but having the nurse on his side could make it easier.
"How may I help you, sir?" a questioning look and a sympathetic smile, and Gibbs' voice catches in his throat.
On his behalf, Abby takes the initiative.
"We want to see Agent Todd," she manages with inevitable urgency to her tone.
At the name, Emory pulls back a little to look over her shoulder at the woman, who smiles even wider at her.
"It will be alright, little one," Gibbs whispers in her dark curls, reassuringly, before kissing the top of her head. It will be alright.
It was his turn to pick their daughter up from day care. Abby had asked to tag along, without even knowing they were to get ice-cream on the way back. Dinosaur crunch, Em's favorite. That was the tradition: every Friday, rain or shine – except for the winter months, of course – they would get ice-cream and spend some time at the playground across the street from the kindergarten.
This time, it was no different. Abby pleaded with him to slow down, all in vain, Emmy ran to meet them from across the yard, and Gibbs spun her around, laughing at the sound of his daughter's giggles, a regular occurrence now. Laughing till his eyes crinkled at the edges, forming lines so deep, not even Tony's voice on the other end of the line could obliterate his smile.
"What is it, DiNozzo?" he asked, his voice strangely content, not threatening, a little amused in fact.
"Boss –"
"DiNozzo?" Gibbs let Emory down, and the little girl immediately tugged at Abby's skirt, forcing her to play a game of tag.
The silence spoke a thousand words. "What's wrong, Tony?"
"It's Kate, Gibbs. She was shot."