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"Pregnant?"
"You're pregnant, yes. Congratulations." The sight of over enthusiastic smiles thrown anywhere near her direction is not what Caitlin Todd needs right now. A waste bucket to throw up in – hell yes, a steady hand works well too. Yes. They both work.
Kate clears her throat, and she hears her mother's mutter of disapproval. One does not snort like a man in the company of a man, after all.
One does not run around with a sig attached to one's hips, either, but oops – sorry mom.
She shakes her head, shaking away the unpleasant thoughts of her past to deal with the surprising news of her future. "How far gone am I?" She braves a glance at the monitor that shows the steady heartbeat of the child she is carrying.
"Eight weeks," the doctor smiles. "Providing the given date was in fact the last time you had sex, Miss. Todd?" A quirking eyebrow is all he finishes with. After 22 years of giving women, old and young, married and single, the news they are expecting, Dr. Ames had become quite adept at spotting a liar in his office.
This sharpened beauty before him is definitely no liar.
If she is however, Kate Todd has the least impressive poker face he had ever come across.
Despite her dark hair, sleek and enticing – perfectly styled, the obviously expensive tailored slacks with a matching blazer she has at her side, and the creaseless shirt, she looks petrified.
Understandable though, considering he has just told this woman, obviously exhausted, dark circles and hollow cheekbones from obvious weight loss overriding her features, that she is pregnant.
Not even her holstered gun can save her from this.
"That's not possible!" She blushes at the outburst. "That's not possible," though it clearly is, "I'd have known…"
She rises slightly to peer over her generous breasts, examining her slender waist and flat abdomen. She glances back and forth from her stomach to the monitor that is frozen with a screen shot of her baby. It's incomprehensible.
As hard as she fights, the tears well in her eyes and refuse to piss off. She knows logically it's true.
Eight weeks ago she had Gibbs flat on his back, riding him like it was no one's business. She remembers him pulling out with a streak of fear in his eyes. She remembers looking down to see him still hard, condom broken and bunched and high on his shaft. Her words: "did you come inside me?"
Gibbs' fearful nod – blue eyes alight with nerves had almost been funny. She's on contraception. There's no way this should have happened.
Damnit, she wasn't worried. She's not the type of woman to get knocked up after a drunken one night stand, fuck. She is, apparently.
Neither she nor Gibbs has approached what happened. No one addressing slick bodies, all-encompassing heat – passion that blew their minds.
"Granted, it's not uncommon for woman to not pick up on it," Dr. Ames starts. "However Kate, your weight has dropped, noted on your chart. Ideally, you should be heavier. Demanding job plus low rest plus small baby," he adds aloud, eyes on her. He shrugs. "You're only eight weeks."
There's a lot of pressure down there, and she's uncomfortable as hell – plus she feels like the worst person on earth. Rachel brags every time she visits about how her children are god's gifts, she knew the second she was pregnant. Trust little ol' Katie to not know she's carrying.
"I'm not concerned for now, there's plenty of time for nutrients and a diet plan to ensure your baby has the best chance of developing normally, but by the looks of things its fine. You see?" At her small smile of encouragement, he continues. "Nice strong heartbeat, it looks cosy in there, huh?" her smile is indulgent.
"You originally came in for persistent headaches?" he asks, eyes on her chart again. "That could be a result of pregnancy. Bloods show high HCG." He hums. "The weight you've lost is my guess as to why you've not suspected." Kate just lays stiff. She feels stunted, like she's dazing. She's pale as hell, too.
She considers what he's telling her. She's been spending so much time trying to get her shit together after Gibbs, getting back to being the best. Not some girl with an infatuation for her unavailable boss. She has no spare time between work and Gibbs and life to linger, contemplating weight loss or fatigue.
"My menstrual cycles haven't altered?" she offers, preparing for the final blow Dr. Ames can deliver against her wall of denial. "My breasts don't feel different."
She blows off the thought of Tony's snarky laughter she'd get in her ear if he heard even a whisper of her conversation.
"Kate," he pauses, and gives a gentle smile. "It's common, periods don't always stop, HCG isn't always picked up with pregnancy tests alone. There's plenty of women everywhere that have breasts that become sore before and after cycles, and a woman who's been… suffering," he prods anxiously, "are going to look for excuses, and are going to look for alternative explanations."
"In your case, there's been blood work for persistent migraines." He looks over her with gentle eyes, taking in her downcast, worried expression, complete with eyes suspiciously glowing with unshed tears. "Is there anything I can do?"
Inhaling sharply, Kate holds eye contact to whisper a gracious no. "I think that's it."
They clean up quickly and he leaves her to redress.
When he comes back in, Dr. Ames offers a knowing grin, and Kate feels it almost penetrate the mist of unhappy air that surrounds her. Almost.
He hands her three rectangle pictures. They all show the blob of her baby. Their baby – little baby Gibbs.
He then steps closer, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, and hands her a smaller, palm sized shot that shows a clear image of blob. "For your purse," his voice is soft again, and then he throws another over enthusiastic smile to her, and she almost, almost, calls him a bastard.
He's been her lady doctor for longer than she can remember; she knows she'd get away with it. This is hard, he seems to know. Maybe he knows it's about to get a damn sight harder.
She wonders if he doubts her ability, could he? Does he have the right? An NCIS Agent who throws herself in front of guns and knives, having a baby. He so does.
Thanking him warmly, Kate puts the images in her bag and leaves. Back to work.
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"Kate," Tony pips up the second the elevator dings, Ziva on his six.
McGee keeps his face in his computer, his lingering eyes the only tell he has.
Gibbs' sharp blue eyes latch on to her immediately, burning with frustration and something undeniable.
"Where you've been?" Tony asks, "Gibbs' wants your head." His mutter is quieter again, though his smirk is devious, the little shit stirrer.
"Mind your own, DiNozzo," she snaps, rubbing her forehead as she sits. Ziva eyes her but offers nothing more than a smile and a hello.
She keeps her head down until it falls silent, and then as expected, the figure looms over her desk. "Kate," Gibbs demands her attention. His voice is a challenging husk. She looks up hesitantly, and Gibbs seems to notice her color – or lack of. His brows furrow for a second, before he masks it with a well-practiced ease.
"It won't happen again," her voice is thickly laced with the overwhelmed tiredness she feels. She meets his eyes again, dark on cerulean blue.
His smile is quick, almost unidentifiable. "I know," and he goes back to his own desk, every Agent's set of eyes on his the whole way.
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