Author's Note: NCIS belongs to CBS and Donald Belisarius. I am making no money off this.
This story contains themes and descriptions of child abuse and mental illness.
Chapter 4
"They're all malnourished; it's begun to affect their growth rates," Dr. Richardson said. "Ashlynn would be at a healthy weight and height if she were four years old, but she's six. I think it's also hampered her mental development, but you'll need to talk to a psychologist about that to be sure."
"What about the boys?" Gibbs asked, taking notes.
"Cullen is still heavily sedated, but we took x-rays. His left leg had been broken once; both the tibia and fibula were snapped by something heavy. Might've been in an accident."
"Kevin?"
"Greenstick fracture in his right forearm. It looked recent; probably happened sometime last year."
Gibbs shook his head. "What else?"
Dr. Richardson looked at the charts. "Cullen's weight and height would put him in the same range as a nine or ten year old. Kevin's also two years behind, growth-wise. They both have a lot of old bruises, as well as newer ones, but I'm not sure what's from the abuse and which ones are from them roughhousing."
"Any sign of sexual abuse?" He hated asking that question, but it was part of the routine.
"Nothing physical."
Gibbs looked up. "What?"
"I'd like to tell you that there are signs, but this is strictly a physical evaluation." Dr. Richardson shook his head. "I'd feel more comfortable if you had a psychologist talk to them. I can't tell you anything definitive."
"What can you tell me about Cullen's injuries?"
The doctor went back to the chart. "The knife wounds damaged part of his right latissimus dorsi, as well as the medial delt-."
"In English, Doc."
"The latissimus dorsi is the muscle that goes from the hipbone and covers the back all the way up to the scapula. The medial deltoid covers the shoulder joint. He won't be able to reach his right arm out in front of him, or out to the side for about six to eight weeks."
Gibbs wrote that down in his notes. "I hate child cases."
"Looking at the pictures, and all this evidence…feels like I've been punched in the gut."
"Same here."
Ashlynn had cuddled into Tim's side as he slept. He looked down at her, the warm weight of her felt comfortable there. She looked…tiny.
"Hi, Mister Tim," Kevin whispered from the chair beside the hospital bed.
"What happened?"
"You got real shaky and freaked out, so the doctors made you sleep." He looked down at the floor. "Are you gonna be okay?"
He sat up very carefully. "I think so."
"Mister Gibbs said to watch you, so I'm doin' that." Kevin got out of the chair and started going for the door. "He said to find him when you woke up."
Gibbs was standing by the door when McGee came out of the bathroom. "How you feelin'?"
He shrugged. "Don't know yet."
"I know you gave a statement to the police, but we gotta go over it again."
McGee sat down on the hospital bed. "I know."
"You okay with doing it today?"
He took a deep breath. "I guess I have to be."
"I'm not pushing you, Tim."
Sighing, he propped his left foot up on the chair to tie his shoe. "What's gonna happen to the kids?"
Gibbs ran his hands through his hair. "That's still being debated."
"I killed their mom."
He went over and put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Go see a shrink."
"What?" McGee wiped his eyes and looked up in disbelief.
"Get an appointment set up with a psychologist today; make sure it's somebody who specializes in dealing with law enforcement officers. Don't put it off."
"Boss?"
"That's an order McGee."
"I thought you don't like psychologists."
"Not generally, but they're a necessary evil sometimes." He squeezed Tim's shoulder. "Trust me on this."
"Who are you, and what have you done with Gibbs?" McGee asked.
The joke sounded forced, but it was a good sign. "Finish up, Vance wants us at the office in an hour."
"Director Leon Vance." Tim ran his fingers over the letters on the little sign stuck on the door.
"Tim." Gibbs said from the couch. "Sit down."
He rubbed at his right arm; his heart was racing again and he felt fire ants boiling under his skin. He suddenly felt dizzy, like he was going to be sick. "I don't feel good, Boss."
"Hang on." Gibbs reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the prescription bottle. He opened it, shook a pill out and handed it over to McGee. "Take one."
He dry swallowed the tiny pill and leaned his forehead against the wall. "Why is this happening?"
"Take deep breaths like that nurse showed you."
"Shit!" McGee pounded his fist on the wall. "Goddamn it!"
Gibbs put a hand on the younger agent's back. "I'll take you down to Abby's; give you time to calm down, let the Lorazepam kick in."
"But…the director…." He was gasping again. "I can't…"
"Come on, Vance'll get over being stood up."
