I know, I know...everyone is anxiously awaiting the next chapter of "Treading Water." It's coming. Here's this in the meantime, and thanks, again, for all the love. Back 'atcha. XO
We did not ask how things were defined.
Some pieces were missing but the puzzle looked fine.
-Deb Talan, "Tenderness."
Abby accosted McGee the minute he stepped off the elevator, whirling so fast her pigtails nearly took her eye out. "What took so long?" She demanded. "I thought the MRI was first thing this morning?"
"It was," he said quietly. "But the doctor wanted to see us afterward. Apparently Sara's lost weight-the pain medicine reduces her appetite."
Abby lead him over to the plasma, where the trace evidence from their latest dead serviceman was labeled and categorized. "So how do we fatten her up?"
Tim sighed. "Dr. Minton had a nurse practitioner insert a nasogastric feeding tube."
She paled—a feat, considering her fair complexion. "How did that go?"
"Gibbs handled it well," he answered hesitantly. "Sara didn't. She didn't exactly throw a tantrum but she just…shut down afterward. She won't talk or smile or even make eye contact."
"Last straw on the proverbial camel, huh? Did they go home?" She tapped away on the keyboard.
"No. He's on his way down—the welcome wagon in the squad room intercepted them. You have evidence for me?"
"I have ballistics," she said cheerfully. "The weapon left on scene was not what killed Petty Officer Bryant. We're looking for a Browning HP Nine, not a M1911. The difference is the bite in the shooter's hand. This one took of a chunk of skin from between the killer's thumb and forefinger. I'm processing for DNA now."
The elevator dinged again and Gibbs stepped into the lab, pushing the stroller. The sun visor was down completely—only Sara's feet stuck out. She wore adorable soft-soled leather moccasins instead of sneakers.
"Hey, ladybug," Abby said gently. "Heard you had a rough morning. Would hanging out with me help you feel better?"
Sara said nothing, but Gibbs gave Abby a hug and peck on the cheek. "Tube's in for two weeks, then surgery."
"Poor little bug," Abby cooed. "Did it hurt?"
"Yeah." Gibbs answered flatly. "She was pretty scared." He pulled up the visor and Sara jerked her head, startled. She stared around the lab with greyish, empty eyes.
Abby gasped aloud; the tube taped in Sara's nose made her look fragile and sick. She clucked like a mother hen. "I'm sorry you had such a bad morning, lambykins. Want to play for a while? We can make a big mess and not even have to clean it up."
Sara just stared, mouth slack.
Gibbs also knelt. "Hey, sweet pea. Why don't we hang with Abby?"
She turned her blank eyes on him and blinked, shaking her head slightly. Her thumb found its way to her mouth but she jerked it away when it brushed the tape on her face.
"Can I pick you up?" He asked, smiling a little.
She shook her head again but he unbuckled the harness and scooped her up anyway. She went limp, head resting just beneath his collarbone.
"Talk to me, sweet pea. Tell me why you're so sad."
She tightened her hand around the sleeve of his polo but said nothing.
Tim and Abby exchanged sad, anxious glances. "I think she's nervous about the operation, Boss. Dr. Minton threw a lot of information at her today. At you, too, but all she seemed to get was that it was going to hurt a lot and for a long time."
Gibbs nodded pensively, pressing his mouth to his baby's shoulder. "You scared of the surgery, Sar?"
She sighed and locked her eyes on the flashing lights of Major Mass Spec.
"I should take her home. See you guys later?"
"Yeah," Tim said readily. "We need to come up with a plan for post-op meals and respite care for you, Boss. The sooner the better so we can all make the proper arrangements."
"'Preciate that, McGee." He kissed Abby's cheek and left, holding Sara with one hand and pushing the stroller with the other.
Abby turned to Tim and huffed sadly. "What kind of surgery? What can we do to make her feel better?"
He blanched, shrugging. "She's having bilateral femoral and pelvic osteotomies. They need to bone graft her acetabula to deepen them, then cut her femurs and reposition the head inside the new socket. They'll reattach the top of the femur to the shaft with plates and screws, which they'll take out when she's healed."
"That sounds horrible," she said roughly, and shook her head as if to clear it. "Is she going to be in pain?"
"She'll have an intravenous analgesia system for the first few days. Non-narcotic pain medication should sustain her after that." He slid a keyboard across the table and began to type rapidly. "Her postoperative care will be difficult. She'll be in a hip spica cast for three to four months, and it could take another two months after the cast is removed before she's walking independently." He pointed to the screen, where x-ray images and a picture of a child in a hip spica were displayed. "It means a big step backward," he sighed. "No standing, no walking. She might not be able to sit in the stroller—depends on the cast—and she'll be back in diapers, for sure."
A fat tear slid down Abby's cheek and Tim swallowed nervously. He tended to forget how intensely she could empathize. He stammered, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm sorry, Abby. I didn't mean to upset you."
She sniffled and cuddled in for a hug. "It's ok. I know you didn't mean it. I just can't imagine how bad she must feel. She's in pain, and now she's got that tube, and then surgery in two weeks, and then how many months of feeling crappy afterward? Poor little baby. We'll need to get her a lot of presents."
He held her tightly, resting his cheek against the part in her hair. "I texted Tony. We'll get something special together for her."
"Has anyone told Ziva? She might be upset."
"Tony must've by now. She'll be more than happy to help."
Abby sniffed. "Yeah," she said into his shoulder. "She and Sarie have some kind of special bond."
McGee couldn't keep himself from smiling. "She does. And I think it's great-she's probably just what Sara needs. No one understands what she's been through like Ziva."
She pulled away. "Wish that wasn't the case," she muttered darkly.
"I know," he agreed. "But we can't undo any of it. Let's go forward."
"Ok." Abby whirled back to the computer, pigtails flying. "I'll finish running the trace and get you the DNA results as soon as they're up. Then we can concentrate on what's really important, Timmy."
He smiled. "Sounds great, Abbs. Anything I can help with?"
"Go figure out what happened to Bryant. You're an investigator. Go investigate!"
McGee thumbed the elevator call button and wished he had the courage to kiss her cheek.
Tony was at his desk, crossing disconnected phone numbers off a long list Sara shifted in Gibbs' arms and he checked his watch to find that she was due for another dose of pain medication.
"Can I put you down in Tim's chair, sweet pea? I want to get your medicine ready."
Tony jumped up. "No, Boss. Give her to me."
Gibbs resisted for a minute. "She's not ready, DiNozzo."
"Give her to me," he insisted again. He gently plucked Sara from his chest and laid her face down in his own arms. Gibbs tensed, expecting a reaction, but she sighed and let her limbs fall loose.
"Ziva does this to the kitten when she's upset," Tony said, smiling. "Calms her right down."
"Sara's not a kitten," he snarled back softly, but he could see that DiNozzo clearly had a point. He prepared the medication and pushed the tip of the needless syringe between her lips. "Here, sweet pea."
Tony bent to study her face. "She's falling asleep," he observed quietly. "What happened that she's so out of it?"
"They stuck a tube up her nose. I'm supposed to hook her up to some feeding machine every night so she gains weight. They won't operate until she's up over twenty-five pounds."
"Sorry, Boss," Tony said softly. He pressed a kiss to Sara's head. "Sorry, little bug."
"Everyone's coming over tonight for dinner. You and Ziver gonna stop by?"
He grinned. "Heck yeah. What do you want us to bring?"
He took Sara from his arms and settled her back in the stroller. "Anything that'll make her smile. See ya." He aimed the stroller for the parking garage.
. . . .
Ducky made sure to be at Gibbs' house when the pharmacy-supply company dropped off the feeding pump he'd need for Sara. A visiting nurse taught him again how to hook her up to it—he'd already been given a lesson at the hospital—and set up a schedule so she could do the tube changes and weight checks.
"These two weeks will go quickly, Jethro," Ducky assured him. "And she'll adjust much faster if you maintain your regular routine."
Gibbs nodded mutely and began to rock again when the nurse pulled her hands away. Sara wanted nothing but comfort—she'd refused lunch, a nap, and a walk to the park—and the rocking chair in the corner of her bedroom provided the perfect quiet place for them.
Ducky attached the pump to the IV stand and situated it next to her bed. "I'll stay the evening. I can provide some support when you set her up, and I'd like to be included in the schedule for her postoperative care. I may have some valuable resources for her. Did the doctor tell you how she'd be positioned in the cast afterward? It would be helpful for me to know."
Gibbs kissed Sara's hair. "Dunno. There's a folder of information on the dining room table."
"Well, I'll peruse it while I prepare the chicken," he announced, headed for the door.
Ziva passed him in the hallway and slipped into Sara's room with no fanfare. She lowered herself to the floor beside the rocking chair and dragged her fingertips delicately down Sara's left calf.
"I heard your day was quite difficult," she mused softly, speaking more to herself and Gibbs than Sara. She looked up, dark eyes narrowed with concern. "There is little I can do to make her feel better. Or you."
Gibbs rubbed the back of her neck. "It's ok, Ziver. I'm sure she's glad you're here."
Sara turned her face toward Ziva. Her flat, grey gaze wandered the walls and windows, then she closed her eyes and sighed. Her lashes were wet with tears.
"Shaifeleh, I am sorry you are having such a painful operation. But you must not be afraid—your Daddy loves you and will take good care of you. We all will." She rose to her knees and pressed their noses together. "I promise."
Sara drew one hand up to rest on Ziva's arm. She said nothing, but made eye contact with someone for the first time in hours.
"That is a good girl," Ziva cooed, and looked at Yitzi, curled and half-asleep at the foot of her bed. "Your chatul knows something is wrong. See how he is looking at you? He is here because he knows you need him."
Sara looked at the cat with the same blank expression and put her thumb in her mouth.
Downstairs, the front door swung open and the soft voices of Tim, Tony, and Abby filtered up the steps. They had potlucked the meal, providing side dishes and charcoal briquettes for the grill.
Gibbs stood with Sara in his arms and reached down to pull Ziva from the floor. "Let's go see what they brought," he said softly.
Tony was setting the table when they got down there, having tied a bunch of colorful balloons to the back of Sara's chair.
"Hey," he said, smile fading. "No improvement, huh?"
"Nope," Gibbs replied gently, and gestured to the bouquet. "Thanks. See your balloons, sweet pea?"
She made a small noise of acknowledgement and turned her face away.
Gibbs breathed in her ear. "You know what, sweet pea? That's enough feeling sorry for yourself. I know you're sad, but you have your whole family here to make you feel better. How about you give them a break?"
Tony shook his head. "Leave her alone, Boss. She's allowed to be sad. She's got a rough road ahead of her." He reached for her, but tripped over a table leg and fell on the back of a chair, dangerously close to taking a shot to the groin. He doubled over, face red.
"Ugh," he grunted. "Damn. Er…darn."
Sara turned, the corner of her mouth tipped upward. Tony grinned back at her, rueful. "So I go crazy all day trying to get you out of this funk, and all it takes is a punch in the gut?"
She smiled further and swiped at the tape on her cheek. He pulled her hand away and kissed it, then held out his hands. "Can I hold you?"
"Yeah," she whispered, and leaned over Gibbs' arm.
He pulled her close and let Gibbs disappear into the kitchen. "Wanna tell me why you're so upset?"
She let her hand wander again to the tube taped across her cheek. It was looped around her ear, the capped end taped to the back of her shirt so it stayed out of the way. "Dun'wanna be robot."
"You won't ever be a robot. That tube will put food in you belly while you sleep. You lost weight and that's not good."
"M'a good eater," she protested softly, eyes wandering.
"I know that, but you're too skinny and it's bad for your eyes and bones and teeth."
"M'having a surgery," she complained.
"Yeah, you are," he acquiesced. "But once everything's fixed you won't hurt anymore. You'll be able to run around and play like any other kid."
"Playing wif'you," she said lowly, and laid her head on his shoulder.
"With me and Ziva and everyone else. And Yitzi." The cat had come down the stairs. He walked to his bowl in precise steps and ate.
Tony bounced her a little, intent on keeping her talking. "How about you have some dinner with us? We're having chicken and Abby made you some sweet potatoes because she knows they're you're favorite."
"Thank you, Abby," Sara muttered shyly, and Tony put her in her chair and slid a plate in front of her.
Gibbs took his own seat. "Eat, sweet pea. Ziver, you too."
Ziva blushed and stabbed a piece of dark meat. "I will."
Sara put a bite of chicken in her mouth, gagged, and spat it out. She shook her hands at him. "No, no, Daddy. My throat is sore."
Ducky scooped the regurgitated food away with a paper napkin. "There's no need to force her to eat tonight, Jethro. She'll adjust in a day and I can increase the amount of formula she gets at night to make up for it. Would you like to try some juice, princepessa?"
"Please," she said quickly, and held out a hand for the sip-cup of apple juice. It went down without a problem, though her free hand stayed at her collar while she drank.
Tim sat and prepared his own plate. "We made a schedule for after Sara's surgery. It might need some tweaks, still, but we'll have someone here in the morning so you can go for your jog, and someone here for dinner so you can focus on her and not have to worry about cooking. Ziva's planning freezable meals and we'll do some shopping and cooking each evening." He paused to slice his chicken into perfectly even cubes. "I know you won't have time to build anything, so I've ordered a few things for Sara from a craftsperson I know. She builds special furniture for children in hip spicas."
Gibbs chewed and nodded. "Thanks. All of you—thanks," he said, voice rough. Sara sensed his—what? Sadness? Affection? Gratitude?—and reached for him.
"Daddy?" She asked softly, eyes clear but worried.
"I'm ok, sweet pea," he said quickly. "We have a really good family."
"I know," she replied. She rubbed her eyes, but jerked her hand away when it brushed the tube. "M'tired. I need to going to bed."
"Ok. Let me finish and I'll take you upstairs."
"No bath," Ducky warned. "Not until you know what you're doing with the nasogastric tube. Just wipe her down with warm cloths and wash her hair in the sink tomorrow."
He picked the last of the chicken off the bone and swallowed, already pulling Sara out of her chair. "C'mon, sweet pea. Say goodnight."
"Goodnight," she echoed.
They trudged up the steps and into the bathroom together, where he deposited her on the vanity and reached for a clean cloth. She sat perfectly still while he dabbed at her face.
Listen, baby girl," he said kindly. "We're gonna get through this. It might be hard, but I'll do my best ok?"
Her eyes grew wet. "Don't throwing me away, Daddy. Please?"
"Never. Remember when we talked to the judge? He made us forever."
Sara nodded, uncertain. "I memmer. But still don't throwing me away."
"I wouldn't ever do that. I love you way too much."
"Love you, too," she mumbled, and helped him pull her dress off over her head. It brushed the tube in her nose. "Careful," she warned, one finger poised in the air.
"Always," he promised, and kissed her head.
"No," she frowned. "F'effer."
He laughed gently. "Forever."
Ducky appeared in the doorway holding a bag of prepared formula. "Allow me to help you, Jethro."
He dressed her quickly in pyjamas and put her in bed while Ducky adjusted the pump, set the flow rate, made sure the tube was placed properly, and began the feeding cycle.
Gibbs stepped back, suddenly nervous. "Is she ok? Sweet pea? You alright?"
"Yeah," she sighed, drifting.
Ducky brushed her hair back. "It may look frightening, Jethro, but she is perfectly safe. I will come by tomorrow morning and help you disconnect her. You can resume your regular days as soon as you're both ready."
"Should I take her to school tomorrow?"
"Why wouldn't you? She has gained tremendous ground since she began therapeutic activities. Keep her active until you can't any longer."
"What about after the operation?"
Ducky patted his shoulder. "Speak to her therapists. Goodnight, Jethro."
. . . .
Gibbs sat in Sara's room for a long time after she fell asleep, venturing downstairs only when he heard it go quiet. Dinner had been cleaned up, leftovers stored in the refrigerator, the dining room returned to its original state. Sara's balloons bobbed in the breeze from the open window. Ziva was at the table, a new laptop open in front of her.
He pulled out the folder given to him at the doctor's office. "What's going on, David?"
"Just research. I am looking into possible educational opportunities."
"For Sara? It'll be a while before I start thinking about that."
"For me," she replied softly.
"Headed off to college, huh?"
"In the future, perhaps. I am currently ill-equipped to begin university-level courses."
He snorted. "You're one of the brightest I got, David."
She blushed. "I have run up against…a wall, yes? While I have a certificate that states I completed my high school classwork, I did not pass the exams that grant one an actual diploma. Most universities will not accept a student who doesn't have a bagrut."
Gibbs put down his papers. "How the hell did you fail?"
Her blush deepened. "I had been on a mission until the day of the test. It was difficult—I was terribly sleep-deprived. My thinking lagged as a result." She paused to shrug. "I did not have much time to prepare, either."
He turned back to his papers. "You didn't fail, Ziver, you were sabotaged. Eli set you right up, didn't he?"
"I worked all the time, Gibbs, and I knew I would have to take the exam eventually."
"He couldn't give you a week off to study?"
"I suppose not. There were only a few in my squadron that possessed my skills."
"Because they got their diplomas first," he groused softly. "They weren't yanked out of school for weapons training or hand-to-hand combat. So what's the plan? Can you take the test here?"
Ziva shook her head, still blushing. "I cannot. I lost eligibility when I became an American citizen."
"GED?"
"The articles I read indicated that it was a mistake to think of it as equivalent to a true diploma. But American high schools grant diplomas based on coursework, rather than exams, so I am not eligible for one of those, either."
Gibbs shuffled his papers and set them aside. "Did you talk to DiNozzo about this?"
She nodded. "He was not terribly concerned."
"Yes he is," he assured her. "He just didn't want you to know it."
Ziva's dark eyes turned flat. "So he is ashamed, also."
"No one is ashamed, Ziver, but he's well-connected. He might know someone who would be able to help you. How about McGee? He knows someone for sure."
She stiffened, rolling her eyes. "He has multiple advanced degrees from top-tier universities. What would he know about lacking a high school diploma?"
"Hey," he cautioned. "I don't like how you just said that. Why are you so interested in this, anyway?"
She was insulted. "What is wrong with wanting a college degree?"
"Not a damn thing. What are you trying to prove?"
"That I am more than the sharp end of the spear." She pulled out her phone. "I am calling Tony to pick me up."
"Where is he?"
"Everyone got a call about the case they're on. They left an hour ago."
He shook his head. "So how the hell is he supposed to take you home if he's on scene?"
"Nevermind," she replied slowly, setting her phone aside. "I will have to wait for him. I am not cleared to drive yet."
Gibbs smirked. "Since when do you let a doctor tell you what do to?"
Ziva eyed him dangerously. "I promised everyone that I would do as I was told. I take my antidepressant, I take care of my arm, and I will not drive until the orthopedic surgeon tells me that it is permissible."
He shrugged and got up. "So stay here."
"Yaffa is alone."
"Fine. I'll go get her. You stay with Sara." He grabbed his keys and stuffed his wallet in his back pocket.
Her eyes lit in fear. "I cannot do that, Gibbs. What if something happens with the feeding tube while you are away?"
"Then you either call Ducky or call nine-one-one. You know you have skills, Ziver. Use 'em."
She blushed, smiling, and watched his retreating back sweep across the front lawn.
