Upon arrival at the hospital Abby was immediately whisked to the high-risk area of labor & delivery, still clutching Bert. An examination confirmed cervical incompetence: her cervix had thinned and dilated to 6 cm, allowing the amniotic sac to protrude and break. They could not delay the delivery due to the risk of infection.

Abby tried not to cry but she knew this was very bad news for Jackson. "Is my baby going to live?" she asked Dr. Mason, the high-risk obstetrician on call. "He's way too early…"

Mason nodded. "Statistically, a 28-week infant has a 60% chance of survival. But – " she continued, before Abby burst into tears, " – the ultrasound shows he's bigger than normal for 28 weeks, and birth weight usually correlates with maturity. And you're healthy, you've had no problems with the rest of the pregnancy. I'd say that raises his chances to at least 75%."

Abby tried to smile – 75% was better than 60% -- but she couldn't stop thinking about the other 25%. What if Jackson died? What would happen to her and Gibbs? Would he run away again, unable to face the pain? Would he leave her once their son was gone?

Thankfully Ducky's voice just outside the room interrupted the terrible thoughts going through her mind. "May we visit Ms. Sciuto? Her 'significant other' is on his way, but it will be awhile before he arrives."

"Yes, of course," the nurse replied with a smile. "Support from friends is very important for her right now. Go on in." He pointed in the direction of her door.

Moments later Tony walked in. "How ya doin', Abby?" he asked with his most cheerful expression.

"Better now that y'all are here," she answered, slipping a bit into her childhood south Louisiana accent. "Where's Ducky?"

"He wanted to talk to the doctor." Tony eyed the monitor wrapped around Abby's belly, and listened to the soft beeping. "Is the little guy gonna be okay?"

"I don't know, Tony. The doctor says his chances are only about 75%."

"Well, that's not so bad, is it?" Tony patted her hand.

"It's still leaves a one in four chance that he'll die, Tony."

She scrunched up her face, moaning as a contraction hit. When it was over there were tears running down her cheeks. "Jethro will never forgive me," she cried.

"It's not your fault, Abby," Tony tried to soothe her, but the cries turned into wails and they weren't from the contractions. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and Tony noticed that her blood pressure on the monitor was increasing. He ran to the door just as an alarm went off.

"Help! There's something wrong!" he shouted.

Several nurses rushed into the room, followed by Dr. Mason and Ducky. "02 is 90 and falling. Administering oxygen."

"What happened, Anthony?" asked Ducky.

"She was upset. She's worried about what Gibbs will do if the baby doesn't make it."

"I hope he gets here soon," Ducky murmured.

"I believe she simply had a panic attack," the doctor told them a few minutes later. "I'd rather not give her a sedative, under the circumstances. Could you gentlemen stay with her, try to keep her calm as much as possible?"

"Certainly."

"Of course."

Ducky pulled up a chair beside the bed. "It's all right, Abigail. Don't worry now. Everything will be okay, no matter what."

"Did you talk to the doctor? What did she say?"

"She said all should go well if you remain calm."

Abby relaxed visibly. Tony sat on the side of the bed and held her hand as best he could considering there was an IV attached to it. "McGee is going to hate that he missed this," he told her, smiling.

She chuckled a bit. "Yeah, he'll have to rely on hearsay if he wants to put it in his book."

The normal cruising speed of a helicopter is 130-150 mph. Military helicopters often travel a bit faster, about 170. Within five minutes of beginning the flight, Gibbs had coaxed the pilot to push it to 200. The desperate look in his eyes probably helped.

It is approximately 227 miles from NYC to DC. That gave Gibbs over an hour to imagine losing his family yet again -- over an hour of pure hell. Finally they were over DC. The pilot contacted Georgetown University hospital for permission to land on their helipad.

"We don't allow unscheduled nonmedical flights," was the reply.

"Dammit, Lance Corporal, land this bird on that pad or I'll make sure your military career is over. Rule Number 18: It's better to ask forgiveness than to seek permission."

Lance Corporal Olsen hesitated. On the one hand the hospital had refused… on the other hand, his orders were to follow Special Agent Gibbs' instructions. "Landing, sir."

They barely touched down before Gibbs threw his door open and ran towards the entrance. "Thanks!" he called behind him.

The contractions were coming every 90 seconds now and lasting almost a minute, leaving Abby little time to recover in between. Since neither Ducky nor Tony knew the breathing techniques, she was coached by a nurse midwife named Brenda.

"I've only – been – to one class," Abby gasped out.

"Breathe, don't talk. Watch my fingers. Slow breath. Inhale one, two, three, four…" She was surprised to see Abby shaking her head as she inhaled. "What is it?"

"Not right -- like this," and she signed 'one, two, three, four' in ASL.

"Oh, you sign!" said Brenda with delight, just as another contraction began. "Breathe through it Abby! You can do this. Jackson needs plenty of oxygen. Now exhale slowly… one, two, three, four, five," this time she used ASL, having coached many deaf mothers.

Gibbs ran down the hallway towards L&D, after grabbing the first person in scrubs he could find to get directions. Once he reached the area, he accosted a nurse. "Abby Sciuto, where is she?"

"Who are you?"

"The father!" he almost shouted.

"Her father?"

Gibbs barely bit back the retort (and the punch) he wanted to throw at the woman. Instead, he took a deep breath. "No, I'm the baby's father." He ignored the strange look the nurse gave him.

"This way," she said.

Abby was trying to recover during the short time she had between contractions when she heard a familiar voice in the distance. "Jethro!" she squealed, almost jumping up from the bed.

They were halfway to the room when he heard his name. He immediately traced the source, pushing past the nurse and running towards the voice that owned his heart. "Abby!" he called.

"Jethro!" she yelled again, followed by a wail when the next contraction came a little too soon.

In seconds he was at her side. "Abby, I'm so glad I got here in time." He leaned over and kissed her sweat-covered forehead. Brenda handed him a cool wet washcloth and he began to bathe Abby's face with it. "How close?"

Another nurse, who had followed him into the room, said as she watched the fetal monitor, "Brenda – late decelerations –"

"What does that mean?" asked Gibbs, just as an alarm sounded.

"Baby's heart rate is way down."

"Call Dr. Mason!" Fortunately the obstetrician was nearby, and appeared quickly. One glance at Abby's ashen face and Gibbs' panicked one told her there was a problem.

"Blood pressure's dropping fast," said Brenda. "Looks like an abruption."

"Internal bleeding. Let's get her to an OR." The room suddenly became crowded and busy and Gibbs found himself being pushed further and further away from his family. "What's happening?" he shouted to Dr. Mason.

She gave a few more orders before answering him as the nurses were wheeling Abby away. "I believe the placenta is partially detached and she's bleeding heavily. The baby is in distress. We have to deliver right now and stop the bleeding."

"I want to be there. I have to be there, doctor." Before she could say no, he added, "I don't have time to explain. Please, let me be there, just in case something happens."

"All right," she agreed. "Come with me to scrub in."

The next few minutes were a blur of activity; Gibbs was barely aware that his hands were thrust under hot water; he scrubbed automatically, then his hands were dried and someone helped him don gloves and gown and mask. He followed Dr. Mason, his eyes searching for Abby and finally finding her on the operating table, already under anesthesia. From where Gibbs stood she looked dead, but the steady beeping of her heart monitor reassured him otherwise.

There were people in gowns and scrubs everywhere. Several crowded around Abby, while another group stood near a smaller table and a lot of equipment.

Dr. Mason was handed a scalpel and she quickly made an incision; Gibbs tried to see but someone obscured his view at the crucial moment. Seconds later the doctor extracted – well, he assumed it was the baby but it didn't look anything like Kelly as a newborn. Jackson was quickly handed over to the other group and laid on the warming table. He looked like a doll lying there limply, not crying, not moving.

Gibbs didn't know which way to look; the doctors were fighting to stop Abby's bleeding, while the neonatologist worked to get Jackson breathing. Gibbs felt lost in that frightening world of helplessness – there was nothing he could do but watch as his family fought for life. 'At least I'm here', he thought, 'for what it's worth'.

The minutes passed like the slow progress of a glacier; Jackson finally began to move a bit and his color improved. He even let out a tiny cry before a mask was placed over his face; Gibbs assumed it was oxygen. He tried to hear Dr. Mason's words over the bustle and the beeping of the monitors.

As soon as Jackson was stabilized, he was taken away to the NICU. Gibbs was torn – should he stay while Abby's surgery was completed, or leave to check on Jackson? A nurse noticed his confused expression and took pity on him. "She's out of danger, sir; we're just finishing up. She'll be in the OB PACU after you visit your son."

"The what?"

"The recovery room on this unit." Her eyes smiled and she pointed him back through the door that led back to the Labor and Delivery Unit and told him to ask at the nurse's station for directions to NICU. He took the cue and headed out of the OR, glancing back at Abby's still form and praying that all would go well in his absence. He stopped briefly to remove the gown and mask, then went to the nurse's station.

He followed the nurse's directions to the NICU and knocked on the door. A nurse opened the door slightly, and Gibbs said, "I came to see the Sciuto baby…" He could barely glimpse a row of incubators and a group of doctors and nurses crowded around one of them.

One of the doctors glanced up, then stripped off his gloves and came to the door. "I'm Dr. Sanders, one of the neonatologists. Are you the baby's father?"

Gibbs nodded. "Can I see him?"

"Yes; you'll need to put on a gown and mask." Gibbs did so then followed the doctor, pleased to see that his son was moving more and appeared more pink than he had in the OR.

"How is he?"

"He's doing well for his age. He's having some difficulty breathing and we have him on oxygen and continuous positive airway pressure to keep his lungs open. Otherwise he seems well-developed for being only 28 weeks. We're running tests to be sure." The doctor smiled. "The next 24 hours are critical, of course, but if no new problems arise, the prognosis is excellent."

Gibbs sighed with relief. "Thank you, Dr. Sanders." A touch on his shoulder startled him and he turned quickly. "Ducky!"

"Jethro, you have a beautiful child." Ducky hugged his friend tightly.

"He takes after his mother," Gibbs replied gruffly, trying to hide the tears coming into his eyes.

Tony was standing guard in the OR waiting room, waiting anxiously for information on Abby. Finally Dr. Mason came out and to Tony's relief, she was wearing a smile. "We stopped the bleeding and she's resting comfortably. Would you like to see her?"

Tony grinned. "I'd love to, but if I see her before Gibbs does, I'll end up with a very bad headache."

"You'd get worse than that, DiNozzo; I'd kick your ass," said Gibbs, walking down the hall towards them. The grin on his face showed it was an idle threat. "Go see my son," he told Tony. "I want to see Abby."

He sat beside her, watching her face as she slowly came out of the anesthesia. She blinked several times then opened her eyes fully, licking her dry lips and trying to make sense of the shapes around her. "Where am I?" she asked thickly, her tongue seemingly uncooperative.

He squeezed her hand. "You're in the recovery room, Abby," he said softly. "Jackson is doing fine," he added, anticipating her next question.

"Mmm." She closed her eyes and for several moments seemed to be asleep again. When she opened them once more, her vision was clearer. "Jethro," she murmured, "I'm so sorry."

He gently stroked her cheek with his thumb, his fingers brushing over her tangled hair. "Nothing to be sorry about, Abbs. You didn't cause this. And Jackson is okay, in fact he's doing well for his age."

"He is?" For a moment her face lit up in the smile he loved so much, then she relaxed into an expression of blissful peace. "I love you, Gunny."

He was startled at her use of his former rank; she had never done that before and it both thrilled and saddened him. He didn't know why he would feel sad, but it didn't really matter anyway. The important thing was that his family was safe.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I love you too, angel. Now rest."