A new day dawns, and
I am practicing my purpose once again.
-Gabe Dixon Band, "All Will Be Well."
Leon Vance appeared in the surgical waiting room long before Susan McNamyre came back with his paperwork. Gibbs wasn't surprised; The Navy Yard was a small town with small-town gossip; Vance would have heard by now what had happened in Congress Heights and how it had transpired. They sidestepped polite salutations.
"Suspicious circumstances, huh?"
"Yeah. Very suspicious." Gibbs was hunched over in his chair, hands dangling between his knees, eyes on the floor. He hadn't even looked up when Vance approached him.
"Social services call me at eleven asking for employment verification."
"I have a kid to take care of. They want to make sure I have a job. Pretty reasonable, I guess," he paused for a moment, thoughtful. "The home visit will be interesting."
"I emailed them a letter. Wasn't sure if you wanted me to mention how close you were to retiring."
Gibbs' head jerked up, then fell again. He chose not to think about retiring, but sometimes, alone in the basement with his boat and the fading memories of his dead family, it couldn't be helped. The idea of staying home, of not clipping on a badge and gun ever morning, of not pulling up to the gate-guard was like scuba diving at a hundred meters—pressure and darkness everywhere except the small circle of light he carried in his hands. But now it would be different. Sara would be there, and her needs would drive him each day to wake and face the world. He grunted, acknowledging Vance's statement, and his stomach, for the first time in weeks, settled itself.
Leon's voice was soft when he spoke again. "I heard it was bad."
Gibbs grunted again. "Yeah. You could say that."
"How long have you been waiting to hear anything?"
"Surgeon came out to talk to us about three hours ago and got the consent form from the social worker."
"What are they looking at?"
"A bunch of broken bones, ruptured spleen, bleeding. Her pelvis is shattered, I think. They want to do something with pins and rods." He trailed off. He kept flashing back the moment he'd come around the fence and seen Sara on the ground, limp as a broken toy, Ziva delicately petting her head, trying desperately to assure the unconscious child that it would be ok. The dread of that minute revisited him again and again as the shadows grew long on the hospital walls.
Vance could sense that he needed to be distracted and changed the subject fast. "Local LEOs found Godwin in Pentworth with Shawn Keyman. They're booking them now and we'll get our chance with them once the charges go through."
"I know Kettle is her father."
Vance wanted to be surprised. "Abby told you." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah. Said she was going to get her back in—thought Sara knew more than she'd been able to tell us on Tuesday."
Vance shrugged. "Well, once she's feeling better we'll have Ziva talk to her again. Maybe she'll feel more comfortable now that she's safe."
"We'll see about that."
"Gibbs, you know how this works, if she kn-"
For the first time, Gibbs raised his head and met Vance's gaze. "I said we will see about that, Leon."
Vance nodded, returning the stare. He had kids of his own and would react much the same way if, God forbid, something like this happened to Kayla or Jared.
Susan McNamyre appeared before he could press the issue, breathing hard and looking haggard. She clutched two manila envelopes that were overflowing with paperwork.
"Agent Gibbs, I have some forms for you to fill out and a brief exam you need to take." She glanced at Vance and nodded a greeting. "Would you like to do this now?"
Gibbs held out his hands and accepted the two heavy files. "Where should I start?"
Susan pointed to the one in his left hand. "This is a parenting exam. I got you out of the required course by telling the judge you have a child. He just needs you to pass the exam with a score of 80% or above."
Inside was a booklet and answer sheet. He stood, moved to a table against the wall, and sat. The questions were insipid, of course—common sense stuff that applied more to a rescued puppy than a traumatized child. He answered the twenty questions with confidence and handed it back. She gave him the other folder. "Sign everywhere there's a flag. There are two sets of the same forms—one for you and one for me—sign everything." She traded his pencil for a black ballpoint pen and got to work on his test. He got to work, posting his signature on employment forms, education forms, medical forms, psychological evaluation forms, and finally, the custody agreement. That one he signed with a flourish, dotting the I in his name with a stiff jab.
Susan looked up from her grading. "You passed with flying colors." She smiled. He didn't return the gesture. She doled out the sets of forms and opened a datebook.
"I'm scheduling your home visit for Wednesday afternoon. That should give you plenty of time to secure your weapons and create adequate arrangements for Sara." She glanced over her shoulder to the OR entrance. Her tone softened. "I think Sara is going to be here for a while, so, I didn't rush the process. Make sure you speak to the doctors about things she'll need once she leaves here."
Gibbs nodded and glanced at his watch. In a little over three hours he'd gone from a work-driven widower to a working foster-father of a pre-schooler. He was faintly shocked at his own decision, but his quiet gut told him it was right.
Susan and Vance stood simultaneously. Susan took her leave first. "I'll see you Wednesday, Agent Gibbs. I'll call Tuesday evening to confirm a time." She strode out the door, waved once from the hallway, and was gone. Vance cleared his throat.
"I need to get back to headquarters; your team needs organizing and we'll get on Godwin the minute we get a chance. You're off this one indefinitely, Gibbs." He swallowed and looked where Gibbs was looking—back toward the OR doors. "Take care of that baby." And with that, he was gone.
Quiet didn't reign for too long. Within ten minutes of Vance's departure Abby appeared at the waiting room door, hugging herself and looking tearful.
"Gibbs, we did everything we could. I had no idea it would get this bad."
He would lose it if she broke down, so he held drew her close and ran his hand up and down her back.
"She's going to be ok, Abbs. It's bad, but she'll be okay."
Abby calmed herself but began to wring her hands once he pulled away. "But she's so little, Gibbs. She's a little tiny kid. Like, a baby. Who could do this to a baby?"
"A terrible person," he confirmed. He waved the paperwork at her. "But I'm on watch now, so it won't happen again."
She started mutely at the forms in his hand for a moment, purely dumbfounded, then her face broke into a smile and she bounced on her toes a little. "You took her? Wow! Gibbs!" She threw herself at her again. "Congratulations, Papa Gibbs! It's a girl!"
She tore herself away from him and sucked in a breath. "Gibbs! Your house is a mess! How can you take her there?"
He knew he could count on Abby to be direct. "I'll get it done, Abbs. Susan is coming Wednesday for the initial home visit. I'll have it all set up."
She eyed him suspiciously. "How you going to do that and stay with Sara at the same time? You may be a superhero, but you are only one person." She whipped out her phone, kissed his cheek, and spun towards the door, already texting. "I'm on this, Daddy-o. Give me forty-eight hours."
Gibbs smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets. Abby loved a project—she was a born helper and generous to a fault. If he could count on anyone to make sure he had everything for Sara, it was her. She whirled out the door and down the hallway texting fast and making, he was sure, lists in her head of what needed to be accomplished.
"Agent Gibbs? Excuse me, sir."
Gibbs jolted, suddenly wide awake. Dr. Levine was standing over him, surgical cap still on his head, carrying the tablet computer from earlier.
"Agent Gibbs I'm here to give you the post-op for Sara Cohen."
"Yeah. How is she?" He cleared his throat and ached for coffee. It was dark out but the waiting room was harsh in fluorescent light. His eyes were sandy with sleep. Dr. Levine sat next to him and propped the tablet on the edge of his chair.
"We removed her spleen, pinned her collarbone, set her arm, and reduced her dislocated hip. We also stabilized her broken pelvis with the external fixator, like I told you in the pre-op debriefing. She's stable, but still intubated and on a ventilator. We're trying to keep stressors at a minimum, so she'll be sedated until tomorrow afternoon at the absolute earliest." He scrolled through a new set of x-ray images on the tablet as he spoke, illustrating the work his team had done. "In pediatric cases there can be complications after a splenectomy, namely severe infection. We're running a broad-spectrum antibiotic for Sara now, and she'll have to take daily maintenance medication after the tetracycline runs its course. It'll keep the threat of infection to a minimum as her system recovers."
Gibbs took the information in stride. If all he had to worry about was a daily dose of antibiotics, he would be just fine and so would Sara.
"You said something earlier about permanent disability. How does that look now?"
"We've realigned her pelvis and attached the fixator, but that's more of a long-term question. We need to see how she heals. The fixator will stay in place for four to six weeks. At that point we'll remove it under general anesthesia and reevaluate. She may need a follow-up operation or some other secondary treatment, but we'll have an orthopedic team in place for her by the time that happens. Physical therapy will also have a lot to do with her recovery. That can be started as soon as she's awake and stable enough to start moving around a little bit." He leaned forward. "Honestly, her survival was questionable just a few hours ago. I think we should focus on how well she's doing right now and worry later about the future."
He was right. Gibbs should be happy to have a living, breathing child to care for. "Can I see her?"
"She's in PICU—Pediatric Intensive Care. She'll probably be there for a few days, then we'll move her to a step-down unit. I can take you."
The PICU was a series of small rooms that pinwheeled from a central nursing desk. It was far quieter than the surgical waiting room, and Gibbs felt like a spectacle as his work boots squeaked on the sanitized floor. Dr. Levine pointed to the closest unit and they entered to the sound of the hissing ventilator.
Sara was prone in the center of the bed, naked except for what looked like a cloth diaper. She was puffy from so many hours in surgery, skin stretched so tight over her joints that it looked shiny. Her eyes were bruised, swollen closed. There were stitches in her scalp and a blue corrugated tube was taped at the corner of her mouth—it's much narrower counterpart snaked down past her larynx. A cervical collar was around her neck, relieving some of the pressure from her bruises trachea. Her broken arm was in a cast and elevated on a pillow to take the stress off her collarbone. Worst, though, was the hardware that stretched over her midsection. The pin sites on her hipbones were bruised black and blood had crusted around them. The fixator itself was a series of titanium rods that arched over her belly and the incision from the splenectomy. IV lines were taped to her ankles and unbandaged wrist.
Gibbs' mouth fell open. Dr. Levine had assured him she'd survive, but from the looks of her it would be a very difficult and painful recovery. He abruptly stopped processing what he was seeing.
"She's going to make it?"
Dr. Levine didn't miss the accusation in Gibbs' tone. He spoke gently. "I know it looks terrible, Agent Gibbs, but she's not in pain right now. She's coming along nicely, especially since we just closed her up a little more than an hour ago. Please trust me that we did our best and so will she. It'll be ok. There's a comfortable chair here. You can sit with her for as long as you'd like—there are no official visiting hours on this floor. It's best for the families."
Dr. Levine made his exit, pager signalling another child in peril. Gibbs sat, eyes still on Sara, broken despite the many hours of life-saving surgery. His chest heaved once, twice, and he dropped his head into his hands and wept.
