We're rounding it off, folks. One more chapter and we're out. Thanks for all your support-you're all magical. Also, expect a sequel. Cause ya can't / ya won't / and ya don't stop.
As we fly around the sun.
We know we're not the only ones.
Love for the lonely?
It's been a long time coming…
-The Weepies, "Happiness."
Gibbs forewent the stroller; it was a short walk from the parking lot to the pediatrician's office, and a shorter walk from the waiting area to the room. The nurse, a bubbly blonde in colorful scrubs, had him plop Sara on a baby scale just inside the exam-room door. "Twenty-three point four pounds," she read aloud. "When did she start vomiting?"
Gibbs checked his watch. "Forty-four hours ago. I was to bring her in if the fever wasn't down by now."
She smiled. "Go ahead and take her clothes off. I'll leave a blanket if she wants to wrap up. Dr. Sheehan will be right in."
He moved her from the scale to the exam table and Sara blinked at him, lifting her arms over her head. He pulled off her dress and legwarmers and wrapped the cotton blanket around her shoulders.
The doctor knocked but didn't wait for a response before entering. "I'm Mary Sheehan," she said kindly. She brushed an auburn curl out of her eyes and stuck out a small hand. "You must be Agent Gibbs and Sara."
They shook. Sara blinked again.
"Say hello," he chided softly.
"Hello," she echoed.
Dr. Sheehan smiled and flashed the front and back of both hands at her. "No needles," she said seriously. "So Daddy tells me you're throwing up and you have a fever. Is there anything else you want to tell me about?"
"M'sore," she rasped.
"Oh yeah? Are you sore where you got hurt? Under your brace?"
She nodded miserably and wrapped one hand around the hinged support at her left hip.
The doctor's eyes narrowed. "Does it hurt more on that side?"
Sara nodded.
Dr. Sheehan nodded back, green eyes wide and concerned. "Sara, I want to look at you all over. I'm not going to touch you without telling you first, and I won't do anything on purpose that will hurt you. I'm going to start with your head and go down to your toes."
Sara nodded again, seawater eyes locked on her father.
"It's ok," he assured her.
The exam was typical until her fingers grazed over Sara's healing rib fractures. Both doctor and patient flinched and pulled back.
"Did that hurt, sweet pea?" Gibbs asked quickly.
"No," she replied vacantly. "Jus'…got a jumping."
"Sorry," Dr. Sheehan apologized. "When I saw the calluses I expected the injury to be older than it actually is. She's still growing spongy bone under those lumps."
"When will they go away?" Gibbs asked.
"Another month or two. She'll always be at risk for re-injury, so I would nix contact sports for her. In fact, I would nix anything but swimming and dance. She's not as sturdy as I'd like her to be."
"She's a tiny kid," he said firmly.
"A little too tiny," she countered. "I know she has some developmental issues, but she's way off the growth curve for her age. Let me finish and we'll talk. Are you ok, Sara?"
"M'fine," she said vacantly.
She reached for the Velcro closure on Sara's brace. "I want to take this off and look underneath. Do you want do lie down or sit up for this part?"
Sara leaned back on her hands. "Sit up," she answered simply, eyes wandering.
Dr. Sheehan bent and flexed her legs, rolled her at the waist, had her lie flat, sit, stand, and walk. She frowned when Sara stood, and it deepened when she walked.
"Does she wear this as prescribed?" She asked Gibbs, pointing at Sara's hip-abductor brace.
"Twenty-three hours a day," he confirmed. "Why?"
"She's got some alignment issues. Were both acetabula fractured?"
"In English, Doc."
"Where both of her hip sockets broken in the initial injury?"
He shrugged. "I don't know," he groused. "Levine said her pelvis was shattered. She had a fixator for two weeks and then she got sick and they had to close her up, so they put her in the brace. She wasn't weight-bearing until a week and a half ago, and not walking until two days ago. That's why she needs to hang on to something." He handed her the envelope off all Sara's medical paperwork.
She dug for Sara's x-ray films, jabbing them onto the lightbox with stiff fingers. "I'd like to refer you to a few specialists for Sara—one for her growth issues, and one for her pelvic injuries. She's not growing and healing the way she should be."
Gibbs nodded. "What about her fever?"
She checked the Sara's list of meds. "I think we should switch her to tetracycline for two weeks and then go back to amoxicillin when she finishes it. Don't be surprised if you have to do that once in a while—some infections build up a tolerance for constant antibiotics."
"Is she in pain?" He blurted suddenly, heart heavy. He picked Sara up and she curled against his chest, sighing as she always did and sticking her thumb in her mouth.
Dr. Sheehan shrugged. "She feels crappy," she said honestly. "But she isn't resistant to walking or moving. I'm worried about long-term growth and development. She's at risk for hip dysplasia and severe arthritis."
"What about her delays? She acts like a three-year-old."
"Tell me more about that."
"She's just now getting basic pre-school stuff—numbers, letters, days of the week, months. She's gotten better, but…"
"She's not grasping the concepts, just trying to memorize what she's being told," she finished for him. "How is she socially? Does she prefer children her own age, or younger?"
"She prefers adults," he said succinctly.
Dr. Sheehan clicked her tongue. "I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she'd been abused by other children. Bullying—preying on the weak—is typical of children in group-home settings and she spent a number of weeks in a shelter downtown. Foster children are just trying to survive, but it can lead to some pretty heartbreaking social anxiety in the victims. Give her time and a lot of love. Let me finish her exam quickly and we'll chat more about that." She tickled the back of Sara's leg. "Can I check you out again?"
"Yeah," she agreed softly.
Gibbs sat her back on the table so the doctor could check her reflexes, vision, hearing, and motor skills. Satisfied, she had him dress her again.
"She's delayed, for sure, but as long as she's in therapy I'm happy. I don't want to force her to talk to me—she's pretty zoned out. Tell me about her speech issues."
Gibbs shrugged. "That's where improved the most. She used to run all her words together. It was really hard to understand her if you weren't used to it."
"A clutterer," she confirmed. "Did she talk fast? Forget to enunciate?"
"Yeah." He picked Sara up again; she was close to falling asleep.
"I'm glad you're seeing such great results. Just remember that she can't hear it when she clutters, only you can. Remind her to slow down and concentrate. Does she do it often?"
"If she's scared or angry. Only certain sounds get pushed together."
"I really feel that she'll be fine," Dr. Sheehan informed him. "And she's cute as a button. Keep reading those stories." She handed him referral forms for a pediatric endocrinologist and a orthopedic surgeon and a lollipop for Sara. Then she sent him on his way, instructing him to call if the fever didn't break after twenty-four hours with the new antibiotic.
He lowered Sara into her car seat and she gazed at him sleepily, unopened lollipop loose in her fist. "I like her, Daddy," she informed him.
"She likes you, too," he replied, smiling. "Let me hold your candy until we get home."
Her eyes hardened. "No. I won't eat it until you say."
He wasn't in the mood to negotiate, so he simply plucked it from her hand and deposited it in his pocket. "Daddy will keep it safe for you," he said to her stricken expression. "But I don't want you to have it while I'm driving. It isn't safe."
"Fine," she grumbled, too tired to throw a fit.
He kissed her cheek and pointed them toward home.
. . . .
Sara perked up after her third dose of the new medicine. "I'm hungry," she declared.
"What do you want?" He asked, bushing a kiss on her hair.
"Pumpkin pie," she said confidently.
"How about soup?" He offered instead.
"How about ice cream?" She countered, walking a rooster up his arm.
They'd negotiated down to a grilled cheese sandwich when Tony dropped off Ziva, broken arm in a still-warm fiberglass cast.
Sara's eyes went wide. "It's green, Zeeba. How did you get green?"
Ziva's cast was indeed green—an electric shade reserved only for safety vests and the occasional construction sign. "I let Tony choose," she shrugged.
Sara shook her head disapprovingly. "He is very silly, Zeeba."
She just laughed and kissed her head.
Gibbs slid a sandwich in front of her. "Eat," he commanded, laying a hand on her back. "And then you get to watch her while I go to the lawyer. The judge wants to move the appearance up to next week."
Ziva smiled brightly. "That's amazing. Are you so excited?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "I want this to be over."
Sara's head began to droop. "I need a nap," she whined, and held her arms up. "Daddy, can you read?"
"Ziva has to do it," he apologized. "I need to go make sure the lawyer spells our name right."
She just wrinkled her brow. "How about you tucking me in?"
"That I can do," he promised. He carried her upstairs and slid her beneath the blankets.
Her eyes grew wide. "What's going to happening when we go to the judge?"
"We're going to show him all the papers that say I want to adopt you, and then he's going to sign a certificate that says you're mine forever."
"Even if I'm big?"
"Yep."
"Even if I'm bad?"
"You're never bad," he whispered.
"Making good choices," she parroted, but drifted off in thought. "Fosserkid," she blurted suddenly.
He lowered himself to the mattress beside her. "You won't be a foster kid anymore. You'll just be mine. You'll have my name and there will be no more Ms. Susan and no more moving from house to house. Just us."
She put both hands in the air. "And Zeeba, and Tony, and Tim, and Abby, and Ducky the Doctor, and Papa." She looked at him sideways. "And a pony."
"Let's hold off on the pony."
"And a sheep," she amended. "Where is your mommy?"
"She died a long time ago, sweet pea. She was sick."
A look of deep concern flashed across her face. "Everbody's mommy is dead," she said sharply. "I don't want you to be dead."
"No one is going to die for a very long time. You are safe."
"Safe," she echoed, staring out the window. "Mommy."
He stroked her hair. "I'm sorry you miss her."
"Miss her," she echoed again. "Miss my mommy. She is dead."
"I can't take away how sad you are, sweet pea, but your brothers and sisters and I love you very much."
She looked at him then at the door. "Love you. Where is Zeeba?"
"Finishing her lunch. She'll be up in a minute." He toyed with her hair for a minute longer, listening for Ziva's light footsteps on the stairs. She stepped over the squeaky floorboard.
"Hi, shaifeleh. I am here now. Daddy can go to his meeting with the lawyer."
"Bye," Sara dismissed with a wave, and snatched a book from her bedside shelf. "Here, Zeeba."
She curled up next to Sara and held the book one-handed over their heads. "What do you think about Benny's bagels?"
Gibbs gave them each a kiss. "See ya," he whispered.
Sara turned to look at Ziva and pushed the book aside. "Is Daddy your daddy?" She asked sweetly.
"Kind of," she hesitated. "Gibbs makes sure I am safe."
"You are being a fosserkid," Sara said tartly. "But Daddy is nice. He would never hitting you."
Ziva couldn't deny her statement; her own father had deliberately failed, and now Gibbs was fostering her in a sense—mentoring her, protecting her, fathering her the way Eli David hadn't.
"I am not technically a foster kid, shaifeleh, but Gibbs takes care of all of us. Abby, Tony, Tim, you, me…"
"You got hurt," she pouted.
Ziva swung her new cast. "But it is getting better," she said certainly. "And soon I will not need even a cast anymore. The bad men went to jail for hurting me so they can't hurt anyone else."
"Before, Zeeba. You got hurt before. Daddy said."
"That was a long time ago. I am fine now."
"You have long marks from hitting."
Ziva wished she would just drop the subject. "Yes, but they don't hurt anymore. We should read your book now."
"No," Sara said sharply. "I don't want to reading anymore."
She kissed her cheek and cuddled her close. "Then laila tov. I love you."
Sara grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked. "No!"
She disentangled her fingers quickly and gently then slid out of bed. "Sara! That is not ok! You may not pull my hair. I was going to stay while you fell asleep, but now I will not because you made a very disrespectful choice."
She burst into tears, hiding her face under her rabbit.
"Goodnight," Ziva said firmly. "I love you." She stepped out, jumping slightly when an arm wove around her waist. "Tony! You are supposed to be at work."
"We got 'em," he said, smiling. "So I delivered him to his arraignment and bounced out of there. I've been working twelve-hour days, Zi. Think I could get a break?" He'd been gone all weekend, tracking down the man who murdered Private First Class Andrew Martinelli in an obtuse lovers' triangle. He followed her into the guest room. "What, not happy to see me?"
"Of course I am," she said witheringly. "You just surprised me. Help me pack; I'm going home tonight for good."
"Vance got your statement," he said carefully, folding a t-shirt. "He scheduled a psych eval for you on Wednesday morning. You're supposed to meet with him right after."
She was quiet for a long time, stacking books, collecting her personal items, charging her laptop. "Tony," she said finally, laying a hand on his arm. "I do not want to go back."
He sat on the edge of the bed, smiling faintly. "Why?"
"I cannot do it any more. The death, the sadness, the pursuit, fighting for good and losing all the time…I cannot bear it. I drafted a resignation letter on Sunday while Sara was napping and Gibbs was working downstairs. I need someone to proofread it. Can you do it?"
"You're throwing it away," he mused, staring blankly at her broken arm. "Gibbs said you might. I didn't believe him."
"I am not throwing anything away, Tony, I am simply giving us an opportunity to succeed. Together."
He brightened a bit. "Oh," he mumbled. "I didn't look at it that way."
"I know," she said wryly. "But you must."
"Have you asked for a transfer? Intel could use your language skills."
"I am retiring."
His eyes widened, jaw falling open. "Are you kidding me? Ziva, you've worked so hard to climb the ranks. What were you thinking?"
"Tony, I have outlived every single one of my Mossad colleagues and most of my IDF squadron." She pursed her lips. "They owe me."
"How much?"
"Enough," she conceded. "Enough for me to live on while I figure the rest out. I suppose this is the closest thing I will see to a mid-life crisis."
"What about us?"
Ziva frowned. "What about us? I am not leaving you, I am leaving NCIS."
Gibbs poked his head in the door. "Are you now, David?"
She flushed red, gaping. "I…yes. I have decided to retire."
He shrugged. "Ok. What time did Sara go down?"
"Twenty minutes ago. You can expect her to sleep for at least another hour. She was quite tired."
"I know. You two hash out whatever the hell you need to hash out. I'll be in the basement. Wake my kid and I'll knock your heads together."
"Copy that," Tony said, never taking his eyes of Ziva.
She nodded. "Thank you, Gibbs."
"What about me?" Tony whined. "When will I get to see you?"
She tried not to roll her eyes. "Well, I don't know, Tony. Maybe we could date like regular people. Go out—eat in restaurants, or go to concerts, or movies, or the park, take romantic weekend getaways to remote islands."
He perked up. "How remote? Blue Lagoon remote or Swept Away remote? The difference is olive oil and loincloths."
Ziva laughed. "You are incorrigible."
"I'm in love with you. Move in with me."
She sobered. "There is no ring on my finger. I will not be your wife without being your wife."
He shrugged, "Ok, fine." He dug in his pocket, dropped to his knee, and took her left hand in his. "Marry me?"
She could not formulate any comprehensible response. She stared, mouth opening and closing, hand growing sweaty in Tony's.
"Does that mean no?" He asked, eyes wet. "Because I can handle it if you postpone on me, but I don't know how I'd do with a flat-out no. Oh, and I was going to wait, but you kinda forced me into this so…"
"Yes," she sighed, feeling her heart finally slow enough to speak. She pulled her hand away and punched him awkwardly in the shoulder. "But stand up."
He slid the ring on her finger and stood, chest collapsing. "I love you," he whispered roughly. "I love you so much."
"Love you, too," she muttered, and kissed his waiting mouth.
. . . .
Abby stomped in with McGee hot on her heels as Tony was layering cheese and pasta in a baking dish.
"Making lasagna," he announced. "Be ready in half and hour."
"Did you do it?" She blurted. "You did, didn't you? You did it! Did she say yes?"
"I did," Ziva chimed from the living room. "And how do you know about it?"
Abby swept in and hoisted Sara onto her hip. "How do you think he knew to go with a basic diamond solitaire?"
"Oh," She faltered. "You, I guess."
Sara looked bewilderedly back and forth between them. "Wha'happened?"
She worried.
Abby bounced her. "Tony asked Ziva to marry him and she said yes! Isn't that exciting, ladybug?"
"Yeah!" She cheered, but grew confused quickly. "What's married?"
"Well," Abby drawled. "It's when two people love each other very much and they decide to stick together forever."
Sara shrugged. "It's like adopted."
Ziva smiled, "Sort of, shaifeleh. Only Tony and I are grownups. Instead of Daddy taking care of us, we'll take care of each other."
"Ok," she agreed easily, losing interest in the conversation. "I'm hungry."
Gibbs closed the basement door. "Well no wonder. You ate three bites of lunch. Let's help Tony make a salad."
"With 'pumber," she agreed.
"With cucumber, because it's your favorite."
Abby shouldered Ziva's good arm. "Date?"
"Not set," she said quietly. "I've barely had the time breathe, let alone take out a calendar and plan the next phase of my life."
"Well the three of us will sit down together and pick a date," Abby said helpfully. "And then we'll pick out a dress, and a venue…"
"I'm not sure I want a traditional affair," Ziva interrupted quietly. "I think I might like something a little less…"
"Fun?"
"Fussy."
Abby shrugged. "Then elope and throw a party when you get back. Ooh! Or maybe Timmy and I will surprise you with a party." She grinned, tenting her fingers.
"Why don't we just eat lasagna and enjoy each other's company for now," Ziva said. "I can assume you know that Sara's adoption got pushed forward by the family court judge? He moved it to next week. That is a party you can plan."