*sigh* Not mine. I can't wait until I write my own book and can avoid having to put a disclaimer at the start of every chapter. Well, until such day as that happens, I hope you will excuse my creativity.
Furthermore, I cannot be held responsible or liable in any way for damage to your computer(s) caused by you crying on them, even if it is my fault.
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Waiting room.
Apt name, that.
It seemed an eternity the team sat in the waiting room. The clock on the wall ticked incessantly, driving everyone crazy.
Ari sat on a hard plastic chair, kicking his feet at the ground. There was little else to do. He was far too nervous and anxious to read one of the nearby magazines, or to even notice whatever program played across a TV screen mounted in a corner.
"What's taking so long? It can't take forever to deliver two kids, can it? I know it's not as easy as it might seem, but shouldn't we have heard something by now? Come on…"
Tony trailed off as Gibbs glared at him. He sighed.
"I know; I'm just worried about the kids."
Gibbs nodded.
"Aren't we all, Tony; aren't we all."
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Eli stood in a corner of the operating room, watching the surgeon deliver the twins. Please be okay. Please be okay.
A feeble cry broke through the tense silence, slowly growing in strength as the baby's lungs gained compliance. Eli could see him kicking and thrashing about, upset at the disruption in his life. Ah, young one. I am sorry about this, but your sister's in trouble.
Indeed she was.
Eli had no idea what happened next, but he found himself holding a towel-wrapped baby boy while everyone else in the room crowded around Ziva, until the surgeon finally lifted a tiny, silent infant away from Ziva and laid her on a nearby table.
Eli cradled the boy in his arms as he watched the doctors attempt to resuscitate the tiny girl. Before he could see any more, one of the nurses took the little boy from his arms and walked out the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I have to take him to the NICU. You'd better come, too."
Eli followed her through the door, glancing over his shoulder at his granddaughter before the door swung shut.
"What about her?"
"They'll take care of her. At the moment, we should probably get this little guy taken care of."
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The utter silence of the waiting room was abruptly shattered when Eli pushed both doors open at once, slamming them into the walls next to them. Gibbs stood up and walked over to him.
"What happened?"
Eli sighed and hesitated, glancing at Ari, then decided that the boy deserved to know, too.
"The boy is in the NICU, and they think he's going to be okay. But they had to put the little girl on a ventilator, and they're not giving her good odds. And Ziva lost so much blood during the C-section that she went into cardiac arrest. We… decided against reviving her."
The air went out of the room.
Even though they had all understood that such an outcome was inevitable, the team seemed shocked. Abby put her hands to her mouth, tears starting to her eyes.
"Can I-" Gibbs' voice broke before he continued. "Can I see her?"
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In the hospital morgue, Ziva lay in a drawer with a sheet over her body. Just like every other body they'd had to handle.
They could still, despite months of semi-healing, see the wound in her forehead, gut-wrenchingly similar to Kate's, though it reminded Gibbs more of the body of a man on a concrete floor, blood pooling around his head and a skeletal wooden boat watching.
Eli pressed his fingers to his lips and touched them to Ziva's cheek, unshed tears gleaming in his eyes. "Oh, Ziva," he whispered, barely audible even in the near-silence of the room, "What have I done?"
Abby walked over to him and enveloped him in one of her specialty hugs. Eli was startled, as if he had never been hugged before. Which is actually pretty much the case.
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Gibbs stood in the NICU, watching Ziva's son sleep. The little boy seemed peaceful and happy, for the moment at least. He was dressed in a disposable diaper and a thin t-shirt, which almost concealed how tiny and young he was.
It had taken some time for the baby to settle down, as though he was vehemently protesting his too-early egress from his mother.
Gibbs couldn't help but wonder if somehow he also worried about his twin, if he understood how fragile her grasp on life was.
She lay nearby, stable for the moment, ventilator tube down her throat, plastic bubble around her. Her skin was freakishly pale; she might have died already if not for the constant beep-beep of the machines monitoring her weak vital signs.
Gibbs took Goodnight Moon from under his arm and quietly read it to them, careful not to speak too loudly for preemie ears.
"Good night moon, goodnight room, goodnight noise, goodnight toys…"
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Hours later, Gibbs stood in his basement, working on a new project. Here I am, making these, and I don't even know if they're going to end up using them. Or even know if they're still going to be a "they".
Two oblong boards lay on his work table. Both were smooth as of yet, but had pencil drawings on them to indicate Gibbs' plans to carve them- a blank rectangle for a nameplate on each, a crescent moon on one, five stars on the other- four five-pointed, and, right underneath the nameplate, a smaller, six-pointed one.
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Ari stood at the window of the NICU, wishing he could go inside and comfort his siblings.
Stupid rules. I know the whole "high-risk-of-infection" thing, but I just want to see them closer up. Is that so much to ask for?
His baby brother raised one hand in the air and waved it about. Ari thought he might be searching for a familiar face.
She's right next to you, kid. And I don't think there's much you can do to help her.
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