a/n: this is a little political but i watched Hilary Duff's SVU episode recently, so fair warning. oh, and i wanted to write something angsty.

March 2005

She was sitting in shabbily upholstered waiting room chair when he marched in through the automatic hospital doors, and when he saw her head in her hands and the sag of her shoulders, he wasn't encouraged much.

"Abs," he said distractedly, putting his hands on her and trying to side step her as she rushed up. "Give me a minute," he ordered, tense; he wanted to make sure Jen was all right before he talked to Abby.

He crouched down in front of his wife, his throat dry with fear and apprehension, and she moved her hand, resting her cheek on her palm and looking at him. Her eyes were red, her lips chapped, and her cheeks wet.

"I think she's okay," Jenny said shakily. "Abby says … once they stabilize her, she'll be okay – "

"Abby's not a doctor."

"I haven't talked to a doctor, Jethro, I hope to God they're all too busy taking care of our daughter to waste time with me!" she snapped harshly.

Gibbs swallowed his frustration and reached out to place his hand on her thigh. He rubbed gently, but he knew he wasn't really one to do a great job of comforting her in this situation. She looked down at his hand and took a deep breath.

"I can't talk right now," she said in a small voice. "Abby can … Abby can fill you in," she murmured.

Gibbs leaned forward and kissed her forehead, noting how pale she was, and then he straightened and sat down in an open chair next to her, looking up warily for Abby. The Goth approached, wringing her hands, a composed but worried look on her face. The metal belts on her leather skirt jingled a little ominously, and Gibbs slid his arm around Jenny's shoulders.

"What happened?" he asked gruffly.

He didn't really know much; it had been panic and slight chaos since Abby had called them right at the end of Benjamin's T-ball game and hurriedly explained that she was taking Whitney to the hospital.

Abby took a deep breath.

"Her fever spiked higher," she said calmly, "and she started coughing, and when I changed her I noticed her rash was worse," she explained. "I decided to take her to the hospital when her breathing got labored, and by the time I pulled up to the ER, she was turning blue."

Gibbs looked at her stoically for a minute, and then looked away, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. He looked over at Jenny for a moment, and then mustered some courage and looked back at his colleague.

"But she was breathing when the doctors got to her?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Abby said earnestly. "I told Jenny – she's got measles, and she's probably got pneumonia because of it … it's treatable, she just needs to be stabilized – "

"Abs," Gibbs interrupted, a little curtly. "Don't promise us anything."

"I'm not making promises; I'm trying to alleviate your panic," Abby retorted, her mouth turning down a little.

"This is what I get for being a relaxed mother," Jenny muttered, rubbing at her eyes. "I should have stayed home with her!"

"Jenny," Abby said earnestly, "it's not your fault, she was okay, just a little warm when I got there! Ben loves when both of you come to his games."

Jenny grit her teeth.

"Ben?" she asked sharply, turning to Gibbs.

"I took 'im home," Gibbs promised. "Tony came over. He's got 'im."

Jenny nodded, distracted, and then wiped at her eyes again, her hand shaking. She bit her lip, drew blood, and licked it off, her shoulders shaking as she tried to calm down.

"I thought it was chicken pox," she said, frustrated. "I didn't know – "

"Jen, we both thought it was the damn chicken pox," Gibbs growled at her, running his hand over her shoulder. He sat back, and then sat forward restlessly. "How the hell did she get the measles?" he demanded.

Jenny pushed her hair back, and sucked in her breath.

"She's not vaccinated," Jenny said hoarsely.

"What?" Gibbs asked sharply, alarmed. "Why – "

"She's not old enough," Abby said quickly. "I think?"

Jenny nodded.

"She gets MMR at twelve months, no earlier," she recited dutifully. She'd scheduled that appointment a month ago, when she left Whitney's Diphtheria and Pertussis vaccination appointment.

Abby hugged herself, rubbing her arms up and down.

"Well, she's not around other babies," Gibbs snapped roughly, looking between Abby and Jenny tensely, his jaw set tightly. "She's around kids who've all had that vaccination – "

"Not everyone vaccinates anymore," Jenny said curtly.

Gibbs paused, and swallowed hard.

"Why not?" he asked dangerously.

"Clearly," Jenny said tersely, "because their personal, non-medical opinions are more important than my daughter's life."

Gibbs tightened his arm around her a little, taken aback by the virulent sarcasm, and Abby looked at Jenny warily for a moment before choosing a careful answer.

"Different reasons," she said mildly. "Concern for side-effects."

"That's a diplomatic way to put it," Jenny snarled at Abby, her red eyes flashing angrily. "That entire paper was disproven," she hissed. "The doctor was indicted. He faked his results. I read it. I read all of that stuff before I vaccinated Ben!"

"I know," Abby said weakly, looking a little frightened.

Gibbs looked at the scientist for a moment, and tried to process what he was hearing. He grit his teeth, and decided to leave it for later. He turned towards Jenny a little.

"Have you seen her?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, swallowing hard.

"I talked to a nurse briefly, she says they're doing what they can to get her breathing right," she answered, distraught.

She sat up and leaned forward, wiping her face and resting her elbows on her knees. She put her head in her hands and Gibbs rested his hand on her back, looking up at Abby.

"How high was her fever?" he asked warily.

"One of four," Abby answered, wincing.

"Jesus Christ," swore Gibbs hoarsely.

Jenny pushed her hands over her face into her hair.

"I should have called her pediatrician … it didn't even look like chicken pox, now that I think about it … she wasn't scratching, her fever was too high," she listed, berating herself.

"It really isn't your fault, Jenny," Abby said swiftly.

Jenny thrust her hand out.

"If I hadn't asked you to babysit, my daughter would be dead!" she nearly shouted. "Thank God someone in Virginia can still identify a childhood illness that should be fucking obsolete!"

Gibbs looked around warily, and turned towards her, reaching out to pull her closer. Jenny leaned against him and started to cry, and he made sure the way he put his arm around her let him hide her face a little, so she wouldn't be as exposed to public view.

He didn't know what to say. At the moment, he was so frightened himself he could barely think straight, barely stop seeing red. He sought Abby's thoughts again, looking at her guardedly.

"We don't take Whitney out much," he noted in a low voice. "Where could she have gotten it?"

Abby rubbed her hands on her skirt.

"It's airborne, Gibbs, it's really contagious – I mean it's seriously contagious, there's a ninety percent transmission rate between people who haven't been inoculated," she said. "If you ever had her at a grocery store where a kid had it, or if any of Ben's friends aren't vaccinated, he could have carried it home."

Jenny ran her hand over Gibbs' leg, and squeezed just above his knee.

"Carson," she whispered tiredly. "The little boy on Ben's T-ball team, his parents don't vaccinate." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I just didn't consider it; I thought herd immunity ... it didn't really connect that she's too young to be protected," she said, misery in her tone - she felt so guilty, so angry.

Gibbs grit his teeth. Carson had been over at their house last week, for some play date with Benjamin. Abby chewed on her lip and lifted her shoulders, indicating that could be it.

Gibbs glared at her.

"What the hell are we supposed to do?" he asked dangerously. "She can't get that shot 'til she's old enough!" he protested.

He didn't understand – how could someone take a risk like that, take a chance that their kid might get some preventable disease? He didn't remember stuff like this from when Kelly had been little – he'd never heard of it; everyone got shots. You had to get shots to go to school.

Abby looked a little helpless – technically, nothing could be done. Vaccinations weren't wholly mandatory. It wasn't illegal to ignore medical recommendations; they were just that: recommendations.

"I wouldn't let that boy in your house anymore," Abby offered gently. "Just until Whitney is safely covered."

Gibbs muttered something aggressively about calling Carson's mother, and Jenny laughed hoarsely.

"You won't change her mind," she said bitterly. "Those people are totally convinced, forget it – they think vaccines cause autism – "

"They do?" Gibbs asked, startled.

"No," barked Jenny. "The entire scientific study was falsified. And even – even then, what mother on earth thinks autism is worse than death?" she asked, her voice cracking. "If anyone thinks for a second that I'd rather Whitney die of measles or rubella than have autism – "

"Jen, quit talkin' like that – "

"She was turning blue, Jethro – 104 is a high fever – "

"She's not gonna die!"

"You can't promise me that!" said Jenny hoarsely. Her eyes welled up again. "I am so scared Jethro– "

"Guys," Abby interrupted, half-relieved – hearing them talk like that was scaring her, and the appearance of a doctor in a long, wrinkled white coat – with a telling look of calm on his face, was welcome. Gibbs stood up hastily, and Jenny took a moment to wipe her eyes and push back her hair before standing right next to him as the doctor approached. He was quick to give them a calm, encouraging nod, and looked at Abby curiously.

"She's family," Gibbs grunted vaguely.

"Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs?" the doctor guessed – since Abby had brought the baby in.

"Whitney?" Jenny answered.

The doctor put his hands in his pockets, and nodded.

"She's gonna be okay, guys," he said swiftly, wasting to time – he had no intention of keeping them in suspense. "We cleared out her lungs, got her some antibiotics, cooled her off," he listed. "She's in the ICU for safety, but we'll be moving her as soon as she's done with an IV fluid drip. She's just got to fight off the virus, now, but she can do it."

Jenny licked her lips, and then smiled at him weakly, and turned her head, burying her face in Gibbs' shoulder. He reached out stiffly and took the doctor's hand, unable to do much more than thank him gruffly.

"You want to see her?" the doctor asked.

Gibbs nodded, and he and Jenny – Abby quietly elected to stay behind and call Tony – walked quickly down the maze-like hallways to the pediatric ward, and into Whitney's room.

"Sit with her as long as you want," the doctor said firmly.

A nurse was adjusting an IV needle as they came in, and Gibbs was immediately struck by how tiny and weak Whitney looked, seven months old and hooked up to an IV and an oxygen mask and a monitor. He felt like his knees were going to buckle – it suddenly struck him so heavily how close they could have come to losing Whitney, and he thought of Kelly, alone, in a room like this.

Jenny leaned over the low bar of the hospital crib, reaching in to stroke her fingers along Whitney's flushed but much healthier looking face. She stroked her soft down of hair and then rested her palm over the baby's heart.

She let out a sigh of relief.

Gibbs steeled himself, and came to stand by her, sliding his arm around her waist. He felt like he was using her for support, rather than touching her to comfort her. She leaned into him, and sighed again, her shoulders relaxing.

"I don't understand," Jenny breathed softly, "how you kept going." She swallowed thickly, and breathed out slowly. "The thought of losing Whitney," she murmured, and let the statement hang.

Gibbs nodded. He didn't understand how he'd kept going, either, and he was sorry Jenny had experienced even a sliver of that unimaginable pain he'd gone through after Kelly died.

He reached into the crib and slipped his hand over Whitney's, holding hers gently.

Whitney did look better than she had in the past couple of days. He felt relieved; he felt like she was going to be okay, and that made him feel at peace, for once in his life.

"She's okay, Jen," he comforted hoarsely. "She's a fighter, y'know, she's got," he paused, his throat tight. "She's got Kelly watchin' over her," he managed to finish.

Jenny turned and kissed his shoulder, murmuring a soft thank you into his shirt.

He ran his thumb over Whitney's small, warm little fist, and he felt exhausted, grateful that Abby had realized it was measles and gotten her the care she needed. He didn't want to think about anything else. He was just glad that for them, the worst-case scenario hadn't gone as far as it could have.

Whitney shifted, kicked her legs, and opened her eyes, blinking at them curiously for a moment. She looked around, and then smiled at them, and Jenny put her hand to her heart, waving at her.

Gibbs smiled as much as he could, and he made a mental note to make sure he changed Whitney's next vaccination appointment to the first one on the morning of her first birthday.

He was going to do everything in his power to protect her, since he couldn't trust anyone else to do it for him.

March 2005

i once read a very heartbreaking article written by a woman with two immunocompromised children (one who has autism) that was a very raw plea for parents to vaccinate, and it has stuck with me. a little research will tell you Jenny McCarthy and Jim Carrey are misguided. people should make their own decisions but just ... think really, really hard about the repercussions.

-alexandra
story #223