Greetings, friends and readers.
I saw that finale. I was hurt, then I was insulted, then I was angry. And now the best "screw you" I can think is to just keep doing what I do.

This is for you and me and us. This is for the life of imagination. I hope it
This is the fifth part of my "Treading Water" series. Posted-in-progress, as it keeps me honest.

Disclaimer: not mine, as I would have done a better job. (Apologies. I'm really not that kind of ego.)
Thanks: girleffect, Chemmie, Amilyn

. . . .

Two Topamax in each box. Two Elavil. One phenol. One multi-vitamin. M-T-W-Th-F-Sat-Sun. A wail rose and fell from the kid's bedroom. Gibbs sniffed, snapped the pill case closed.

Ziva's voice filtered out. She was soft. Gentle. Sometimes compliant, and that scared the hell out of him.

He'd asked the doc about it once. She ain't the same, he'd said, and Monroe and shrugged and smiled and said, Nope.

He closed the cabinet. The kid cried again.

He put away the breakfast dishes. Wiped down the counter, the table, swept the floor. He opened the curtains. The school bus stopped at the corner, picked up a few kids—

Liana not among them—

and pulled away.

Ziva's voice again, soft, soft. I will be fine while you are away, Lia.

And then Liana's long nooooo and more stifled sobbing.

Ziva rolled out, face red, brows knitted. She shook her head, opened her mouth—nothing.

Gibbs jogged magazines into a neat pile. Dress-right-dress. "Don't send her."

She tensed. "How could I? She is inconsolable."

"She get her meds?"

"Yes."

He made more coffee. Liana appeared, sniffling, hiccupping. "Ema? I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's ok," Ziva said quickly. She took her daughter in her arms. "I know. You should—" She hesitated. Gibbs grunted. Don't even, Ziver. "We will have a home-day."

Liana jolted. "I don't want to get in trouble."

"You will not."

"Skipping school is not ok. I will get a pink slip."

"It is not skipping if you have my permission."

He heard Liana sigh. "Are you mad?"

"No," Ziva said.

"Saba, are you mad?"

The fearful look on Liana's face pinched something deep in his spine. "Nope."

She studied him a second longer, then looked away. "What should I do?"

Gibbs snorted. Ziva was crap at planning. "We can—" she started, and trailed off.

He gave her a nudge. "Get out your workbooks, Lee-lee."

She looked at her mother, then him. "Which one?"

"Math first." He'd help with that a while, give Ziver a break. "Then you and mom can do reading log."

She nodded, wary, climbed down, and scampered off to her room.

Ziva sighed. "Thank you."

"Keep her up with her classmates."

She rolled her eyes. "Like she would ever fall behind."

Not her grades, he knew, but the kid was different. Quiet. Too quiet. Too nervous. A little, well, weird.

"Take a load off, Ziver."

She side-eyed him. "And do what, exactly?"

He shrugged, lowered himself to a dining chair. Liana returned, math workbook tucked under her scrawny arm. She climbed up beside him. "We're doing odds and evens up to twenty. That's the standard. I already know it." She opened to a page of word problems. "There were forty-one people in line and sixteen more got in line. How many people were total in the line?"

"Break the question down, Lia," Ziva coached. "Work from base-ten."

Gibbs shot her a look. Go find something to do.

She glared back. Liana looked between them, worried, and wrote the numbers in the margin. She cocked her head, ciphered, and wrote in fifty-seven.

"Do the next two," he instructed.

She nodded and moved her pencil down to the next line. Gibbs opened the newspaper. Ziva shifted, obviously waiting for him to do something. He gave her a look over the sports section. "Yeah, Ziver?"

She raised one shoulder. So?

He sipped coffee, raised his chin at her. Get.

She blinked, shrugged, turned down the hallway. She could go draw, go read, go stare at a wall for all he cared, as long as she took a goddamned break. He didn't want to spend the evening managing her and her exhaustion.

Liana sat back before he could finish a whole article. "Done, Saba."

He looked it over. All correct. "Good. What's next?"

She turned the page. "Subtracting within a hundred."

Was this the curriculum everyone complained about? "Go, kiddo."

She nodded, already bent over the page. He got through preseason stats before she sat back again. "Done."

Liana turned to the next page. Gibbs drained his coffee. "Want me to check?"

"I know it's all right. I'll just keep going."

Couldn't argue with that. He scanned the local news, skimmed the national, skimmed the classifieds, the ads. He wanted something to work on.

Liana let out an explosive breath and shook her fingers out. "Done! I did the whole section!"

She pushed the book at him. He flipped through—nine pages of double-digit adding and subtracting. She'd finished it un just under half an hour. "All of it."

"It's all correct."

He got up, put his mug in the sink. "Yep. Grab your gear."

She bit her lip. "Where are we going?"

"Hardware store."

She put on her shoes, grabbed a light jacket because it looks like rain, Saba, and buckled herself in. Wasn't a kid her age too big for a car seat?

He backed out of the drive. "Why you hate school so much, Li?"

She was quiet. He didn't know her, he mused. She was Ziver's, Tony's—a little off-limits to him. "Kids pick on you?"

She didn't meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. "No."

He waited. She, like her mom, would break eventually.

"I worry a lot that something will happen to Ema."

"I won't let that happen."

She shot him a look. "You can't say that. You can't control everything."

But he could damned well try. "I know, but I got backup."

"Like who?"

"Your dad. Dr. Monroe."

"Two people isn't enough."

More than you ever had. "Gives me something to go on, Lee-lee."

Liana went quiet. Sometimes he wondered how she lugged all that worry around. "I don't want Ema to die."

Gibbs put the car in park and sat for a minute. He finally turned to look at Liana, wide-eyed and sad in her booster seat. "I do the best I can every single day."

"I know," she whispered.

"Gotta trust me."

She nodded, chewed her lip. "Is Ema mad that I didn't go to school?"

"Nope."

They got out. She trotted up next to him. "Then why didn't she come with us?"

He found teak for a new picnic table. Ziva needed a minimum forty-eight inch overhang. Maybe he'd build in a cooler at accessible height. He'd put a clearcoat on it. "Mom needs a break."

"My teacher thinks I am annoying."

He dropped a two-by-twelve on a hand-truck.

"She told another teacher that I bug her too much. I heard them when I was shredding papers in the office. Mrs. Seitam lets me do that sometimes instead of going to recess."

Gibbs nodded, jaw clenched, and threw another two-by-twelve on the stack.

"I asked for extra work so I could get an A-plus in Humanities."

"You don't need extra work."

Her eyes glaze over. "Once I got an A-plus on spelling and Ema was so happy. Do you remember that?"

Had she heard him? "Li, your mom's proud of you no matter what. Help me with the hardware."

She counted out bolts, brackets, washers, wood screws, bagged everything and labeled it with the pen chained to the shelf. She was a meticulous kid. "Let's go."

Liana stopped short in the main aisle and almost got a face-full of teak. Gibbs bit his tongue. He'd grab a candy bar for each of them.

"I want to go to college," she announced.

"Yeah."

"If I get straight-As I can get scholarships. Then Ema and Daddy won't have to pay. Do you know how much college costs?"

"Lia."

She did that thing again like she hadn't heard him. "Almost ten thousand dollars per year. And that's now. How high is it going to be when I graduate?"

"Your parents are saving up for it."

He'd been stashing here and there, too.

"Ten thousand dollars is just tuition. Books and supplies can cost another two thousand dollars. That's twelve thousand. What about food and housing? What about gas to get there? College Park is a half-hour drive each way. They will have to come get me at breaks and summer because the dorms close." She paused to breathe. "Or I could live at home. Maybe that would be less."

Gibbs crouched in front of her. "Liana, look at me."

She did, brows drawn low over her golden eyes. No wonder her parents called her the lioness.

"It's not your job to worry about that. Not right now."

Liana nodded, serious, silent.

"It's your job to trust your family to take care of you."

She nodded again. "But they're going to die."

Jesus, kid. "Everyone is going to die eventually. Doesn't mean we should worry about it right now."

Liana blinked, swayed. Was she even in there? "I don't want to go back to foster care when Daddy and Ema die. I want to have a job so I don't have to get used to another family."

Gibbs and had her help him scan the bar codes so he could pay. Then she helped him load the truck, buckled in, watched the scenery while he drove them home, then helped him unload everything in the garage. He'd said nothing. She wouldn't believe anything anyway.

Ziva greeted them at the door. "Welcome back."

Liana climbed into her arms. Gibbs slammed another pot of coffee together, feeling a strange terror climb upon his shoulders.

"Lia," Ziva cooed. "Can you go put on your suit and find mine? I'd love to take a swim with you."

Liana scampered, as usual. Gibbs flung a finger at the path she'd beaten. "That kid needs therapy."

Redness crept up Ziva's neck. "I will not force her."

"She's walking around day in and day out convinced you're gonna die and she'll end up back in the system."

She raised a hand to her brow and rubbed. "Why did she not tell me?"

"Too busy making a backup plan. Gotta hand it to her for that."

"A seven-year-old should not-"

"Yours is."

Ziva fell silent. Gibbs watched birds pick across the first fallen leaves.

"Something ain't right," he finally said.

Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. Spit it out, Ziver. "I know," she agreed. "We know about the anxiety but…"

But. "Better have her checked out."

She nodded. "I thought it would get better, but the past few weeks—"

Meltdown after meltdown. Up half the night. Little tics in her hands and face. Repeating herself.

"ASAP."

"Yes."

She picked her cuticles, nodded again. He felt like a bastard. "You ok?"

"We knew there was a possibility that she was not ok."

"Love ain't always enough, Ziver."

She swallowed. Her eyes were huge and dark in her thin face. "Then why do I feel like I have failed?"

He smirked. "'Cause you're a good mom."

She snorted. "I will make some phone calls."

"Kid's taking an awful long time to find your bathing suit."

Ziva's eyes narrowed. She whirled without another word and disappeared down the hall. He drank his coffee in the quiet and waited on her to call him to help her change.

Nope. Liana. "Saba! Come help us!"

Seizure. He went, but there wasn't much for him to do. Ziva's head bobbed, eyes flickering. She swallowed reflexively. Gibbs put his hand on her slack cheek and waited.

Li pranced, nervous, face white. "I don't like when this happens!"

"She'll come around in a minute."

Less than. Ziva blinked and looked at them, confused. "Damn," she sighed.

"Might wanna give it a minute before you get in the pool."

"Yeah," Liana chimed. "Not safe, Ema." Ziva rolled her eyes and huffed, not all there yet. Liana twisted her fingers together. "You could drown," she said seriously.

"I know," she clipped. Gibbs held his breath. The postictal power-down stilted her speech. Her tone would be off for a bit.

And that was Liana's Kryptonite. She twitched all over and then collapsed in tears. "I'm sorry!" she sobbed. "I don't want you to forget."

He gave Ziver's hand a squeeze. She squeezed back. "Liana?" she said. "Lia, please get up. You are ok."

She curled in a ball. "You're mad at me."

Gibbs felt his patience stretch like a rubber band. "No one's mad, Li."

She pillowed her head on her arms. "Ema is."

"I am not," Ziva maintained. "But please stand up so we can speak face-to-face."

Liana dragged herself up back-first like a camel. Gibbs ran a hand over his face and got up, too. He went to the garage, picked up his cell off the workbench, dialed DiNozzo from memory. "You need to get home."

Muffled sounds, voices that weren't Tony's. A deposition? Then a door slammed. "What?"

"You need to get home," Gibbs repeated. "ASAP."

"Why?" He sounded irritated. And had better knock it off.

"Something ain't right with the kid, Anthony."

Silence. The door slamming again. "You ok for an hour?"

It would take about that long to close him out, make his way across town and into the 'burbs, even if he took Potomac Parkway. "I'm on it."

Tony hung up. Gibbs hung up and went back inside.

The girls were in the pool. Ziva drifted, a noodle behind her shoulders, and Liana paddled hard up and back, pausing only to turn around. Her goggles were fogged.

"I'm going to learn how to flip turn," she informed him. "That way I can join a swim team."

How 'bout you join your class first? "Sounds good."

Ziva gave him a short nod. She had some color in her face again. Must've had some sugar. "How does pizza sound for dinner?"

"Good," he said, nodding, irritable. He couldn't be with them. He couldn't listen to Liana's high voice bounce off the walls. "'Be in the garage," he said, and left.

He laid the two-by-twelves out on the floor. Sharpened a pencil. Sketched a design. A basic rectangular table. He'd widen the base, extend the surface. A twelve-by-sixty space for the cooler. He'd run the bolts through, reinforce the plastic trench at the joints. The teak was weather-resistant. He'd join it with dovetails in something darker. Still tropical, though—macadamia?

Gibbs measured, measured, made the first cuts. The wood was good. Clean. He marked the joins but didn't cut. Laid out the hardware on the workbench.

This was a few days, at most. A few for the wood to settle. A few to stain and dry it. He could have it out before they barbecued for the last time.

DiNozzo's car pulled in the drive. The engine cut. His hurried footsteps went up the walk, the steps, then the front door opened and closed.

"Boss?"

"Yeah."

Tony was trying to play it casual. "What's up?"

"Kid's in the pool with Ziva."

"Which is making me wonder why the hell you called me home."

"Something's wrong."

He crossed his arms.

"The drugs aren't working. She's a mess."

"Which is why she's not at school." Tony's shoulders drooped. He was middle-aged. A father. A man who went to work every day and came home every day. He provided for his family, exercised, ate well. "We've got some phone numbers."

"Ziver said she would make the calls."

"I'll do it," he blurted. "Was it the same as usual this morning?"

"Yeah."

"Whole routine?"

"All of it."

He ran a hand over his hair. "And Ziva let her—"

"There was no way, DiNozzo."

He nodded. "Let me grab that file."

He went inside. Gibbs started on the frame. Sixty-five degrees on each cut. Three top braces. He'd check the angles again before the glue set.

Tony was back fast. He looked shocky. "Siddown," Gibbs ordered.

He sat. "Lady in Rockville is sending a referral to Baltimore. Said it's Level One. It's like she needs a trauma center."

That long first night at Walter Reed. Waiting for Ziva to stabilize enough for the steroid injections. Waiting for the doctors to come around. Waiting for her to be moved from ER to Neuro. Waiting.

"When will you know something?"

"Noon tomorrow."

Gibbs grunted.

Tony put his elbows on his knees. "How'd it get like this?"

The end of summer had been good. Too good. School had pulled the rug out from under her. "Doesn't matter."

He nodded again. "Thanks, Boss."

"I'm not your Boss." But he was, Gibbs knew. And would be. He lined up the angles. All square. Dress-right-dress. "You got this DiNozzo."

Tony nodded again. He leaned on the workbench, eyes distant.

"Whatever it is," he said, and stopped working to look at him. Really look. Tony was a man. One he was proud to know. "You got this."

. . . .

Those old ghosts rattled the window glass at night. Gibbs ended up pacing to get away from the noise. Made his rounds, made his coffee, waited for the sun to come up. But blue light from under Liana's door stopped him.

She was up. Again. That made three nights this week.

He knocked.

She looked up from her laptop. An old one McGee had refurbished for her. "Hi, Saba."

"0300, Li."

She copied an address from the screen into a notebook. "Ema and Daddy are taking me to Baltimore tomorrow."

"Yep." He looked at the map on the screen—she'd searched for food pantries, homeless shelters, social service centers. His stomach churned. "And they're bringing you home, too."

She rubbed her eyes. "I gave Daddy a really bad time."

She'd flipped at lights-out. "You were pretty scared."

"Ema was so mad at me."

Exhausted, more like. "Nope, just tired."

"She just rolled away like I wasn't even talking to her."

Talking was more like screaming. "You both needed a break."

She didn't hear him. "I made a list of places I can eat and sleep."

"They ain't leaving you in Baltimore."

She'd blocked him out. "And a lot of the places are right by the DSS office. They probably did that on purpose."

"Liana—"

"I can go there to get an address so I can register for school. Then I don't have to worry about a job because if I'm in school that's free breakfast and lun—"

"Liana."

She looked up. "Do you think it would be ok if I took the jacket they bought me and my extra shoes? I checked the weather and-"

He took her face in his hands. The muscles in her jaw shifted beneath his fingers. He rarely, if ever, touched her, but this was-

"Liana," he said, quiet but firm. "You are going to see doctors in Baltimore. Then you are coming home with your parents."

She stared at him. Her face was blank and pasty in the monitor's glow.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

Liana nodded. She breathed harshly through her nose. Gibbs watched her bring her wrist to her mouth and sink her eye teeth into the soft skin beneath her thumb.

He yanked her arm down, jerking her whole body. "No."

She swayed, eye fixed on the open door. "I want Ema."

Gibbs held his hand out. "C'mon."

She took it, but knocked the heel of her free hand against her temple. No major damage. He let it go.

Ziva woke with a sharp inhale. "Ab—"

"Here," he whispered.

Liana clambered up without a word, curled against her mother's side, and closed her eyes.

"Thanks," Ziva mumbled, halfway-sleeping.

He left the room, poured himself a second (third? tenth?) coffee and sat at the dining table. His neck hurt.

Ziva's soft, persistent sobbing. The nurses in and out, checking her vitals, asking again and again about her pain levels. Their obvious irritation at 0300. 0400 when she just wouldn't settle. At 0500 when the seizures hit. At 0600 when she fought them on the routine, at 0700 when she refused to eat.

"Ziver," he sighed. "You make me goddamned crazy."

The paper hit the porch with a thud. He retrieved it. Water ran. Someone else was up.

Gibbs made fresh coffee, laid the paper on the table, scanned the fridge for some breakfast, and closed the door to find Ziva bathed and dressed.

DiNozzo was probably up, too.

"Morning."

"You have been up all night."

He got her a glass of juice and her meds. "Not the first time, Ziver."

She gave him that sorry look. "We are leaving at eight. That will give you the day."

He'd read the paper, maybe finish the table, maybe watch some television. The classic movie channel was showing The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly at 1400.

Ziva was still looking at him. "What?" he snapped.

"You are angry."

Ema was so angry at me.

"Nope."

She put the kettle on for tea. "I am doing the best I can."

The knot in his chest loosened. "Me, too, Ziver."

"I know," she whispered.

Abba?
Abba!

DiNozzo appeared, hair wet from the shower, and then the kid peeked her face around the corner. "Saba," she whispered.

"What?" he whispered back.

"Sorry I woke you up."

He wouldn't know sleep if it was on his six. "Not you, Li."

He threw a banana, some peanut butter, some protein powder, and milk in the blender and hit go. Smoothies were Liana's main source of calories.

But she balked when he handed her the cup. "No thanks, Saba."

Ziva narrowed her eyes. "Liana," she warned.

"I'm not hungry."

"Then take it in the car with you."

"It will spill."

Gibbs watched Ziva take a deep breath. "We have travel cups. Saba—"

He dumped it in a cup with a lid and put it on the table. "Smoothie with legs."

"I don't want it," Liana shrilled. She shrank away from him, "I'm not hungry."

Ziva gave her a gentle shake. "That is enough. Take your cup and get in the car."

Liana went red. "Ema, I don't—"

"Let it go, Ziver," Gibbs interrupted. "Li, forget it. Go get in the car."

She looked ready to shoot him. "Do not undermine me like that. Now she will be hungry and falling apart in an hour."

Stand down, his glare said. He tucked the cup between her knees. "Take it with you. She'll ask when she's ready."

She gave him that long, slow look. She would kill him if she could. "I am the mother—"

"You're asking too much."

"Abba, all I—"

He bent close to her, made her look him fully in the eye, and said, slowly, quietly: "You are asking too much."

Ziva's shoulders slumped, but she didn't tear her gaze away. "How will I know—"

He jabbed his thumb at the garage door. "That. That's how you know. Quit throwing gasoline on the fire."

Help me clear the table before you throw your temper tantrum, Ziver.
I will not tantrum, Abba.
Sure looks like it to me.

She glanced around the room, eyes wet at the corners. A tiny laugh tore from her throat. "Those first few weeks…I hardly remember—"

"I do."

She touched his hand. "I know. I am so sorry."

"Don't," he warned.

She nodded, looked down at the smoothie still tucked between her knees. "I should go. Please try to rest today."

Gibbs poured more coffee. He needed a Zantac and the sports page. "Yep." Ziva paused with one hand on the knob, eyes on him. "Docs are waiting," he nudged.

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

He motioned with his chin. Get.

Ziva nodded. There was a small smile playing across her face. "Abba, I—"

"Go, Ziver."

She nodded, still smiling, and the door snicked shut behind her.

. . . .