Perhaps the hardest thing of this wretched journey had been to keep it from him, but then again, perhaps not. Her lips twitched upwards as far as her fading muscles would allow as she thought of him.
He would have addressed it in his usual way.
Every problem has a solution.
Her lips twitched again, before turning down at the edges.
Not this time.
Her hands, once so eager for life, rested with a delicacy on the steel bar as she surveyed the hustle and bustle below. Phones shrilled, televisions blared, and yet the team she was watching was quite capable of non verbal communication.
She knew they would be there for him when it happened. No matter how much he clung to his defence of brusqueness, she knew he would let them in.
Perfectly detailed brows knitted together as she realised with a jolt that there was not one, but two men that were likely to acutely feel what was steaming down the tracks.
The operation, her obsession with the Frog had yielded one positive.
She had seen through the frat boy mask of Tony DiNozzo. She had never dreamed, and it was to her admitted shame, that the man was so much more than he seemed.
He would be a great leader one day, with a little more time under Gibbs' tutelage.
Perhaps he had been ready when she had offered him Rota, but perhaps his refusal based out of loyalty was one of finest assets he possessed.
Loyalty.
Her hand drifted over the cold metal, her mind appreciating its cool touch. Her thoughts wandered in tandem with the manicured hand, as her gaze rested upon Ziva David.
The tired facial muscles twitched again.
She had watched from afar as the relationship she had never believed possible blossomed between their liaison and team leader. She obviously knew that the Ari incident played a large role, but no…there was more to it than that.
A natural bond, unique in its fusion.
She would be there for him. For both of them. Whilst Ziva had infiltrated her own defences somewhat, she knew the tough Mossad would place the needs of Tony and Gibbs above her own.
She was one of the very few people on earth whom they would tolerate helping them in any bout of pain they were experiencing.
She would play that part well, she had no doubt.
Her eyes flickered over to Tim McGee, and she stared silently. She regretted her lack of interaction with the junior agent. Her eyes twinkled somewhat as she recalled how the young man had once stuttered and stammered in her presence.
He was a fine agent, with the potential for leadership in a few years. He possessed the diplomacy and tact that both Gibbs and Tony could use a little work on.
He just needed to start believing in himself.
The twinkle faded somewhat. She would never know what would become of Tim McGee, anymore than she knew what would become of the rest of them.
Suddenly, the elevator pinged disturbing her thoughts, and her eyes swivelled to see Abby Sciuto bounce out of the metallic doors.
A very faint chuckle emanated from her.
She had never met anyone quite like Abby, and in the time remaining to her, she knew she never would.
She was a tonic in herself, her mere presence lifting the spirits of her failing existence when she was near.
She had never thanked her for that…
A genial voice wafted up to the balcony of sorts, as an elderly but fighting fit Ducky meandered into the bull pen.
Feeling her heart swell at the sight of the only living soul that knew her secret, she realised with a jolt, that she had also never thanked him for withholding the information from his old friend.
That feat wouldn't be easy at the best of times, but when you're old friend is Leroy Jethro Gibbs, it was a near impossible endeavour.
…and yet the kindly, dependable and utter gentleman of a Doctor had managed it.
For her.
She watched as the amassed MCRT engaged in their usual, and technically frowned upon, office banter and smiled.
Her eyes drifted elsewhere, over other departments and she liked what she saw.
Everyone in the Navy Yard building was an asset and a credit to their country, and she realised she was blessed to die in the position she held.
That her death, and only her death, would bring about the end of her rein at NCIS.
That she would die clutching that mantle, because…really, what else was there?
Her eyes found the top of Gibbs' head as he expertly zoned out of a Ducky lecture.
She drank in his appearance, remembering his touch…his gentle words.
The private Jethro.
His eyes still held the light that had captivated her as a probie, and she knew as she stood there she was looking at the proverbial "one who got away."
Or more aptly, the one that ran away.
He had never truly been able to commit to her, not since Shannon.
Not since he had his heart irrevocably torn in two.
Her mind wandered, and not for the first time, to her favourite image.
The elusive life she craved, but had never, and now would never, achieve.
A child.
A child with her hair, and his eyes. A son or a daughter with his humour, and her passion.
Her womb seemed to almost ache with a phantom pain as she unwisely allowed that image to infiltrate her mind.
Their first words, their first steps, their first day at school.
Jethro carrying he or she on his broad shoulders, his beautiful, natural way with children shining through his happy, crooked smile.
Tired eyelids fluttered down over weary eyes, as she strove to push those images away.
Far away.
A sudden bout of fatigue struck her, and she wobbled slightly on her feet. Her gate unsteady, she suddenly felt a gaze upon her.
Glancing downwards, she caught the knowing, sad look in Ducky's eyes as he took in her paling complexion.
The "rest" order was evident in his gentle stare, and she peeled her hand from the metal frame supporting her to acquiesce.
Before she could turn her back on the domain below, she felt another gaze waft over her.
Peeking downwards, she saw those eyes pointed upwards, and her gate became slightly more unsteady.
Those emphatic eyes betrayed the concern the cool exterior was feeling, and she knew that her days of Jethro's ignorance were numbered.
She shot him a small smile, and felt the usual butterflies dance in her still young stomach as he returned the gesture, the handsome face creasing with his natural sincerity.
Turning, she suddenly felt hot, scalding tears spring up in her eyes.
How many more smiles did she have left to her?
How many more flights did her butterflies have?
She blinked, allowing a single tear to trail down her face, dropping onto the thick carpet below.
How much more could she take?
Another tear escaped the brimming eyes, joining its predecessor, sinking into the carpeted floor.
The most pressing thought then encased her, binding her in its venomous bite. The main worry she possessed, and still harboured despite Ducky's soft presence and all the support groups in the world.
Another tear sailed down her cheeks as she thought of it, feeling her stomach contract with the fear that she worked so hard to keep at bay.
Telling him was out of the question, she would not cause him that pain.
He had already been through so much.
…but the question therefore still remained, the acidic query that burned into her conscious and unconscious mind every night, and every day.
How could she do this alone?
….
A/N: Just a little one shot dealing with what I think might have been going through Jenny's mind in the weeks leading up to her death. She was one of my favourite characters, and I loved her and Gibbs' will they/won't they relationship.
…