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He stared at the full glass of bourbon, with tired eyes and a weary body; he contemplated whether or not he should finish the bourbon or just go to sleep. He sat there in the silent comfort of his basement alone, for a few minutes. Then the door opened up, and the hauntingly familiar sound of stiletto heels clicking against the wooden floors echoed through the otherwise quiet house. He looked up just in time to see her dark outline fill the doorway to the basement. Squinting uncertainly against the bright light, he asked cautiously, "Jen?"
It had only been a week since she had told him 'no off the job', and he'd left her standing on those stairs fighting her demons, trying to push back his own. Now, he didn't dare allow his heart a tiny sliver of hope that there might be a chance for them. "What're you doing here?" He asked her, standing up and setting the mason jar of bourbon down on the old wooden bench that had seen many a stressed night and overloaded case repercussions. Taking a step towards her, his eyebrows raised questioningly, he waited for her explanation as to her presence.
"I'm here doing something I should've done a long time ago," she said, walking down he wooden stairs and moving closer to Jethro. He took a moment to appreciate her appearance; her long, silky red hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, she wore a crisp light blue oxford blouse, and her prim, gray business skirt swished slightly above her knees. With her so close to him, he could smell the faint scent of her expensive perfume she discovered in Paris, the one that smelled like jasmine and cinnamon; he could feel the familiar warmth that she exuded from her person, especially when she was this close to him. The memory made him ache with longing, but he didn't dare step any closer to her. Abruptly, she leaned forward, pushing him against the hull of the boat, and kissed him, hard, grabbing his arms and pulling him closer to her body; they fit together perfectly like they were meant to be, like they'd always meant to be.
A few minutes later, when the need for air became too great and they separated, breathing heavily, she whispered unevenly, still breathing hard from the kiss, "I'm here to tell you that I love you," She looked at him, almost with what looked like trepidation in her eyes, but she continued. "It's something I should've said long ago. I've got too many regrets already and it wasn't going to become another regret of mine." Her voice was strong and fierce, but it cracked, which belied the emotions that she was still hiding. Jethro looked over at her, surprised to hear a crack in her voice. He noted with concern that her eyes were full of tears. But then in an amused, soft way, he also noticed that her mouth was set in a determined line, her eyes like hard emeralds daring him to say something about the tears that contradicted her resolute will. He gave a small laugh, and pulled Jenny into a strong, crushing hug. Then, teasingly, but still guardedly, he asked, "I thought you said no off the job?"
She smiled a small, relieved smile, eyes twinkling. That was the woman he loved, that was the Jenny he knew; the one who smiled a smile that could light up a room, the woman that had sparkling eyes and such a strong fiery passion. Slowly, she shook her head and said apologetically, "That was the Director. That wasn't me."
He smiled the soft smirk that always made her go weak at the knees, and he leaned in to kiss her again. "Good," he whispered, his voice sending shivers up her back, "You were always a better field agent than a Director."