The door was gone, the only remnants were that of broken and charred wood that matched the burnt staircase nearby. The bannister which was once ornate and accurately carved was now nothing but a pile of ashes on the floor of the flame scorched floorboards. The second floor was almost gone, the only evidence of its previous existence was the small ledge left above the first floor and the crumbled pieces of the floor and furniture from the second floor now mixed in with the destroyed bottom floor
Looking at the house you wouldn't have believed that it was once the home of the Director of N.C.I.S; Jennifer Shepard. The house that had once been filled with beautiful furniture and photos was now nothing but a pile of rubble and ashes.
If you were to enter the house, you first would see nothing but the things that used to be, nothing but burnt memories and the life that once was. However if you ventured further into the unstable foundations of the burnt down home of the deceased red headed director then you would find something else entirely, something most unusual.
Behind the broken and charred door of the basement that resided beneath the now unstable wooden staircase was a cold room, dimly lit by a few broken candles that had been placed on the concrete floor. The light flickered around the basement, its light casting shadows across the walls.
On the floor in the corner was a pile of charred clothing, and blankets. Pieces of fabric that used to be something had been thrown together in a neat pile that resembled a bed in the corner of the unsafe basement of the unstable home.
An open can of cold baked beans was sat by the candles with a charred metal spoon stuck out of the top beside it was a lone bean that had fallen out of the can when someone had eaten them.
To the side was an empty bottle of water and some wrappers along with a pair of children's shoes. The shoes looked as though they had been kicked off by a small child and left there.
In the corner upon the pile of scrap fabric was a little girl, her hair was as red as the fire that had taken the home not long ago, and her eyes were a bright shade of blue like the sky had been before it was blurred by the smoke of the fire. Her pale skin was dotted with soft freckles across her face and she wore nothing but pyjamas. Her pyjamas were white with pink ballerinas dotted all over them, she had a coat laying over her to keep her small body warm from the cold that blew in from outside
Her eyes were softly gazing at the flickering of the candles in front of her, she didn't want to blow them out and as she watched them flicker their light across the room she soon fell asleep amongst the pile of fabric scraps.
Outside of the house in a dark government issued vehicle was a silver haired agent who was mourning the woman he loved, he sighed heavily as he found himself at the house on many lonely nights. He simply could not come to terms with the fact that she was gone. She had been gone for one week now. His hand curled into a fist and thumped the steering wheel in frustration, he felt overwhelming guilt about her death, he blamed himself for not being there and for not being able to save her
Sighing he pulled away from the house, and drove to the marina. He couldn't face going home yet, he wouldn't be able to sleep if he did even if he did go home. Sleep was something that seemed to avoid him ever since the death of the red headed director. A bout of insomnia was taking over his nights and refusing to let him get any peace. His head constantly yelled at him. He constantly blamed himself. He constantly found himself wishing he could turn back time and make things different. Maybe if he had stopped her leaving in Paris she would never had been in the danger to begin with. A quiet life with the woman he loved was all that he had wanted. He wished he had married her and moved to away from N.C.I.S. He loved his job but when it came to her? She was his queen. The woman he loved above everyone and everything else.
The little girl inside the basement stirred slightly at the sound of the car engine outside in the dark of night. She glanced around but closed her eyes again and snuggled up with her doll again.
Snow was falling harder and harder, the cold was making the little girl shiver and she lit more candles around her before snuggling further under the pile of rags that she was using as a bed.
Jethro found himself sat on his boat on the marina, looking up at the sky with a bottle of bourbon in his hand and a photo of the red head in his other. He sighed as he whispered to the sky, "I miss you Jen". A single tear fell from his eye, the bright blue depths were starting to flood with emotion that he had not allowed himself to show. Keeping his emotions in check was a way of trying to show strength for the team and to support them. Inside he was struggling. Inside he was in deep pain. A pain that made him feel as though his heart was being repeatedly torn from his chest. Missing her was an understatement. Missing her was the source of daily emotional turmoil.
The water lapped around the boat, the boat was painted white with red roses along the side with the name 'Jen' painted in cursive script. The boat had been only a few weeks ago and he had wanted to take the boat out on the water straight away. Other boats he had sold but this one? This one he planned to keep. He wanted to protect the boat like he hadn't managed to do with the real Jen. The guilt was overwhelming, the emotion was drowning him and the grieving process was hitting him hard. His chest hurt from the breaking heart and his eyes stung from the salty tears.
He didn't want to go back to the house that reminded him of all that was, all that could have been and all that never would be but he knew that he wouldn't be able to stay away. It was one of the few links he had to the woman who would always have his heart.