This is personal
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Rating: T
Summary: Jenny kills Rene Benoit for a personal reason, a better one than 'he killed my father'.
A.N.: I always thought that Jenny's anger and hatred towards La Grenouille was too much for the reason that the series writers gave us, that they must have told Lauren Holly to be really angry with the guy because he did something terrible, but then they revealed why and she didn't seem as angry anymore. This is a better reason for how angry she is that my sister and I came up with.
It had been a long time since that fateful night in Paris, when something had been taken from Jennifer Shepard that provoked a terrible longing for retribution, a longing so fierce it made her give up everything that made her happy in her life to chase after one man, Rene Benoit, the arms dealer that had killed her father. Jenny looked around at the dark Marina, silently admiring the water's surface and the body that floated there, a smile on her face as peace finally coursed through her, and she recalled everything that had led her here in this long awaited moment.
She had been devastated when her father had been murdered, who wouldn't be? But she'd had faith in the legal system to catch his murderer eventually, and she had laid her father to rest, thoughts of avenging him not getting past daydreams. She had always known who had pulled the trigger on her father, it had been blatantly obvious, but going to the media to try and force the feds to catch La Grenouille would have revealed to everyone what her father had been accused of, and she couldn't believe that about him. It couldn't be true.
She had enrolled at NCIS that summer, an impetuous act, but she believed she could make a difference in the world, and she had. She had taken down criminals, saved lives and avenged victims through the law courts, and ultimately she had softened the heart of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, her boss and soon to be lover. The Paris mission they had been sent on together, undercover as husband and wife, had been a turning point in their relationship in more ways than one. She had become pregnant, and she couldn't have been happier, until that fateful night.
She had been injured in the line of duty and the effect it had on her baby… she shuddered in the moonlight, one of the shards of her broken heart stabbing her repeatedly, the agony of her loss unbearable, and pulled her jacket tighter around herself as if the piece of clothing could hold her together. She hadn't begun to hunt down La Grenouille until that moment, he had just been a plus for the future, from then on though, he was all that was in her future. She had left Jethro, unable to face him and his disappointment, and she had moved around, going wherever the opportunity for advancement arose. She had sped up the ladder, her plans and missions for trying to catch La Grenouille getting bigger with more and more man power until she was at the top; Director Shepard of NCIS, with an entire agency under her control, and resources to spare.
Jenny watched as the head of the body dipped under the water, the dark suit blending in with the impenetrable depths of the water around it. She had taken her revenge; she had pulled the trigger on Rene Benoit little over an hour ago and thrown his corpse over the side of his boat. She stood, leaning against the rail for a little longer, just watching the Frog's progress towards the bottom of the Marina. She opened her purse and pulled out a worn ultrasound picture, the only reminder she had of the child that had been killed before it even had a chance to live. Hers and Jethro's daughter, their little girl, whom neither parent had been able to hold, or love.
She had been too small to even give birth to when she had died, so there was no grave for her, and Jenny wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. On the one hand she hadn't had to suffer through labour to deliver her dead child, but on the other it was almost like she had never existed at all. The ultrasound was the only proof of her existence, since Jenny's undercover persona had received the miscarriage treatment, meaning Jenny's medical record made no mention of pregnancy or miscarriage.
Tears slipped down her cheeks and she caressed the picture gently with a finger, carefully keeping it away from the path of her tears. She would never get over her daughter's death, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to her, the agony of the injury that had killed the child had been terrible, but nothing compared to the crippling anguish of knowing her little girl would never grow up, never open her eyes or feel the love her parents had for her. Jenny relished the memory of the up close and personal kill of Benoit, where she had explained to him exactly why he was going to die, and why she wasn't going to regret it. He deserved it, and her only disappointment was that she couldn't do it again.
She heard footsteps behind her and instantly put her ultrasound away, knowing who was approaching her. It was the only other person with any reason to be here, and she didn't want to be seen crying over the daughter no one knew she had lost. Tony cleared his throat, telling her he was there and she swiped angrily at the tears still on her cheeks before turning to look at him.
"What are you doing here, Tony?" she asked him, her voice was strong, not giving away that she had just spent who knew how long crying.
Tony moved closer to her, standing next to her to watch Rene Benoit's body slipping beneath the water. His body wasn't going under all the way yet, but soon it would until it began to decompose and then it would rise to the surface again, to be washed up somewhere around the marina. He had figured she would have killed Benoit by now, and he wasn't going to point out that she was contaminating the boat and leaving traces of herself all over the scene, she knew it already, and she just didn't care.
"I thought you might need a ride home." He replied. He had gone to Jenny's house to see if she had spoken to La Grenouille yet, only to find it completely dark and her car still in the drive. She had probably walked here on autopilot, not thinking about anything but killing the man that caused her so much pain. He was in pain too; Jeanne had left him, her wounded eyes stinging him because of his betrayal. He wanted to blame Jenny, he really wanted to push the blame on someone else, but looking at her now, he just couldn't.
Tony wasn't an idiot, he had known there was a deeply personal reason for her hatred towards La Grenouille, and he had hoped to help her through it by taking the undercover mission. With Gibbs gone, it had been his job to hold the Agents under his command together, and since Gibbs had included Jenny in that category, so had Tony. He'd had no end of grief for it, 'I'm your boss, not the other way around DiNozzo!', but he believed he had helped her. She wouldn't see it that way though when she realised exactly how he had found her here, since Benoit had never shown this to him. McGee had traced her phone for him, deleting the trace once he had done it, and Tony had followed the directions, while hoping McGee could fool Gibbs into believing Tony was lost. He shook his head, there was no way McGee could fool Gibbs.
"Thank you Tony, I honestly didn't think about it." she whispered to him, and he pulled out his keys.
"Here, get in. I'll be there in a moment." He passed the keys to her and watched her walk towards his car with a heavy heart. She was suffering, but he couldn't really help her, the best he could do right now was to try and obliterate any and all evidence that she had been here and then take her home. Maybe he should talk to Gibbs, but then things between Gibbs and Jenny had been strained lately and her slightly intoxicated state might make her volatile. Gibbs could help her though, he knew her better than anyone, right?
It took only a few moments to wipe the rail where she had been standing and then take her back to her house. She got out of the car as soon as it stopped moving and he took that as his cue to leave. He picked up his phone and prepared to make a life or death decision. Call Gibbs, or don't call Gibbs?
Jenny threw her front door open and slammed it shut behind her, forgetting to lock it before heading straight into the study. She dropped her coat on the floor by the door and her bag on the rug by the fire, not caring about any mess that she might be making. She headed straight over to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a generous amount in a glass, which she took with her to the black leather chair opposite her father's desk. She didn't feel like sitting in his chair tonight, she didn't want to be assailed by memories of him, when she was trying to calm herself. She sat down and pulled her legs up under her, leaning back in the welcoming leather and then closing her eyes.
She had done it. She had finally killed the man who had killed her father and most importantly, her baby. She should feel better now, but the peace that she had felt at the marina had disappeared without a trace, leaving behind a grief so powerful she couldn't stop the tears from flowing once again. This shouldn't be happening should it? She should be happy, she should be moving on with her life, but she couldn't. She felt empty.
Opening her eyes she leaned down and reached out for her bag, dragging it over to herself and then lifting it onto her lap. She opened it and pulled out her worn ultrasound, throwing the bag across the room and leaning back once more. She took a sip of her Bourbon, the burning in her throat momentarily taking her mind off of the pain. She drank more of it, willing it to numb her from the inside, but she could never seem to drink enough for that to happen. All too soon the glass was empty and she struggled to her feet, walked to the cabinet and poured more.
She had to hold onto things around the room to stay upright, but she managed to make it back to her leather chair without spilling any. She put the glass to her lips for a sip and swallowed as much as she could fit in her mouth. She wasn't feeling as bad as she was a moment ago, so she raised the glass again thinking her plan was working, but somehow the glass disappeared on the way. She didn't question it, didn't give it another thought, which just showed how far gone she really was. She just stared at the ultrasound, though her eyes were unfocussed which made her put all of her concentration into that one simple task.
"She would have been so beautiful." She wiped her tears away, but more just spilled down, thoroughly wetting her shirt where the drips soaked into it. "She just never had the chance to live." Her voice was slurring slightly, but then she hadn't intended to speak out loud. She leaned her head back and curled further into the chair, caressing the picture and crying for her only child. She felt a hand softly stroking her hair, but like all other external stimuli, it was forgotten the moment she registered it, her internal grief and intoxication too strong to allow her to focus on more than one thing.
"What was her name?" a voice asked close to her ear. Part of her recognised the voice, knew that it was ok to talk to the person it belonged to because he wouldn't hurt her, or demean her grief. She shook her head and shrugged.
"I could never bring myself to name her; she's just 'baby' or 'little one'." She replied softly, her eyes never leaving the picture.
"When did you lose her, Jen?" the voice asked and this time more of her recognised the voice, there was only one person that called her Jen, and that was the father of her murdered child. She was silent for a few moments, just letting the soothing action of his hand stroking her hair calm her, before she tried to speak.
"Paris." She whispered and the hand stilled for a moment before resuming its action. She felt the need to explain while she was already talking about it, knowing that she wouldn't speak of her again unless she was in a similar state. "He mistook me for a French policewoman that had been following their operations. I was hurt and she…" she paused, unable to carry on, her vision obscured by the tears that fell thick and fast and she tried to take a deep breath. "He's dead now. I should feel better but I don't. All I feel is… it's like I'm dying inside. I can feel my innards tearing themselves apart and it hurts, so much." She lost her grip on whatever control she had that was allowing her to speak, and she finally broke down, her body shuddering with the force of her sobs.
"I know, Jen. I know." Jethro whispered to her, gathering her in his arms and holding her tightly to him, her tears soaking into his shirt. He rubbed her back and looked at the ultrasound picture she was holding, the only picture of the baby he had never known about, and would never get to meet.
"I envy you Jethro, for all of the time you spent with Kelly… showing her how much you loved her… hearing her laugh… knowing what colour her eyes were… her hair…" she hiccupped and snuffled slightly, trying to regain a modicum of control. "My baby never got to live; she was taken before she was fully formed. No labour, just lots of blood and matter-"
"Alright Jen. Shhh." He rocked her, his own eyes misting. He wasn't unaffected by what she was saying, on the contrary, he was devastated. He was finding out now that he'd had another daughter and that she too was dead, and all because of a simple mistake on the part of an arms dealer, who cared more for his weapon shipments than other people's lives. He looked across the study at Jenny's bag, which she had thrown earlier, and saw her back up gun poking out of it. She had no doubt used that to kill him. Jethro hugged her tighter, wondering what would have become of him if Shannon and Kelly's murderer had been as difficult to find as La Grenouille. He should probably be annoyed that she had killed him, but how could he when he himself had killed the murderer of his first wife and daughter? He only wished she had told him about their little girl before all of this.
She clung to him while she cried and he shed a few tears for their daughter too, neither caring about the passage of time until Jethro realised she had fallen asleep in his arms. He carefully stood, lifting her easily into his arms and carrying her up the stairs. He removed her shoes and work clothes and then tucked her in her bed, placing the ultrasound next to her on the bedside table. He placed a kiss on her hair and left the room, walking carefully back down the stairs and into the study. Here he picked up her gun and pocketed it. They couldn't tie her to the murder if there was no weapon.
As he prepared to leave, he thought about what he had learned, and hoped that they could work through it. She had hurt him when she had left him, but the reason behind it wasn't the shallow one he had assumed it would be. Perhaps this could bring them together again. He would talk to her tomorrow; ask her about the moment she had found out about their little girl and every moment after. Maybe concentrating on the good things would help them deal with the bad. He walked out of the door and locked it behind him with the spare key she had never asked him for. Maybe even the most painful of stories, can have a happy ending.