a/n: another dumb fic from me.
"Arrête !"
"Stop!"
Donald Mallard had hardly expected such a routine crime scene to mutate into such a chaotically eventful afternoon. It had begun normally: gruff call about a dead naval officer, preliminary investigation, surveillance of the scene – the difference being, Shepard had gotten into it with an unruly onlooker – a belligerent drunk who haunted the park they were working in – and when she'd taken his arm to forcefully escort him away from the yellow tape, he had grabbed her firearm.
Hence the mad chase that ensued; Shepard tearing off after the unfortunate idiot, Gibbs bolting after her in annoyance, and Ducky frantically ordering a French police officer to corral the rest of the looky-loos.
That farce in itself wouldn't have been so dramatic; it was ten minutes later, when Gibbs was suddenly bellowing for Ducky's help, that things got murky – he ordered the French officers to stay with the body and went to aid Gibbs, his heart sinking – and he found him near a dock by a rocky cliff, soaking wet himself and dragging Shepard onto the wood in a panic.
"What on earth—" Ducky began, stricken.
"Chest!" Gibbs ordered, kneeling by the redhead's shoulders, pinching her nose closed, and opening her mouth.
Ducky shut his mouth and dropped to his knees; he could ask questions later. He positioned his hands on her chest carefully and began compressions steadily, working in complement with Gibbs.
"She fell in with the guy," Gibbs grunted, bending down to breathe into her mouth again. "I caught up when they were strugglin'," he paused again, attending to her.
He swallowed, his jaw tight as he eyed her for signs of resuscitation. He squeezed her shoulder, breathed into her again.
"Duck," he growled.
"Give her a minute," Ducky said tensely. "Did he knock her out?"
Gibbs shook his head, shaking her a little impatiently.
"Fightin' 'im tired her out. He threw her gun, she dove to get it," he muttered, bending to cover her mouth with his again. "She didn't come up," he growled gesturing at her feet roughly, "goddamn heel got caught on something."
"The bastard?" Ducky asked.
Gibbs shrugged. He'd let him get away when he'd gone in after Jenny.
He bent to give her air again, and glanced tensely at Ducky.
"Jen!" he shouted, shaking her again.
"That isn't helping!" Ducky began.
He compressed her chest again, and Gibbs was about to press his mouth to hers when she jerked onto her side and started coughing, spitting water out of her mouth roughly, her shoulders shaking and convulsing.
Ducky sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead, relieved.
Gibbs lunged forward and grabbed her, yanking her into a sitting position as if she were a rag doll. She flinched, trying to catch her bearings, and turned her head, smacking her nose and forehead into his chest. Startled, she opened her eyes wide and looked up at him, still coughing. She struggled to sit forward, and Ducky shifted towards her, intent on checking her over – but before he could do so, Gibbs had run his hand through her hair, pushing it back and gathering it in his fist – and – kissed her.
Ducky tilted his head, mildly taken aback.
That was an interesting development.
Shepard – Jennifer – didn't seem to protest. She simply lay there, accepting it.
Ducky had had his suspicions, but Gibbs wasn't generally so publicly affectionate –
Ducky cleared his throat.
"Ah, Jethro, I do believe she's conscious," he remarked lightly, arching an eyebrow.
He was ignored, until Jenny pushed Gibbs away weakly and coughed up more water on his shirt, her hands shaking, and her cheeks red. Ducky watched Gibbs press his lips to her temple, and then slap her gently in the back of the head, his eyes narrowing.
"Quit wearin' your goddamn heels to crime scenes—"
"I get it, I get it," she said hoarsely, her voice raw.
Ducky sat back on his heels, staring at them both—well.
That mouth-to-mouth performance was certainly enough to succinctly confirm his suspicious about the state of their, ah, partnership.
jen, jethro, u idiots.
-alexandra
story #189