a/n: Benjamin's 'verse! Although, it may not be just Benjamin's 'verse anymore ... [oh, i need a totally fluffy, totally unrealistic canon-ish 'verse to write in sometimes .. you know, with adult, show-developed J&G.
September, 2003
"Alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai."
He listened to the soft singing, and rolled his eyes, flicking through the last pages in Where the Wild Things Are and shutting the book in defeat – there was no point in finishing the book if she was just going to sing to him.
"Je te plumerai la tête, je te plumerai la tête– et la tête, et la tête, alouette, alouette…"
"He's never gonna find out what happens to Max," Gibbs grumbled, glaring at her bent head. "You start singin' before I can get to the end, every damn night."
She ignored him blithely.
"Je te plumerai la bec, je te plumerai la bec – et la bec, et la bec, a la tête – "
"You're not a better singer in French," he hissed.
She shifted slightly, and pinched him hard in the ribs, expressing her displeasure at the insult. She quieted for a moment, and peered up at him through her lashes.
"Ben likes my singing."
Gibbs rolled his eyes again, and peered down at the half-asleep toddler. His eyes were heavy, flickering as he struggled to stay awake. He was nestled on a pillow between them, in cozy footsie pajamas: Jen curled around him comfortably, Gibbs sitting up against the headboard.
Ben stretched, and grasped Gibbs' elbow, holding on lazily. Gibbs smiled at him.
"Alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai…"
She must have forgotten where she was, because she started over, and Gibbs gave her a look.
"Jeez, Jen, sing 'im somethin' less gruesome."
"He doesn't know what it means," said flippantly, her voice low.
"Sing to 'im in English," Gibbs muttered.
Jenny pushed her knuckles against his side, and took Benjamin's hand off of him, pressing it against her lips. She looked at the drowsy child thoughtfully, and then switched obligingly – well, half obligingly.
"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines, sonnez les – ah, he's asleep."
She ceased her singing and leaned back, resting her head on her palm and eyeing Benjamin for a moment before she looked up, blinking slowly.
"There's no English lullaby as pretty," she said loftily.
"As a song about murdering a bird?" Gibbs retorted.
"I switched to Brother Jack," she sniffed. She smiled, and tilted her head; leaning down to brush Benjamin's mop of hair back and kiss his cheek. She looked up, nodded her head, and Gibbs tucked the book under his arm and got up, bending down to pick up the three-year-old.
Benjamin yawned, and looked up at Gibbs warily, considering whether to protest being moved to his own bed. His eyelids dropped, and Gibbs grinned at him, starting out of the master bedroom.
"C'mon, buddy," she heard him say soothingly, and she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling and combing her fingers through her hair.
He was back in a minute, turning off the light, disappearing into the bathroom for a minute, and then throwing himself back in bed next to her. He rolled over and pulled her over to him, pressing his lips to her neck. He laughed quietly, a triumphant laugh, because he finally had her alone.
She smirked.
"Frère Jethro, Frère Jethro, dormez-vous?"
"'M not tired," he growled in her ear. "Quit singin'."
She smiled, and shifted, turning on her side. She sat up slightly, moving the pillow Benjamin had been asleep on and placing it under her head. She slipped her hand under the pillow, playing with her wedding ring, and put her hand on his chest, creating space between them. His hands drifted to her middle, running over her ribs lightly, the barest hint of foreplay.
She licked her lips – it was just after their second wedding anniversary, Ben was out of his horrible clingy stage and adjusting to Montessori school beautifully, and she and Gibbs were in a good place.
Her mouth felt a little dry.
"You want to have another baby?" she asked quietly.
His thumbs pressed into her ribcage, and he blinked. He sat up slowly, and leaned over her, body pressing into hers, to flip on the bedside lamp, and he sat back against the headboard, looking down at her with a neutral look on his face. She looked up at him, and rubbed her ankles together under the sheets.
"You?" he asked.
She turned up her lips wryly – of course he'd answer a question with another question.
She lifted one shoulder vaguely.
"It's been a recurring thought."
"How long?"
She paused.
"A year."
"Why didn't you mention it?" he asked, arching his brows.
She smirked dryly.
"Ben's clingy phase nearly killed it," she retorted, and shrugged. "It came back."
Gibbs ran his palm over his thigh, looking straight ahead for a moment, his head tilted at a thoughtful angle. She pushed herself up on her arm, her knees hitting against his legs as she moved, and he looked back at her.
"I can't decide what I'd regret more: having another one, or not having another one," she confessed uncertainly.
He snorted.
"It'd be a bigger problem if you regretted having one, Jen," he pointed out – he didn't want her resenting a kid, it wouldn't be fair, or healthy.
She nodded.
"I know," she agreed. "I thought I'd regret Benjamin," she said quietly.
His jaw twitched slightly – he knew he'd had a hand in convincing her to have the baby, promising her he could do this, and they'd had to overcome his past and her struggles to lay her father's memory to rest to do what was best for Ben, but it had worked.
"You regret 'im?" he asked bluntly.
"No," she answered automatically, confidently. "I've never looked back."
He smiled, and reached for her hand, running his fingers against hers. She sat up and curled her knees inwards, sitting close to him, looking at him. He studied her long hair for a moment, and then his eyes fell to her lips. He wasn't saying anything, and she wasn't sure she knew what that meant.
She tilted her head.
"Would it be too hard for you?" she asked.
His brows twitched, moved together, and he looked baffled.
"What?"
"You only had one with Shannon," she clarified quietly. She licked her lips hesitantly. "If you would feel like you were … one-upping her memory … ?"
He shook his head slowly. He hadn't even considered that, now that she'd mentioned it, but it didn't bother him.
"She only wanted one kid," he said gruffly.
Jenny nodded, compressing her lips.
"Ah, well. I didn't want any," she muttered, trying to lighten the mood.
"Now you're beggin' me to knock you up again."
She shoved her shoulder against him and glared.
"I am not begging."
He pulled her hand into his lap and squeezed, studying her patiently.
"You want another baby, Jen?" he asked seriously, and he seemed slightly incredulous – she had been so uncertain, and nervous, and anxious about keeping Benjamin that he'd never thought for a second she'd want another.
She sighed heavily, frustrated. She nodded.
"I think I do," she admitted frankly. "And…Ben's three now. I don't want to be starting over when he's in grade school, or when I'm in my forties."
Gibbs grunted, letting her words sink in. They did have a good window here – three or four years was a good gap; close, but not too hard on either of them when it came to chaos or – sleep.
He nudged her with his foot and grinned.
"Yeah?" he asked. "What if it's another boy?" he challenged wryly.
She groaned quietly – it had been such a disaster to name Ben. They hadn't agreed on anything.
"Well," she said delicately. "Maybe then we were just fighting to fight."
"Ben's the only thing we agreed on, Jen," he reminded her dryly.
She gave him an impish look, and fluttered her lashes.
"There's always – Frère Jacques," she sing-songed smugly.
He gave her an annoyed look, and she laughed – as if he'd ever get on board with a French name.
"No love for Brother Jack, Jethro?" she coaxed.
"Jackson's my old man's name," he reminded her in a clipped tone – he had nixed it last time, even though she'd liked it, and he'd also vehemently disagreed with Jasper.
She shifted again, and leaned against his side. He put his arm around her, and she pushed her forehead heavily against his chest.
"If it were to be a girl, though," she murmured.
"Jen," he said tensely, his tone abrupt. "It's the same pain," he told her tightly. "I don't miss her less because Ben's a boy."
"Okay."
She fell silent, listening to him breathe, blinking in the dim light. There was always an irritated note to his voice when he talked about Kelly, but she knew it was just because it was still such a painful thing for him to cope with.
"We've got the other problem with girls' names, though," she said under her breath. "Too many gems."
"Name 'er Alouette," Gibbs deadpanned.
Jenny laughed, tilting her head back.
She chewed on her lip.
"You still like Samantha?"
"Maybe," she said softly.
She wrinkled her nose, and he made a noise – half the problem with Jen had been her penchant for names that were not – not exactly abnormal, but either foreign, or more adventurous than Gibbs was willing to go for.
She laughed under her breath at his reaction.
"I'm not even pregnant," she said, exasperated.
He looked down at her, his face serious again, and lifted his eyebrows.
"You really wanna do this, Jen?" he asked.
She looked at him quietly, intently; there was a particular difference between entertaining the thought while she was missing Benjamin being a baby and making the actual decision – especially since Benjamin had not been planned, and it felt so out of character for her to consciously decide to –
"I think I'll stop using birth control," she said delicately. "And if it happens…"
She trailed off, and he snorted, arching a brow smugly.
"You got pregnant on birth control in Europe, what do you mean 'if'?"
Clearly, she was prone to getting pregnant. She rolled her eyes and flushed – yes, she happened to be part of the point-one percent that got screwed over on the little trusty pill, which was why she had resorted to an implant since Benjamin's birth. But, who knew – she was a little older, and they certainly had less time to spend days and days in bed, thus their success rate was not maximized as it had been then – even birth control must have gotten tired, faced with the sheer amount of sex they'd been having in Paris.
He leaned over her and flicked the light off, and she blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dark—he tugged her over to him, half-sprawling her on his lap, and she sensed him grinning against her neck as he reached for her ribs again, fingers fumbling with the edge of her t-shirt.
"Want to start now?"
"I have to have the doctor take it out," she muttered.
His lips met hers briefly.
"Want to practice?"
"Yeah, I think I forgot how to do it."
He laughed, and she grinned, kissing the corner of his mouth. She wrinkled her nose, swallowing hard; her stomach fluttered, and she straddled his lap more comfortable.
"Hmm, a Jacques or Alouette, mon Dieu," she teased slyly.
"No," he growled, his words muffled against her skin.
She laughed again.
"Frère Jacques," she sang threateningly, and then switched, her lips against his ear: "Alouette, gentille alouette…"
He turned is head, and kissed her, just to shut her up – he had work to do.
alouette is such a pretty song, never look up the translation.
-Alexandra
story# 193