Scenes from a Memory
Author: Sidda D.
Summary: When you remember someone, the little things always come to you first. A collection of moments between Jenny Shepard and Jethro Gibbs, ranging from pre-series through season 5.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer – I own nothing, the characters all belong to DPB et al. I make no money from this and no copyright infringement is intended.
Spoilers: Written as a retrospective set after Judgement Day. The fourth scene is set after episodes 3.01 – Kill Ari, Part One and 3.02 – Kill Ari, Part Two. The fifth scene is a post-ep for 5.09 – Lost and Found.
Author's Notes: I have a couple fics started on my computer, but being in the process of moving cross-country, haven't had the time to work on any of them. This one just wouldn't get out of my brain though, so I had to take a break from packing to get it down. I originally was going for some angst and wanted to fit the ending into canon, but it decided to write itself differently, and who am I to argue with that?
When he thinks about her, he thinks in Technicolor.
I. Trouble
"I've got a new agent for you, Jethro."
"With all due respect, sir, I don't need a new agent."
"Your team's been down a man for almost two months, Agent Gibbs, and it's starting to show. Reports turned in late, your case resolution rate is down, overtime hours are up…"
"C'mon, Director, we've always got the most overtime hours in the department," Gibbs argues.
Director Morrow lowers his eyes to the paperwork in front of him. "That notwithstanding, Agent Carter's departure is the perfect opportunity to bring in some young blood…"
"You sticking me with a probie, Tom?"
"You got a problem with that, Jethro?"
"Well yeah, they don't know anything! They throw up during autopsy, they're never prepared, they almost shoot me…"
"That only happened once."
"Ah hell, that's not the point."
"Yes well, this one's different. She's got great potential to go places –"
"She?"
"Yes, she. Is that going to be an issue?"
Gibbs smiles and shakes his head. "No sir, I love women."
"Yes, your track record certainly proves that," Morrow laughs and hands him a folder. "Here's her file, she's waiting for us in MTAC."
He pushes away from his desk and rises to walk out of the room, motioning Gibbs to follow. Jethro skims over the papers quickly, slinging the folder under his arm before stuffing his hands in his pockets and tagging along behind.
"I think you'll like this one, Jethro. She's gutsy and won't put up with any of your crap," says Morrow as they step out of the office and stroll along the catwalk.
"Sounds delightful, sir," Gibbs responds sarcastically.
They stop in front of the metal doors, completing the eye-scan for entrance and step inside.
"You might be surprised. Agent Gibbs, I'd like you to meet Jenny Shepard."
Jenny stands from the chair and walks toward the doors. Gibbs takes one glance at her and cringes. A redhead. Redheads were trouble. Dark auburn waves tumble around a cream complexion, layering softly along a long swan neck, landing to rest along strong collarbones. His eyes flick to hers and he exhales sharply. Green pools stare at him and he's faintly aware of red lips curving into an almost telltale smirk that suggest she knows exactly what he's thinking.
He clears his throat and twirls the gold band on his left ring finger to bring himself back to reality. Stepping forward swiftly, he extends a hand in greeting, "nice to meet you, Miss Shepard."
She grasps his hand and shakes firmly. "Although I appreciate the salutation, Agent Gibbs, I prefer Agent Shepard in the workplace."
"You'll find soon enough, Miss Shepard, that around here, Agent is a title that is earned, not given." His tone is cool and he gives her an already infamous Gibbs stare.
Jenny looks unfazed. She straightens, thankful for her impossibly high heels that almost allow her to meet him at eye level and stares right back. "I am an NCIS Agent, just like you Agent Gibbs, and regardless of what you may think, I have worked hard to earn this position and the title that comes with it. I am tough enough to handle whatever you throw my way, but if you don't believe me, we could just arm wrestle right now and you can see exactly what I'm talking about."
Jethro smirks. Damn. Definitely trouble.
II. Rule #12
"Diane kicked me out."
He is standing on her doorstep, a duffel bag leaning against his foot, rain pouring around him and hair plastered against his face.
She looks at him wordlessly, wearing a faded t-shirt and sweats. Behind her, the television is playing a movie quietly and he can see the remnants of a pizza slice on a paper plate balanced precariously on her coffee table.
She stands perfectly still and he thinks she is contemplating, working out pro and con lists furiously in her head, arms folded across her chest, shoulder pushed up against the door jamb.
Without a word, she turns around, leaving the door wide open and him standing in the same position he was in five minutes ago when he raised his hand to knock on her door and wondered what the hell he was doing.
He hears her rummaging in a hall closet, then the sound of a fridge door opening and shutting, and he's still at her door. She hasn't invited him in, but neither has she slammed solid oak in his face.
A few moments later, she returns carrying a towel and a cold bottle of beer. She hands both to him and turns back to her living room. He hasn't come in yet, not even stepped across the threshold. She calls out over her shoulder, "Come in Jethro, before you freeze to death on my front porch."
They are sitting side-by-side on her couch, watching the evening news, feet propped up against the table, arms almost, but not quite brushing against each other.
"She said I didn't care about our marriage anymore," he blurts out unexpectedly.
"Was she right?"
"I missed our anniversary."
"It was a rough case. It took a lot out of us all, personally and professionally."
"She thinks I don't see who she is anymore."
"You're hardly the only one to blame for that. Diane's a little…"
"… aloof?"
"Frigid seems more like it."
Gibbs smiles almost sadly. He knew his team didn't care for her, particularly Jenny.
"And she thinks we're having an affair." At this admission, he turns to look her reaction.
She is picking at the edge of the label of her beer bottle, using the beads of condensation to slide her fingernail under the damp paper, pulling it up methodically. To her credit, she remains stoic. "And you came here to what… tempt your luck?"
He says nothing, choosing instead to stare intently at her face, his expression unreadable.
Her eyes reach up to meet his. "Why did you come here, Jethro?"
He sighs heavily and takes a swig of beer before answering, "I don't know, Jen. I just... I didn't want to go anywhere else."
She downs what's left in her bottle in one long gulp and stares at the brown glass.
He brings his hand up to her face, turning it to him, resting his callused palm against her cheek. She tilts her head slightly, closing her eyes, and he can feel her pulse quicken under his fingertips. His thumb reaches out to brush a drop of alcohol left of her lips and she gasps.
Her eyes flash open and he can see they are shades darker, betraying her arousal even as he can see her mind fight to retain control.
"We can't do this, Jethro."
"I know."
She places a brief kiss on his palm and moves away to clear the pizza box and empty bottles. He leans his head back against the cushions, trying to remind himself of the reasons why relationships between agents are a bad idea.
There are pillows and blankets piled in her arms when she comes back and she jostles his legs to alert him to her presence.
"You're getting better at sneaking up on me," he murmurs with his eyes closed.
"I've been practicing," she remarks dryly. "Move over so I can make up the couch for you."
"You're not gonna offer me the bed?" he asks, amusement lacing his voice.
She levels him with a cool eye. "Not tonight."
III. Technicality
He is still technically married to Diane. She is technically seeing a senator's aide. They are technically undercover in Italy posing as an international arms-dealing couple, selling their services to the highest bidder. It's all a series of technicalities really, that she is in his bed tonight.
The covers are bunched around her waist, her bare back glimmering in the moonlight streaming from the open window, her head just slightly resting on his pillow, and her hand curled over his chest.
He watches her breathing deeply and wonders what she is dreaming of right now. He turns a little and his nose presses into her hair, inhaling her wafting scent of flowery shampoo mixed with remnants of the perfume she had spritzed on that morning and a faint tinge of sweat.
He slips out of bed, sifting through the clothes strewn across the floor before finding and pulling on a pair of boxers. Their small, but cozy, room has an attached balcony overlooking the cobblestone streets below and he settles himself into a wrought-iron chair, listening to the fading sounds of late night revellers as they stumble their way to their own homes.
He can hear her wake and although he can't see her, knows she must be scanning the room, making herself aware of his position, ensuring the area is still secure, every bit the consummate Special Agent at all times. The bed creaks as she shifts, her feet pad nearly silently across the floor, and he says nothing until her arms wrap around him from behind.
"Can't sleep?" she asks, yawning slightly.
"Nope… just thinking."'
"About what?"
He looks back up at her, his stare making it clear that he doesn't want to talk about it.
She knows she cannot break him and changes tracks, dropping her lips to his shoulder, trailing kisses up to his ear. "Should I be insulted that I didn't wear you out, Jethro? I did some of my best work tonight."
He laughs and pulls her into a deep kiss, probing her mouth with his tongue. She moans quietly and they move apart to catch their breaths. "I don't know, Jen. To be fair, I'd need to see it again to make a proper comparison as to what's your best."
"I think that can be arranged." She comes around and settles in his lap, draping her legs over the arm of the chair, wriggling to get comfortable. He growls and holds her hips to make her stop. She grins wickedly and continues to push against him slightly, feeling the effects of her movements against her back.
"Problem, Jethro?" she asks, her eyes sparking full of feigned innocence.
"You're going to be the death of me, woman," he whispers heatedly.
"Oh, but what a way to go."
He tightens his arms around her and brings her closer to him. The spark of passion from a minute ago has dissipated into something a bit more quietly romantic and they relax against each other, their breaths syncopated in the cool night air.
"Think the deal will go through tomorrow?" she breaks the silence, her voice floating along in a breeze.
"Yeah," he nods, "we're exactly what their client's looking for."
"I wonder where he'll want to meet."
"Intel put him in Paris, last I checked. That's as good a place as any."
"Paris, the city of love, you know."
"Yeah." He kisses her again, effectively silencing any response.
IV. A Boat named Jenny
"You missed a spot."
He gives her a wary glance as she sits on his stairs, watching him varnish his boat.
"You're here a week, Jen, and already you're bossing me around."
"I'm the Director, Jethro, it's my prerogative to boss you around."
"Forgive me, Madam Director, I didn't realize that privilege extended into my own home."
She cringes slightly at the use of her title. "Remind me to send out a memo forbidding people from calling me Madam."
He's not sure what she's doing, considering she'd established only days ago that they would not be interacting outside the office, but isn't one to turn down a beautiful woman showing up at his door, especially not when she brings Chinese food with her. If he thinks about it, he wouldn't be averse to her changing her mind. Which is why he forces himself not to think about it.
"I don't see this mysterious unvarnished spot."
"It's right there," she points, "and there's another one. Honestly, Jethro, your eyesight is terrible."
"My eyes are just fine."
She finishes a bite of moo shu pork before standing up and walking toward him, plucking the paintbrush out of his hand.
"There's no shame in getting older, even I have reading glasses," she says while dabbing at the spots.
He swallows a mouthful of chow mein and inspects her handiwork. "Older or not, at least I know how to paint. Long, steady strokes."
She has to bite back a whimper when he comes up behind her and covers her hand with his. "Here, like this," he rumbles in her ear and their hands move over the boat together.
The room suddenly feels infinitely warmer and Jenny clears her throat quickly. "How many boats have you built in the last six years, Jethro?" she asks to distract herself from his proximity.
He pauses before answering. "A few."
"Did you ever build me a boat?"
He shrugs as he steps back, and a twinge of disappointment runs through her at the sudden lack of contact.
"No place to build a boat in Paris, Jen."
She puts the paintbrush down and leans against his tool bench. "That's no excuse."
"It's not supposed to be."
"Did you want to?"
"It doesn't matter what I wanted."
She catches the pained expression on his face as he fiddles with a plane to avoid eye contact.
"I'm sorry, Jethro."
"Never apologize, it's a…"
"…I know your rules," she interrupts. "And I know you know better than to think I'm weak."
The slightest hint of a smile graces his face.
"Guess so."
A heavy silence descends on them as she stands there, shifting her weight back and forth, uncertain of what to say next, and he turns the tool repeatedly in his hands.
"I should go," she says eventually, heading toward the stairs.
He nods. "Night Jen."
She pauses before climbing the first step and turns back to look at him. "For the record, if you built me a boat, I'd sail the world with you, Jethro."
V. Choices We Make
She is pouring bourbon when he shows up in her study. After this case, a little alcohol to dull the edges of pain and regret and numb her consciousness would be welcome comfort. Having a mini-DiNozzo in the office may have made for amusing babysitting hijinks, but it also served as a physical reminder of what she did and didn't have. Not to mention, whom.
"You dismissed your security detail," he chastises.
"It was George's anniversary. I didn't think it necessary to destroy yet another marriage for the sake of this job, Jethro."
"You could have got a replacement, Jen."
"You're here, aren't you?" she smiles as she hands him a glass.
He glances at the liquid and takes a sip. "Case reports are on your desk." He is changing the topic to move smoothly away from the silken flirtatiousness in her tone, and she knows it.
She allows him to lead this once. "Carson and his family make it back home safely?"
He nods and watches her get a refill.
"Think you wanna go a little easy on that?"
She stops mid-pour. "Are you concerned about my alcohol consumption, Agent Gibbs?"
He gestures to the half-empty bottle. "I happen to remember this bottle was nearly full yesterday, Director. So yes, I have cause for concern."
"What I do outside the workplace is no business of yours, Gibbs," she bites back. Her hand shakes ever so slightly as she brings the amber liquid to her lips.
He reaches out and stills her, pulling the glass away with his free hand and setting it on the desk. "Jenny, what are you doing?"
She shivers at the sound of her nickname, a rare endearment from him, used in tender moments that she wants to believe are long forgotten.
"You tell me, Jethro. You're the one showing up here in the middle of the night."
His thumb caresses gentle circles along the inside of her wrist.
Her eyes close briefly and the slightest sigh escapes her lips. "Stop that, Jethro."
"Stop what?" he asks with a smirk.
"Doing that," she gestures to his hand on hers, but doesn't pull away. "You turned me down, not the other way around. So just leave me alone to drown my sorrows in a little liquor."
"Can't do that."
"Why not?" she challenges him.
"You weren't the only one making a choice, Jen. I wasn't about to sleep with you with a nine-year-old in the next room."
"If you think that's going to get you into my bed tonight, you're sadly mistaken."
"I don't want to get into your bed."
She snorts derisively. "You certainly know how to charm a woman."
He draws his fingers up to her elbow and tugs her nearer. "You said you had to do what was best for you. And I need to do what's best for me."
"And what exactly is that, Jethro?"
He leans forward to brush his lips against hers, a gentle feather touch that is enough to set her nerves on fire.
She moves in closer and rests her head against his shoulder. "That's not an answer," she whispers.
"C'mon, gimme some time. I'll figure it out."
"And what do I get to do in the meantime?"
"Go along for the ride?" he offers.
They both crack smiles and she can feel his chest shake against her as he chuckles quietly.
"Well then, you're definitely not getting into my bed tonight."
"Who says we need a bed, Jen?"
A/N: Hope you enjoyed it – comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated!