It only took a week.
Only a week into her return to NCIS, Gibbs had been especially riled up over his current case, a former marine who had assaulted and killed three women. The suspect had eluded them for weeks, even with FBI cooperation. Though Jethro wouldn't truly call it 'cooperation,' she knew. There was nothing he hated more than a turf war over evidence, and she had been engaged in an escalating argument with him in her office when he had gotten a call from a police officer who said she had seen the suspect in Rock Creek Park.
As he turned to charge out of her office, Jenny grabbed his hand. They both stopped abruptly, equally shocked at this first real physical contact since she had returned. Eyes dark and brow furrowed, he looked down at her hand holding his, and return his gaze to her green eyes.
She was equally surprised at her own boldness, and suddenly flushed at the thought of their last time holding hands, strolling along the Seine in Paris. Jethro had made her laugh continuously with his attempts at speaking French to various street vendors that sunny day. She leaned in to whisper corrections in his ear, and it didn't take him long to mess up on purpose just to feel her head resting continually on his shoulder, red hair blowing in his face, lips brushing his ear.
But that was years ago.
Aside from sweeping past him on the stairs or leaning over him at his desk this past week, they had not been in close contact, a fact that both of them had become very aware of at this moment.
Jenny dropped his hand. "Hey. Be careful, if our analysis of this guy's apartment and diary is correct, he has some serious psychological issues and no ability to contain his violent impulses."
Gibbs eyes lingered on hers, and she suddenly remembered how good he was at reading her. But he simply nodded and carried on out the door.
She dropped into her chair, essentially waiting for a report on their progress, but more intently focused on the way Gibbs' hand felt in hers, the way his eyes bored into her. Those blue eyes were the death of her back in the day, whether in a glare of annoyance when she sassed him in the office or a haze of lust when she pinned him to the bed.
"Stop thinking about pinning him to a bed, Shepard," she muttered to herself. "You said no off-the-job and here you are not two weeks in, grabbing him like you own him."
Ziva called an hour later, saying they caught the suspect after a "bit of a scuffle." Jen thought she knew who the primary combatant might be, a fact that was confirmed when she heard Tony crow in the background "Gibbs, it's been awhile since you kicked my ass in the boxing ring, but you haven't lost your touch!"
Jenny's laugh was cut short when Ziva spoke next, saying "Director, I would suggest that Ducky meet us in the garage. Gibbs did take quite a blow to the head, and as far as I know him, I doubt he would agree to let us take him to a hospital."
"A hospital? It's that bad?"
"The suspect was defending himself with a rock and managed to get one good knock in on Gibbs' head. It is bleeding quite profuse—hey! Gibbs? Gibbs? Jenny he may have lost consciousness, we will be there in a minute."
Ziva had hung up, and Jenny jumped from her chair. She told Cynthia to summon Ducky to the garage as she headed out of her office. She paused for a second and reassured herself that Jethro would be fine, and more than likely pissed off at the welcoming committee. He had been through much worse in their days as partners.
Jenny made it down to the garage and nearly lost her balance when she saw Gibbs sitting in the back seat of the car. There was blood everywhere, but he seemed to be conscious.
"DINOZZO. Get AWAY from me."
Yep, definitely conscious.
"Sorry Boss! Of course you don't need help out of the car, what was I thinking. I'll handle the dirtbag you just relax."
Ducky bustled in with a bag of supplies, and she heard Gibbs growl at him. Undeterred, Ducky took a peek under the towel Jethro was using to cover the wound on his forehead.
"Well Jethro, you definitely need a few stitches. Why don't we take a trip to autopsy and I'll get you sewn up."
"No. Just give me something to stop the bleeding and I can get back to closing this case."
Jenny stepped into his line of vision, which was obscured due to the towel covering one eye.
"Gibbs, in case you forgot, that's what stitches do. Close the wound and stop the bleeding. And you lost consciousness, so I would like Ducky to check you out."
"The Director is absolutely right, Jethro, you look rather terrible anyway, we need to get you cleaned up and make sure you aren't concussed."
Gibbs stood, weaving for a moment before catching his balance. Jenny took a step towards him, hand outstretched as if to grab his again, but stopped when he steadied and smirked at her, as if to say "twice in one day?"
"Fine." He huffed. "This better not take long."
Jenny checked in on Gibbs' team and was assured that everything was under control. She then headed for autopsy to check on the man himself.
The doors swished open and with them went Jenny's breath. Jethro was seated on Ducky's desk chair, shirtless.
Her eyes quickly ran over his broad shoulders and lean torso, but she groaned inwardly as she thought she saw him notice and imperceptibly smile again. She blinked and scoffed at herself for her knee-jerk girlish reaction.
He spoke as she came towards him- "I'm fine. I'm pretty sure I hit my head harder that one time in Paris."
Her eyes widened as she thought back to what he was referring to. The scene flashed in her mind—
They were fighting, not an uncommon activity for them in those days. They had stepped inside their dark safe house after some reconnaissance in a Parisian bar and she unleashed on him for conspicuously drawing attention to himself by scuffling with slimy Frenchman.
His blue eyes flashing, he snarled, "What did you expect me to do when that guy had his hands all over your ass?"
"For God's sakes can't you control yourself you idiot?" she snapped.
He suddenly crowded into her personal space, breath hot in her ear. "Can you?"
His hand dropped to her waist; thumb brushing up under her flowing black tank top and pressing into her skin. He breathed against her again, this time nibbling on her earlobe.
With a sudden, powerful move, she grabbed his arm and shoved him into the wall of the safe house foyer. He yelped, his head having hit a light fixture.
He swore, dropping his pounding head to her shoulder. Laughing, she drew her hand up his arm and into his hair, feeling a rising bump on the back of his head. She turned her face into his neck, inhaling the scent of bourbon and the certain something that was just…him.
"Oops."
She drew her nails along his scalp and pressed an open-mouth kiss to his neck, eliciting a groan that vibrated from deep within him.
"Now that you've wounded me, are we done fighting?" Jethro mumbled.
He drew his head back, wincing, and squinted down at her.
She pressed a kiss to his chin and pulled him up the stairs by his shirt collar to their bedroom, where they engaged in another activity that was not uncommon for them at that time.
Snapped back to the present, the hint of a smile she saw on Jethro's face earlier was now a full smirk.
"Shut up." She narrowed her eyes at him and took inventory of the cleaned gash on his head and cut across his collarbone. "You look better."
"I feel great."
Jen snorted. "Sure you do. DiNozzo has everything handled; the case can wait until tomorrow. And I know I won't be able stop you from going back to your desk but please take it easy."
"You worried about me?" The lowness of his tone drew her eyes back to his. Warm green regarded deep blue, and for the second time that day Jenny was unnerved in his presence.
Thankfully, Ducky chose that moment to return from his office and break the spell.
She tried to play it off with a laugh, "You wish. I know you have a hard head."
Jenny spent the rest of the afternoon with her paperwork, fighting the impulse to check on Jethro. She left her office at 6:30, walking down the stairs to Gibbs' team. DiNozzo noted her scan of the area and said, "The boss went home for the night, ma'am. He didn't admit his head hurt, but I think he was feeling it."
She thanked the team for their work and told them to head home. Walking to the elevator, she made her decision.
For the first time in years, she crossed the threshold of his house. She knew where he would be, even with a head injury.
He looked up when he heard her heels on the stairs. She had not yet seen him outside of work since returning, and she couldn't help but notice the way his USMC t-shirt and ratty jeans worked for him. The shirt especially gave her pause. She remembered several mornings brewing coffee in only that shirt and her underwear, making eyes at a boxer-clad Jethro over the rim of her cup while he ran his hands over her bare legs.
Memories stirred, she gave him a soft smile as his head cocked in question.
"Yes, I came to check up on you. I see nothing has changed down here."
He didn't respond, except to hand her the mug he had in his hand. She was struck by the familiarity of this action, the closeness it implied, and immediately took a sip of bourbon to calm her nerves.
Ever Jethro-the-silent, he did not provide anything in the way of a conversation starter, so she turned to the boat that was taking shape in the middle of the room.
"What number is this?"
"Four."
She could feel that he kept his eyes on her, so she stepped around him and ran her hand over the smooth hull of the boat. Watching her soft hands trail over his work the way they used to trail over him, he swallowed hard and shook his head, a move that made the wound over his eye throb.
Turning back to him, she decided to get right into it. She didn't know what she wanted out of this conversation, but after another swig of bourbon she was ready to get it over with.
"I shouldn't have grabbed your hand earlier, I'm sorry. It was unprofessional."
She looked quickly at his face. He was touching the stitches over his eye, and she could tell they were bothering him by the way he tilted his head.
He took a step closer to her, hand still on his forehead and rumbled, "Rule Six, Jen."
Never say you're sorry.
That voice. Even years later, it still seemed to vibrate from him through her, like sonar. His tone almost always said more than his actual words.
She brought her hand up to move his away from his stitched eyebrow, gently ghosting her fingers over the wound. "Is that all you have to say?"
He looked down at her, taking in the feel of her hand on his face, the closeness of her mouth and the scent of the French perfume he was pleased to note she still used. Before he could stop himself, he rested his hand lightly on her hip.
"Well I guess this is pretty unprofessional too, are you sorry right now?"
Jenny dropped her hand. "I haven't decided yet."
It was he who initiated contact this time, pressing his lips lightly to hers and drawing back.
"I'm not."
He had barely said the words when her hand rose up to his chest and she quickly kissed him again, deeper this time. He drew his hands up her sides exactly how she remembered, exactly how she loved. When they pulled centimeters apart he smiled and spoke against her lips, "I'll say it again…I missed you Jen."
She hooked her finger through his belt loop and tugged him against her even more fully. Kissing the corner of his mouth, she drew her lips to the spot on his neck she knew made him crazy.
"I knew that no-off-the-job rule wasn't going to work out."
It only took a week. And a head injury.