A/N: This is based on my own personal feelings, mainly regarding the season 5 finale, but this fic is not related in any other way to Judgment Day, and contains no spoilers for that ep. It was just my emotions that made me write this, and put them into a Jibbs scene. So, no spoilers.

There's nothing going on, I have to stop fool myself…

There's something there, I can sense it…

Goddamnit, do I just want there to be anything, or is it really something?

This is insane. I can read him; I have always been able to read him. Why can't I now?

I know I need him, oh hell I want him! But I can't…

…can I?

She fought the impulse to knock down everything on her desk, knowing it wouldn't be worth it in the end. Her hands shook with her frustration and she felt trapped in her own head, not knowing how to get out and she felt so…incredibly…confused.

Did she love him or did she not? She shook her head, not wanting to think about it, but knowing she couldn't help it. He was always around her, always near and it didn't help cool her burning feelings. She loved him, so much that it actually hurt like the throbbing after a knife being thrust into her heart – and twisted around – whenever she saw him. She loved him so much she almost hated him for it.

Her desperate hands reached for the bottle of bourbon standing on the coffee table, knowing the stopper at the top was already loose and she knew she'd already had enough but simply couldn't bring herself to stop, needing something else to focus on for a second than the scorching pain in her heart. She let the amber liquid burn its way down her stomach and she reveled in the sense. Even though the alcohol could never really wash away her heartache, it was all she had to comfort herself with – through all the long nights when she longed for a warm body beside her. Though she knew she could probably get most of the men she looked at, she wanted none of them, she wanted her Jethro. She wanted to feel the familiar beating of his heart, wanted to smell the bourbon mixed with coffee on his breath and be embraced by the soothing smell of sawdust. She wanted to hear him say that he loved her.

She stared at the already empty glass in her trembling hand, frowning slightly as she had barley even felt the effect the alcohol should have on her. She wiped away the falling tears with the back of her hand as she poured herself another glass.

Feeling slightly sick, she glanced up toward the door as she heard it open, having not expected anyone to still be here at this hour, especially not on a Friday night. She clutched the glass tighter in her hand as her eyes focused on Gibbs. He was frowning, and there was something in his eyes that she couldn't quite place her finger on what it was.

"Jen?" his voice sounded distant and there was a strange buzzing in her ears, even though he was approaching her, it sounded like he was so…far…away.

"Jethro," she cried, not knowing why, but she was incredibly conscious about how fast the tears ran down her cheeks and how thick her voice sounded.

"Jenny, what are you doing to yourself?" he asked softly and took the glass from her hand; she found she wasn't strong enough to hold on to it.

"I don't know," she whispered, really not understanding what was going on and she…just…couldn't…think…clear.

She fell into his arms; her tears stained his shirt as she cried against his chest. His arms were wrapped tightly around her and she tried to take comfort in the warmth surrounding her. He hushed into her ear and whispered words of comfort. She wasn't paying attention to the words, just his voice. Calming her. Soothing her. Making her forget about the pain she tried so hard to ignore. He stroked her hair, holding her head against him as he tried to get her body to stop shaking.

Just as she was starting to relax, she was struck with the overpowering sense she shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't be able to comfort her like this, he shouldn't be able to help heal her – not when she knew she didn't deserve it. She placed her palm against his chest, intended on pushing him away from her, but he had been expecting such an act and his grip on her tightened, holding her so hard she thought she was going to break. But it made her understand he was not going to let her go back to the alcohol. She could barely breathe – if it was for his forceful grip on her or her choking on her own emotions – she did not know. He wrapped his hand around her wrist as she tried to wriggle out of his arms.

"Let me go," she cried against him, her free hand curling into a fist and she feebly pounded with it at his back. He hushed at her again.

"You don't have to do this to yourself, Jenny," his voice was struggling to remain calm, but she could distinguish the panic in it that he was trying to disguise. She was still struggling to get free, but then he spoke again.

"I don't want my Jen to be like this," he said, she stilled every attempt at breaking free; her hand trembled on his shoulder.

"I'm your Jen?" it slipped out of her, her forehead resting against his chest and she was still sobbing into his shirt. He tightened his hold on her fragile body.

"You've always been mine, Jen," he assured her, caressing her hair and she instantly became aware of his smell, his warmth and the sound of his raspy breathing in her ear. All the things she loved but never thought she'd experience again. Her eyes were still closed as she felt his hand under her chin, lifting up her head and then warm, moist lips gently pressed down onto hers.

There was no rush, nothing that was making them hurry. The kiss was charged with heavy emotions that were all too familiar and just a little frightening – because she thought he'd lost them long ago. Turned out, she hadn't been looking thoroughly enough.

In the slow, passionate kiss, where their faces were so close, she felt his cheeks were wet, and it hit her he had been crying too. She'd scared him, hurt him and making him think it was all his fault, which she would admit it was, making him feel guilty for not saving her sooner by claiming her as his.

Slowly, she pulled her face away from his, careful to not put any distance between their bodies and she looked up into his tear-streamed face. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gently caressing her cheek and wiped away the last remnants of tears as he did.

"I love you. Always have, always will," he said, knowing exactly what she needed to ever be truly and completely healed. She looked up into his eyes as he said it, knowing it was the truth, but wondered if she could take it, though knowing she had to, she wasn't sure she could handle it.

"Jethro…" his name came over her lips and she couldn't tell if she pleaded for another kiss or pleaded to let her go.

"I won't let you go, I can't. Do you understand that?" he pulled her into a tight hug and held her that way, feeling her racing pulse and the smell of her perfume mixed with the smell of alcohol and knew that whatever it would take, he was not relinquishing his hold this time. He felt her nod against him.

"Don't you dare let go," she was crying again, finally admitting to what she needed and what she needed was him, and though she wasn't always sure she could handle her love for him, she had to have him to survive. And he was hers, forever her love.