This is a post Judgment Day story. In this universe, the whole Rivkin thing never happened which is why Michael is called Michael. I apologise if the French is wrong, it was never my strong point and I haven't done any for over a year and now do Italian so i kept getting them muddled. Hopefully you can understand my text language, if you can't send me a PM and I'll either tell you or put a translation in the next update. Reviews make me jump up and down with joy! (hint hint...)
Christina x
NCISNCISNCIS
It was early. The sun was beginning to peek over the top of the buildings, bathing the city in an orange glow. Already there were cars on the road, drivers going to another day at work. People hurried along the streets, passing boulangeries and cafés, no one giving a second glance at the woman standing on the small balcony over looking the city. Her red hair was loose, falling over her shoulders as she leant on the wrought iron railing, looking out at the view. Even after three years Jenny Shepard still found the view breathtaking. She could see the Eiffel Tower, standing proud, Notre Dame on the banks of the Seine, and the Arc de Triomphe, currently surrounded by cars. The strained sound of the traffic reached her ears.
Only once the sun had fully risen did Jenny move. Watching the sunrise was how she started every morning. Then she left her small apartment, walking down the five flights of stairs. Outside in the street, the air was warm, it was spring and not yet too hot. The long hot European summers made her think of summers past, memories which were still painful even yet. Like she did every morning Jenny went to the little post office and checked her postal box. It contained only one letter, the address written in a familiar scrawl. The postal workers had complained before that her correspondent had terrible writing. As usual, the name was different from the last, but each time with the initials J.S. Writing her real name, like her address, was too dangerous. Today the letter was addresses to Jasmine Sanchez. Jenny bought a takeout coffee from one of the cafés and carried it to the park. She sat on a bench and carefully opened the letter.
14th May
Dear Jenny,
How's Paris? Forgotten all of us back home yet? Enjoying all the wonderful delicacies like snails and frog legs and horse sausages still?
She smiled, almost able to hear the humor in his voice.
Michael turned two last week, I put in a picture for you to see of the three of us. He's growing up so fast.
I know you'll be wanting the lowdown on what's going on at NCIS, so I'm quite tempted to not tell you but you'd probably arrange to have me killed so I'll tell you. Everything's fine. Vance is still director (unfortunately!) and Gibbs hasn't started a war with anyone yet. Although he does try hard sometimes.
That was one thing she didn't miss, clearing up Jethro's mess every second day. Correction, every day. Politics really was not his strong point.
We all miss you and wish you were still here. Although considering the rest of them all think you're dead it's a bit different for them but you know what I mean. Bye Jenny.
Tony
Jenny stared at the familiar writing for a moment, then took the photo from the envelope. She smiled at Tony and Ziva holding their two year old son Michael, whose hand was caught in his mother's hair as she held him. Tony had his arm slung around Ziva's waist and his other hand on Michael's arm. Jenny felt a wave of homesickness. She missed them all so much.
XOXOXOX
When Jenny returned home that evening, she began making dinner, an Italian dish Tony had stolen the recipe for from Ziva and sent to her. He had done so much for her. He was the only one who'd noticed she was still alive, rescuing her from the body bag and getting her to and LA hospital. Then he'd bought her ticket to Paris. Over the years he'd sent her letters keeping her updated with news from home. E-mail was too risky, too easily traced by Abby and McGee, the same went for the phone. She'd bought a cell phone and sent him the number but it was purely for emergencies. But it was too risky for her to send him many letters. Any she did send had to be written in such a way that if Ziva or anyone else read them, they wouldn't become suspicious.
After dinner she curled up in the armchair which sat in front of the doors to the balcony with a book and read until it was late, then she went to bed. And such was her existence in Paris, lonely, repetitive, yet necessary.
XOXOXOX
"Pack your bags."
"Where're we going boss?" Tony asked.
"Paris."
"Paris?" Ziva asked. "Why?"
"Because Ensign Johnson's wife lives there," Gibbs called over his shoulder.
XOXOXOX
"Bonjour mademoiselle."
"Bonjour," Jenny smiled, handing her book to the shop assistant.
"En anglais?" he asked.
"Oui," she replied. "To improve my English," she added in French.
"Ah, mais oui, mais oui," he smiled. "Sept euro sil vous plait." She handed him the money. "Merci mademoiselle."
"Merci. Au revoir."
As Jenny left the store, her cell phone went off. She took it from her bag, expecting it to be a message from her operator. It wasn't. One new message: Tony. It read:
case taking us 2 paris. ziva mcg n gibbs all comin 2. arrive 2moro morn. Text u when we arrive. T
XOXOXOX
"So where does Johnson's wife stay?" McGee asked as he reached for a croissant at breakfast the next morning. They'd arrived in the early hours of the morning and were all jet lagged. Except Gibbs of course.
Gibbs read out the address. Tony's ears pricked up. That was Jenny's apartment building. He swore silently. As soon as he got the chance he sent a message to Jenny.
woman stays in ur buildin. gibbs n mcg goin 2 speak 2 her. mite talk 2 neighbours. stay out. i'll send u a message wen they r back. T