Title: The Fates in Disguise
Summary: NCIS. Three parts. The end of 'Blowback' (4x14) could have changed everything if only a split-second decision had gone a different way… "You should have let Ziva take the shot…" Rewind.
Note: For those who may be unaware, The Moirae are known in Greek mythology as The Fates. Clotho was the Fate that spun the thread of life. Lachesis was the Fate that measured the thread of life. And Atropos was the Fate that cut the thread of life.
Author's Comments: This one has been sitting in my files for a long while, sitting close to being finished but not quite. Then I realized I could split it up and just go with it. See now, I've always had a huge love for NCIS since it began, but when Lauren Holly came to the cast as Jenny Shepard, it sent my love into orbit. I adored the back & forth between Jenny & Gibbs and her interaction as "mommy" with the team. And I always hoped that one day, she and Gibbs would be able to say what they really felt about each other. Then… well, then came Judgment Day (the horror of all horrors that it progressed into), and all I could think (through the tears – yes, I cried) was that there was something amiss. There was a cover-up of some sort, there HAD to be… and thus came the denial that plenty of other fans have spoken of. We fans had closure with Kate – we got to go to her funeral, we got to see her body, we got to say goodbye to her through all of the other characters. But we never got that with Jenny, and it pains me as I watch the show to this day (hence why I watch it sporadically now). So, I've rewound the seasons, and picked a moment that I could spin things MY way… the way that Jenny & Gibbs should have had them…
1. Appeasing Atropos
"Take the shot, Archangel…"
Four words. Four words changed her whole world.
As they packed up the truck to meet up with Ducky, all Jenny Shepard could do was hold her breath. She wasn't going to let the world fall off of her shoulders just yet. Not when she was still with the 'team'. And certainly not with a certain ex-partner-current-subordinate looking on… watching & knowing her every reaction. And absolutely not while she was Jenny Shepard, Director of NCIS.
Besides, they still had to make a safe getaway. Only when Ducky was completely out of the line of fire and back at the Navy Yard would she really truly think they'd succeeded. That SHE had succeeded. That maybe… maybe... the world could be spun to rights again.
Rene Benoit - La Grenouille, the Frog - was dead. The head of the proverbial dragon was gone. But the fact that the world was now minus one arms dealer made no never mind to Jenny. It just wasn't that simple. And the blatant facts that investigations were imminent and that La Grenouille's network was now dangerously without direction were issues to be dealt with when the sun came up.
The CIA, for all the pain in the ass they were, was keeping everything silent and taking the 'clean-up' under their scope of work. And for once, NCIS wasn't going to be territorial over one of its ops. The less hands involved from NCIS the better. Plausible deniability was the name of the game in Washington, D.C. It was a game she was honing to perfection.
Her heels echoed slightly over the cement, and she was surprised when she heard a second set of footfalls next to her. It was even more surprising that it wasn't Gibbs. She was expecting a lecture…
"So," Tony DiNozzo said from her side. Sharp green eyes flicked to the younger man that had been a supreme aid to her in her quest. "Now that Moby Dick's dead, what are you going to do next?"
Jenny couldn't help but chuckle at Tony's reference. He'd used the same analogy for Gibbs dogged pursuit of Ari Haswari, from what she'd heard. She didn't know whether she should feel honored… or chastised. So, Jenny picked a mix of the two.
She was also very aware of a familiar pair of blue eyes watching this intimate conversation as she trekked back to her usual hired car. She stepped up to the car door being held open for her and turned to smile at Tony, very aware that this smile – for the first time in years – didn't feel even the slightest bit forced.
"Go to Disneyland," was her saccharine response. Tony laughed appreciatively, but he sobered as he looked beyond the façade. Having the ear of the director for the past few months during Gibbs' absence had allowed for a bit more familiarity between them. A familiarity that he didn't take for granted. Nor would he, even with Gibbs back at the helm once more.
"You'll call me if you need anything?" he asked. This took the redhead by surprise. She knew Tony DiNozzo was a good agent. On his way to becoming a great agent, really, under Gibbs' tutelage. But maybe she'd underestimated his observant nature even more than she had in the past. Jenny mentally shook her head. Probie mistake on her part. But, he buried it successfully behind the jock persona and it served him well. Jenny disregarded the fact that the entire team was watching, in wait of Tony joining them for a quick debrief, as she reached up and let her hand brush his cheek in a quick, personal 'thank you'.
"Go home," she said. He cocked his head to one side as he studied her.
"The CIA's gonna be all over this. Not to mention the Feds," he noted. She smiled. It was something she already knew, given the phone call she'd received earlier… and disregarded.
"Paperwork, evasion and a little political subterfuge can wait. Just get back to DC and then go home. The op's over."
"Can't refuse a direct order like that. And maybe I'll pick up a pair of whale-skin loafers on my way," he said cheekily.
"Don't piss off PETA. I have enough agencies knocking on my door," she warned. He grinned.
"They're part of the alphabet, too. And I did learn from the master," he noted as he closed the door on her husky laugh. She sat back in the leather seat with a sigh and relished the momentary silence.
"Your plane, Madame Director?" the driver asked. Her eyes watched through the anonymity of the tinted windows as Tony approached the 'team'. He slung an arm companionably over Ziva's shoulder and laughed at something McGee had said. Gibbs followed behind, watchful as ever of their surroundings as he held his phone to his ear. No doubt coordinating with Ducky.
"It's been awhile since I've been to Montreal. Can you drive around for a bit?" she asked, not quite ready to go back to Washington or her waiting townhouse. Her father's townhouse. Jenny could see the driver's smile in the rear-view mirror and she smiled in return. He wasn't quite Stanley, but he was growing on her as the months went by. Hopefully he wouldn't become collateral damage as his predecessor had.
"Of course, Director," was the answer. The car pulled away just as she saw Gibbs shoot a thoughtful look in her direction. But she paid no special mind to it. The team would find their way back to DC together without her help. The SecNav had his personal plane waiting for her for the hour flight… and it would wait a few more minutes.
As the car weaved its way through the familiar streets of DC, Jenny lost herself in the city and in the views that she so often took for granted. The Navy Yard was presently the sole focus of her life… and very rarely did she pull her head up out of the paperwork to enjoy a town she had spent so much time away from in her youth. But the short time spent roaming the streets of the Canadian city hours earlier helped to bring some things back into perspective.
As the car crossed the Potomac to head back towards Georgetown, Jenny's eyes lingered on the ethereal nighttime glow given off by the Lincoln Memorial ahead of them. The memorial had always been a favorite of her father's. He'd often end up there after his weekend visits to Arlington. And sometimes, he'd let her tag along. Those moments alone were why she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he'd refused the bribes he'd been accused of taking. Jasper Shepard had been a man of honor. A man who had worn the Army uniform with respect for all of those who had worn it before him, and for all of those who would wear it after him.
Part of her felt missing tonight now that the vengeance was gone. And Jenny couldn't help but wonder if that vengeance had been a replacement – an emotion of productivity rather than an emotion of uselessness such as loneliness. And now, as she tucked herself into the corner of the car and watched as a beautiful Washington night passed by the window, she realized how lonely she really was.
Revenge was an inherently solitary task. It would always be cold and calculated, and there was no room for more. It had been a bargain she'd been prepared to take ten years ago when she'd caught her break. But 'prepared' certainly didn't mean 'immune'. It had taken her years to steel her heart after writing a particularly painful letter. And there were moments the pain slipped back in, driving her mad for the split second she allowed it.
Now, though, she'd had her retribution – the cloak of invincibility that had kept her from wavering in her choices stripped away. And as the light of day approached ever closer, she wondered if revenge would have its own retribution. What would it have in store for her?
But the intangible didn't scare her. She was not afraid. Jenny Shepard would face it, head held high and unashamed. Just as she had when she'd walked off a plane a lifetime ago. Regret would be the little shadow in the corner, witness to whatever may be.
She dreamt later that night. She dreamt of a shootout in a desert. It was vague and what Abby Sciutto would existentially call 'trippy' in a barrage of over-caffeinated words. And when she awoke, Jenny had an insatiable urge for tea… and the never-ending thought that maybe she'd been blind in her quest for what she'd long considered the Holy Grail. Now that La Grenouille was dead, her pin-sharp focus was starting to widen. And she was apprehensive about the carnage she may have left in her wake. All ten years' worth of it…
The red numbers on her bedside clock told her it was early. Too early to go into the office and most likely too late to try to go back to sleep. And the dream still flashed in the back of her mind, the sound of guns still echoing somewhere in her subconscious.
As she threw back the covers, Jenny unconsciously reached up to rub her shoulder where a phantom ache seemed to manifest.
You made your bed…
A voice haunted her. It was gruff, scratchy, and always with a touch of sarcastic amusement. Jenny turned to look at the disheveled mess that was her bed.
"What if I don't want to lie in it?" she told the darkness. A prickle of unease teased the edge of her mind. It was a feeling she'd had since Paris, but she'd long been able to block it out, a larger purpose providing a healthy shield from it. But that purpose, in the form of a man, was no longer there. And that tickle, that flutter of uncertainty was back in the forefront. This was, no doubt, the first of many sleepless nights. Jenny knew herself well enough to understand that. The nightmares had simply shifted… from one worry to another that she'd held at bay for over ten years.
And this one had a different face attached to it. Another person she loved, or had loved… This worry was as deeply personal as the other had been mere days ago.
With a sigh, Jenny went to her closet. She pulled out a sweater and a pair of jeans. If she wouldn't be able to go back to bed, then she'd at least try to alleviate the worry to a manageable level.
The sound of sanding reached her ears even before she made it to the top of the stairs. Jenny smiled to herself. Predictable Jethro. She shook her head as she started her descent into his sanctuary. He didn't turn around as her footsteps sounded. Again, she shook her head.
"I hope that's not a sign of your old age, Jethro," she teased, the smile from before still on her face.
"What?" he asked, not turning around as she approached.
"The fact that you don't react to a stranger entering your house… at this time of the morning." As he turned around to look at her, she held out his venti-sized Jamaican blend as she took a drink from her own. With a smirk, he took it from her.
"You're not a stranger, Jen," he said. She arched a brow as she watched him avoid her eyes.
"I hope you weren't expecting a blonde," she commented. Gibbs' eyes snapped up to meet hers at the mention of Hollis. The glare caused her to chuckle. "Poor thing. You get my company instead…"
"There's nothing wrong with your company," he grumbled, tossing the sanding block onto the workbench and taking a drink of his unexpected gift.
"Mmmm," she shrugged non-commitally. Gibbs rolled his eyes.
"You done fishing for compliments?" She didn't answer. Instead she went down a different vein.
"I do have to say, though, Jethro. It's good to see a blonde. It's a sign you're getting out of your rut," she said on a chuckle, but with the smallest hint of bitterness present in her voice. Whether he noticed or not, Gibbs didn't let on. Instead, the blue glare turned icy.
"Stop it." She turned to him with a small twitch of a smile.
"What? Can't a friend comment on another friend's good luck?"
She could tell from the look on his face that he was holding himself back from saying something particularly nasty. And for a moment, she regretted the restraint. Jenny was fully aware that the 'director' stigma kept even the off-the-record conversations fairly edited between them.
"Are you trying to pick a fight?" he asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing in sudden understanding. Fighting with her had always been a means to an end. It had always brought out a sense of conversation between them. And it had always brought out the truth. It was the thing about Leroy Jethro Gibbs that Jenny Shepard understood to a level that always astounded him. None of his ex-wives had ever tried to understand it. They'd always wanted him to talk… Her green eyes met his.
"Not particularly," she commented. But the small shrug she gave told him that she wasn't exactly adverse to it, either. He let out a breath.
"You realize we're going to have to deal with a load of horseshit tomorrow from the three-letter boys, right?" he asked. No beating around the bush anymore. Jenny just smiled.
"I'm fully aware of the bureaucratic bullshit I'm going to have to wade through tomorrow."
"The team will, too. They'll be put on the spot," he warned. Jenny smiled again, this time her diplomatic, director smile. He hated that smile.
"Not if I have anything to say about it. As far as I'm concerned, we had reliable intel and NCIS acted on my call for the greater good. Judgment call. And I made it," she said. Gibbs studied her for a moment and whatever he found seemed to satisfy him for a moment.
"I'd buy that."
"It's politics now, Jethro. And I'm good at politics." Gibbs smirked.
"That's why you're the director," he said. Silence fell again as he watched her meander around his basement. "It became personal, didn't it? The 'judgment call'. And that's why you're here right now."
She stayed at the far end of the room as she hugged her arms close.
"Personal, professional… regardless of which it was, it was still my judgment call," she said, her eyes roaming over the wooden frame in front of her.
"And you want me to tell you that it's okay," Gibbs told her. He leaned back against the workbench and crossed his own arms. "You know that I can't judge you on that." His mind flashed back to a moment in Mexico… and his own 'judgment call'.
"No," Jenny agreed. "No, you can't." This time, she wasn't afraid of his proximity. She hadn't wanted to be next to him as he'd been her judge, jury and executioner. But she should have known better… as she went to stand next to him, she let the mantle of 'director' drop. "I did what I'd set out to do. Just as I'm sure you did." Gibbs turned to face her.
"It didn't take me ten years," he commented. Or a broken heart in my wake. It was then he was served a flash of insight. His revenge all those years ago hadn't affected him quite so much because his heart had already been shattered. He'd already been at the end of it all, at the end of a gun barrel. And when all was said and done, it had been Jenny who'd really started to put that very heart back together again. She'd been just as heartbroken as he when they'd been in Paris, and just as caught off guard as they got caught up in each other.
His eyes met hers, and for the first time, he realized he'd been putting her shattered heart back together as well. And it maybe hadn't been part of her 'plan'… He stepped closer to her suddenly.
"Was The Frog the reason why you left me a letter?" He was crowding her, and for a second she contemplated shifting away. But she held her ground and met his unflinching stare.
"You know full well why I had to…" He didn't blink at her insignificant flare of anger. He wasn't going to take anything more than the actual truth. A European transfer for her while he headed home was only a smokescreen, and he knew it. He'd had a few years to figure some of it out, but especially now, as part of it had unraveled before his eyes.
"The Frog…" he repeated, this time setting his palms on either side of her on his workbench. Jenny's chin dropped fractionally, and Gibbs bent down slightly to keep eye contact. "Jen…"
"I couldn't let you get involved in my revenge," she admitted on a breath.
"Meaning that you didn't want me to get in the way of your revenge," he clarified as he shook his head. He waited for the denial, but it didn't come.
"Yes," she acknowledged softly, turning her face away from him in shame. "And no. Yes - because if you'd known, and if you'd asked, I'd have dropped it without a thought. And I'd have ended up hating you. I know that much about myself. No - because I couldn't take that risk with your life. If anything had happened to you because of my vendetta, I would have hated myself more than I already do. It was really a no-win situation." His posture relaxed a bit as he studied her, but his hands still kept her trapped.
"So, I take it the directorship is more of a perk than it was an actual goal then?" he asked, stepping back from her and leaning his hip against the workbench next to her. She'd used ambition as her reasoning for leaving him… them… behind. He now knew that wasn't true. Jenny's eyes snapped up to meet his. They narrowed dangerously.
"Don't interrogate me, Jethro. I told you what you needed to know…"
"And anything more than that would be fluff, right? And the Director of NCIS doesn't do fluff."
"Neither did the special agent, if I recall," she retorted, remembering very well how she operated back then. "I never required it. Which is what you'd liked about me. And it's what I'd liked about you. But despite that arrangement, I did you wrong. I'm trying to rectify it now by being honest with you."
Gibbs took a minute to uncap the bourbon bottle that had been sitting next to his elbow and pour a small amount into one of the ever-present mason jars. He held out the glass to her in offering, but she shook her head to decline.
"Bygones then?" he asked, swallowing the amber liquid in his practiced manner. For a moment, Jenny's eyes focused on the tanned neck muscles as they worked and was transported back to Paris. But she closed her eyes at the memory and willed it away. The strings needed to be cut and the baggage left behind.
"It has to be, Jethro. I can't live in the regrets anymore and my revenge is done. Whatever the future brings, I need it all to be behind me. Where it belongs," she said. When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her. And from the look in his eyes, she knew that he'd been to Paris with her those few moments ago.
"Whatever that future is, Jen," he said, his eyes shifting to look at the boat for a moment before going back to her. "I've always got your back."
It was an acknowledgement to a long-standing partnership. And the underlying respect and friendship they'd always had for each other. And just as she had for Tony hours before, she raised a hand to the man's cheek - this one far more intimate and lingering. But a personal 'thank you' just as the other one had been.
"And I've always got yours."
The sudden ringing of both of their phones went ignored for a few long moments as they effectively and decisively buried whatever hatchet from the past they'd been wielding. The world could wait for that long, at least.
TBC in Part 2…
"Lachesis' Lament"