a/n: Writing this was some weird form of personal torture I guess, because it hurt to write. I couldn't get this out of my head after re-watching "Dog Tags" though, so here it is. Obviously some of the dialogue is not mine, and comes directly from the episode "Dog Tags".
The elevator doors opened to reveal Jethro standing in them.
Of course, she thought bitterly. She reluctantly stepped in, while he moved to the side to make more room, seeming agitated. When the doors closed, she decided to break the silence.
"Your investigation?" She asked.
"Oh, moving along," he simply responded. A couple seconds of silence followed, and she felt him move slightly closer to her. She could feel his eyes staring intently at her.
In that snap second, she could feel her emotions being torn. His proximity made it hard for her to think straight. Ever since she found out she was dying, it had been hard to be around Jethro. She found herself questioning the choices she had made, and somewhat regretting the way she had lived her life. If she had known how short it would be, she would have done things differently. She shouldn't have left him. She shouldn't have dedicated so many years on revenge, especially since the revenge hadn't made things feel any better.
She flipped the switch on the elevator, plunging them in darkness. She turned to face him, finally deciding to address whatever had been bugging him all week.
"You've been looking at me all week like you want to ask me something."
He stepped a little closer, looking right into her face.
"Any health issues?" He questioned, his expression serious.
Damn him, she thought. Of course he knew, of course he had picked up on it. He had always been so observant, always able to sniff out anything amiss, especially with her. They knew each other too well. She decided to deny and be evasive. She didn't want to talk about it, especially not with him, it hurt too much.
"I'm fine," she lied, feeling her emotions rise. It hurt to be thinking about this, it hurt to be staring straight into his piercing blue eyes, standing so close to him in the dark elevator.
"Are you sick?" He questioned again, his eyes squinting as he observed her.
She knew he knew, she knew he just wanted her to admit it, but she didn't want to face it. She tore her eyes from his, and turned and flipped the elevator switch again. The lights turned back on, and the elevator hummed to life again.
"My health is fine," she responded, staring straight ahead, not wanting to say the lie straight to his face. He could always tell when she was lying. "Yours, however," she said turning to face him again, "could take a turn for the worse if you don't wrap up this investigation." Her voice was on edge, slightly breaking from emotion. Her vision was also just slightly blurrier, her eyes a little wet. She could tell he saw right through her, and he looked hurt. Maybe he was hurt that she wouldn't be honest and confide in him. Maybe he wasn't actually hurt at all, and she was just projecting her own emotions on him.
The elevator doors opened, and she swiftly turned to leave, not wanting to lose all control of her emotions in front of him. Despite her intentions to leave, she found herself hesitate right outside the doors, her mind working furiously. When the ding sounded for elevator to close again, she turned around and shoved her hand between the doors to keep them from closing.
She stepped back in with Jethro, who was looking agitated, and when he made to leave she swung her arm out in front of his chest to stop him. He turned to look at her and gave her a questioning glare. When the doors closed and the elevator began to move again, she flipped the switch.
She hadn't planned this. She was emotionally on edge, and she knew she was completely vulnerable. She didn't care that her defensive walls were down – she needed to know. It was selfish, but her time was short, and she was staring death in the face, and she couldn't die still wondering.
"Something else you needed to lie about, "Di-rec-tor?" He asked sarcastically, glaring viciously at her.
She steeled herself and turned to face him, cursing inwardly when she felt a tear roll down her cheek. His expression instantly softened, and his agitated glare was replaced with concern.
"Jethro..." she started, pausing to give her emotions a little time to settle, for her voice to not completely betray her. She knew this was stupid, she knew it could make things worse, but she needed to know if that spark between them still existed – or if it was all in her head. She needed to know if he felt the same way she did, or if it was just her that was still holding onto old feelings. He had rejected her invitation when he had been at her house a couple of months ago, which should have been enough to confirm her suspicious, but she needed to make sure one last time. Her emotions were not settling, and she felt a couple more tears slide out of her eyes, and she looked into his intense eyes and felt lost.
"Jen?" He said softly, looking worried and confused.
She wondered how many more times she would hear him call her "Jen", and felt a pang of hopelessness – something she had felt a lot lately. It had always been a nickname she only let him call her. Everyone else said "Jenny", and Ducky was the only person allowed to call her "Jennifer". When Jethro had first started calling her "Jen", when she was his probie, it had really irritated her. Then they fell for each other, and while they were in a relationship it had turned into a nickname she found to be affectionate and meaningful. To this day, despite nine years of not being in a relationship, the nickname still carried a lot of weight and memories with it.
She closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath, opening her eyes back up to face his again.
"I need you to kiss me," she finally said.
His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at her like he didn't understand.
"Jen..." he began, sounding uncertain and backing away a little.
"Please, Jethro," she pleaded, not able to hold back more tears that sprung to her eyes.
He silently stood and contemplated her for a minute, seeming to be deep in thought as he scrutinized her. He stepped forward towards her, and reached up and put both of his hands on each of her cheeks, brushing away her tears with his thumbs.
She felt like time was slowing down as he looked into her eyes, his eyes shrewd and piercing, not much distance separating their bodies. He leaned down, his face slowly getting closer to hers, and then their lips found each other. It was a slow and deliberate kiss, almost cautious. She reached up and rested her hands on the back of his neck, stroking the ends of his hair, pulling him a little closer, more insistent. He moved one of his hands to in between her shoulder blades, and moved the other hand to the back of her head, lacing his fingers into her pulled back hair. The kissing that had started out as cautious turned into much more passionate and intense kissing.
It almost felt like 9 years hadn't passed by, and they were just being their old selves again, completely lost in each other. This wasn't the first time they had made out in this very elevator. He moved forward a bit, and she found her back being pressed against the elevator wall, his body pressing into hers. A small moan escaped her lips, and her hands wandered down his back to rest on his hips, gripping at them a little, he grunted in response.
Suddenly, her head felt fuzzy, and her legs felt really weak. She thought for a second it was just from the breathtaking kiss, until she realized it was from her illness – just one of the symptoms she had been dealing with lately. Occasionally her muscles would feel fatigued, and her arms or legs would just become really weak. She had been feeling a little klutzier, and had been dropping things more than she used to. It was when she began to notice these frequent symptoms that she had finally gone to Ducky to have her health checked out.
Her legs gave out, and she started to slide down the elevator wall a little, breaking their kiss. He instantly reacted and secured her more tightly in his arms, keeping her up and steady, holding her close.
"You okay?" He asked, looking apprehensive.
She held onto the back of his shoulders, resting her forehead against his sternum, waiting for her strength to come back. She just nodded in response, trying to catch her breath.
She hated this. She hated feeling so weak, she hated not having control of herself anymore. It was like her body was betraying her, and it felt so unjust. Tears were springing to her eyes again – she felt frustrated with her circumstances.
A moment ago, she had been kissing Jethro again, testing the waters, feeling swept up in memories and good times. It had been so passionate, and being in his arms and kissing him again had felt so rejuvenating. The spark between them still existed – it wasn't just in her head. She could tell he still had feelings for her as well – he hadn't completely moved on in the last 9 years either. It was a relief to know, realizing that the past wasn't dead, that those feelings still existed even if she had left him the way she did.
It was also disconcerting, because it meant she was going to hurt him by leaving again, only this time it wasn't her choice. She didn't want to cause him anymore pain. This kiss would be the end of it, she wasn't going to let things go any farther. She wasn't going to cause him any extra pain by getting attached again, not when she was inevitably going to die soon. This kiss shouldn't have happened in the first place, it was a selfish idea, because it was enough to stir up old feelings, and she didn't want him getting his hopes up. She should have just left the elevator, left things where they were – it would have made it easier for him to not care as much when she was gone.
Her breath got shakier, and she couldn't control herself before she just started sobbing into his shirt. Jethro continued to hold her, letting her cry, gently squeezing her in comfort.
"I'm sorry," she apologized shakily after a minute, trying to steady her voice, trying to breathe and calm down.
"You going to tell me what's actually going on, now?" Jethro questioned, rubbing her back soothingly.
"Do you really need me to admit it out loud?" She asked quietly. "I know you already suspected, I know you could tell I was lying." She breathed in the smell of him, burying her face against his chest. Her strength was returning again, but she didn't want to let go of him. He was so warm, so comforting, so nostalgic.
"What do you have?"
"Let's just leave it at the fact that I am sick," she replied bitterly, not wanting to talk about all the gory details, not wanting to discuss it.
"How long?" He asked quietly. She could swear she had heard his voice break a little, but it was always hard to tell with him, he was always so good at remaining stony faced and unemotional.
She took in one last breath of him before she steadied herself and gently pushed him away, feeling cold no longer being against him. She flipped the switch and looked forward, ignoring his question.
"Jen," he growled, "how long?"
She looked into his eyes, trying to discern his emotions.
"Does it matter?" She questioned.
He reached his arm out and flipped the switch again. He just looked at her and waited for her to give him an answer.
"Not long enough," she finally answered, feeling her eyes get wet again, and flipped the switch yet again.
He took a deep breath, and she looked over at him, surprised to see that his face wasn't expressionless for a change – he looked pained – hurt.
She turned to him and put a hand on his chest, giving him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry I asked you to kiss me, it was selfish. I just needed to know...I needed to see if..." she hesitated. "It doesn't matter," she finished, looking at the ground and backing away from him again.
"Jen," he said, looking at her until she looked back. "I'm here, if you need me."
She looked into his eyes, her emotions brimming again from his meaningful response, from the way his eyes looked.
The ding sounded and the doors opened, and she walked forward, pausing when she was between the doors.
"Jethro," she started, wanting to convey her emotions to him, wanting to tell him how much he had meant to her in her life. She couldn't find the words, and all she could manage was, "thank you." She walked away, not hesitating this time, not looking back at him. Her eyes filled with tears again as she walked.
When she went home that night, she found herself at her desk staring at a blank piece of paper. She wrote "Dear Jethro," at the top, and sat for almost an hour staring at it, trying to figure out the right words. She wanted him to know how much he meant to her, she wanted him to know how much she regretted leaving him years ago, she wanted him to know that she loved him, and how sorry she was that she was leaving again. She questioned if leaving him a note was a good idea, considering the last time she had left him with a note. She couldn't say it to his face though, and this time the note was actually meaningful, actually needed. She gave up and stuck the paper underneath some of the other stuff on her desk, deciding to finish it later, when she had more time to properly think.
One month later, Jenny found herself sitting in an old abandoned diner with Mike Franks.
She didn't realize that her time was even shorter than she anticipated. In the last month things had been crazy. She had found herself dealing with "the frog" situation again, when her own agency temporarily suspended her, and the FBI interrogated her. She took a couple of weeks off after that – needing some space to breathe – travel a little before her illness got any worse.
She had spent a whole week in Paris, it had always been a city close to her heart since '99. It didn't matter how many times she had been there since then, she always felt lonelier being in the city of love without Jethro. Still, she never tired of seeing the sites, of thinking about all the good times she had enjoyed there.
When she had gotten back to NCIS, only a few busy days had passed before she found herself on a flight to California with Tony and Ziva, to attend her old friend William Decker's funeral. She had wished Jethro could have come to Decker's funeral as well, the three of them had worked very closely together undercover in Russia. She had barely seen Jethro since that kiss in the elevator, they had both been so busy, and she had also been avoiding him somewhat, not wanting to face him. Then she had been out of town, and despite deciding to have a conversation with him after Paris, she never got the chance before she was on her way to the funeral.
And now she wouldn't ever have the chance. The note on her desk flickered in her mind, and she realized she never got the chance to finish that either.
Franks had just gone out to get water, and she hadn't been able to get her mind off of Jethro the entire time they had been in this diner. She knew this was the end, and she was doing it all for Jethro. She had to – it was her fault this was all coming back to haunt them. It was her fault Decker was dead, it was her fault her and Jethro were being targeted now, and she didn't want him to get messed up in this. She knew she would die trying to end this, but it seemed a much more fitting death than what she would have died from otherwise. She'd rather go out in glory in a blazing gunfight, than slowly decline and lose all function.
Their last kiss in that elevator was burned into her memory, just like all the moments they shared in Europe. She had found herself admitting her regrets to Franks earlier, she supposed since she knew it was the end there wasn't any point in keeping it all in. Mike had more or less said that Jethro still liked her too, and she was part of the reason he came back from Mexico. It wasn't a complete surprise, considering that elevator kiss, but it was shocking to hear it from Mike – she didn't think Jethro talked about anything like that to anyone – he was always so bottled up all the time.
She should have done things differently...she shouldn't have left him. They should have gotten married, they could have had kids, they should have spent all of their time together. She knew she was only thinking this way now that she was facing the inevitable end, still – she wished she had done things differently. It didn't matter though, the past was unchangeable, and the future inevitable.
Not to mention, if she had stayed with him, if they had gotten married, if they had children, she would still by dying right now of her illness anyways. Rather than leaving behind an ex-lover who would probably move on in a matter of weeks or months, she would be leaving behind a husband and children who would forever be scarred by her slow and painful death. She would have been a burden on them.
In a way, that made the present seem so much better – knowing that the way things had ended up, she really wasn't putting Jethro through much pain, compared to the pain he would have endured from her death if they had ended up together.
The doors burst open, her moment of silence lost in thought was over, and she raised her gun and began shooting. Every shot she fired was for Jethro, every man that fell to the floor was for Jethro, and every bullet that ripped through her ailing body was for Jethro. As she lay on the floor, her warm blood pooling out around her, quickly slipping out of consciousness and succumbing to the cold, he was the last thing that flashed through her mind.
Jethro moved things around his basement table, looking for where he had put his phone, no longer caring about anything. He didn't give a damn if she did murder the frog, that bastard had it coming, and if anyone understood killing the person responsible for murdering your family – it was him. He didn't give a damn that she was dying, and he didn't give a damn if she only had hours or months to live. They had spent so much time avoiding their feelings, so much time trying to forget the past, that they had wasted so much crucial time that they could have been together.
That kiss a month ago kept popping into his head, and he wished he hadn't let her just walk away, he wished he had pulled her back in that elevator and kissed her some more. Hell, he wished he had gone after her when she had left him with nothing but that damn note 9 years ago. 9 years, 9 entire years that they could have spent together if they hadn't been so stubborn and bitter.
Whatever she had, however long she had, he wanted to be by her side until the end. He knew it would be hell, he knew going through the pain of losing another female that mattered to him could push him past his limits, but he wanted to be with her.
His gut suddenly felt off, like something was really wrong, and he started feeling anxious. He needed to hear her voice, and he needed to hear it now. He finally located his phone and flipped it open hurriedly, dialing her as quickly as he could.
What Jethro didn't know at that very moment, was that he was going to be answered by Tony, only to find out that he would never hear Jenny's voice ever again. What he didn't know was that he was going to be on the next flight to California, hoping that it was all some sick joke, needing to see it for himself. What he didn't know was that he really would never see her face again, or her red hair, or her fair skin – because her body would already be moved by the time he got there, and he wouldn't even be able to bring himself to open her body bag when he got back to DC. No matter how many dead friends he had seen over the years, he didn't want to face her lifeless features, not when he had known her so intimately.
He didn't know that this would all come back to that damn mission in Russia, and he didn't know that he would soon find himself avenging another woman he loved by murdering the individual responsible again, even if it was by Mike's hand this time and not his. He didn't know that in a matter of hours Mike Franks would be telling him something that would forever haunt him forever – "Her last stand was to protect you."
He didn't know that 9 ½ years from now, going into the Director's office would still sometimes remind him of her, and sometimes he would still irrationally hope to see her sitting in that chair with that damn smirk on her face again.