a/n: Here we go, here we go, here we go - with part 2 of 4 ! since Gilmore Girls, in part, inspired this story happening at all (because I asked my room mate what things would be like if Gibbs was just like, a "Christopher" dad), this part is more heavily Gilmore Girls inspired than NCIS - although I think you'll appreciate the homages to NCIS I've got in here, they get more blatant as the story goes on! Though I will say, after revisions and brainstorming, Gibbs isn't really a "Christopher" type - but you'll see.

Los Angeles, California: 1987

The Way It Was

It was a game that Natalie usually liked: Jenny would reach out, gently grab one of her toes, and pretend not to notice, subtly tickling the digit until Natalie was shrieking with laughter and squirming – then she'd move on to the next toe, and the next, until she snatched up the baby and bestowed a cuddly tickle hug on her – tickle monster, Natalie's father had called it.

It wasn't working.

Jenny had two fingers on Natalie's middle toe, and two fingers pressed against the pendant she always wore, fiddling with the chain as she silently – desperately – willed the little girl to laugh. Natalie still stared at her with sullen, uncertain eyes – wary, almost mistrustful.

Jenny feebly tickled the toe, and Natalie pulled her foot away. She shifted and crawled forward, balancing on her hands and knees. She looked around and then sat, staring at Jenny with big eyes.

"Da Da," she said. She pointed, though her finger sought nothing in particular. Her mouth shook. "Mama," she whimpered.

"I know," Jenny murmured, sighing. She sat back, watching Natalie – they'd been here for days, but it felt like an eternity – long stretches of time when Jenny was lost, fumbling, not sure if she regretted what she'd done, trying to get ahold of herself and decide what to do next – and still, Natalie was confused, looking for her father – for anything familiar, really.

Jenny pushed her hair back, and tried to pull Natalie into her lap, but the toddler twisted away and stood up, walking towards the window. She grabbed at the sill and started whining, stomping one foot.

"You want to look outside?" Jenny asked softly, approaching calmly. She smoothed Natalie's hair, and then picked her up, supporting her with one arm under her behind, and looking out the condominium window with her.

Melanie Shepard lived in a nice little condo near Long Beach, elegantly decorated and not quite child friendly, but boasting of an extra room and plenty of hospitality: she seemed delighted to have her daughter staying with her, though Jenny wondered anxiously if Melanie would go back on her word that they were welcome to live with her.

It had been so long since Melanie had had to worry about anyone but herself, and Natalie was proving difficult to handle, at the moment – it was to be expected, to a certain extent, and she wasn't acting out violently or uncontrollably, she just seemed scared and unhappy. Jenny was terrified she'd irrevocably damaged her, and because of that she was confused – she hadn't really thought Natalie was old enough to notice a big change.

But what did she know?

"I don't know anything," Jenny murmured in Natalie's ear, staring at the landscape outside the condo – this window looked out on a courtyard, framed by a neat little path that led off towards an alcove. Jenny knew that there was a small play area in that alcove, but even after a mere few days, she got the sense Natalie was one of the only – if not the only – children in the building.

It was a very sleek, chic kind of single-fashionista-in-her-thirties place. Perfect for Melanie – though Jenny's mother was in her mid forties.

"Look at the pretty sunset, Bug," she whispered kindly, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

Natalie shuffled her feet, and pointed out the window.

"Sun-set," she repeated carefully. She made a little whining noise. "Where?" she asked. "Where?"

"Where's who?" Jenny asked patiently, wincing – she understood implicitly that Natalie was asking about someone.

"Where?" was all the little girl repeated, and Jenny wondered if she was some kind of existential wunderkind, asking where she was, and where they were going.

"Somewhere over the rainbow," Jenny answered gently, kissing the back of Natalie's head.

Natalie put her hands on the window, relying on Jenny to keep her balanced. Jenny held her tightly, and glanced over her shoulder to look about the room – it was a mess; Jenny had to get it in order somehow. She also had to find some way to put a bed in for Natalie – the room was spacious, and for now Natalie was little, but Jenny wasn't sure what to do; even at two, she'd still been in the crib in Stillwater, because it was convenient, but she was plenty old to be out of it and Jenny didn't know what to put her in.

"Mama," Natalie said, turning her head.

"What, darling?" Jenny asked obediently, arching her brows and meeting her eyes.

"Where," she said insistently. "Da da?"

Frustrated, Jenny swallowed hard – how was she capable of quantifying things like that, of understanding that they were far away – Gibbs hadn't even been home when they left.

She couldn't think of anything to say, and she sighed.

"He's still at training," she said tiredly. "Remember, Natalie? Marines? Military," she said. "He's at training. He's going to stay at training," she said. "We're going to stay here," she murmured.

"Melly," Natalie said matter-of-factly, though she childishly pronounced the 'Ls' like 'Ws'.

Jenny nodded.

"Yes, we're staying with Melly," she agreed.

Natalie nodded.

"You like Melly, don't you?" Jenny asked quietly. "She's nice, and she has bath bubbles that smell delicious."

She felt like she was bribing Natalie, and trailed off. Natalie leaned back into her and still looked outside at the sunset. She sighed quietly, and Jenny wondered what she was thinking – she always wondered, almost fascinated, what was going on the mind of a toddler.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Melanie herself stepped in. She crossed her arms and leaned on the frame, one eyebrow cocked.

"How's it going?" she asked easily.

Jenny swept Natalie off the windowsill and sat her on the bed, handing her a toy and then turning to her mother. She remained alert to Natalie's movement, so she'd be aware if the little girl tried to move and risked falling, but she turned her attention to Melanie.

"Not much better," she said worriedly, her eyes stinging. "She's not – listless, she's not necessarily unhappy, she's just," Jenny sighed, swallowing hard. "That tantrum this morning, Mom, she never does that," she admitted. "I've never – I've never seen her bite anyone, and I know she tore your skin."

Melanie waved her hand.

"She didn't mean it," she said effortlessly.

"But you let us stay here, and then she turns around and bites you and I'm afraid if she keeps doing that – "

"That I'll kick you out?" Melanie interrupted. She rolled her eyes. "Darling, as uninvolved a mother as I was later in your life, it was me and only me while your father was deployed and you were that age," she said, laughing. "And you were a biter."

Jenny swallowed nervously.

"I was?"

"Oh, yes."

Jenny glanced over her shoulder, her cheeks flushing, and shook her head a little.

"Still," she said quietly. "She's not – she's not unruly, she's never been this … stubborn, or prone to fits." Jenny hesitated. "She was always … very like Jethro," she murmured, her voice strained. "Quiet. Guarded."

Melanie pushed her hair back, and shrugged.

"Well, you've uprooted her, Jenny," she said simply, gently. "Babies at that age – toddlers – they're very sensitive to massive changes in the routine."

She said it so blithely, as if it was such common knowledge, and Jenny felt like she'd been slapped, startled to hear something like that – no, wouldn't it make more sense that the littler she was, the less of an upset the whole shaking up would be? The point of this was to pre-empt whatever divorced disaster would have ripped up her world in ten years.

"She didn't start doing this when Gibbs left," she spoke up, grasping at straws. "She was still Natalie – "

Melanie nodded, and shrugged again.

"As often as she saw the boy, though, Jenny, she still wasn't living with both of you. She woke up every morning in a house with you and Jasper, and when he left, that remained the same – the only person she sees now who she recognizes is you, and even the house is strange – that's why she holds the walls when she walks," Melanie added, touching on a quirk Natalie had developed in the past few days. "She doesn't feel safe here yet."

"But babies are supposed to be adaptable," Jenny retorted, half-pleading.

"She is, she is," Melanie agreed. She pushed her hair back again. "In a month, maybe shorter, she'll think she lived here her whole life, more than likely – but still, it is a big system shock for a two-year-old, moving away from the little world she'd known all her life. Alteration of routine is a big catalyst for terrible two behavior."

Jenny's heart slammed against her chest; she felt guilty, angry, and shamed.

"I didn't know this – I've never heard any of this," she said, her voice cracking. "I thought it was better to do it now than later, I thought I was thinking like a mother –God, how can I still not know what I'm doing?" she burst out desperately.

So much for her being able to feel completely secure in her right and ability to parent – she suddenly had the brief desire to hightail it back to Stillwater and sign over custody to her father – to anyone who was more competent than her.

Melanie laughed good-naturedly.

"Oh, hon," she soothed easily. "You'll never know what you're doing," she comforted, sitting down on the edge of a short bureau. "Take that from me."

Jenny stared at her, and she shook her head helplessly, her lips parted.

"I'll feel like I'm doing it right someday, though," she said. "Right?"

"Probably not," Melanie admitted lightly. She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Do you know – I woke up on the morning your flight came in, and I spent my entire vanity routine wondering if this was all my fault. Asking myself if you got pregnant because you didn't have a mother to talk to, or because I didn't come see you more. And maybe it is my fault," she sighed, "but…maybe if I'd been there, I'd have tried to talk to you too much, and you'd have had sex anyway."

Jenny licked her lips.

"It didn't have anything to do with you," she said softly, her brow furrowed. "I've never really – resented you. I always knew you loved me – Mom, I didn't have sex for attention or to rebel, I just…I love Jethro."

Melanie didn't respond for a moment.

"Every time your father brought up retiring and moving to Stillwater, we fought. Huge fights, knock-down-drag outs, emotionally bloody fights. You caught us one night – "

"I remember."

"—and we both swore you weren't going to grow up in that kind of household. My own parents were miserable. You could sense how unhappy they were. Jasper's … your grandfather was a drunk, and back then, your grandmother couldn't have dared run off to get away."

Melanie paused thoughtfully.

"Jenny, I love you; I've never regretted having you, but I had a baby because that's what you did: you got married, and then you had a baby, and you didn't really question it. You weren't an accident, but there was no thought to what motherhood entailed. And being a mother is very hard, and it exhausted me, and your father was always a better parent than I am – his patience was better, probably because he's trained to handle anything that comes at him."

Jenny stared at her raptly, absorbed in what she was saying – her mother usually didn't talk so much, or reflect so much, but maybe that was just because Jenny had never given her enough credit.

"I thought you wanted your baby, and to marry your Marine," Melanie said. "That's why I … encouraged that, I guess. When you came to me … I told your father I wouldn't send you back by force, I won't try to tell you what to do, because it's a relief to me every day that you don't have any animosity towards me – I made a selfish decision when I sighed over full custody to your father, but if I'd stayed," she sighed softly, "I don't think you would have liked me very much."

Jenny chewed on the inside of her lip.

"I do want my baby," she said. "I think I did … even when I didn't," she mused. "It just wasn't so much of a, a," she held her hand tensely near her stomach, "a crushing reality until he left, and I realized we were going to become different people – we're still growing up, we aren't who we're going to be yet, and with him away, and me there in Stillwater or left behind, wherever he deployed, we'd be strangers, in the end."

She wiped at her eyes, taking a deep breath.

"I love him so much," she whispered to the ground. "It's just not always that simple."

Melanie nodded – hadn't she said the same thing, when Jenny asked her about her own divorce? She folded her arms, and looked over Jenny's shoulder to Natalie. The little girl was playing with a Rubik's cube, concentrated on the colours. Every once in a while, she'd bite down with concentration on a corner, then roll it in her hands, and Melanie smiled.

"He's also the first and only person you've ever loved," Melanie said. "That works sometimes. Other times, it creates a very small, snow-globe world that shatters with a little pressure."

"How many men have you loved besides Daddy?" Jenny asked hoarsely.

Her mother grinned.

"We're different women, Jennifer," she remarked wryly. "I fall in love at the drop of a hat. Hundreds."

Jenny smiled a little – that carefree attitude, it really soothed her soul sometimes, when she felt too old for her age, like she was suffocating with responsibility and fear. She took a deep breath, and tried to catch her bearings.

"What are you going to do about Jethro?" Melanie asked.

Jenny pushed her hair back and swallowed tensely, wiping at her eyes. She shook her head as if she couldn't think about it at all, and folded her arms across her chest tightly, like a shield.

"I wrote him a letter," she said huskily. "I sent it on to Jackson – his father," she clarified. "Daddy wouldn't pass it on – do my dirty work," she said bitterly. "I don't know, I guess it's up to him," she managed shakily. "He gets done with training in about another two weeks, and he'll … call, or – I don't know what he'll do."

Melanie was silent.

"What will you do if he does?"

Jenny shook her head slowly.

"I don't know. I don't know."

She closed her eyes. She hadn't thought this through, not to the end, not as far as she could have, but the answers would fall into place, or reveal themselves; wildly, some of her thought it could just go on like it did, with him taking leave to see her in California, but logically, most of her knew she had done some damage to what they had, that he'd be angry, that they wouldn't work.

"Will you let him see her?" Melanie asked.

"Of course," Jenny murmured softly, turning and resting her eyes on Natalie. "We were kidding ourselves," she said to herself, her brow furrowing.

Her mother was quiet, and in the silence, Jenny picked up Natalie and held her close.

"You're closer to figuring that out every day," Jenny murmured to her, tapping the Rubik's cube. "Jethro got it for her," she added quietly, again, almost to herself.

Natalie held it up. She smiled sweetly. Jenny kissed her forehead.

"Your father gave you an ultimatum?" Melanie asked carefully.

Jenny nodded.

"The end of the month, or he cuts me off," she repeated dryly. She swallowed, bracing herself.

"Will you go back?" Melanie asked.

Jenny held her breath, taking the Rubik's cube from Natalie. She wondered if the little girl would solve it one of these days; turn out to be some child prodigy, some little savant. She smiled at her, and she felt scared, selfish, guilty, and unsure – but she shook her head anyway.

"No," she answered softly. "No, I can't go back. I can't face any of those people again."

She hesitated, and looked up.

"I don't know if I'm doing the right thing," she admitted wearily.

Her mother gave her a look that was devoid of judgment or opinion; she just smiled simply, and said:

"It doesn't matter if you know or not. Do it like you're confident you're right."

Jenny blinked, taken aback – and she leaned against the bed, resolved to take that advice to heart. Maybe it was bad advice, maybe it was naïve advice, but it seemed like it could do her a world of good – it's what Gibbs had done, when he joined the Marines; it's what she would do, to at least make sure that if nothing else, Natalie thought her mother had it all together.

For an eerie three weeks, Jenny lived in calm state of surreal indifference; she forced herself not to think about Gibbs, forced herself not to dwell on what would happen when he got back to Stillwater and she wasn't there –

She explored the surrounding areas, took Natalie to the park and to the beach, made lists only to cross them all out and make new lists, made plans only to tear the plans up and make new ones – she tried to figure out what she was doing, and very carefully tried not to think about anything else. But it was all so connected – that it was difficult. She'd get halfway through planning something for Natalie – like how she was going to take care of childcare – and have to turn her attention somewhere else, because her mind went to Gibbs.

So for three weeks – three weeks – she lived almost as if Natalie had no father at all, as if she'd just burst into being like the gender-swapped celestial Christ, and it was relaxing in a way that was so frail, and so breakable – that it predictably came shattering to pieces on the day she knew his training had ended and he'd be back in Stillwater.

She woke up that morning nervous; stunned she hadn't received a call from Pennsylvania, with him screaming at her, ripping her apart, demanding to know why she'd done what she'd done – and then, when that didn't happen, when it appeared he hadn't gotten home early and then called through a three hour time difference to shout at her, she started the day in an almost catatonic state of anxious stress, silently and mechanically wondering when it was going to happen.

As the hours went on, it didn't.

Nothing happened.

The absence of a hugely dramatic event did not make her feel relieved; it only served to make her muscles coil tighter, her emotions tense up to the brittle breaking point – because she knew it had to happen, and she had expected and planned for this day and –

Nothing.

Even afternoon, as Natalie lay sleeping in her lap, and Jenny herself half-heartedly and tensely perused college material – there was nothing. She waited on tenterhooks; she felt jittery and breakable, and every sudden noise startled her as much as if it really were the screaming of a telephone.

She alternated between tapping her foot anxiously, and then forcing herself to be still so she wouldn't wake Natalie.

She turned another page in the brochure she was looking at, hardly reading the words at all. She really should be worried about getting her GED, before she decided on any of this – and she didn't have the money for it now, anyway, but she wanted to feel like she was doing something.

Natalie opened her eyes blearily and looked at her, shifting her head. She blinked sleepily and then snuggled closer, burying her face in Jenny's arm.

"Mama," she mumbled lazily, and fell back to sleep.

Jenny grinned and smiled at her, patting her back rhythmically. She rocked a little, turning another page in the brochure. It was for San Diego State University – somewhere she probably shouldn't even be realistically looking at – and it was full of glossy pictures advertising everything she wanted.

Her mother waltzed into the room, heels clicking beautifully on the well-kept hardwood floors. She smelled faintly of hair spray, and strongly of some expensive perfume, and she went right for the kitchen, breezing past Jenny.

"Jennifer," she began loudly.

"Natalie's asleep," Jenny warned.

"Jennifer," Melanie corrected, quieting her words. The elder woman cleared her throat, pouring herself a glass of lemonade and setting her purse on the counter. "What on earth are you doing in that bedroom?" she asked.

"Hmm?" Jenny mumbled. "Oh," she said, turning slightly, careful not to wake her daughter. "I fused together two shower curtain rods – I'm going to make something to hang, so Natalie has her own little corner of the room," she explained.

Melanie laughed softly.

"Darling, I told you she can stay in the living room. I never entertain here, anyway."

"I don't want her out there," Jenny said calmly. "If someone broke in, she'd be the first target."

Melanie arched her brow and said nothing. She wouldn't have thought to consider that, but then, she had never been a particularly paranoid or worried mother – probably because her child was across the country, in the hands of a retired Army Colonel turned Chief Cop.

"It will get crowded in that room, Jenny," she said frankly. "I know it's larger than the one at your father's, but what will you do when you need an escape from Natalie?"

Jenny blinked at her, incredulous.

"Why would I need to escape?"

Melanie tilted her head.

"Haven't you had that feeling yet?" she asked, slightly bemused.

Jenny stared at her, and shook her head slightly.

"I mean, I've wanted her to stop crying," she conceded. "But," she paused, trying to decide if she'd ever felt that desperate and unaffectionate – no, she hadn't; she'd felt all kinds of things about her life, dissatisfied things, but never directed at Natalie. "I get my strength from Natalie. She's the whole point of everything."

Melanie sighed, almost wistfully.

"That is strength," she remarked. She lowered her chin. "She'll get bigger, though," she laughed. "You'll both need space. I'm sorry I don't have a room for her – "

"Mom, Mom," Jenny murmured, flushing. "I'm hoping … I can be in my own apartment, by the time she's needing, you know, lots of privacy."

Jenny paused, and sighed shakily.

"Okay, um, I'll see how it goes, and maybe think about it," she started hesitantly, worried suddenly.

Melanie clicked her tongue.

"I don't mean to criticize, Jenny," she said blithely. "I don't mind where Natalie sleeps. She's hardly big or troublesome."

"I think you're the only person who doesn't call a two-year-old troublesome," Jenny muttered.

Melanie laughed, musically.

"Well, you've never dealt with a D-list actor whose scene in a major blockbuster was cut," she trilled, winking.

She finished off her glass, and then touched her finger to her lips.

"Do I need to retouch my lipstick?" she asked.

Jenny glanced at her, and nodded – Melanie wasn't someone who wanted to be told lies just to soothe her, she wanted to be told if she needed to look more perfected, and Jenny was fine with obliging that. Melanie disappeared to fix the lipstick, and Jenny shifted her knees slightly, closing the San Diego State brochure.

She pulled one for Stanford towards her wistfully, and chewed the inside of her lip bitterly. She didn't even know why she'd picked it up, except maybe to torture herself.

She stared at it a moment, then picked up her permanent marker, wrote Natalie's name on it in block letters, and tucked it away in a folder – then she picked up a brochure for one of the California State campuses, and focused on that.

"What should Mommy study, Natalie?" she murmured.

Melanie came clicking back in, ready to head out – Jenny had never been sure exactly what her mother did for a living, but she never seemed to have to do it before noon. Meanwhile, Jenny was up with a toddler at six a.m., trying to keep her quiet while Melanie slept and she exhausted herself by the child's naptime.

Melanie crouched beside the kitchen table to press a kiss to her granddaughter's nose.

"Don't wake her up," hissed Jenny gently – Natalie had gone to sleep, bored, on her own terms, and that was a miracle; nap time was usually a fight, and Jenny didn't want Natalie to realize she was voluntarily giving in, even if it was a little early.

Melanie nodded, and looked up.

"It's sweet how you let her sleep on you," she murmured, scrunching up her nose admiringly and standing back up.

Jenny arched a brow, hardly glancing up from the California State brochure.

"She's my child," she said, unperturbed.

Melanie laughed.

"Honey, when you fell asleep, I had you in the crib or the cradle so fast," she remembered, shaking her head.

Jenny rolled her eyes good-naturedly – having Melanie constantly exclaim over and remark on what a good mother she was a ridiculously relaxing change from the constant sense of disapproval or wariness she had always seemed to get from her father.

Melanie smirked.

"It's just a coffee date with this director, nothing special," she said of her appointment. "I can't tell if he wants to discuss my client's negotiations, or if he wants to see me," she added wryly. "I'll pick up dinner, if I don't go out with him – can Natalie eat Chinese?"

Jenny laughed, shaking her head a little – hopefully, Melanie would remember to call if she went out with this guy – that meaning she stayed at his place all night – but more than likely, she'd forget, and Jenny would be left wondering.

"I'll make her peanut butter and jelly," she said, silently thinking it was absurd of her mother to think she'd feed the toddler Chinese take-out.

"What's your back-up plan?" Melanie asked.

Jenny shrugged.

"I don't know, whatever she doesn't eat of the sandwich," she said lazily.

"Did you read a book on parenting?" Melanie asked, incredulous. "You're a saint."

Jenny hesitated.

"Ann said she was always so busy or tired when Gibbs was little, she just ate whatever he didn't eat."

Jenny wasn't sure if Melanie remembered that Ann was Natalie's paternal grandmother, but Melanie didn't ask or poke any further into it. Melanie started off, heels clicking – she'd said her meeting was at one, but it was after one; she was never much concerned about being on time. She paused at the kitchen doorway, and turned.

"Did he call?" she asked neutrally.

Jenny flinched, and shook her head. She looked down at Natalie, her eyes heavy, and shook her head again. She felt her mother looking at her, and she finally looked up, a tired look sweeping over her face. She pinched her nose up a little.

"I can't," she began, bewildered. "I expected him to," she said, logically. "He hasn't and I can't," she broke off again.

"You can't figure out if you should be angry," Melanie supplied easily.

"Yes, but how can I be angry with him?"

Her mother smiled at her mysteriously, and lifted her shoulders.

"You just can."

Jenny shook her head.

"It isn't right," she said dully. "I'm not angry," she tried to convince herself.

But she was – she was livid that he hadn't called, raising hell, demanding to talk to Natalie, demanding she come back – maybe even some of her was wildly fantasizing about him flying out here to get her, sweep her back with him – but what was the point in that? And why the hell would she expect that, after what she'd done?

Thoughts like that made her feel how young and stupid and – immature she was, even now – made her realize she had so far to go.

She chewed her lip, and then put her hand down.

"But doesn't he want to talk to Natalie?" she asked out loud, frustrated.

Her teeth hit together hard, and Melanie leaned against the doorframe for a moment. She didn't say anything, but then, she'd never actually met Natalie's father – this boy who had meant so much to her daughter.

Jenny pushed her hair back, composing herself.

"No, he needs time," she murmured. "I don't even know what I'd say to him," she added desperately, her voice cracking. "Maybe I don't want him to call. But I do."

"Jennifer," Melanie said calmly, arching a brow, "Maybe you should start to prepare yourself for the idea that he took your actions to heart. Out of sight, out of mind."

Jenny stared at her, clutching Natalie.

"He wouldn't do that to her," she said, but the way she said it was hazy, guilty, confused – did he even have a choice?

Where was he stationed? Would the Marines let him have leave to see her, ever? She – Jenny – hadn't even expressed an interest in working this out, in that letter she'd left. She swallowed hard.

Melanie looked at Jenny for a moment, and tilted her head. She parted her lips, hesitated, and then pressed them together, and raised her hand in a quick, elegant goodbye.

The door to the little condo shut, and Jenny leaned back heavily – it was like she'd gotten the sense of what Melanie was going to say, and it sent a shiver through her spine –

Darling, you did this to her.

The unspoken sentiment seemed to linger in the air, and dully, Jenny accepted it – she had, and if something went wrong, if this couldn't or didn't work out, or Gibbs never called, and he faded into a distant nothingness for Natalie, part of that was Jenny's fault.

She sat there for a long time, staring, until Natalie sat up, and rubbed her eyes, waking up. She reached for the papers, and looked at the pictures. Jenny blinked, and roused herself.

"Bug," she said quietly, kissing her cheek affectionately. "What should Mommy study?" she asked again. "Mommy never thought about it."

Mommy had just always known she was going to go to some prestigious, fancy private college – it wasn't until recently that Jenny realized she didn't know what she wanted to study, and much as she tried to remember what it had been before Natalie, she couldn't, and she accepted that she'd never known. She'd only had vague, haughty dreams of greatness.

Natalie smiled and picked up the Stanford brochure. She shrieked in happiness, and pointed to the big, block letters.

"Nat-uh-lee," she said, recognizing her name.

She could already write it; Jenny had taught her and taught her and taught her - -so she recognized it, she didn't read it, but even then – it was so heartwarming.

"Natalie," Jenny agreed, hugging her, and kissing the top of her head. "You're so smart," she murmured. She kissed her again. "You can go to Stanford, Nat," she said.

She ruffled the toddler's hair, feeling lost, listening for the ring of a telephone – but then it struck her that she hadn't left her number, or her address, and maybe Gibbs had been too distracted, too angry, to get it out of Jasper – maybe Jasper refused it, washing his hands of it all, and Jenny rested her cheek on the top of Natalie's head.

"I'll make it up to you," she promised her daughter – but she wasn't sure what she was promising, where she was going, and what her intentions had been when she decided to run.

She had never thought this all the way through.

There was a park, near Melanie's condo – nothing particularly fancy, or state of the art, but there was a swing set, and a sandbox, and a little man-made pond, and it was a nice place with trees and some quiet, and occasionally some other people playing with pets.

Natalie liked it, and Jenny liked it – it cost nothing to take her, except the five bucks it had taken today because Jenny stopped to get a little ice cream for them both. It was very hot, after all.

"Mama," Natalie said, swinging her legs on the bench they were sitting on. "I wanna feed ducks."

Jenny squinted over at the pond, and shook her head.

"No, I don't think so," she said. There was no sign against it, but she thought it was best they didn't. "What if they started to depend on humans giving them food, and forgot how to do it themselves?"

Natalie scrunched up her nose and giggled. She put her cup of ice cream down and pointed.

"Touch ducks?"

"No, they're wild animals."

"But no teeth!"

Jenny nodded, playing with Natalie's hair.

"But they aren't used to being touched. Maybe they don't want to be."

Natalie considered that.

"I want pet," she decided.

Jenny laughed – well; maybe she should have expected that. Many people brought pets to this park to entertain them. A teenager walking her dog had let Natalie pet it a few days ago.

"Melly's place is too small for a pet," Jenny said gently.

Natalie swung her legs.

"Da Da's house big," she said.

Jenny sat back, and sighed under her breath. She ran her hand soothingly over Natalie's hair, smoothing down the knots, and chewed on the inside of her lip – every time she seemed to think Natalie was oblivious to what had happened, or that it was fading and she was adjusting, out of the blue she'd say something like that, and Jenny didn't know what to do.

Natalie tilted her head up, eyes wide.

"Grandpa dog," she reminded Jenny. "Chief dog!"

Jenny nodded, swallowing hard.

"Yes, Grandpa had dogs," she said. "Old, retired, mean police dogs," she teased, laughing. "Just as grumpy and growly as Grandpa."

Natalie giggled. She stood up on the bench, sticking her spoon in her mouth. Jenny slipped an arm loosely around the little girl's waist to balance her should she lose her footing.

"Hmmm," Jenny drawled, changing the topic. "Maybe Mommy will get a job at an ice cream shop," she mused, and tickled Natalie's ribs. "Then you can have all the ice cream you want."

Natalie giggled again and dropped into Jenny's lap, nearly spilling the melting contents of her cup all over the place. Jenny pushed her own empty cup over a little bit, and hugged Natalie closely, grinning.

It was a nice day, and Jenny always liked being out of the house – it was nice, refreshing, and she didn't feel so much like she was an animal waiting for slaughter. Though, that in itself was an absurd feeling; she was here of her own choice, it was just the ring of a phone and a reprimand that set her so on edge within those walls.

Jenny looked up and let the sun bathe her face, breathing out slowly.

"Or Mommy could work at a Vet clinic," she said. "Maybe as a tech? Or a receptionist? Then maybe sometimes you could come see a dog or a kitty," she went on.

Natalie nodded, listening to Jenny intently.

Jenny smiled at the two-year-old. She was still trying to figure out what she was going to do – there wasn't much pressure on her to get a job, because her mother was flippant about money; she bought things for Natalie, she gave Jenny money – and though Jenny had a certain sort of Jasper-instilled guilt that came with accepting the handouts, she didn't turn them down; this was her mother, that made it different than charity, in her eyes.

Still – she needed to start working, because she needed to get out on her own, and she needed to pay for school – and god help her, before she knew it, Natalie was going to be in school, and regardless of Melanie's generosity at the moment, Jenny inherently knew that she wouldn't wish to give up her lifestyle once Natalie was older and needed much more than she did now.

"But, I'll probably be a waitress," Jenny whispered softly – there had been nowhere for her to do such a thing in Stillwater, but that seemed to be what everyone did here.

Except most of them would tell you, 'I'm trying to be an actress!', and Jenny would say 'I don't know what I'm doing, but my child is fed.'

Natalie handed Jenny her ice cream, finished, and scrunched up her nose, as if she were trying to understand.

"Make clothes," she said, her pronunciation babyish. She tugged at the sash on her dress – a dress that Jenny had indeed made. "Make clooooothes," she trilled.

As usual, Jenny was taken aback but Natalie's astuteness, her unnatural intelligence – perhaps instinctive intuition. She smiled, and stroked her hair down, straightening the bow in her hair.

"I'll figure it out," she assured Natalie, comforting herself to hear the words out loud. "You won't have to worry at all," she added. "It's just all in a jumble right now. It would have been, no matter what."

Natalie nodded sagely, as if she understood.

"Ready to go home?" Jenny asked. She didn't mention naptime, but she was going to start that process by the time they got back to the condo – she didn't know if Melanie would be there or not.

Natalie nodded. Jenny stood, taking their trash and making sure to throw it away in the proper receptacle. Natalie held tightly to her hand, obediently, well aware that when they walked where lots of people were, she was never supposed to let go – even if she saw a dog or a squirrel she wanted to explore.

"It won't ever get very cold here," Jenny said conversationally. "You'll see, in winter. It won't be snowy and damp and terrible all the time," she explained. Natalie hopped along, eagerly keeping up. "We might even go to the beach on Christmas."

Jenny had gone to the beach at Christmas once. When her father had been at his last post, the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, they had gone to the beach on Christmas morning, after presents and before the big afternoon feast. It had been the last year her parents were married; when he'd retired from the Army and moved back to Stillwater with Jenny, Melanie had stayed in California.

Natalie scuffed her feet along and lost a shoe. Instead of scolding her or putting it back on, Jenny just picked her up, figuring it was easier, for the moment. Natalie gave her a smug look, as if she'd planned it, and started playing with Jenny's hair.

"Braid," she said. She still said her 'r' almost as if it were a 'w.'

Jenny nodded.

"Hm, good idea," she said lazily. "Cosmetology school."

The other thing all the wannabe actresses did – nails, hair, aesthetics.

But Jenny didn't want to be an actress, and trade school seemed so limited; it seemed like a good way to get stuck. Every time she thought about getting stuck, she frustrated herself – what the hell did she want, anyway? Was there a way not to be stuck, when she had a child? She supposed Melanie wasn't stuck, Melanie had managed to have both – but then, Jenny didn't really think so; Jenny didn't want to live a life without Natalie.

There had to be women who were doing it all somewhere, right?

It was a long but scenic back way to the condominiums, and because she'd been carrying Natalie, Jenny was exhausted when she got back and let herself in with the key.

Natalie scampered in.

"Melly!" she trilled, shrieking through the halls. "Mah-Mah-Mah-MELLY!" she cried.

"Hello, my little rascal," Jenny heard her mother exclaim. She slipped off her shoes and followed Natalie's path.

Natalie had climbed up on a chair to kiss Melanie's cheek, and Jenny folded her arms, leaning in the doorway.

"Good God, this child browns in the sun like no other," Melanie exclaimed enviously. "Not even a burn on her – is her father like this?"

Jenny thought of Gibbs in the summer, after he'd been working for ten hours on that old Crenshaw farm, dunking his head in a trough of ice water and rubbing it on his arms, skin tanned in that ridiculous pattern he always got from wearing a t-shirt in the heat.

She nodded, but said nothing.

Melanie laughed.

"On the other hand, you're sunburned, Jenny," she teased. She tossed her hair back. "I'm going out tonight, meeting up with some friends – someone who slept with Elton John is going to be there," she added, arching a brow. "Want to go?"

Jenny stared at her.

"Who would watch Natalie?" she asked.

"You can bring her. She's gorgeous, they'll love her."

"To a bar?"

Melanie laughed easily.

"I'm not telling you to order her a screwdriver!"

Jenny burst out laughing.

"Mom, no – come on, I'm not doing that."

"You have to get out, Jennifer."

"Yeah," Jenny agreed, laughing incredulously, "but I don't have to take Natalie to meet one of Elton John's groupies."

Melanie shrugged.

"Suit yourself – although, I can tell you – if you ever need a babysitter, there's someone two floors up – oh, what's her name – Shelley? Maybe it's Shelby. She's, I don't know, fifteen or something, she babysits all the time for cash. Trying to save for college in New York or something."

Jenny felt a flash of unruly bitterness, of disdain and dislike – as if she'd let some teenager watch Natalie so she could go off to a big school, make money off of Jenny's mistake –

Quick as a flash, that nasty feeling was gone, and Jenny swallowed hard; she couldn't even find it in her to say fifteen was too young to babysit a toddler, because Jenny'd been fifteen when she decided she was old enough to start having sex; Jenny had been sixteen when she was breastfeeding and baby proofing.

She smiled a little, and nodded.

"Well, maybe I'll see if she likes Natalie," she said vaguely. "You know, when I start working."

Melanie nodded blithely.

"And, you know, I can take Natalie to work with me more often than not," she offered. "It's very laid back – ah, California."

Jenny simply nodded a little silently. She wasn't sure she liked that idea much – it wasn't that she didn't trust her mother, it was just that … well, Melanie had just suggested it would be fine to take a two-year-old to a bar. The thing was, she didn't do it in an idiotic or malicious way, she genuinely thought it wouldn't harm Natalie, or bother anyone else.

It was nice, that Melanie was so unbothered by children, considering she'd chosen to live her life away from her child, and from the surface, someone might assume she disliked children and motherhood.

Melanie was odd; sometimes Jenny felt like she was the mother.

Jenny walked into the kitchen and reached for a sippy cup for Natalie, filling it with water. She still didn't mention the nap – Melanie had a tendency to occasionally side with Natalie on the anti-nap front.

"What are you doing the rest of the afternoon?" Jenny asked.

"Nothing, until this evening," Melanie said, sitting down and pulling Natalie to her lap. She began to play with her hair, stroking her fingers through it. "I had two issues to deal with this morning; went smoothly."

Jenny paused.

"Well, can you," she started, and then broke off. "She's – it's almost N-A-P time for her," Jenny spelled the word carefully, "and if you wouldn't mind watching her, I could take the time to go see about some jobs."

Melanie arched her eyebrows.

"I keep telling you to just relax, don't worry about that – "

"No, Mom, because at some point you're going to realize that Natalie and I are actually getting expensive, and when that time comes, I need to have money in the bank," she interrupted shortly. She licked her lips. "I have to do something. I didn't come out here to mooch for the rest of my life, you know."

"I understand that, but your father was working you to the bone, you never finished that GED, you've hardly had a moment to breathe since the baby was born," Melanie paused, looking at her incredulously. "Why don't you just focus on getting that equivalency for a while?"

Jenny looked at her, frustrated. She came around and sat down at the table, setting the sippy cup in front of Natalie. The toddler took it, and gave Jenny a gloomy look when she realized it was just water.

"Juice," she said.

"No, Natalie."

"Juice!" she insisted forcefully.

"No, Natalie," Jenny repeated calmly. She leaned towards her mother. "That GED is going to be a piece of cake," she said dryly. "That's what's so damn frustrating about this whole thing – I fail one science credit, and they act like four years of education meant nothing, but I could take this test with my eyes closed. Having a baby didn't make me stupid, it just made me busy."

Melanie tilted her head. She nodded.

"I make more money than you think I do," she said simply, her tone sage. "I also," she began hesitantly, "get fairly generous alimony from your father."

Jenny arched her brow.

"Really?"

Melanie nodded mildly. Jenny leaned back; she hadn't ever known that.

"I thought," Melanie went on, "that I might begin simply putting that alimony into a bank for you and Natalie."

Jenny stared at her. She shook her head.

"No, that's … that's absurd, Mom – "

"It's Jasper's money, to me, and you're my daughter. Why is that absurd?"

"Because it's a handout."

Melanie smacked her hand on the table lightly.

"He's warped you, you know," she said – and the strange thing was, she sounded half-frustrated, half fond, when she spoke of her ex-husband. "He – and I – are in a position to be able to help you and Natalie. There's a difference between instilling a good sense of responsibility and character in you and forcing you into the sort of abject situation girls without a support system have."

"Why didn't you ever throw all this in Dad's face for me?" Jenny asked tiredly.

"Do you know how long it takes water to erode mountains, Jennifer?" Melanie laughed brightly. She shook her head. "I don't doubt that you'll earn that GED easily. You still need the SAT."

Jenny groaned, slouching down in her chair – it was true; she did, if she wanted to get a chance at some scholarships, or get into some school other than a community college. She grit her teeth and watched Natalie – who was still gloomily eyeing her water – and then she pushed her hair back.

Melanie nodded, an eyebrow raised.

"You've been here long enough that your father won't let you go back," she said simply. "Even so, you haven't been here that long. I admire your drive, and your discipline, but I am not Jasper. Yes, I want you to get a job – but a job that isn't going to break your back for you to break even. I want you to go to school, I want you to get your own place, for Natalie's sake, but darling, it doesn't have to happen," Melanie snapped her fingers, "like that."

"I want it to," Jenny confessed impatiently.

Melanie leaned forward.

"That's because you're second guessing every single second of your life since you left Stillwater, and when that boy calls here looking for his daughter, you want to be able to tell him you have it all going for you, and you made the right decision."

Jenny shrank back from the words – they weren't harsh, they weren't accusatory or judgmental, they were just the truth.

Natalie threw her cup on the floor.

"Juice," she snapped viciously, her attitude alerting the world to her need for a nap.

Melanie handed Natalie over promptly, and stood up, giving Jenny a sharp look.

"You remember what I told you," she said obstinately, as Jenny took Natalie, and tried to muster a stern look for her.

"Act like you're confident you're in the right," Jenny murmured, pushing Natalie's hair back.

Natalie swiped at her hand and frowned at her, whining unhappily, and Jenny looked over the child's shoulder to the silent telephone.

Jenny was exhausted when she stumbled into the condo, trying to balance Natalie on her hip while she dragged a rather heavy cardboard box in behind her – it was a toddler bed for Natalie, she'd found it at a thrift shop and put the pieces into two separate boxes. Finally, there would be a place for Natalie to sleep all her own.

The phone was ringing off the hook, which meant Melanie wasn't home – Melanie answered her phone on the fourth ring if she was home, always the fourth. Natalie was yelling about something, chattering, happy or unhappy Jenny wasn't sure, because she'd been mercurial all day – even in the grocery store, to Jenny's embarrassment.

"Natalie, just be quiet," she snapped, kicking the door shut behind her – she'd go get the other box later and try to work out putting it together; her mother had let her use the car today, because Melanie was attending some awards dinner for one of her clients.

One of these days, Jenny needed to figure out exactly what her mother did for a living, since it put her so close to so many vaguely popular celebrities.

Natalie kicked at Jenny and squirmed to get down, and with a groan of annoyance, Jenny crouched, letting her go. Natalie let out a squeal and stomped her foot.

"Bee STING!" she shrieked insistently.

Jenny slapped her forehead – she'd completely forgotten; Natalie had been stung by a bee out in the convenience store parking lot, when Jenny was picking up birth control prescriptions, and since she'd calmed down in the car, Jenny had let it slip from her mind.

"Okay, okay, okay," she said quickly. She picked Natalie right back up. "Is it swollen?"

Natalie burst into tears and showed Jenny her wrist.

"So much hurt," she cried.

Jenny squinted at the slightly red area and tried not to roll her eyes – it had just been a sweat bee, but you'd think Natalie had been gouged by a full-grown mountain lion. Still, Jenny bit her tongue, and started for her mother's bathroom. The phone kept ringing – Jesus, didn't Melanie's answering machine pick up?

When she was searching for the first aid kit and the phone was still screaming, Jenny realized the problem was that someone kept calling, and it clicked that it might be an emergency – it might be Melanie herself.

She bit her lip, picked up Natalie again, and dashed to the sitting room, falling onto the couch heavily and picking up the cordless phone.

"Hello?" she said rapidly. Natalie grabbed the cord and yanked on it for attention.

"Mama, bee! Mama beeeee!"

"Hello?" Jenny said louder, hushing her. "Yes, this is Melanie Shepard's residence – this is her daughter," she said, still unable to hear. She took a deep breath. "Natalie Winter," she barked. "Quiet."

Natalie hushed quickly, and her eyes swelled with tears. They fell silently down her cheeks, and Jenny slumped back sourly, guilt coursing through her.

"This is her daughter, Jenny," she said again, her voice brittle.

There was silence on the end of the line.

Jenny's eyes stung angrily – she was so not in the mood for this childish shit right now; anger rose in her throat, and she was on the verge of slamming the phone down after a few choice swear words when she realized –

It was a very loud, very poignant silence – no heavy breathing, no muffled laughter as someone tried to get a straight face to finish the prank call.

It was silence, but it was louder than anything she'd ever heard in her young life.

The tears still stung her eyes. Natalie gripped her arm tightly, and Jenny swallowed hard. She waited a moment, and when nothing happened, she closed her eyes lightly.

"Jethro?"

Her voice was soft, cautious; as if she might spook him.

That silence still lingered, remained, and then he said –

"I want to talk to Natalie first."

She felt as if she'd been punched in the gut; all of her breath went out of her. She didn't know if she should start screaming in outrage, or crying with relief that he'd finally called. Natalie tugged on her, and she tried to gather her thoughts, tried to compose herself.

"Jethro, I don't know if that's – "

"Put her on, Jenny, or I will hang up and call back until I get your mother and she puts Natalie on."

Jenny swallowed hard. She took the phone away, and covered the mouthpiece.

Her eyes met Natalie's, the little girl's angry, teary blue eyes boring into hers, begging for attention.

"Bee," Natalie squealed, affronted and offended that her injury was still unattended.

"Natalie," Jenny said carefully, holding out the phone. "Natalie, it's Daddy."

She pushed the phone to the child's ear gently, stroking Natalie's hair back.

"Daddy," she said again, lowering her voice. "Say hello. Talk to him," she coaxed her.

Natalie shifted her head and took a deep breath, baffled, probably, but clearly pleased with the attention.

"Da Da?" she piped up curiously. "Da Da? Where?" she asked. She gave a dissatisfied squeal. "Bees sting!" she shrieked.

Jenny took her hand gently and let her hold the phone, showing her how to grip it – Natalie remembered quickly; she didn't talk on the phone that often, but she had spoken to Melanie via a phone before, and two weeks ago, Melanie had taught her to hold it while they called Jasper.

Jasper, like Gibbs seemed to be doing, had refused to speak with Jenny.

She put her arm around Natalie, watching her, unable to hear anything Gibbs was saying.

Natalie tilted her head back, tugging on the cord with fascination.

"Yes," she said blithely. She laughed. "Yes!" she squealed.

Jenny felt powerless; she just listened – he could be saying anything. She turned her head, looking away, and closed her eyes lightly, gritting her teeth.

"No," Natalie drawled. She sighed, and stood up, leaning back against the couch. She dropped the phone, and grabbed Jenny's shoulder, pointing at it. Jenny picked it up and held it back to her helpfully, brushing her hair back again. "Da Da?" she asked.

She bit her tongue gently.

"Da Da, kiss bee stings," she simpered. She pursed her lips. "Where you are?"

Jenny watched her, hearing only one side of the childish conversation, imagining the myriad of things Gibbs could be saying – was he just letting Natalie talk, was he laughing, joking, telling her a serious story, poisoning her against Jenny?

She felt like she was on trial, and yet she tried to act natural.

Natalie babbled something contently.

"Melly," she said, then babbled something else. "Mama, too. Teeny bed."

Jenny got up abruptly, and Natalie swayed a little, rolling onto her side in the couch. She snuggled in to the cushions, and Jenny leaned over the back of the couch, quietly making sure the phone cord didn't tangle up in a dangerous way. Natalie put her thumb in her mouth, listening.

She nodded.

"Pretty," she said. "Sun. I like sun."

It seemed like forever that Jenny stood there, hugging herself, watching – forever, until the door open and Melanie breezed into the apartment, shopping bags in hand, as Natalie rolled over and waved for Jenny.

"Mama, Daddy," she mumbled. She said into the phone: "See you. Love you."

Jenny reached for the phone, and for the toddler, and she turned towards her mother in a panic, her heart thumping in her throat.

"Jenny, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Take her," Jenny said, nudging Natalie. "Mom, please."

"Who's on the phone?"

Jenny gave her a look, and Melanie arched a brow. She stared a moment, and then seemed to understand. Jenny held the phone to hear ear tentatively.

"Jethro," she said nervously. "Don't – don't hang up."

She held the phone between her ear and shoulder, handing Natalie over. Melanie took her, smiling winningly.

"She needs an N-A-P," Jenny pleaded. "And – humor her, put a pink Band-Aid on the bee sting on her wrist. Just," she lowered her voice. "Can you – go in there? Mom, I can't move the phone," she said, anxious.

Melanie waved her hand as if it were nothing, swinging Natalie around with her.

"I must show you all the goodies I bought, Natalia, my love," she drawled, dramatically and whimsically. "Perhaps I even have a gift for you in there, your Majesty."

Jenny waited until she had shut the bedroom door, and then she came around and sank down on the couch, making herself small, curling up in the corner. She held the phone to hear ear, listening to him breathe.

She swallowed hard.

"Jethro?"

"How did she get a bee sting?" he asked.

His voice was so cool, so unemotional. She was so caught off guard by the unassuming question, she almost didn't answer – and then she seized on it with a kind of ferocity, and she twisted her fingers in the phone cord.

"In the thrift store parking lot," she said quietly, trying to steady her voice. "It was after the – her hands were sticky, from a Popsicle. It was after the sugar."

"She's not allergic to bees?"

"No," Jenny said, smiling a little. "No, Jethro, she's okay."

"She didn't sound okay. Sounded like it hurt."

"Is this what you want to talk about?" she asked tensely.

For some reason, it sounded like he was criticizing her.

"No," he answered coldly – coldly, and automatically, as if it had been a set up.

He fell silent.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and put her hand to her forehead. She couldn't bear the silence.

"It's been weeks, Jethro," she blurted. "What took you so long to call?"

There was a careful pause, before he spoke again.

"Is that what you want to say to me, Jen?"

The icy question pierced her to the core, and she bristled with some kind of weak anger.

"If you're not going to say anything, I have to say something!" she burst out. "You can't call to breathe at me in rage – "

"I called to talk to my daughter," he interrupted shortly.

"You could have done that a little sooner," she lashed out protectively.

She felt him glaring at her, felt the damning depth of those blue eyes she loved so much.

"Took me a minute," he said curtly.

"Took you a minute? To do what – to decide if she mattered – "

"Took me a minute to get it, Jen," he interrupted again. "To really get that you ran out on me. That you took her, and you ran."

She gnashed her teeth together. She swallowed hard, and then she took a deep breath.

"Yes," she said, calming down.

This is what the conversation needed to be, after all; had to be. She couldn't expect him not to be angry, but she was just suddenly, acutely realizing that she was in no way, shape, or form prepared to speak to him – in fact, despite all her apprehension and steeling herself for him to call, maybe, deep down, she'd wanted him to just – let her go.

"What the hell got into you, Jen?" he asked.

She heard him shift, heard him move something around – it sounded like glass; she hoped he wasn't drinking – she'd never known Gibbs to drink, and she wondered with horror if she'd driven him to it.

"Jethro," she said, her voice soft, brittle – scared. "It's so complicated."

"Explain it."

"I, I, I," she stammered, breathless. "I can't, Jethro!" she cried softly, her voice almost breaking. "You won't understand. You didn't understand, at the funeral, a boot camp graduation – "

"What didn't I understand?" he barked, cutting her off. "I was doing what I could. I did what I was supposed to. I couldn't do a damn thing to make you understand that it wasn't going to work exactly like you wanted it to –"

"I know it wasn't!" she interrupted. "That's the whole fucking point," she gasped out. "It just all fell apart. You know – you – Ann was holding it together, giving us this charming, bubble world, making it all seem safe and like we'd be okay and just – the whole support system fell apart, and you know as well as I do that it just wasn't working - "

"You don't get to blame my mother for this bullshit, Jen," he snarled. "You think she would have been proud of you for taking Natalie away? For – running off like a coward? She would have – she would have hated you for this."

She sat forward like she'd been given an electric shock, almost choking on her anger.

"Don't you dare put that on her," she snapped. "That's you talking, Jethro, that's you – and you can hate me, I won't dispute your right to hate me, but Ann – but – your mother, she understood me, Jethro, she loved me," Jenny cried hoarsely, "and she never would have hated me. She wouldn't have liked this. I know that. But she understood me so much better than you think."

"She never would have done this!"

"Ann was a saint!" shouted Jenny. "She was a saint, and I'm not that strong! I wasn't cut out for it! You used to – you used to rage at how your father made her wilt, crushed her spirit, ignored her fantasies, reduced her to a mother and a wife and now you're – you almost sound like him!"

"I never tried to hold you back or pin you down," he barked at her, his voice hardening. "I – I didn't leave you, Jenny, I didn't quit – I went to do what I had to, to find a way out – for us," he paused to take a breath, and she pushed her hand through her hair, listening. "You think Ma would ever forgive you for taking my daughter from me?"

"Stop bringing your mother into this; stop using her against me – she's dead Jethro, she's gone, you'll never know what she thinks about me – just speak for yourself, tell me you hate me - -but stop, please stop," she held back a sob, "you hit the right button – you got it, sharp and hard, like you always do; you just know what to hurt people with. "

There was a heaviness, a hollowness, to the silence that followed her emotional outburst, and tears poured down her cheeks – even as she tried to wipe them away. She felt fifteen again, sobbing by the riverbank with a broken jewelry box, terrified of telling her father she was pregnant. She felt so young, so impossibly young and out of control. So stupid; so foolish.

He made a soft noise, like he was groaning, defeated.

"I don't hate you," he said finally.

His words were rough, grudging, but she sensed the truth in them.

"Why'd you do it, Jen?" he asked.

He sounded so tired, so lost.

She wiped at her face quickly, rubbing her cheeks. She dug her nails into her knees, hoping her mother wasn't listening; hoping Melanie could keep Natalie occupied.

"Didn't your father give you the letter?" she asked.

"I want to hear it from you."

"What else can I say, Jethro?" she murmured weakly.

She licked her lips, swallowing salty tears, sucking in her breath.

"I couldn't get married – I thought about it, and I felt like I was suffocating, choking, like it was a trap I just – I just wouldn't get out of." She tried to steady her breathing, trying to find some way to make him understand. "We're just … we're just too young, and the idea of – resenting you, or being miserable with you – it's such a repulsive idea to me, so contrary to the fantasies I had," she caught her breath. "The stupid, stupid fantasies. Before Natalie."

"You just had to make room for Natalie," he said coldly.

"I did, Jethro, I did," she insisted. "I love that little girl more than anything in the world, and you know it. I didn't leave her. I didn't abandon her for you to take; I didn't run off never to be burdened with motherhood again. But think … think about … how we would have struggled – "

"We always struggled, Jenny," he interrupted frustrated. "That's nothin' new – it's never been easy, but you didn't give it a chance, you just – wrote me off, wrote the whole damn thing off – you're so sure you'd hate being married to me?"

"I'd hate being alone! I'd hate doing nothing while you made your way – "

"The Marines aren't a cakewalk, Jen, and you wouldn't have been alone, you'd be with me – "

"No," she said fiercely. "No – let me tell you – you'd have been at work, all day; brutal training. The second you were done, you'd get deployed – no, Jethro," she said sharply, "you would. And traveling with you – then I'd have no support system, no friends, no family, no job, just the fear of losing you and the barely-there infantry pay you get – and if I'd stayed in Stillwater, I'd have gone mad," she caught her breath, pressing on forcefully. "And then, if you came back – if you didn't die out there, you'd be different, you'd be changed, just like my father was always different, after deployments, and we'd be too young to deal with it, we'd just be lost and confused, and we'd have Natalie and – it just would have all combusted, Jethro. It wasn't going to work – I told you I couldn't stand in the way of you joining the military – you were meant for it – but you can't expect me to – to –"

"Yes, I can, Jen," he said dully. His voice had lowered; he sounded threatening. "It would have been halfway decent if you'd given me a chance."

"You forgot to call me, Jethro," she whispered shakily. "Those final weeks, I needed to hear your voice – I kept trying to resist this urge, I kept – I needed you. I just wanted to hear you tell me it would be okay. And you – you never called."

She'd waited; after every letter – waited. She'd kept begging him to call her; the simple truth was she'd sworn she wouldn't do it if he just showed her that it really was all about her and Natalie, and not him fulfilling his hell-bent dream to get into the Marines and out of Stillwater – because if he was going to do that, she could, too.

He didn't say anything for a long time.

"You were just gone, Jen," he said finally. He sounded so hoarse. "You were just gone."

She closed her eyes tightly, tears pricking at her lids and lashes.

"That last letter you sent, with Natalie's drawings," he asked heavily. "Was it from California?"

She nodded, and then she realized he couldn't see her – she had no idea when he'd ever see her again.

"Yes," she whispered.

"I didn't deserve this," he told her huskily.

"It's not a punishment, Jethro. It's – this is very much not about you, or anything you did."

"It's all about you," he said – his voice was quiet, but aggressive; damning. She didn't correct him.

She wiped at her nose, held her cheek in her hand.

"She asked for you."

"Don't," he snapped, the anger flashing into his tone immediately. "Don't do that – why the hell would you do that to me?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I want you to know she didn't – forget you."

"She'll think I never gave a damn about her."

Jenny leaned back into the couch, tilting her head back. She stared at the ceiling; tears balanced in her eyes, until they seemed to absorb back into her, drowning the synapses in her brain, running down her throat, making her sick.

Still, still; she didn't want to go back – it wasn't necessarily regret she felt, but a desperate need to assuage her guilt because she wanted to be here, in California, with her mother, and maybe she could finally embrace that desire once this was all hashed out, this inevitable confrontation.

"Where are you?" she asked.

She almost thought he wouldn't answer — and did she have a right to know?

"Lejeune," he grunted finally. "Military Police. North Carolina."

"How long are you at Lejeune?" she asked tentatively.

"Until they PCS me, Jen; who the hell knows," he snapped bitterly. She heard rustling again, clinking. "You think you'll have this figured out by then?"

"I don't understand you," she told him hoarsely.

"You gonna get your head on straight, find what you need? What am I doing here?" he asked.

It struck her that she'd never heard him be so straightforward, so practically emotional.

"Are we done?" he asked bluntly.

She felt like vomiting. She'd never envisioned a world where she wasn't with Gibbs; her small town, all-American world had always been him, before and after Natalie, and somehow, even when she'd run, she hadn't dreamed – of this.

But she knew – that with this much bad blood, telling him they'd make a long distance relationship work was – absurd, ridiculous; laughable.

"I don't think we're together anymore, Jethro," she confessed brokenly.

Before he could say anything, she started to talk – she felt so scared, so nervous, so alone, and she couldn't stand the silence.

"It's not your fault," she pleaded. "I don't – blame you, I don't think less of you, I love you, Jethro – you didn't run me off; it's so very much not your fault – I know you did everything for me – "

"It's your fault," he agreed coldly. "You should have leaned to make sacrifices."

She dug her nails into her knees again.

"Why did I have to make the only sacrifices?" she cried softly. "You got the military. You got what you wanted – "

"At the expense of missing her all the time. Every damn day. Missing her. You. Wondering what she was doing – you couldn't stick by me for that?" his voice was steady, hard, but it felt like he was shouting, felt like he was twisting a knife between her ribs. "You think it's going to be any better there?" he asked.

"I think it's going to be my life," Jenny said. "Mine. Figuring out who I am. Not just – just," she sighed anxiously. "We aren't even grown up yet," she said tiredly. "And I would rather have – the memories of Stillwater, the good ones, than let what we had become…tarnished, and … ruined."

She knew what he was going to say, and she braced herself – and he didn't disappoint.

"You ruined it, Jen."

She smiled to herself: it killed her.

"What about her life?" he asked. "Natalie?"

She couldn't speak.

"I get a say in that?" he provoked. "What if I sued for custody?"

That got her; that revitalized her instincts.

"You wouldn't get it – never," she snapped, vicious. "Your life belongs to the military. You let them own you. You – you're threatening to take her from me, Jethro?"

"You took her! You took her, Jenny, you took her!" It sounded like he was throwing a fit, and the irrational thing was, the crazy thing was, she loved it – she loved that he loved Natalie so much, she was relieved he was so angry, because when he hadn't called and hadn't called and hadn't called, she'd thought her worst fears had been right – that he'd be glad to wash his hands of them both and how they'd constricted his life.

"I'm her mother," Jenny asserted. "Her mother."

"Why does everyone think that's so much more important?" he seethed. "Isn't the whole point these days that both parents should do the work?"

Her chest ached; every bone and muscle in her body ached.

"I can't do this anymore, Jethro," she said, exhausted. "Get it out of your system – give me the worst of it," she pleaded. "I'm … I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," he said. "It's a sign of weakness."

She closed her eyes. She didn't give the apology again; if that's how he felt, then she'd embrace it; she wasn't sorry that she'd left, it was true: but she was infinitely sorry that she'd hurt him so badly, and she was – she was startled at how much this hurt, despite the fact that she'd chosen it.

"You can call me if you have leave," Jenny told him quietly.

"You know how unlikely that is for the first few years, Jen – if I get it, I can't afford it," he said darkly.

"Let me know when you want to see her," she continued in the same level voice, ignoring him. "I won't prevent it."

He seemed lost, stunned. He cleared his throat.

"You gonna tell me where you live, Jen?" he asked. "Where I can send this child support?" the request was sarcastic, bitter; unforgiving – ah, so her father hadn't given the address.

"I don't want the money, Gibbs," she told him.

He didn't say anything, but she meant it when she denied it; she had decided to go off on her own – she wasn't going to ask him to support that.

"You can call her," Jenny said huskily. "You can talk to her – any time you want."

She felt his uncertainty, his skepticism, and she felt a certain dread in herself, as if she knew that it would never work that way, either – she felt an inkling of why her father had gotten the courts involved in the first place, way back when.

The custody agreement that had ensured she had the right to do this, and he had no rights to Natalie at all.

She thought he was going to hang up, but after a long time, he said:

"You know how much that kills me?" he asked heavily, his voice cracking. "Hearing her?"

She covered her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut – no, she didn't know; but she tried to imagine what she'd feel if she woke up one morning and Natalie had disappeared.

"Jethro," she began, a sob.

He hung up.

The line hummed at her, crucified her, and thrummed in her ears until she slammed it down, about to go crazy with the sound. She put her hands over her face, trembling, and then she got up, pushing her hair back, and ran for her mother's room.

She fumbled with the door and flung it open; for a split second she looked at Natalie and tried to be strong, but Natalie had her father's eyes, and her father's nose, and a certain saint-like, soft Ann Gibbs prettiness to her, and Jenny leaned against the door, bursting into tears.

Melanie got up quickly, leaving Natalie on the bed – the two-year-old looked startled, but curious, sitting there with a new sparkly pair of Mary Janes on, and she fixated on the older women as Melanie reached for Jenny.

"We broke up," Jenny sobbed, and even to her, the words sounded ludicrous – obvious; what else had she expected? "Mom," she gasped.

Melanie put her arms around her, and Jenny buried her face in her mother's shoulder, crying for what she'd lost – because no matter what her choices, and no matter how glad she was to be out of Stillwater, and how much more freedom she had here, she wasn't proud of herself for hurting him so badly – and no matter what, that boy had been her first everything, and really, bluntly, honestly losing him felt like dying.

Natalie held Jenny's hand tightly as she pointed longingly at the ocean, her little blue eyes fixed on the lazily crashing waves. She wriggled her toes in the sand and hopped up and down.

"I promise you," Jenny said, "it's very, very cold," she warned, for what had to be the tenth time.

She didn't blame Natalie, though – it was November, and they were on the beach; Natalie didn't necessarily understand that just because the colder months were milder here didn't mean the Pacific Ocean felt nice and cozy, too.

"O-shee," Natalie said smugly.

She loved the Ocean more than anything; that seemed to be her pet name for it. Jenny knew her daughter was perfectly capable of saying 'Ocean' – in fact, every day it became more apparent that Natalie was impressively precocious.

Melanie said every mother thought that about her child, and Jenny acknowledged that was true – but Natalie was smarter. The Pediatricians in Pennsylvania had said so – mostly noting her vocabulary.

Maybe it was because sometimes, in those first few years, she'd been her parents' only friend, and they'd talked to her and treated to her as such, even when they were taking care of her.

"And that's why teenagers shouldn't have babies," Jenny murmured to herself, smiling down at Natalie.

Natalie hopped up and down, alternately skipping and walking patiently. She was delighted for her birthday walk on the beach; Jenny had promised it – later, after Melanie's unnecessary little shindig, Jenny would take her down for just some Mommy-Daughter time – when it was dusk, and the beach wasn't crowded.

Natalie still had a little tiara on, something Melanie had bought for her. She loved it, and she wouldn't take it off, so Jenny didn't make her. Melanie had thrown a party for her – a quaint little thing, with champagne and too many adults – no other children, because Melanie didn't hang out with people with children.

They had been a nice crowd, and every one of them nice to Natalie – and the absurd thing was, they'd all bought gifts, and seemed to think it was just so amusing that Melanie Shepard had a granddaughter – what a droll puppet show!

Natalie was wearing a tiny little pea coat someone had brought her – it wasn't cold enough for it, but she was in love with it so she refused to take it off, and while she put it on and modeled it, giggling madly, Jenny stared with disbelief at the name on the tag –

Ralph Lauren. Who bought a small child Ralph Lauren – designer anything? Who had the money to waste such luxury on a little girl who still thought dirt was a lovely accessory?

But it wasn't Jenny's money, or Jenny's friend, so she'd warmly thanked the woman – some director or other – and coaxed Natalie to do the same. Then, to her relief, she'd been able to share a slightly baffled look with girl from upstairs.

The girl from upstairs, the one Melanie had mentioned as a possible babysitter – it turned out her name wasn't Shelby or Shelley, it was Samantha, and she was a very sweet, nice girl. She was fifteen, and Jenny occasionally did let her watch Natalie – the girl had a babysitting class under her belt, and she knew CPR and the Heimlich, which ironically was more than Jenny had known in all the years she'd had the baby.

She discovered quickly that what Melanie had said – about Samantha saving money for college in New York – wasn't anything to be jealous of; Samantha was trustworthy and honest, but she was naïve – she told her mother she was saving for Cornell, but she told Jenny she wanted to run away to work on Broadway. She was an average singer with a lot of heart, and when Jenny realized she needn't feel threatened by this younger girl's future and ambition, or feel bitter about what Samantha could have that she couldn't, she relaxed, and enjoyed spending time with her occasionally.

Jenny tried not to think how petty her reluctance to contact Samantha was, and how nasty it was for her to only want to associate with her when she was sure she'd never be jealous, but she couldn't help it; she tried to ignore that part of herself – and it was easy to put aside, because though Samantha was younger, and had all of the benefits of being a teenager with none of the unexpected and daunting things Jenny had experienced, it was still nice to hang out with someone closer to her age.

"Mama," Natalie said, crouching down and stopping. "Look, Mama, little crab."

Jenny veered away, letting go of Natalie's hand and stepping back.

"Bug," Natalie giggled, reaching down and snatching up the pale white sand crab. She held it in her hand, and Jenny tried not to be horrified. "Bug like me."

"No," Jenny said, with a pained smile. "No, Nat, you're a cute bug. That's a - it's a sand … spider."

"No crab!"

"Yes, but basically a sand spider," Jenny corrected dryly. "Please put it down. Mommy doesn't like it."

Natalie stood up and thrust the crab into the air. It landed on Jenny's shoulder. She let out a ridiculous squeal and swatted it off madly, stumbling back and falling down into the slightly damp sand. Natalie let out a cackle and followed the trajectory of the sand crab.

"Fairy crab!" she trilled. She followed it as it scuttled away. "Bye-bye, Bug," she crooned, turning and hopping back to Jenny, her new little pea coat dancing behind her.

Jenny gave her a mild glare, dusting sand off of her, reaching for her bag – she always carried a bag, with things in it for Natalie just in case of an emergency.

"Why do you like bugs so much?"

It wasn't the first time Natalie had picked up something crawly and creepy. She'd grabbed a grand-daddy long leg once and Jenny still hadn't recovered from the trauma of her holding it up and saying 'Look, Mama, eight legs!'

"I'm a bug!"

"You're a Natalie," she said. "That's just a nickname."

Natalie crawled into her lap and sprawled over it, dragging the purse towards her. She rummaged through it until she had her hands on a brown package, drawing it out sneakily.

"Present," she said.

"Hmm," Jenny sighed. "Did you throw the crab on purpose? Huh? Were you trying to get ahold of Mommy's things?"

Natalie knew there was a final gift in the bag; she'd seen Jenny slip it from the pile into her purse before they left for the beach.

"Don't you think you've had enough presents?" Jenny asked dryly.

And hadn't she? Melanie had gotten out of control with her gifts alone, and then the fact that she'd had all those people bring gifts as well – clothes, mostly, which were useful, except for how expensive and ludicrous they seemed to be – Jenny felt guilty for letting Natalie play in something made by Ralph Lauren, but – how did you keep a three-year-old from happily playing, even if it meant getting dirty?

"I like them," Natalie said.

Jenny caught her around the waist and sat her up, pushing her hair back gently and meeting her eyes.

"Natalie," she said quietly. "You have to be thankful for everything you got today," she said softly. "Mommy," she paused, trailing off a moment. "Mommy never could have afforded all that."

She was sure Natalie didn't really understand; she wasn't even sure Natalie understood that Jenny hadn't arranged all those gifts for her. Jenny herself had only planned on giving Natalie a small couple of gifts – she and Jethro had never spoiled her on Christmas or her birthday before, particularly since they were only a month apart.

Natalie nodded.

"Pretty dresses, Mama," she agreed.

"Pretty dresses," Jenny repeated quietly.

Natalie held up the package.

"Open this please," she requested. She gnashed her teeth. "Or I do it," she threatened menacingly.

Jenny laughed. She took the package, and turned it over in her hands – it wasn't very big, but it was slightly heavy and bulky in places, not a box, but one of those padded envelopes that maybe had too much shoved into it.

She'd brought it with her, because she didn't want to open it in front of anyone; because she had no clue what could be in it, and she was afraid of what her reaction might be – she didn't even want Melanie to know what was in it yet, though Melanie had placed it in the pile of gifts.

She was wary of it, nervous about it, hurting over it, because it was from him.

The return address wasn't a personal one; it was Marine Corps Post office, North Carolina – Camp Lejeune – and even if that hadn't been on there, she recognized the handwriting.

Gibbs was the only person who had ever sketched a little butterfly over the 'I' in Natalie's name. His father had ragged him for it once; his mother had thought it was cute – Jenny asked him why he did it, because she'd only known girls to do things like that, and he just shrugged.

"Mama," Natalie whispered, tugging on her arm. "Open," she whined.

Jenny glanced at her, and arched an eyebrow.

"What do you say?"

"I say," Natalie blustered. "I RUN into OSHEE."

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"Don't be such a drama queen. You will not run into the ocean," she said. "Threatening to drown yourself over a gift – tsk, tsk," Jenny admonished. "I know your name is Natalie, but your last name isn't Wood."

Jenny dug her nail under the seal of the package.

"It's Gibbs," she mumbled to herself, wincing a little as her nail caught on a difficult part to open.

Melanie had asked if she was going to keep Natalie's last name, or change it to Shepard – most single mothers in California, it seemed, gave their babies their own last names. Jenny had just shaken her head.

I ripped his heart out, she thought dully, watching Natalie sleep; I won't pour salt in the gaping hole.

Jenny opened the package slowly, ignoring Natalie's impatience; this was her first real contact with Gibbs in months – months; it had been months since that brutal phone call, since the moment that irrevocably changed everything.

She'd just been trying to move on. The thing was – and she didn't know if it was a horrible thing, or a blessing in disguise – he had made it easy on her; he rarely called, and if he did, it was like he knew when he could call so that he'd get Melanie, who would give him straight to Natalie.

Since November, Jenny had spoken to him once, and it had been cool, awkward, and painful.

"You know who this is from, Natalie?" Jenny asked, sliding a card out of the envelope.

It was sealed shut, and addressed to Natalie in the same handwriting. Jenny started to open it, and then she paused.

Maybe he didn't want her to read it. Maybe – it was like the phone calls; maybe he only wanted to talk to Natalie. Jenny asked her daughter what Gibbs said to her, but Natalie was so young it all went in one ear and out the other. The only inkling Jenny had of what their conversations – their few conversations – consisted of was that occasionally, Natalie said: 'Daddy love me.'

And Jenny, of course, would agree without arguement: Yes, Daddy loves you.

She wondered what she'd do when Natalie was old enough to ask what had happened, and then she refused to think about it. She fooled herself into thinking that if she were a good enough mother; Natalie would never need to care.

Natalie took the card.

Jenny took it back gently.

"Hey, honey?" she began. "I'm going to put this in a box for you. When you learn to read, you can read it, okay?" she asked. "Hmm?" Natalie blinked at her, and smiled, nodding. "I don't know if Daddy wants me to read it. It might be private, just for you."

"Okay," Natalie said smoothly. She held out her hand. "What else?"

Jenny laughed.

"Maybe he only sent you his nice words, you greedy little munchkin," she drawled.

She pulled Natalie close, and wrapped her arms around her, gently extricating the lumpy thing from the package. Tissue tumbled out with it – and Jenny found herself, at least momentarily, holding one of those chubby, eerie looking dolls.

Momentarily, because Natalie took it with a shriek of pleasure.

"Veggie doll!" she squealed, leaping up and hugging it.

Jenny gathered up the tissue and stuffed it back into the package, smiling softly.

"Cabbage Patch," she corrected, amused. "It's a Cabbage Patch kid, Natalie," she explained, beckoning her.

The three-year-old was too busy dancing around in circles, holding the plush little doll by its hands as if she were twirling it like a new bride. She hummed nonsense to herself, beaming, until she got dizzy and fell into the sand, laughing.

Jenny drew her knees up, and giggled – it was a heartwarming sight to see.

"That was nice of Daddy," she said.

She felt a little sheepish – when shopping, she hadn't really known what to get Natalie; she was conditioned to think like her father: what's necessary, what's a silly luxury, etc. etc. She had gotten her daughter a plastic little beauty salon set, a pair of sparkly Wizard of Oz shoes, and three new hair bows.

It wasn't much, but it was the kind of frugal treat she and Gibbs had always done for her back home. A doll wouldn't have been ridiculous or out of the question – Jenny just wasn't used to thinking of that.

Ann had given Jenny so many old family hand-me-down dolls, they'd never bought her a new one – but, these were all the rage, and somehow, of course, Gibbs would know that.

"Mama," Natalie crooned, scrambling up and darting over. "Look, brown hair," she said, pointing to the doll. She scrunched her nose. "Hair like me."

"A little bit," Jenny agreed. "Yours is a little reddish," she tried, stroking Natalie's long hair – she never cut it, and she always wished it had a little more of her in it, because right now it was a very Gibbs-ish brown.

"You'll have to send Daddy a thank-you," Jenny said, kissing Natalie's temple.

"Go see?" she asked.

Jenny shook her head, resting her cheek against Natalie's.

"No, he lives too far away," she placated.

"Go see tomorrow?"

Jenny laughed hoarsely.

"No see, Natalie," she said carefully.

"Why?"

Jenny took a deep breath, and steeled her eyes.

"Because it didn't work out," she said simply.

She was thinking of what her mother had said, of what she kept reminding herself – fake the confidence until you have it; tell yourself you did the right thing until you both believe it.

Natalie shrugged, easily appeased. She held up her doll and squeezed it.

"Veggie baby," she said smugly.

Jenny smiled at her warmly.

She clutched at the package, and felt something else in it – something hard and inflexible, at the bottom.

"Oh, Bug," she murmured. "I think we missed something. What else … " she trailed off, rummaging in the package.

Her fingers tangled in a string, and she pulled the last part out.

The thin sheets of metal clinked together, and she rolled them over, narrowing her eyes to read.

Gibbs, L. J. O NEG
000-76-9841
USMC L
NO PREF

Each tag said the same thing – name, blood type, social security number, branch, gas mask size, and religious preference. She remembered the format from her father's; she'd always worn a pair of his when she was younger, her parents were still married, and he was deployed.

Her father had to commission new ones each time he gave some to her; Gibbs would have to do the same, and it would be a hassle. Yet he'd still sent them to Natalie.

"Necklace," Natalie said, eyes wide.

Jenny swallowed hard, reaching out. She placed the chain over Natalie's head gently, adjusting it and letting it hang. It was large on her, and it was cold against her neck; Natalie gave a little shiver and brought the tags up to stare at them.

"It's a special necklace, Bug," Jenny murmured, putting her lips close to Natalie's ear. "If you keep it close to your heart, it helps keep your soldier – Marine – safe," she said, repeating what her father had said to her – remembering to replace soldier with Gibbs' branch.

Natalie admired the shiny silver, and Jenny turned her head, taking a deep breath.

She closed her eyes tightly.

She had been trying so hard to move on, these past few months – since the end of July, when she and Gibbs had – broken up, and Natalie had seen her mother cry until she was sick, and for once in her life since the baby was born she'd put herself first and given Natalie over to Melanie for the next day.

She had been trying to stay strong – moving forward, feeling out ideas for jobs, making plans for the future – she was going to have to work a while, before she started college; she had taken the GED, passed it – and what a relief; but now the SAT loomed, and she needed desperately to do well on.

She had studied, decorated her room, made a space for Natalie, tried to make this home for Natalie – and she was well on her way.

She was doing her best; she was trying, and she was recovering, she was moving forward.

Natalie seemed happy here – ultimately, Jenny herself was happier here.

That didn't mean, however, that it still didn't hurt to think of Gibbs; it didn't mean she still didn't lay awake at night with her doubts and her guilt, or her fear.

She swallowed hard, and reached down to take Natalie's hand, holding the dog tags in her hands.

She opened her eyes and selfishly used her daughter's hair to wipe her tears, but she couldn't really hold them back.

"I really miss him, Nat," she said weakly, giving in just a little –birthdays were hard; even that day in September was hard, when she knew Gibbs was turning twenty somewhere on the east coast, and she'd taken Natalie roller blading on the pier.

Natalie turned her head; she blinked, and listened.

"I love him more than anything," she whispered. "I just … I don't think we're mature enough, yet. Or maybe he's more mature than me. I was just scared. I hope you never hate me for this."

"Mama okay?" Natalie piped up, twisting.

Jenny lifted her head, and saw the wide-eyed, innocent concern in Natalie's sweet, familiar blue eyes, and she felt a stab of guilt in her heart, a hollow shame in her gut – this was her child, not her confident – her daughter, not her friend.

She couldn't keep doing this; she couldn't keep murmuring to Natalie like she was a peer – she couldn't keep letting this child see her cry like this.

"This is the last time, Natalie Winter," Jenny whispered, kissing the little girl's forehead.

Her lips lingered affectionately, and she squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders shaking. Natalie rattled the dog tags, and on a balm November day on the beach in California, she promised herself she'd never let Natalie see her doubt herself again – she'd never let Natalie see her cry, and she'd stop musing on about Gibbs at all, because it was only going to hurt them both, and anything she said might give Natalie a false impression of who Gibbs was or what part he'd had in this – in this grand vanishing act.

"All of our plans have fallen through;
Sometimes a dream, it don't come true."
-The Killers; The Way It Was

y'all - feedback really appreciated!
prepare for a time jump next chapter (not super huge)

-alexandra

story #265