a/n: Welcome to the little collection about Anna. Or, more accurately: the road to Anna, and some insight into a different time in our happy young couple's lives.
February-ish, 2016
Camp Pendleton
"Fried Oreos"
Jennifer Gibbs thought the day she found out to be distinctly anticlimactic. That is, it was un-dramatic in the sense that, though it wasn't something she was anxiously expecting or meticulously planning for, she didn't spend a week in a sort of sitcom-esque oblivion wondering why she was having all those symptoms that were so painstakingly obvious indications of pregnancy.
She didn't wander around with her head in the clouds silently questioning why standing up and brushing her teeth in the morning felt like seasickness on the deck of a destroyer in the middle of a hurricane, and she didn't loudly ask a bunch of her close friends why on earth she desperately wanted fried Oreos, and she didn't sit pondering the curious occurrence of her sudden aversion to the smell of her husband's shaving cream.
Instead, she picked up a home test while grocery shopping, took it, and confirmed her quiet, slightly startled suspicion that she was pregnant, and that's why she'd been lying in bed with her eyes closed, completely still, half an hour after their alarm went off, for the past seven mornings when she was usually up at exactly the same time as Jethro.
She stood in the small bathroom off his and her bedroom, tapping her fingernails on the ceramic sink as she stared at the fancy, digital message that read positive on the white stick next to her. She tilted her head up, and thought about it – it made perfect sense, come to think of it; her period was late – though it had been irregular since she had her IUD taken out – but it was particularly late, as in – eighteen days.
She arched her brows, and took a deep breath – this was where the suspicion faded, and the startled settled in. It wasn't exactly that she was shocked; she and Gibbs had decided to scrap the birth control and see what happened in January, a fitting way to kick off the new year. It had been a middle-of-the-way decision, because she hadn't wanted to focus their lives on actively trying to have a baby in some sort of reproductive Olympics, but Gibbs was tired of waiting, and they were at a good place to start – that being said, she'd thought it would take longer than a mere month for this to happen – she'd heard so many stories from older military wives – and from reading articles online – about how it didn't usually happen right away.
She lifted her chin and pushed back her hair, slipping fingers through the knots and then tugging a little, like she used to when she was in high school, and she needed to get her thoughts straight. She looked down at the stick again and thought bluntly that it was a damn good thing she'd never risked not using birth control, since apparently she was just going to get pregnant like that.
She pressed her lips together and then took the stick and left the bathroom, flipping off the light. She wasn't sure what she should do with it – she didn't feel spectacularly sentimental about the damn stick, but she thought maybe it was something she should keep? Did people do that? Make scrapbooks or something? That wasn't exactly sanitary, was it?
She took a paper towel from the kitchen, wrapped it up, and placed it neatly in a Ziploc bag – then she stared at that, too. She supposed she could find some cutesy, unique way to give it to Gibbs – to make an announcement. That was such a thing these days – scavenger hunts to tell people about pregnancies, elaborate photos or Facebook videos.
Jenny made a face, shaking her head. She decided to tuck the bag away in a drawer and ask Gibbs what he thought later.
She had to tell Gibbs first, and she wasn't sure how she was going to do that.
She chewed on her lip for about a full six minutes, standing dumbly in the kitchen, and then she shrugged to herself and decided to go about fixing dinner. She didn't always have something on the stove or on the table for when Gibbs got in from base, but if she left her CIA location early, she had no problem with it. She liked cooking, she wasn't half a bad at it.
She'd bought pork chops and some unnaturally huge potatoes at the store, so she got to work on that, checking the clock every once in a while, and thinking ahead –
So, if she were pregnant now – probably, calculating lazily, about five weeks or so – she'd be due sometime in late September or October if everything went to plan. Which meant she needed to have Gibbs clarify again when he was up for another transfer, and where - -because they'd decided they wanted to buy a house, a permanent place, for kids.
She needed to have her doctor back in D.C. recommend someone here near Pendleton if she could, figure out when it was safe to tell family, and then subsequently when she could tell friends –
A funny chill went down her spine and she shivered, biting her lip – it took her a moment to recognize the feeling as excitement, and then she smiled with relief, standing there in the kitchen and grinning. She was so relieved that this had happened at a point in her life when the only thing she had to worry about feeling – was excitement.
She bit her lip, and checked her watch again, checking the sizzling food and adding some more spices. She heard the door open down the hall, and the unmistakable sound of Gibbs' heavy ACU boots thudding against the wall. She quickly hid her ridiculous grin, her heart speeding up.
She'd forgotten to come up with a fabulous way to tell him. She wracked her brains, still thinking when he walked in and put his hands on her hips from behind.
"What's cookin'?" he asked eagerly, his lips pressing against her neck. He slid his arms around her middle and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. "I'm starving," he whined hopefully.
She turned her head and wrinkled her nose, rolling her eyes at his melodrama.
"Pork chops and twice-baked potatoes," she answered.
"Are they on the twice part, or the once part?" he demanded.
"Patience, Gunny," she soothed, and he groaned dramatically. She shook him off of her good-naturedly and he went to the fridge, taking a beer from the crisper.
"Want one?" he asked.
She nodded out of habit, before she remembered that wasn't a thing she could do anymore – but then she balked at refusing, because she didn't want him questioning her, so she turned from the skillet and took it, holding it awkwardly.
"You come home early?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Slow day at the Central Intelligence Agency."
"That's 'cause there ain't any intelligence," Gibbs said loudly, smirking, only to receive a look from his wife. "'Cept you," he added hastily. He arched a brow. "What'd you do?" he asked politely.
Gibbs was good about asking after her day. She hadn't ever realized it, or appreciated it much, until a fellow Marine wife friend had complained that her husband absolutely never seemed to care if she had a good or bad day when he wasn't around.
"I," she started – and then the next words just slipped out. "I killed a rabbit," she said mysteriously – an old euphemism, old slang she didn't know if he would get or not.
He stared at her, pausing at his beer, and then snorted.
"Was it tearin' up the garden?" he teased wickedly.
She stepped forward and punched him in the shoulder, glaring. When they'd first moved in, she'd decided she wanted to start gardening in the back – a sort of homage to the old victory gardens of wars gone past, and she'd dropped the ball on it spectacularly.
He tried to compose himself, but kept grinning. He shook his head at her. She turned back to the skillet, and then turned around, hesitant.
"Here," she said, handing him the beer bottle.
"You want me to open it?" he asked, taken aback.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't want it."
He shrugged and took it, mumbling something about there being more for him. He started to leave the kitchen.
"Don't go watch TV," she said sharply.
"Jeeeeen."
"It's almost ready," she placated. "Will you get me some Sprite?"
"Is your stomach still bothering you?" he asked immediately, glaring at her critically as he obeyed.
She heard the snap-pop as he opened the can and poured it into a glass, grabbing plates for the table as well. She got the potatoes out of the oven, and poked around with the meat one more time before transferring it all to serving dishes and taking it to the small wooden table off the kitchen.
Base housing was cozy, but rudimentary, and she hadn't bothered to buy a bunch of fancy things to decorate this house since it was temporary.
She shook her head in denial, and he snorted doubtfully. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and sat down, pulling the glass towards her.
"I tried that spicy chili marinade Saydie recommended," she said, handing him a knife. She pointed at him sharply. "If you don't like it, be honest."
He nodded – Saydie Pride was the wife of a man in his unit; a guy Gibbs had been serving with since a year or two before he married Jenny. Jenny liked her very much; she was one of her closest friends on the base.
"Jethro," Jenny began, as they settled in to dinner. She crossed her legs and leaned forward, elbow on the table – it was just the two of them and they were young; dinner was a thankfully casual affair. "When are you up for your next transfer again?"
He chewed thoughtfully, his brow furrowing.
"Mmmhmmmm," he mumbled through a mouthful, and then swallowed. "July or somethin'," he muttered slowly. "Maybe late as November, but before the end of the year."
"Is it a deployment?"
"Dunno where they send me 'til they send me, Jenny," he said warily. He didn't like to talk about possible deployments, and it had been that way since he'd returned from Iraq her junior year of college – because he knew he'd now been a long time without a hazard deployment, and his number was probably up.
He was quiet a moment, and then he leaned back.
"I put up my name for another round of sniper qualification," he revealed pointedly. "More advanced, higher pay, certification as an instructor," he grunted. "We're back to Quantico, if that pans out."
She felt some relief – she had no doubt that Gibbs would be awarded something like that, and if they could be back in the tri-state area when she was either about to have a baby or adapting to one, it would be a bonus – she'd be close to her father.
He sat forward again, giving her a wary look.
"Might mean I get deployed again before I'm out," he said delicately. "Snipers are in high demand, overseas."
She nodded.
"You were serious about applying for discharge?" she asked.
When he'd contracted last, he'd done it after his service was up in 2011 and he'd committed to active duty until 2017. At this point, that meant he could be done with his service next year, or he'd agree to another extension.
Her husband took a long sip of his beer. He looked at the label a long time, and then looked up, his eyes guarded.
"I've been lucky, Jen," he said frankly. "If we're gonna have kids, I don't wanna keep riskin' it, don't you think?"
She leaned back, pushing her hair back, and nodded – wasn't that the truth. He shook his head a little.
"I got to decide by April, 'cause they'll make the next round of decisions then," he told her. "I'll apply to discharge from Quantico," he added, winking at her.
She shrugged.
"That's not something you should push for – "
"You miss your Dad, Jenny," he grunted, interrupting her.
She rolled her eyes, picking up her glass and raising it to him.
"Yes, but I love you," she retorted. She smirked. "The weather here is nicer."
He laughed, nodding in agreement – California did have some seriously pleasant weather, and Jenny loved the lack of radical temperature swings that were common to her area of D.C., Virginia, and the areas of Pennsylvania she also sometimes called home.
They were going to have a lot to talk about in the next few months – this discussion needed to happen again, later, but suddenly, she didn't want to talk about that right now; she wanted to get down to brass tacks – she wanted to tell him. She leaned forward, her hair falling over her shoulders, and she smirked, her eyes sparkling.
"You want to make me fried Oreos for dessert?" she asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes – she never succeeded when she tried her hand at it, but for some unfathomable reason Gibbs could fry anything from a chicken to a coconut and it was damn delicious.
He stared at her.
"With what?" he retorted teasingly. "You been through three goddamn trays of Oreos in the past month." He smirked at her. "I'm gonna go buy you an industrial pack from Costco."
"Like you would be caught dead pushing a shopping cart in Costco, you insufferable goon," she fired back, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "If you think I'm getting fat, you better get used to it," she added, arching a brow.
He looked at her warily; clearly unsure if this was some sort of trap. He shrugged and muttered something under his breath, and then he reached for another pork chop, giving her a suspicious look.
"What the hell's the deal with the rabbit?" he asked, as if he'd suddenly remembered. "I thought you liked bunnies."
She laughed out loud, and when he glared at her, she pressed her hand to her lips.
"You – when you say bunnies, it sounds," he kept glaring at her, and she composed herself, and cleared her throat. "Never mind," she said stoically. But – really, hearing a sniper say bunnies was hysterical. "It's an expression."
"Uh-huh," he grunted, eyeing her. "For what?"
"Back in the thirties, they used to use rabbits for pregnancy tests," she said matter-of-factly. "They'd inject the poor little bunnies with female urine, and then cut open the rabbit to see if the ovaries enlarged. It had a failure rate of less than two percent – inhumane, maybe, but accurate," she took a drink of Sprite, and leaned forward. "So, if the rabbit died, the woman was pregnant."
Gibbs looked at her, confused.
"But if they cut open the rabbit to see inside it, doesn't the damn thing die anyway?" he asked loudly, baffled.
She stared at him, her lips turning up. He started to make another annoyed remark, and then he caught her eye – that wasn't the point of the anecdote, was it? She kept looking at him, and let him keep looking at her.
"Jen," he said gruffly, lifting his eyebrows.
"I didn't kill an actual rabbit," she began conversationally, "I did, you know, the modern think and bought a test – "
She didn't finish, because Gibbs had leapt out of his chair and rounded the table to hug her, and she was so startled by the swiftness of his reaction that all she could do was lean back and grab his arms, squeezing tightly. She let out a pent up breath, and she started laughing, her face pressed into his chest.
He pulled back after a good, long hug and kissed her firmly on the mouth, sinking into a crouch beside her chair. She pushed her hair back, tugging lightly on the long locks, and smiled at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
"I found out today," she said, a little out of breath. "I didn't think I'd, we'd – well I thought it would take longer," she added quickly, her words slamming into each other.
He nodded while she talked, balancing on the balls of his feet. He put his hands on her knees, his fingertips pressing into her excitedly, possessively, and he grinned at her, his blue eyes wide and bright. She licked her lips, looked up to the ceiling, and then looked back at him, sliding her hands over his.
"When can I tell the guys?" he demanded proudly, and she laughed, pleasantly surprised.
"Is it a competition?" she asked lightly, joking around – everything was a competition with Marines – even who got married first, who got a care package first overseas.
She thought she was kidding, but he gave her a serious look.
"Yes. I'm first," he retorted, deadpan.
She pinched his knuckles a little, and licked her lips.
"You're first?"
"Yeah, yeah – my wife is first," he corrected, a little sheepishly.
She flushed a little, but beamed. She leaned down closer.
"Okay, honey," she started placating. "This needs to stay between us for a few weeks," she said calmly. "I don't want to make any premature announcements … I want to make everything is okay – and our parents find out first, Jethro," she said, giving him a sharp wink. "Our parents, you promise me?"
He raised his eyes to the ceiling.
"Then my guys," he bartered.
She laughed and nodded, her cheeks flushing again. She couldn't bring herself to reign in his pride or eagerness even a little – it was a relief and a thrill that he was so excited – but then, Gibbs had never made it a secret that he wanted kids; she had been the one who equivocated.
He swallowed and pulled her hands towards him, covering them with his. He squeezed.
"You okay, Jenny?" he asked earnestly.
She turned towards him, her shins pressing into his knees. She nodded quickly, taking a deep breath.
"I'm nervous," she confided, lowering her voice. "I think … I think it's the first thing I'll have to do that I just … don't know how to do," she confessed. "But I'm happy, I am, Jethro, I'm," she paused, and burst into a grin. "I am really happy."
He smirked and stood up, leaning down to kiss her again. He tilted her head up, his hands pushing through her hair affectionately, running over her back and shoulders, refusing to let up until the very last moment. He pressed his palm against her neck, his thumb moving over her pulse point reverently.
"You're gonna be great, Jenny," he mumbled. "I love you."
She smiled anxiously, and let him kiss her again. She smirked, and looked at him through her lashes.
"Are you going to fry me my Oreos?" she asked against his lips.
He nodded, pulling her gently up into a standing position and wrapping his arms around her.
"Yeah, later," he agreed hoarsely – he kept nodding, kept pressing his lips against hers. "Later," he repeated gruffly.
She stood there, struck with the thought that she'd just left behind an irreplaceable time in their lives when it was just them, just two, no one else to consider – and she didn't mind that thought at all.
February-ish, 2016
Camp Pendleton
-Alexandra
story #218