A/N: I was bored in church today, so I was reading the Love Chapter (1 Corinthians 13). And I was thinking about how each of the descriptors (patient, kind, not jealous, etc.) can describe an NCIS couple. So I decided to write the story.
This first chapter is Love Is...Patient, and it's Jibbs.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
He has waited for so long. After she left him in Paris, he waited. It is her choice, not his.
She stands on the balcony, looking down at him and his team. She knows he waits, but she does not know what she wants. It is impossible for her, sometimes, to figure out why she left or why she was there in the first place.
He stands, tells Tony and Ziva to shut up. She waits as he ascends the stairs, stops next to her and leans on the railing. Barely able to contain herself, as has happened often lately, Jenny waits for him to speak.
"They're bored," he says. She knows – they finished their case, they have all been doing paperwork for the last few hours. Ziva and Tony are about to go stir-crazy.
"Give them a break," she tells him. She knows they will have to come back, will have to finish their paperwork, but if he lets them loose for a little while, she will have him all to herself. He nods and heads back down the stairs. She debates following, but decides against it.
It is obvious when he tells them they can go – McGee's face breaks into a grin, and both Tony and Ziva are ready to walk out before Gibbs has even finished his sentence. The boss waves all three away. McGee heads for the back elevator, presumably to go down and see Abby, and the other two head for the front elevator together, continuing their seemingly pointless conversation. Gibbs settles in to his desk and picks up his pen again – he will not take this break he has given his team. She doubted he would.
Overpowering her better judgment, she follows the stairway down. Walking around to the area so often filled with chatter and teasing that is silent now, she settles into Ziva's chair: her friend won't mind. Gibbs looks over quickly, keeping his face blank. She sighs as he turns back to his work. Without raising his head again, he asks, "Jen?"
She knows he is wondering why she is down here, sitting in someone else's desk, not talking. But she has no answer, no idea. He asks nothing more as he continues to work, giving her the semi-peace she was searching for.
But he is the main reason she has no peace. He is so calm, never letting on how much he once cared. She knows she has nowhere near that amount of composure. All she wants sometimes is to sit with him, to stay with him, for everything to be as it used to be. But she gave that up eight years ago, and she is never sure it was the right decision.
She knows she loves him. But she does not know if she can let him know, can give herself to someone else, can no longer be her own free person with no connections.
So he waits.