Summary: Gibbs confides his feelings regarding Jenny's death to Ducky. Set just before Last Man Standing. For Ellie and Emma.
A/N: Thanks to my flatmate Hannah for betaing this at such short notice. Now she knows why I am practically chained to my computer...
Please note: this does not mean I am out of my denial over Jenny's death. Not in the slightest.
A Long Overdue Conversation
Leroy Jethro Gibbs rubbed his brow one final time and decided that this was not going to get any easier. Sipping his bourbon, he stared unseeingly across his basement.
His team had been split up and he had been given a bunch of useless replacements. They would never be true replacements in his eyes; none of them would come close to his 'family'. Tony and Ziva were gone, while McGee was locked away in a basement full of geeks. Abby was more subdued than he had ever seen her.
And yet this was not the worst problem. It was not the reason he had started to drink too much, stay up all night, and take too many risks.
His eyes focused on the one focal point in his basement. His new boat.
The Jenny.
His heart broke a little bit further every time he looked at her, knowing that his own Jenny was gone forever. There was no chance of bumping into her in the years to come, no surreptitious monitoring of her personnel file to make sure she was okay, no brief status updates from Ducky on a few odd occasions, no more internal debates in the early hours of the morning on whether to call her or not.
This time, she was not coming back.
He sipped a little bit more of his bourbon. It reminded him of her. He recalled introducing her to it, her initial complaints of how it tasted, followed by her eventual enjoyment of it. He remembered sharing a bottle with her when they were together in Europe, tasting it in her mouth when he kissed her. Reveling in the fact she could taste it in his mouth as well.
Everything reminded him of her. His basement reminded him of when she came to visit him. He had actually started to sleep in his own bed for the first time in years, because it was easier than trying to fall asleep under his boat. When he was at work, his eyes constantly flicked to the catwalk, expecting to see her up there. He could hardly stand the Director's office – he did not consider it to be any place but Jen's – as all the warmth and friendliness had gone. He no longer barged through the door – her door – because he would not see her mildly frustrated reaction.
He sighed, the quiet noise breaking the silence that always seemed to permeate his basement nowadays. He needed to talk to someone. Someone who would understand. Someone who would listen to him.
Placing the glass down on the workbench, he reached for his car keys. He could only hope that Mrs. Mallard was asleep.
Ducky was not surprised to hear the knocking at the door. Only one person would need his help at this hour.
He rose from his comfortable chair, placing his half-read book upside down on the nearest table, before walking to the door and checking through the window. One could never be too safe.
Sure enough, it was Jethro. Maneuvering the corgis out of the way with practiced ease, he opened the door and viewed his friend.
Despite the cool weather, Jethro had not bothered with a coat. His car was parked a short distance away, and the man himself smelt faintly of alcohol. He did not appear to be drunk, but he was not entirely sober either.
"Come in," Ducky told him, sticking a foot out to prevent one of the younger corgis from escaping into the dark night. "Mother is snoring up a storm. I'll start a pot of tea."
Jethro rolled his eyes at this, but Ducky was not deterred. "Mind the dogs; they're extremely excitable tonight." He padded through to the kitchen, leaving the younger man to settle in a chair and glare at the corgis. Ducky hid a smile; Contessa loved being glared at.
After a few minutes, he emerged from his kitchen and placed a steaming pot of tea on the coffee table. "Chamomile," he announced. "To cure all ills." He poured out two big mugs, handing one to Jethro.
Silence reigned for a while, both men sipping their tea and staring at the dogs. To their credit, the corgis began to settle down as they realized that no one would play with them. Only the snores of Mrs. Mallard broke the stillness.
"I miss her, Duck," Jethro admitted suddenly.
Ducky chose not to reply, but let the younger man ease his burden on his own.
"I just… I didn't expect her to…" Jethro took a deep breath and started again. "I wish she'd told me about her… illness. I could have been there for her; I could have come to terms with it myself." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I could have told her how I felt."
Ducky felt this warranted an interruption. "Do you think that would have changed anything?"
"No, but I wouldn't have as many regrets."
"What regrets?"
Jethro took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Not being there for her when she needed me. Not telling her how I felt about her."
"She knew how you felt about her," Ducky soothed. "She asked me to not tell you about her illness because she didn't want you to worry about something you couldn't change."
The comfortable silence fell over the room again. "I keep thinking I've seen her," Jethro confessed. "Every redhead I see, for just a moment, I see her."
"That's perfectly normal."
"It just… rips my heart out every time. I want it to be her so badly; I want to wake up from this nightmare. I want the world to fall off its axis because she's gone."
Ducky stared into his friend's eyes, seeing the raw pain that was usually so well hidden. "In time, things will get better," he offered.
Jethro scoffed. "Why do you think I haven't seen a shrink, Duck? All they're going to tell me is that I should give it some time. It's been four months and it's getting worse."
"Have you tried talking to Jennifer?"
"She's dead." He said it with a note of finality.
"Go to her grave," Ducky offered. "Talk to her."
"About what?"
"Tell her everything you wanted to tell her. Talk about your new team. Talk about the weather."
Jethro rolled his eyes and said nothing. The comfortable silence returned as they finished their tea together.
Gibbs stood up from the grave. He had chosen to bring her a white orchid, knowing how much she had loved them. The sky was a brilliant blue; the sun warmed everything.
"Same time next week," he promised the patch of earth.
He slowly walked out of the cemetery. Already, he felt lighter. The war was not over yet, but one battle had been won.