"Our memories are the only paradise from which we can never be expelled." – Jean Paul Richter
Gibbs sat alone in his basement, the only company he needed were a half-empty bottle of bourbon and his boat. Memories of a certain redhead assaulted him and a new wave of sadness washed over him.
He had sworn to himself when she had waltzed back into his life three years ago that he would never let her get away again. He would never make the same mistake, the one that had been haunting him for all those years.
But now she was gone. Again.
She had left him in Paris to pursue her goals, and then had appeared in his life once again years later as though nothing had happened. She had told him there would no 'off the job', but they both knew it was only a matter of time. They never could resist each other, he never could resist her. So, they had played a dangerous game. She seemed to not care or not notice the effect she had on him even after all these years. There was constant teasing and banter that sometimes reached unbearable levels for him to tolerate. He sometimes swore she deliberately teased him just to watch his reaction.
She had always been very ambitious and sometimes he resented it, because it had kept them apart on numerous occasions. He didn't agree with all of her decisions but she was just as stubborn as he was. Once she set her mind on something, she did it, no matter the consequences.
When she had come back into his life, it had been like a wake up call. He realised just how much he needed her. She was infuriating and endearing at the same time, leaving him both frustrated and desperate for more.
But she was his Jenny and she was always welcome to worm her way back into his life.
He couldn't deny how much he missed her. How much he longed to see her mischievous teasing smile once more. He desperately hoped to one day wake up from this nightmare and see her sitting at her Director's desk once more, reprimanding him for not following regulations or not doing paperwork.
The team had noticed changes in him. He had been drinking more, going through more bourbon than he had in years. He went to work, barely speaking to anyone, and then went home to mope in his basement. He was rough with suspects, losing his temper more easily. They were concerned about him, but he brushed their worry aside. He even ignored Ducky's attempts to give friendly advice and offers of help.
He had nothing left, now that she was gone. He had stopped feeling the same thrill after concluding a successful case. His job had become just that. It was a job, nothing more.
So he drowned his sorrows in bourbon and allowed his mind to wander to those happy memories of his redheaded angel, for our memories are the only paradise from which we can never be expelled.