Title: Gravity
Rating: T
Summary: In the end some forces really are too strong to resist.
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, don't have any money - and I probably shouldn't be doing this.
A/N - I've always been inclined to read the last page first and maybe that's where this story comes from. Thanks to Elflordsmistress for providing sage advice and giving me a push in the right direction when I needed one.
Gravity
With professional detachment Gibbs let his gaze stray over the security arrangements. His own expertise had contributed to them – so he knew what to look for and he made certain that he was satisfied with what he saw.
So intent was he on this task that the low buzz of voices, the clink of glasses, soft lighting and VIP guests didn't distract him. He concentrated on all the tiny details, assessing what could go wrong, calculating the variables. Around him other agents, other security teams watched – co-ordinating with them had been a nightmare and he was grateful only to be peripherally involved. Playing nicely with the rest of the alphabet still drove him crazy and he had been relieved to consign the task to the Director.
Finally, deciding he was satisfied with what he saw he turned his attention to the woman who stood at the centre of a small group, conversing seriously on what he suspected was a matter of some importance; Jenny Shepard, the guest of honour.
It was five years since she'd stepped down as Director of NCIS. Five years of globe trotting, of shuttle diplomacy, of holding a role of breath-taking complexity. She had judgement and flair and, according to her press reports, she'd used both to good effect. Of course he didn't read her press cuttings, doubted that she had time to either, though someone on her staff probably did.
She'd aged well; the conservative cut to her gown did little to disguise a figure that was still slim and curvy. Her hair was curled into an elegant chignon, a few strands escaping its confines. Even from across the room he could tell she was breath-takingly beautiful.
Almost unwillingly he let his mind drift back five years. They had slowly been growing closer, their fights underscored by something neither of them had been brave enough yet to call passion. The chemistry between them had slowly come to the surface once again and, at times, it seemed that the whole Agency watched them and held its breath, waiting; knowing it was only a matter of time before they succumbed.
They were the only people who didn't seem aware of the coiling tension. Instead they hesitated – the spectre of the past haunting them, making them unwilling to take the final step, while all the time the air around them sizzled with heat and expectation.
On the night everything changed there had been no particular drama, or crisis; no 'sister' agencies she needed to mollify and no need for him to bounce ideas off his former partner. He'd brought her some case files – only to find her putting on her coat, ready to go home. Somehow it had emerged that he was ready to leave as well and, as easily as though they'd been doing it for years, she'd offered to make him dinner.
He might have slipped in a joke about her cooking, but it hadn't occurred to him not to accept her invitation. As wary as he'd been, he'd felt her pull; not at all certain how much he wanted to resist, enjoying the way neither of them was ready to make a move, but instead were letting the anticipation build. As though they had no reason at all to rush things, this time.
Half an hour later, standing in her kitchen, he knew that this was a moment he would remember for a long time – because dinner was just not going to happen. He'd reached around her to turn off the gas, loving the small, knowing smile that had crept over her face just before he kissed her.
He'd carried her to bed – though his knees and back had protested the gesture. Even now he could remember the sound of her laughter as he'd tumbled them back onto the covers, how joyous and free she'd sounded. Time had stopped as he'd looked down at her, their bodies pressed together. The moment of stillness had felt right and good and damn near perfect, as though the years of anger and distrust might just have been worth it after all. Had to be worth it, because out of them had come the opportunity to slowly and carefully rebuild a relationship that had once been little short of brilliant and that ended with them like this, deliciously wrapped up her expensive sheets and in each other.
They'd still been luxuriating in their new intimacy a week later when the US Ambassador to the European Union had died from a heart attack. Three days later she was offered the position.
Music woke him from his memories. As the soft strains of a waltz flowed over the party he told himself that the past was dead; couldn't be changed, that they'd both made their choices.
This time she hadn't made the decision alone and in secret – though he was sure it was every bit as difficult and heart-breaking for her. It had been his decision too – painful, but necessary; because he wouldn't hold her back and because he didn't think he had the right to stop her from fulfilling a personal request made by the President.
And, once the decision had been made there had been no more nights of loving, no more evenings curled up together – neither of them had been able to bear it. Instead she'd slipped in a few final decisions in the flurry of publicity surrounding the announcement of her appointment and her departure from NCIS. Some very expensive new equipment had found its way into Abby's lab, there had been an award for DiNozzo, a more permanent attachment negotiated for Ziva and a round of minor promotions that had included McGee. But still she'd left; still he'd been losing her – just as they'd found each other again. His team had known it, but couldn't work out what to say; how to offer him their support from a safe distance.
The last night before she left the country he'd broken his resolve and gone to her – though he'd sworn that he wouldn't. But staying away was almost as difficult as letting her go and in the end he'd told himself that the only thing he could do was make the most of the hours they had left together.
She'd known what he'd come for when she'd opened the door to find him standing there, which was just as well because he hadn't been able to summon the words to tell her. He could see the emotion in her eyes as they'd watched each other for a long moment and all he could do was hope that she understood, that she was willing to risk the pain to have this night.
Holding out her hand she'd led him upstairs in silence. There were no words as he reached for her, unbuttoning her shirt and pushing her jeans down over her hips, sliding the rest of her clothes away and letting his fingers stroke slowly over her exposed skin. She'd sighed quietly as he'd kissed her everywhere he could reach, his mouth coaxing her arousal to the point when she pushed her fingers into his hair, holding him to her breast and pressing her hips into his – her demand clear.
And still they hadn't spoken, until finally she'd breathed, "I'm sorry," against his skin, over and over as she undressed him.
He'd held her tight as he moved with her in the darkness, kissing away her tears, whispering words of comfort to her, knowing she was already slipping away. And somehow, near dawn; with grey light filtering through the curtains and her body wrapped around his, he had faced the fact he'd been hiding from – that he wasn't strong enough to let her go.
TBC