Disclaimer: As always, no copyright infringement of any kind intended.
A/N: I know I have loads of unfinished fics to sort out but life has been hectic and I thought I'd lost the desire to write. This came into my head tonight and I thought I'd see how it goes. Hope you enjoy.
The postcards began arriving in June.
The weather had turned warm but it wasn't yet so hot that it was uncomfortable to be outside and as Jethro Gibbs walked the short distance from his front door to his mail box, he took a moment to relish the warmth of the sun on his face. Too many hours had been spent down in the cool of his basement or in the air conditioned office at NCIS HQ that he'd barely registered that summer was upon them.
The turning of the seasons was just another thing that had slipped by without him noticing. Since Jenny's death, he'd buried himself in his work and though it seemed that DC's resident killers were taking some vacation time, he'd found more than enough cold cases to keep him and his team busy. So engrossed was he in trying to solve the 1987 Contini murder case, that he hadn't noticed that Tony and Ziva, having found solace with one another following Jenny's murder, had taken their relationship to the next level and were spending every waking hour – and more than a few non-waking hours – together. The lack of sniping and juvenile fighting between the two had gone unnoticed by Gibbs, whose only concern seemed to be finding justice for every victim whose death was as yet unsolved.
Like Jenny's.
Gibbs opened his eyes again, squinting slightly at the bright sun – another reminder of Jenny and what he had lost. He'd loved the way the sun reflected in her hair, making her auburn locks shine like perfect copper. He smiled softly at the image his memory had resurrected. Reaching into the mailbox, he pulled out a small bundle of letters. He sorted through them as he made his way back into the house. Bills and junk mail were instantly put to the back of the pile without a second glance but a blank piece of thin cardboard stopped him in his tracks. Flipping it over, he saw it was a blank postcard, addressed to him and bearing a DC postage mark.
Why send a postcard with no image on it? Gibbs wondered. Already he realised that all was not as it seemed and as he read the only two words written on the message side of the card, his mind was already working overtime trying to find a connection between himself and the words : Mark Twain.
tbc