A/N: SOOOOOO. I decided to do a new formatting thing, and in my opinion the italics looks better than the boldface. Now, for the second and final part of the What About Me trilogy. Sorry it took so long, my health as gotten in the way of my writing lately. And I ought to be getting an update of Not Her up soon, and again I apologize for this second chapter. I know it's not my best piece of work, and maybe in the future I'll come back and redo it.
I appreciate everybody who reads/reviews my stories. VG LittleBear: I was reading your reviews the other day, and they made laugh/smile so hard! Thanks for reading my stories!
Left my heart in Paris: First let me say that I'm pretty sure I've read ALL your stories, and there isn't one of them that I haven't absolutely loved! I appreciate you reading and reviewing my stories, and I promise I will make a valiant effort to update What Could've Happened. Oh yea, you know your "P.S" comment? I think that will make an epic story, and I can't wait to read it.
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN NCIS.
It was Monday, three days after he'd left that last fateful voicemail, and the SecNav was coming into his office. He'd had meetings today, of course those were ones that had been planned before the incident he'd deemed last week to be. And he was having to put them off yet again. Hence, the reason why he was actually in the same building as his office at 7:45 a.m.. He just hoped she'd be here...
Cheerfully he greeted his secretary, who rightfully seemed shocked to seem him there, but went back to her work faithfully. He moved on, dropping his security detail at the door of the outer office, and opened the large mahogany doors.
There was a redhead sitting in one of the plush armchairs in front of his desk.
His good mood thoroughly subdued, he shut his office door gently. His secretary hadn't told him she was waiting for him and there wasn't an extra detail lingering around the office, but somehow that didn't surprise him. He'd pulled Jennifer Shepard out of the depths of missions and Black OPs, and sat her right in the chair of big politics. Nothing she did anymore surprised him...
Well, except the stunt that encompassed the entirety of last week. Moving around to the front of his desk, he sat his briefcase down stiffly. His eyes scanned over her form in a 'concerned' fashion, and their gazes locked. Trying to ignore the fact that she looked awfully despite her put-together appearance, he asked the question that everybody had been wondering.
"What got into you this last week, Jennifer?"
And despite the oh so many responses she could give, most of them inappropriate. She shrugged one shoulder dismissively, and hoarsely whispered.
"Wishful thinking I guess."
It was Friday.
A week after she'd left Jethro. Four days after she'd managed to keep her job with only a slap on the wrist.
She was riding home in her town car (she could only imagine what Jethro would have to say about that), and her face was pressed against the cool glass window. In a way that was strangely reminiscent of two plane rides she desperately didn't want to think about.
The only thing missing were tears.
But, if she didn't stop this line of thinking they wouldn't be missing for long.
So, instead she thought about this past week. About all the meetings, politics, and excuses she'd been embroiled in. Yes, she'd gotten away with only a slap on the wrist from SecNav. But, that didn't mean the world had waited for her. Meetings, briefings, and case-files had kept her buried up to her eyebrows in work.
She appreciated that.
But, the first moment she'd been out of her office, she'd had to deal with something unexpected. Yes, she knew everyone on the team had called her or texted her while she was 'gone'. And naively she'd just figured it was because she was the Director and she'd mysteriously disappeared right after their fateful leader. After all she was fairly new, and the fact that she had a past with Jethro wasn't very well hidden.
She should've realized that being 'new' didn't last very long where Team Gibbs (she refused to think of it as anything else) was concerned. Of course, she'd expected Ziva to greet her and ask questions about where she'd been, but Ziva and her were different. Same with Ducky.
But, the fact that Tony, Abby, Tim, and even Palmer had greeted her enthusiastically and lamented her absence was shocking. After the initial shock had worn off and greetings had been exchanged (though Abby was still hanging on to her at that point) naturally the questions had followed.
Where have you been?
Why did you leave?
Why didn't you answer our calls?
Why didn't you tell us you were leaving?
Was it because of Gibbs?
Where you with Gibbs?
This was where the majority of the excuses had come in.
Oh nowhere.
The stress had just gotten to me.
I needed to be alone.
I didn't plan on leaving, it just happened.
That bastard?
Of course not.
They wouldn't be classed as the smartest people she knew, if all of them hadn't realized that most of those had been half-assed lies. But, they accepted it with gracious suspicion. All of them except Ducky. As she looked into his wise, all-knowing eyes, she knew that he knew the truth. That she'd spent the week with Jethro and that it hadn't ended well...again, but he hadn't questioned. And she hadn't let herself be caught in the same room as him the rest of the week.
After all, she couldn't very well admit that she'd spent the whole week fucking Jethro. Now, could she?
As her town car pulled into her driveway she took a moment to gaze hesitantly at her brownstone.
Due to the very real fact that the world really did fall apart the moment she was out of reach, she hadn't seen her house since Monday. Living solely on the spare clothes she kept in her desk, and showers in her private bathroom had been easier than she would've thought. But, sleep deprivation was taking it's toll on her in the form of raccoon rings around her emerald orbs, and excessive amounts of coffee cups in her trashcan. She hadn't slept a wink this week.
How could she when the one time she'd passed out at her desk, and had had a nightmare she'd woken up expecting the safety of Jethro's arms around her? Desperately she'd tried to hold it together, when she'd realized she was alone at her desk, trying to stave off the threatening sobs.
She was just glad her pitiful, sniffling tears hadn't woken Abby.
Oh yea, Abby.
Apparently in the absence of Jethro, Abby had latched onto the most least likely person...her. When the team had first seen her face again, it had taken a full ten minutes to convince Abby to let go of her. And still she had acted like a second shadow for the rest of the day. Until. she'd disappeared for about an hour that night.
Jenny had been suspicious at first, but had distracted herself from it with paperwork.
Eventually she'd thought everything was over and normal, until there was a knock on her office door. Now, that wouldn't have been unusual if it hadn't been for the fact that it was well past the normal 'going home' time.
When she'd answered the door she'd been greeted by a pale Abby, clutching a pillow and a blanket. Of course, she'd been prepared to send her away with polite excuses.
Then, with tears streaking down her face, Abby said, "I know you aren't going home anytime soon. I know you probably don't want me to do this, but...Daddy's gone. And you're here and you're...Mommy."
Out of context what Abby had just said would've sounded insane, but to her it made perfect sense. Still she probably could've ignored it, and yes she had been in that kind of mood, if the words Mommy and Daddy hadn't been used in the same sentences. 'Daddy' was Jethro, that meant she was...
That struck a chord.
So she'd let Abby in, intending on her just staying the night. But, for the rest of the week of her being there, Jenny's couch in her office had been occupied by a mourning, sweet-hearted, Goth.
Now, she was still in her seat. She hadn't moved a muscle since her driver had pulled into the driveway, and if the fact that everybody on her detail was still mad at her was anything to go by. Then they wouldn't be saying anything to her for a while.
She was okay with that, for now.
Even if she hadn't seen her house since Monday. The fact remains that she'd arrived in Washington in the wee hours of Saturday morning, and she hadn't been told to report to her boss's office until Monday. So, she'd spent the weekend at her house.
She was pretty sure her whole weekend had been spent curled up on her couch in her living room. And though she wasn't proud of it, the bottle of bourbon hadn't left the coffee table all weekend. The only time she'd moved at all was to relieve her bladder, and to clean herself up early Monday morning. Even then she'd only used the downstairs bathroom.
She wasn't sure she wanted to go back to that.
'Then why didn't you just stay with Jethro?' Her sleep deprived mind had the audacity to wonder.
But, it was true. In the back of her mind two nagging thoughts lingered. Two major ones.
'Did I make a mistake?'
'Was there ANYTHING that would bring him back?'
She would acknowledge neither of them, the only thing they would succeed in was making her go crazy. And, yet she couldn't shake them.
There were two things that terrified her; that she'd made yet another mistake, and...would she ever see Jethro again?
She didn't know which idea scared her more.
"Hmmm," her driver cleared his throat, and vaguely Jenny wondered if he'd drawn the short straw.
"Excuse me ma'm, but did you leave a light on over the week?" He asked. This managed to draw Jenny out of her self pitying thoughts, long enough to look up at her house.
The hallway light was on, the hallway that led to the study. Jenny's gut clenched tightly, an instinct she'd inherited from years of working with Jethro, and it was telling her that something was wrong. Because she knew damn well that she hadn't turned on any lights last weekend.
She hadn't wanted to risk catching a glimpse of her reflection, it probably would've broken her.
Quickly, she glanced over her detail. Three were in the front, including her driver, and two were following in the car behind them. All of them were mad at her, and she really didn't want to prolong the period that she had to be in there company while they searched her house.
Besides she had a gun, and she was probably more capable of handling a situation then any of these childish men. After all, she had been trained by the best.
"Yes, I did. I must've forgot." She said in a voice hoarse from too much use over the past week. Gracefully, she opened her door and slid out of the car, her heels barely making a sound as they came in contact with the ground. She shut the door behind her, but not before she heard one of the men in the front scoff, "Women," under his breath.
Resisting the urge to go back and remind him which woman signed his paycheck, she simply rolled her eyes and started walking up the pavement steps to her front door.
It was, sadly, no surprise to her when no sooner had the toe of her Jimmy Choos touched the stone steps. And she heard the sound of her town car peeling out of the drive.
Wow, she really needed to look for a new detail.
Trying to ignore the nervous clenching of her gut, she tried the handle of her heavy oak door. It was unlocked, and that was one thing she especially never tried to copy from Jethro.
After all she actually slept, and not with a gun under her pillow.
Carefully, she toed open the door. Thankfully, she'd listened to Jethro's griping about the way her door creaked and had had it fixed. Entering her foyer, she eased off her heels with the ease of someone who'd had great practice.
The overhead chandelier that she'd always admired since she was a kid, was on. Leaving the open doorway of the living room on her left in shadows, and on her right the kitchen which was equally as dark. It illuminated halfway up the large stairway that led to the second floor and her bedroom.
And the ajar door of her study, located right in front of her.
On stocking feet she slipped over the hardwood floors, and without another sound in the house she made it into the shadows of her study door.
What should she do?
Slip in quietly, and hope like hell whoever was in there didn't notice her?
Or go in guns blazing and make them notice her?
"Rule 27, there are two ways to follow someone: First way, the never notice you. Second way, they only notice you."
Rule 27, seemed to fit this situation, but which option?
Together, her and Jethro had always preferred the first way. There was less mess that way.
That settled it for her.
In one fluid move, she threw open the door and slid her gun from her sider holster.
"NCIS," she yelled,"Drop your weapon!"
The fact that a gun was being pointed right back at her, was the first thing she realized, dead in the eyes. Only this one cocked, something she'd foolishly forgotten to do to her own.
The second thing she realized, was the man pointing it at her.
Her eyes roamed up muscled arms, broad shoulders, a corded neck, and right back up into cobalt blue eyes.
Jethro.
Though it hadn't yet registered in her mind who was pointing a gun at her. Her body registered it because her arms went numb, and her grip on the gun went slack.
The gun slid right out of her hands, and it was only when she'd vaguely realized that there should've been a very big bang. Did she noticed that apparently Jethro at some point had tucked his own gun into the waistband of his (cargo?) shorts, and had leaned forward to catch hers loosely.
She said the first thing she could think of, "Where the hell did you get a gun?!"
Slowly he straightened up, a look of disbelief on his rugged features.
"What?" He exclaimed, his voice gruff.
Like a petulant child, she stomped her foot.
"What-?"
"Why-?
"What the hell?!"
"How?"
Her brain was playing a mental game of Russian Roulette, which question would it land on?
Which question would give her the 'bullet'?
If nothing else was explained to her. If he suddenly dissolved into a figment of her sleep deprived imagination. She needed to know...
"Why?!" She spluttered.
He gave a one shouldered shrug that she took to mean he didn't know either.
"Why am I here, or why did I even come back?" He asked her, and this more than anything convinced Jenny that Jethro could in fact read her mind.
"Good question, Jethro." Her mind commended him back, and she hoped he got the message.
Damn she need some sleep.
"Both," she whispered, and her eyes stung angrily. With the lack of sleep that was slowly catching up to her, or with withheld emotions she didn't know.
"Or, I could just tell you everything that happened," he whispered. He leaned slightly to the left and sat both of their guns on her desk, then started inching forward, advancing on her frozen form.
In some vain part of her mind she wished she'd known he was coming, or that he was going to be here. Because with her first meeting with Jethro after a very long, very torturous week. She just had to actually look like she'd spent the whole week in the office.
But, if the way his eyes roamed over her were anything to go by, he didn't seem to care.
Yea, she recognized that look. That was the look that would end up with her on her back in a matter of five minutes. That was the look that would keep them both thoroughly distracted for the rest of the night. That was a look that resulted of a week of abstinence after a week of indulgence.
That was a look that would most likely end with her waking up alone in the morning.
This time there being no letter to greet her.
She had to get herself together.
"What brought you back to this country, Jethro?" She snipped like the true redhead she was, and damn was she proud of how strong her voice came out.
He stopped in his tracks.
"Well, I was just about to tell you. If you'd allow me." He barked back, the both of them settling into old and familiar roles.
"Carry on Jethro, please. I don't have a whole week." She said. At his cocked eyebrow, she elaborated.
"They are becoming our unspoken cliché? Are they not?" She inquired, mimicking his stance. Right down to the cocked left eyebrow.
"Oh, really?" He drawled in a laconic tone, "I thought six years was?"
At this she reeled, yes the first separation had been six years. Yes, it had only been a week this time. Just seven days, yet it had felt like six years all over again.
"Why did you come back?" She hissed, walking the rest of the way forward. Closing the distance between them, and it was only then that she was reminded of just how much of a height distance there was between them when she wasn't in heels. Looking up at his face, she tried to ignore the way her heart was furiously pounding.
"After you left," he began, glaring down at her.
"I spent the whole weekend drunk," he admitted. Averting his eyes barely to the left, just so he didn't have to look her in the eye. And with that confession, something inside of her melted.
Just the barest, tiniest, bit.
"Monday...Tuesday...Wednesday, I spent working my ass off repairing the Mike's house." He said, and this time looking her in the eyes she realized his fingers were playing with the hem of his cut-off, red, T-shirt.
Her eyes flitted down, and she registered that he was pulling up his shirt. Somewhere she guiltily realized that she wouldn't mind if he was, in fact, giving her a strip tease.
The frayed ends of his T-shirt stopped just below his ribs, and her hand came up to muffle the involuntary gasp that escaped her. All over his muscled stomach (and she was fairly positive that they led up his chest too) was dotted with mottled bruises.
Glaring back at up him, demanding answers with her eyes, he feigned nonchalance when he said.
"Mike slapped me upside the head after about the fifth."
"What the hell, Jethro?!" She exclaimed, and he opened his mouth to respond. Before her ferocious body language basically told him to watch what he said, and for him not to dare try and pass the bruises off. Because she knew for a fact that the bruising from the explosion had faded by the last time they'd...had sex.
Which was the day she'd left so...the idiot had had a whole week to accumulate some new ones.
After enduring a full minute of her glare he tried to lower his shirt, but her slim fingers wrapped around his thick wrists. Officially stopping him.
"How?" She bit out, her eyes were telling him not to try anything with her.
In a movement that oozed placation, he broke her hold on him and lowered his shirt. Her hands back at her side, she refused to back out of his personal space. Not until he gave her the answers she was looking for.
"Welllllll...one of them was from a loose piece of lumber. Anothhheeerrr from a mysterious flying piece of hardware," he told her. What he wasn't going to tell her was that the 'mysterious' piece of hardware had come at him after he'd destroyed Mike's simple tool shed in a fit of drunken rage.
Of course after some gruff sobering up, Mike had forgiven him with a slap to his hung-over head. But, had told him to get his sorry ass up and go see his 'pretty Director friend'.
"And the oth-," she started to ask, but he interrupted her with a simple shake of his head. He didn't want to take the time and explain all of them to her. Closing her mouth indignantly, she opened it again but this time with a different tactic in mind.
"And yesterday?"
At this he seemed to close up, which automatically put Jenny on the defense. So far he'd seemed compliant, willing even, to tell her everything. Now, she wasn't so sure she wanted to know everything.
"Yesterday," he began, and vaguely she felt irritation at the fact that he wouldn't just tell her and get it over with. Instead of letting all of this nervous anticipation building up.
"I went to the cantina. It was early in the morning," he clarified, and if she'd done any better this past week. She would've asked why he was getting drunk early in the morning. But, the one rule they'd had in their messed up relationship was that they never judged each other.
"I got...blind drunk, and it was around noon...There was a woman there," he finished slowly. With this it was like it last Friday all over again, and she was listening to her boss' voice in her ear threatening to ruin the perfect little world she'd recreated for herself.
Now, it was Jethro's voice, threatening to send her lower than she already was.
"We went back to her house...," he hung his head when he said it. Like a puppy waiting to be kicked while he was down.
Instead of kicking him, she stumbled backwards. Her heart was thudding much to fast for her, and she was tripping over her own feet in her haste to get away from him.
Lunging forward, his large hands grasped her slim shoulders tightly. Pulling her back to him, she stubbornly refused to look him in the eye, and looking at her own feet she waited resigned for whatever he was about to say.
"We kissed, Jenny!" He spilt out, in a rush to get everything out before he lost his nerve. He tilted his head, trying to catch her eye so he could see her reaction.
But, he didn't have to look her in the eye. In his strong grasp her delicate frame start to shake.
Why couldn't he see that she didn't want to know anymore?!
She didn't want to know about his adventures with a Baja beach bimbo. She didn't want to know that he'd immediately jumped on the next warm body that had presented itself. She didn't want to know!
All she wanted to do was go and find a bottle of bourbon. To get blind drunk like he'd seemed to be trying to do, and just forget. Forget that he'd shown up in her study unannounced, and that he'd just threatened to ruin her memories of the perfect week.
She wanted to go curl up in a ball and cry over the last of her memories with Jethro. A stubborn tear flooded over the rim of her emerald green eyes, sliding down her pale cheek.
But, he didn't let her move. Instead he kept her captured, and she couldn't help but wonder if this was a new form of torture he was perfecting. As more and more tears followed the first, she tried to hold back the lump in her throat.
And failed epically, as a sob ripped from her violently. Opening the floodgates once again.
"Jenny!" He said, shaking her lightly.
"Jenny!" He tried again, shaking her just a little bit harder.
"JEN," he yelled in her ear over her sobs, giving her a teeth rattling shake.
"Jenny, I pushed her away after that! Nothing else happened! Jen, she wasn't you!" He said desperately, trying so very hard to get her to stop crying. He could take anything torture, pain, death, anything but her tears. Every time a tear from her would break him.
But, at his words her sobs eased. Her tears didn't, but the painful sobs that had ripped her throat and heart apart stopped. Saddened eyes, widened with disbelieving hope, met his again.
In his icy blues, there was no anger.
Only a desperation. A desperation for her to understand, and believe him.
Oh God, she wanted to!
The relief, that heavy weight on her heart was lifted with it. And with it gone she forgot all her reservations, all her reasons to not do what she was about to do.
Shaking his hands off her, her hand flew up and pulled his head to her.
Their lips met.
She kissed him, hard. There were no hesitation on her part in the kiss, and once the shock wore off his hesitancy did too. Making it a battle of teeth and tongue, each letting there emotions show in a way they were so very good at.
One of his hands flew to her lower her back, pushing her all the way up against the length of his lean body. His other hand started violently ripping bobby pins from her hair, destroying the pristine bun she'd put her hair in this morning. And sending her auburn locks cascading down her back, his second hand burying itself in the silky waves.
While his hands were busy, hers were by no means still. One of her hands continued clutching the back of his head as if he could actually manage to pull himself away from her. Her other one was moving steadily over his broad back, raking across the thin fabric, desperate to feel skin on skin.
When air became a necessity, an absolute necessity. They pulled back reluctantly, reducing their hectic kisses to gentle, slow ones. Each of them trying to pull away so they could actually talk, like they needed to.
It wasn't what they wanted though, and she realized it as their foreheads rested against each other.
No, if the promises he made in that kiss were anything to go by. They had unlimited time to talk.
Right now they needed each other, and nothing was going to get settled until they had their fill.
His hips rubbed against hers, gently. Her eyes fluttered close...
"Jethro," she moaned.
Pushing her backwards, they tripped entangled together across the room, her eyes flying open in the process. They kept walking until her back hit the open door frame, and...his lips were on hers.
His lips were warm, rough, and...familiar on hers. His hands traveling over her body in a way that made her wish they were both naked already. He pushed one leg in between hers, and his large hand gripped her thigh tightly. Pulling it up to ride his hip, she rocked her hips against his.
Their kiss broke again, but Jethro barely let her catch her breath before he started trailing kisses down her neck. She tilted her head back knocking it against the wood, and her eyes closed in ecstasy as he nipped at her jaw.
She wanted to lose herself in him. Wanted to let him work that intoxicating power he had over her, and make her forget everything. But there was a niggling thought in the back of her mind. Something that would keep her from loosing herself entirely in him until she found out, or at least asked.
"What did you come back for?" She managed to gasp out, as his hips rocked into hers once again. Making it very hard for her to resist rubbing against him.
Pulling back from the hickey he was currently making in the hollow of her throat, he looked back up at her. His eyes opening in a very cute, innocent type of way.
Jethro and innocent?
Yea, when pigs fly.
When his lips got to her ear, she'll never know. But, suddenly his hot breath was on her ear, tickling the hairs on the back of her neck.
"You, Jenny. You," he breathed.
The hand hanging limply at her side, moved. Grasping at his silver locks, she yanked his head back, gluing their lips together. She wrapped her other leg around his hip, and his hands were around the bottom of her thighs hitching her up around his waist. His teeth nipped naughtily at her bottom lip, her gasp allowing him entrance.
Not like she really minded though.
Tongues thrusting against each other, his hips rocked once again against hers. His hands grasping futilely at the materials separating them, her hands raked against his silver locks. If he kept letting his hair grow out like this she knew from experience that in a few weeks he'd have a full mop of curly hair.
She couldn't help but giggle at the mental image.
She felt him smile against her mouth.
In retaliation for the giggling, he gave her a teasing pinch. For punishment her hips rocked against his thigh, rubbing her warmth against his barely clothed leg.
Neither knew how long they stood there kissing, rubbing, and teasing each other. But, neither of them hadn't wanted a grind against a wall. And if what each of them felt against their respective thighs were anything to go by, this wouldn't be lasting long.
Pulling back from another breathtaking kiss, Jenny managed to say.
"Bed...room?" From in between pants of sweet breath. Slightly dazed, he looked her in the eye and nodded. Gently he eased her down to the ground, waiting until she had her legs back under her to let go of her hips.
They stood there for a moment, catching their breaths.
Her hand moved to capture his limply, their fingers entangling together.
Moving around the door jamb, she pulled him along gently. Walking backwards (still dragging him along) they entered and exited the lighted foyer. While she blindly tried to lead their way up the darkened staircase.
He stopped her, on the boundary where the chandelier illuminated no further. Framing her face delicately with his hands, he pulled her forward, kissing her softly.
Warm lips mashed against each others.
Hands grabbing, touching, reacquainting.
Breaths mingling.
They only stopped when the delicious tingling from earlier reappeared. Alighting them both with torturous anticipation, and sparking a need of the most primal sort.
Pulling apart with only their entwined hands touching, they crossed into the shadows together.
She'll never remember how they made it to her bedroom. She'll only be able to marvel at the remembrance that it hadn't been rushed.
Which explained her desperate trembling, as they crossed the threshold into her darkened bedroom.
As soon as they were out of the hallway, Jethro pulled her to him. Enticing her effortlessly into a kiss that made her want for more. While she was momentarily distracted by the way their tongues fought in a passionate dance of dominance. His hands were busy elsewhere.
Both of his hands were pressed into her lower back. One, was clenching and unclenching in a fist, alternating between a fistful of her silk blouse and pressing her closer. His other hand was busy furiously un-tucking said blouse from her khaki slacks.
Once, she'd felt the last portion of her shirt loosen up she was amazed at the fact that it was still perfectly intact. Apparently, that had been judged too soon because as soon as Jethro had managed to get a feel for the long row of tiny buttons. Well, no sooner had she realized it and those little buttons were scattering across the floorboards as her shirt floated to the ground.
She heard the rip of fabric as her bra was rendered useless.
Jethro wasted no opportunities in exploring the newly exposed skin. Even though his hands had been on her in the same way less than a week ago. Even though he'd had the pleasure of exploring all of this delicate treasure less than seven days ago.
It felt like their first time all over again.
Pretty soon, and Jenny had lost all patience. Ripping his shirt off (after all it wasn't like it was the best shirt he owned), and he had just ripped of her own one hundred dollar blouse. Jenny's hands eagerly explored his naked chest, as his shirt joined hers on the floor. Her hands rubbed over his muscled stomach, skimmed through his wiry chest hair, and eventually settled for roaming his broad and expansive back.
Enamored by the feel of her soft hands roaming over his rough skin, Jethro started unconsciously walking them backwards. So caught up in the kiss, Jenny hadn't even noticed what he was doing until she felt the edge of the bed hit the back of her knees.
Together in a whirl of mounting passion, they fell against the silk sheets. Her, sprawled on her back with his warm weight pinning her. Him, feeling the her soft curves spread out under him, her sweet smelling skin touching his own.
Breaking the kiss now that both their lungs felt as if they were past bursting, Jethro lifted some of his weight off of her with his forearms. And started peppering kisses down her neck and shoulder, while she gasped for air.
She'd just managed to get her breathing reasonably controlled when he heard a hitch in her breathing and the sounds of slight panting started up again. He smirked against her skin, pressing his forehead more firmly into her bare breast while his lips latched around a rosy erect nipple. Suckling, nipping, licking; he lavished her with attention, up until the point her fingers threaded through his hair, both her hands tightly cradling his head to her chest. Almost against her will it seemed like, her hips started thrusting up from the bed. Needy for attention, for the deliberate neglect he was torturing her with to stop.
"Jethro," she moaned.
Releasing her nipple quickly, he lavished some brief affections onto her poor neglected breast, and moved back to trailing kisses down her body. As he placed kisses all the way down to her bellybutton, with deft fingers he unzipped her khaki's while she was lost in a haze of pleasure.
Sliding one hand under her ass, his tongue flicked out leaving a wet trail over the V of her hips bones. With one hand he held her hips off the bed, and with the other he pulled her pants down swiftly.
Empty holster with.
The material sliding away was almost sin against her skin, but cracking open the eyes that had shut sometime earlier. The view she caught of the expression on his face made her feel so much, better.
Leaning up and back on his knees, Jethro discarded the pants and holster over his shoulder faintly hearing the sound as the materials hit the wall behind them. But, Jethro was to busy drinking in the sight in front of him.
Her pale, toned body contrasted with vibrancy of the navy silk sheets she was laying on. The contrast was almost as beautiful as the sight of her wine-red locks splayed across the white background of the feather pillows she was laying her head on. But the sight that got to him the most, was by far the way she looked in that sexy midnight black lacy underwear she had on.
The arousal he felt from just that piece of fabric was almost laughable.
Caught off guard, his staring was cut short when she sat up quickly. Her hands landing on his shoulders, upsetting his weight skillfully, she managed to flip him on his back. She, landing in a perfect straddle of his hips.
He didn't mind though because sooner than he could blink his cargo shorts were discarded.
His boxers, and her undergarments with them.
The bed creaked, and the springs moaned in protest as their bodies rolled around in the bed. Two dark silhouettes dancing across the far wall of her bedroom in the light of the moon as it shined through the curtains onto the bed.
As a much more physical, more...primal fight of dominance occurred.
Finally frustrated with his arousal roaring, he flipped her onto her back with a low growl. Their lips locking in a fierce and passionate kiss, his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, and her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hips rocking into his, swollen and wet with need. She whimpered pitifully.
He entered her in one smooth move, the silhouettes mimicking them, merging together in one fluid motion.
"Oh," she gasped breaking the violent kiss. He felt so good inside her again, she felt so full, and whole for the first time in what felt like forever. But what in reality was only a week.
A week of longing and secret heartache.
This, this frozen moment in time as their bodies were merged together once again. Their eyes locked in passion, and their shared gasps and moans of pleasure. At the simple act of being one once again.
Unsurprisingly it didn't last long.
He starting moving with quick and powerful thrusts, a flurry of emotions making their hearts hammer just as much the physical exertion itself. Emotions that neither wanted to take the time to process. All he knew was that he wanted her again, and all she could do was cling to his shoulders and hang on for the ride.
His thrusts became erratic and more powerful, loosing her rhythm.
She started to tremble once more.
His forehead dropped to her breast, and a little more of his weight dropped on her.
And she welcomed it.
Both of them could feel it coming on. A tingling shot down his spine, and an overpowering wave that made every nerve ending in her body feel like it was on fire, ran across her skin. She groaned at the feeling of his hot breath warming washing over her sweat soaked skin, he groaned at the feeling of her internal muscles fluttering around him. Cradling his head to her breast her back arched into him, and he shuddered.
They climaxed together in a chorus of moans, gasps, and tightening muscles.
The silhouette's dance came to an end with them.
Their sweat slicked bodies laid together in a nest of tangled sheets and pillows, afterwards. Him flat on his back, and her on her stomach beside him one leg swung over his hips. Her head resting on the crook of his arm that was tangled in her matted curls, his other arm thrown across her protectively. Tracing lazy, possessive circles up and down her spine.
"Jethro," she murmured, the first words spoken after minutes of lingering, silent post-coital haze.
"Hmmmm," he groaned, a wordless answer he was so good at.
Glancing back up at him lazily, she saw that his eyes were half-lidded like hers. Only she knew from personal experience that he was this close to falling into a dreamless slumber. And if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by, he hadn't been getting that kind of sleep lately.
The heavy weight of sleep called to her, reminding her that she could relate to that problem.
All the more reason to get rid of that one last nagging thought, and drift off in his arms.
"Jethro are you going back to work?" she whispered, not wanting to disturb him while he was nodding off drowsily. She didn't honestly care when he went back to work. All she wanted to know was when she could take the frowns off the faces of the team, Abby, and Ducky. And...well- she also wanted to know when she could look forward to actually seeing him everyday.
"I don't know yet. I'm going back to Mexico tomorrow," though the lasts of his words slurred together. She still understood what he said. Oh yea, she understood what he said perfectly.
"YOU'RE WHAT?!" She exclaimed, sitting up quickly throwing his arms off of her, and slapping her hands down violently on the bed.
In an instinctive reaction he was sitting up in bed, tense and ready for a fight. And if she wasn't so ready to give him one right now, she would've been thoroughly distracted by the sight of his hair sticking up at odd angles.
He looked ridiculously cute right now.
"What the hell Jen?" He spluttered out confused at her sudden reaction. She ignored him though, and decided to act on the urge running through her.
She decided to flee.
Jumping out of bed, she started to looking for her clothes. She was pretty sure she looked half-crazed right now, but she could care less. All she knew was that she was desperate to get away from him, so that he didn't see her heart breaking.
And it felt like she'd just gotten it fixed.
She was pulling on a shirt, any shirt because she wasn't sure whose it was, without a bra of course. When she felt his hands grasp her shoulders, turning her to face him. She tried to ignore him, turning her head away from him because she really didn't want to look him in the eye right now. But he shook her, hard enough to make her teeth rattle, again.
"Jenny," he exclaimed, still shaking her until she finally gave in and looked at him. Her beautiful teary orbs, were enough to make even his stone heart throb. He was about to speak, about to reassure. Heck, he was about to promise her anything, he'd give her anything as long as she smiled again.
"Why are you leaving again?" She choked out through the sobs clogging her voice.
'Damn,' she was half wondering if she was going to wake up at her desk in a minute, and find out that this was all just a nightmare. Just a recurring nightmare of her leaving him in a Parisian airport or a rundown beach shack, just a different scene. A different setting.
Same outcome.
That was when Jennifer Shepard broke.
At the unintentional hand of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, for what seemed like the millionth time.
The tears ran freely down her face, and her body was heaving with silent sobs. She hunched her shoulders slightly against the wave of emotion, and moved out of his grasp. Blindly she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands.
She heard him move, god she hoped he was leaving. Leaving while she didn't have to watch his back as he walked out the door.
But no, he couldn't just for once make life easier on her. Though she couldn't see him, she could feel the heat radiating off his body as he crouched down in front of her. His hands landed on the top of head, gently stroking her hair back as she continued to sob.
"Jenny," he murmured.
"Jenny, Jen, please don't cry." He pleaded hoarsely.
Moments passed where all they could hear was the sound of her tears, but after she'd finally managed to calm herself down. With her head still in her hands she asked him in a broken voice, "You still don't remember me. Do you?"
She felt his large hand capture her chin delicately, and he gently pulled her head up out of her hands. He almost melted at the sight of her tear streaked face.
'What have I done to you?' He wondered, ashamed of himself. He'd never had any illusions concerning his bastardness. But this, what he was doing to his beautiful, strong, amazing Jenny.
It topped the cake.
She tried to evade looking at him again, but he slid his hands so that his warm palms were framing her face. Forcing her to continue to look at him.
"Jenny," he whispered again, his forehead coming to rest against hers.
"Of course I remember you," he said in a strong voice, trying to reassure her and him. She arched her eyebrow in a sarcastic move.
"Prove it," she challenged hoarsely.
"Well," he said, sitting up straight again. Moving away from her he sat back on the edge of the bed beside her, she continued facing forward as she felt his arms wrap strongly around her. Pulling her with him as he laid back down, and instead of fighting him she just...gave in.
They ended up back in the position they started in, her eyes locked with his.
"I remember that...your full name is Jennifer Annabelle Shepard," he said smugly, in response she scoffed. So he remembered her name...that was a start.
He continued, "I remember that...your favorite color is blue. Though you never told me why." He stated matter-of-factly, and it was true. Her favorite color was blue, and she sure as hell was never going to explain to him that it had only changed from green to blue when she met him.
"I remember...that you secretly love a holey pair of jeans more than you do business suits," he said with a smirk. But one look at her face sobered him quickly, she looked anything but amused.
"Ha," she scoffed weakly, "Yes, you remember me. You remember things about me that Ducky would know." She spat out vindictively, every word he said in protest just made her want to kick his ass back to Mexico sooner.
He glared at her defensively in response. He was trying here.
Apparently she got the memo, he was trying. It wasn't his fault that he wasn't saying the things she wanted him to say, or maybe...it wasn't his fault that she hadn't asked the right question yet.
"Jethro," she sighed, pressing her forehead against his warm bare shoulder.
She mumbled her next question into his skin because she wasn't sure she wanted to see his eyes when he responded, "Do you remember us Jethro?"
"Not just the fact that we fucked like rabbits all across Europe," she warned him before he could answer.
He was quiet for a longtime. Pondering her question and warning or his response, she didn't know. But after a while the silence started to unnerve her, and she eventually lifted her face off his shoulder.
He was staring at her, looking deeply into her eyes.
She held his gaze steadily.
Still locked in her gaze, he moved the arm he didn't have wrapped around her, and gently brushed aside a strand of curled, sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes. Tucking it loosely behind her ear, and allowing his fingers to skim lightly down the curve of her neck. She was fairly sure he was able to feel the stress induced tightening of the tendons in her neck, considering his large hand wrapped around the back of her neck and gently began massaging it. Trying in vain to relax her.
She wouldn't be able to relax until the functional mute massaging her spoke.
"I remember...," he began, as if he could read her mind, "That our first kiss was in London."
A slight bit of the tension ebbed out of her, but the challenge in her eyes didn't fade away. If he wanted to impress her, reassure her- whatever, he would have to do better than that.
"We'd been tailing a suspect. We'd gotten made, and we had to run. I distracted them so you could get away," he said the last part with a semi-proud look on his face. The bastard was apparently still proud of the stupid stunt he'd pulled so she could get away. It had been pretty impressive, but she was still as unimpressed with it as she was back then. And she wasn't afraid to let him know.
"Yea and I seem to remember you getting a concussion with that; stupid, asinine, stunt you-" she started reprimanding him half-heartedly. But Jethro had the nerve to cut her off.
"Yes, and later when you were telling me in detail just how stupid it was. I remember," he stressed the words as if to rub it in that he did remember something. "Kissing you to shut you up."
She hissed at him softly, "Very impressive," she mocked him.
He glared at her once again, "I wasn't through yet."
"Then, please-continue," she said in a patronizing tone. This was all just such crap, and she was numb to it all. He didn't remember her, he didn't remember her. He hadn't come back for her, he came back for...
His voice interrupted her thoughts, "I remember Marseilles. That hot little attic where we-"
"Keep you're mind out of...," she trailed off even though she was the one to interrupt him. She couldn't very well say for him to keep his mind out of the bedroom, and judging by the way his eyes pointedly roamed their surroundings he knew it too.
So instead she settled for the only argument she could think of, "I knew you would be able to remember us sleeping together," she spat at him. Somewhere in her...well- distorted mindset, she knew she was being unfair to him. But she was so tired of all this dancing around the elephant in the room.
No sooner had she finished speaking, and she was laying flat out on her back again. Him, on top of her attacking her mouth possessively. Though she had half a mind to fight him, to push him off of her. She relented to the submissive portion of her brain that just wanted to sink back in the covers, and let Jethro distract her from the matter at hand all over again.
She was gripping his hair and pulling him closer, when he pulled away again. Leaving her gasping in as much air as she could while he trailed hot, open-mouth kisses down her neck.
"You think this is all I remember with you? These moments- with you gasping for breath as we made love over and over again?" He growled against her throat. Before she could answer his lips were back on hers, his tongue plundering her mouth.
She didn't even care that she'd lost control of the situation anymore, that she wasn't cool and in charge Director Jennifer Shepard. How could she be? When nothing about this situation, being naked in bed with Jethro on top of her dominating her in such a delicious way- again. Called for Jennifer Shepard.
Nope, right-here-and-now they were just Jenny and Jethro. Trying to find their way back to each other with growled responses and passionate kisses.
His mouth parted from hers again, and he leaned back sitting up on his knees straddling her waist. She wasn't even ashamed of the fact that one of his hands had to come up to hold both of her hands over her head, to keep her from trying to follow his mouth as their kiss broke.
Towering above her he looked so damn...sexy. Regardless of the bruises and scars marring his body.
"It's not all I remember, Jen," he growled again, menacingly at her. His other hand started to roam down her body, as his hips rocked against hers and his growing arousal slid against hers teasingly.
"Oh god, Jethro," a violent moan ripped from her as her body arched into his.
"I remember how crazy I was for you Jenny. And I found out during that week in Mexico, how crazy I still am about you." He said, all teasing gone as the hand torturing her body with shockwaves of pleasure halted. As she slowly regained control of her senses, she stopped arching against him. She wanted to hear what he...finally had to say.
"I remember the first time I looked at you, and thought that I was in over my head. That the overwhelming feelings I had for you would be the end of me," his voice broke at the end with the amount of honesty in the words he'd just spoken.
Staring at his icy blue eyes through the darkness as he loomed over her, she realized they were at an impasse. Again.
He leaned down and kissed her; gently,...tenderly.
She let him.
"You want me to be the man you know, again," he whispered, pulling back from her a short distance.
"You want me to come back and have everything go back to normal. But, I- to me...I don't know what normal is anymore Jenny," he stressed, and for the second time she could've sworn Jethro sounded scared. He needed her to understand this, that he hadn't come back from Mexico just to have a quick fuck. But, that he had come back because he needed to see her again. He needed things to be okay between them again.
When she hadn't answered him, only continued to stare at him with her beautiful emerald eyes. He spoke again,-
"I need...I need to be able to remember everybody else. More than just names, and faces. I need some time to get my head on straight and remember that I'm a federal agent now, and that I'm not in the Marines anymore. Jenny, I need to come to terms with the fact that...they-...died...fifteen years ago, and not...yesterday." It spoke volumes between them that he didn't have to elaborate who 'they' were.
"But most of all...Jenny," he spoke once again, leaning in to place a short peck on her lips.
"I need to know that you'll be here...that I'll have you when I get back," he croaked. The unspoken words hung in the air between them, he needed to know that she would be here when he got back.
That she wouldn't be gone, like his girls were, when he returned home.
Their lips were on each others again; fiercely and passionately. She managed to upset his weight, and roll him onto his back. The shirt she'd been wearing somehow getting tossed off in the process.
"I love you," she gasped against his mouth fiercely, the relief of knowing he wasn't leaving her made any and all inhibitions she may have about those three words disappear in a instant.
"I know. I know," he panted back to her.
Later, as she had her legs wrapped around his waist and he was thrusting into her again. She smiled, a real, joyful heartfelt smile.
Just three weeks earlier her word had literally gone up in flames. A man she thought she knew so well, with it. Seemingly destroying everything she'd ever thought she knew about him. At the end of that week she'd been waking up to a letter she'd dreaded opening.
Just two weeks earlier she'd been in Mexico, reliving glory days. Just in a different country, trying to recreate cobblestone streets on sandy beaches. But she'd been happy, they'd both been happy. At the end of that week though she'd been acting out the final scene of their Parisian love story, making their exotic romance a cheap imitation with voicemails on her phone instead of Italian leather coats. And yet breaking her heart all over again.
Now, though this past week had been her own form of Purgatory. But it was the end of the week, and he was here again. They were together- no matter how brief a time it was- and everything was going to be alright. Because tomorrow no one was going to wake up to a letter, maybe they'd both sleep in. Maybe she'd take the day off of work-the right way, and convince him to take his time getting back to Mexico. Then when she couldn't put it off any longer- she'd drive him to the airport, and take her time kissing him goodbye.
Seeing him get on the plane would be hard, but she'd do it with a bittersweet smile.
Because he'd be back.
And when he did eventually come home...
She'd be there waiting for him, and they'd be together again.
Her world would be righted once more.