a/n: thank you so much for the awesome response to the prologue! i hope you like the remaining three chapters as much!
June 2008 - about a month later.
Madeleine Jane Gibbs sat quietly on a bench in the front of her elementary school, her backpack sitting neatly by her ankles as they dangled above the scuffed concrete. She kept her hands placed daintily on a brand new library book she'd checked out for a book report, and squinted her eyes slightly in the sun. Next to her stood a slightly frantic, worried teacher with very short blonde hair and a very inexperienced look in her eyes.
"Does this happen often, Madeleine?" the teacher asked cautiously.
She had been waiting for Madeleine's mother to pick her up for nearly an hour now, and she was terrified the young girl's parent wasn't going to show up.
"No, ma'am," Madeleine answered calmly, turning her head and lifting her eyes. She beamed. "It's okay, Miss Earl," she placated in her calm, eight-year-old voice. "She's very busy."
"You're sure we shouldn't call her again?"
Madeleine nodded – Miss Earl was a brand new teacher; Madeleine's class was her first ever. She was anxious to do well, and very socially conscious, and she was constantly afraid she'd run into some odd situation with a student that required her to use her counseling skills. Madeleine thought she was very funny; like a scared rabbit – but, she was a really good teacher. She had a special way of helping Madeleine understand science.
"I'm sorry you have to stay with me," Madeleine said sincerely. "Maybe you have a boyfriend you have to go see."
Miss Earl laughed, and shook her head.
"Oh, I don't mind staying," she soothed. "I just worry someone forgot you."
Madeleine crinkled her nose.
"No one forgets me," she said emphatically. She pursed her lips, and put a hand on her hip, mimicking her mother. "Mom has a very important job," she confided, and then arched a small eyebrow. "She might be with the president."
Miss Earl was on the verge of asking what Madeleine's mother did for a living when a black car with federal plates showed up, slowing to a stop at the pick-up circle in front of the school. The engine died, and then half a second later a tall, dashing man was stepping out and waving a hand with keys in it over the car.
"Hey, Maddie!" he called, a sly grin lighting up his face.
Madeleine hopped off of her chair eagerly and yanked her backpack up, tucking her book under her arm.
"Pony!" she cried, darting towards the curb.
Miss Earl leapt forward, alarmed, and held her hand out to keep Madeleine back.
"Who is this?" she asked quickly. "Who are you?" she corrected, directing a sharper question at the man.
"Ah," he said, holding up a finger. He came around the car and grabbed a leather object out of his pocket. First, he showed Miss Earl a shiny badge, and a dusty identification card; then he pulled from a pocket in his wallet a crumpled copy of Madeleine's emergency contact list: his name was written clearly in under Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Jennifer Shepard.
"Mr. DiNozzo?" Miss Early said.
"Special Agent Tony DiNozzo," he said charmingly, extending his hand and flashing another winning smile. "Here to pick-up the mini-Gibbs," he revealed, and pointed at the car. "Back-seat, booster seat is already strapped in," he said smoothly to Madeleine.
"Where's Mom?" Madeleine asked, as she hopped over.
DiNozzo gave her a wink, and shrugged.
"There was an incident; she's in MTAC," he said.
"What took you so long, Pony?"
"Had to drive from a scene in Manassas," he answered.
Madeleine giggled, and she waved goodbye to her teacher, climbing in the car. Miss Earl looked thoroughly confused, and bit her lip. She pushed back a bit of her short blonde hair and pulled at her earlobe, glancing back at the school.
"How exactly are you related to Madeleine?" she asked warily.
"I'm her godfather," DiNozzo answered, affecting a Marlon Brando accent.
The teacher looked a little nervous still, and DiNozzo waved his hand.
"She said her mother is important?" Miss Earl asked, and DiNozzo gave her a slightly incredulous look – because Madeleine was in public school, which was rare for the children of high up government officials, extra security precautions were sometimes taken – DiNozzo didn't know how it was possible that this teacher didn't know who Madeleine's mother was.
He grinned, and nodded his head.
"Yeah, she's got some street cred," he joked, turning and waving with jingling keys as he walked back to the car. "She's the Director of NCIS," he shouted to her – and he shook his head with a laugh at the startled look on her face.
He turned around to look at Madeleine as he started the car, and his face was apologetic.
"I am real sorry, kid," he said. "She couldn't get away – "
Madeleine smiled at him, and tilted her head. She waved her hand in an 'it's nothing!' motion she'd seen adults use all the time.
"You bummed I'm the one who showed up?" DiNozzo asked.
"Pony," Madeleine said matter-of-factly. "I love you."
He laughed shortly, and turned around, hitting the gas carefully.
"Yeah, yeah," he agreed, and glanced in the rearview mirror at her warily – under his breath he added: "but I'm not Gibbs."
Things hadn't quite gotten back to normal, DiNozzo noted, as he rode the elevator up with Madeleine standing silently beside him – but then, he wasn't sure things were ever going to be normal, with Gibbs in Mexico and himself at the head agent's desk. Things were settling down, perhaps, a month after the – explosion – but nothing was normal, and that was glaringly obvious because – well, it had been almost exactly three years since DiNozzo had picked Madeleine up from anywhere; Gibbs had always, always made sure either he or Jenny was available to do it.
Especially on Mondays.
Even after Jenny had settled in as Director, and Madeleine had gotten really into school – as a grade-schooler, not a mere kindergartener! – Mondays had still been reserved for her to come hang around NCIS with the gang. It meant she got to hold on to some vestige of the old days – and blend it with the new – and her parents got to take a day to work late, since Jenny took half days on Friday for Madeleine, and Gibbs put DiNozzo in charge on weekends so he could be around for softball games or birthday parties or anything Madeleine needed.
It was a good system – it worked, everyone liked it, for the most part, though sometimes work got the best of them and Madeleine was left with Noemi for days, or Jackson Gibbs was called up to be with her – but that was as rare as Jenny and Gibbs could manage, and for the most part, the system they had woven in with their demanding and dangerous jobs worked –
It was all to hell now – but it had worked, and DiNozzo thought about that feebly as he got off the elevator and plastered a charming smile on his face –
This was the first time Madeleine had been at NCIS since her father had left for Mexico.
Her mother just hadn't thought it was a good idea – she hadn't wanted a constant reminder – an additional constant reminder – that Gibbs wasn't around for the time being, so she'd kept Madeleine focused on school and sports and friends for a bit, though she gladly allowed the team to visit. DiNozzo wasn't sure if it had worked or not – Madeleine had just seemed a little startled by the whole thing, in his opinion: she hadn't cried or moped or been visibly depressed after Gibbs left – or rather, was kicked out, as Ziva quietly informed them all – she had just gotten a wide-eyed look of acceptance that made them all feel a little guilty for being unable to explain it to her.
DiNozzo, Abby, even Ziva – they'd been pissed at first; furious at Jenny – but then she'd justified herself to Ziva, and Ziva had subtly passed along the message: Gibbs wasn't doing as well as he'd have had them all believe, and a mother had to do what she had to do. DiNozzo, for one, still wasn't sure giving him the boot was the nicest way to go about it, but he didn't know what it was like to be called another woman's name for weeks on end, so he kept his opinions to himself.
He leaned over and nudged Madeleine slightly, then ruffled her hair. She looked up at him and winked, but he sensed she was a little put off. He cleared his throat and marched into the bullpen, pointing at himself.
"I know, I know I've been missed – but I'm back, put your fears to rest – and look who I've got!" he thrust his outstretched hands towards her. "The most magnificent, miraculously majestic – Miss Mad Maddie!"
"If you need another 'm' – melodramatic applies," drawled Ziva – as she got up and smiled warmly at the little girl.
Madeleine struck a pose and tossed back her hair as if she were a show pony, grinning smartly at Ziva.
"Melodramatic," she repeated firmly. "I know what that means."
"You are a very smart child," Ziva retorted proudly.
"What's it mean, Maddie?" McGee asked wryly, leaning back in his chair for a much needed break – he'd been running bank accounts for a case all day, and that part of work was boring as hell.
Madeleine shrugged.
"It means Tony," she said slyly.
"You learn that at school?" McGee asked with a snort.
"Um, no, Mommy told me," she retorted, and cocked her head. She darted towards the desk next to Ziva's. "Today, actually, I learned that most ducks aren't yellow, so cartoons lie."
McGee winced slightly as she skidded to a stop with one hand on the desk and one hand on the arm of the chair – suddenly staring up at DiNozzo with her lips parted in confusion. He stared back at her with wary eyes, and Ziva winced.
She hadn't been at NCIS in weeks – she wasn't used to the changes.
She bit her lip, and then she frowned.
"This isn't your desk," she said.
DiNozzo flashed a grin at her.
"You got me, kid," he agreed. "Must've forgot."
"You aren't the one with a scrambled brain," Madeleine retorted, not returning his smile. "This is Daddy's desk."
"'Course it is," DiNozzo said immediately. "I'm just sittin' here, Maddie, it's the team leader's desk."
"But he's team leader."
"Madeleine," Ziva began diplomatically.
"No," Madeleine said, her voice tinged with a whine. "Pony," she said emphatically, her eyes big and boring into his. "You can't sit here. He's coming back," she said. "He has to sit here when he comes back."
DiNozzo nodded, but he didn't move, still uncertain.
"Tony," she said, using his real name. "He is coming back, right?"
DiNozzo snapped out of it, shaking his head. He nodded firmly, his eyes on his goddaughter's.
"Madeleine," he said, "he's coming back. I promise. We just thought it would be better if his desk weren't the empty one. We didn't like it empty."
"I don't like it empty either," she retorted. She put a hand on her hip. "I think I should sit in it."
DiNozzo looked at his teammates, and both of them gave him annoyed looks and nodded emphatically – let her take up residence at Gibbs' desk! If Jenny got mad about it, they'd deal with it later. It shouldn't be something that particularly pissed off the Director – but these days, Jenny got mad about the smallest things.
He stepped to the side gallantly and held the swiveling chair for Madeleine. She clambered into it with grace and sat at the desk, peering around all of it with those eyes that were as green as her mother's and yet somehow still Gibbs' to the core. Ziva raised an eyebrow, and sat, satisfied.
DiNozzo retreated to his own desk, slightly mollified and concerned – but somehow, he found it fitting. He leaned back and watched her a moment, and then he grinned. The phone rang, and Madeleine peeked at it, squinting her eyes.
"Timmy?" she asked politely. "Is the code for the lab still full of sevens?"
"Yes ma'am," McGee answered.
Madeleine picked up the phone swiftly. She cleared her throat.
"What do you got, Abs?" she imitated.
The team winced when they heard Abby's shriek of excitement through the line.
Though she had just seen her the past Thursday, Abby had Madeleine in a tight, vice-like grip – she clutched the little girl to her side in a half-hug as she worked, refusing to let her go, and bubbling over with excitement. Madeleine grinned and allowed herself to be snuggled into the scientist, blinking with big, curious eyes at the databases scanning on Abby's computer.
"Whom are you trying to find?" she asked.
"Not a who, a what!" Abby corrected. "I'm trying to figure out where exactly a certain soil company delivers and mulches, so I'm scanning the tri-state area – you know, you've gotten really good at your Gibbs impression; I almost thought it was him!"
Madeleine giggled.
"I don't sound like him, I'm too girly!" she protested. She lifted her eyebrows. "I've been practicing, though."
"I can tell," Abby said conspiratorially.
Madeleine tilted her head, her nose crinkling.
"I miss his voice," she said thoughtfully, blinking. Her lashes brushed her cheeks, and she widened her eyes again. "You know, I don't think Ima likes the impressions."
"Hmmm," Abby murmured diplomatically, squeezing Madeleine a little tighter and smiling down at her. "Well, maybe they make her feel bad. Or miss him."
Madeleine shrugged.
"I am just trying to cope," she drawled astutely – and Abby grinned at her; she did love Madeleine so. Gibbs' daughter was such a smart little thing – she always had been, and nothing had changed.
"I am glad Maddie Mondays are back," Abby said sincerely. "It makes things feel a little more normal."
"Well," Madeleine said dryly, frowning a little. "I'm glad Mommy gave up pretending things were normal."
Abby let go of Madeleine and twirled around, kneeling gracefully next to her and peering into little green eyes with her own sage gaze. Her lips quirked up and she took Madeleine under the chin, puckering her lips at her – she gave her silent encouragement.
She had been unhappy, too, when she had first heard Gibbs had gone to Mexico indefinitely – she would never assert that she was as upset as Madeleine, but Abby Sciuto had been heartbroken, though she'd done her best to try and understand Jenny's reasoning, and to try and be strong for Madeleine – as Jenny requested. But – she missed Gibbs sorely, the same as the others did, and it had been almost impossible to go about business and act like things were just the same – maybe that had been a way of trying to force them all to get used to it, but this was better: Madeleine being here was sort of the signal that they could start to deal with Gibbs actually being gone, start talking about it.
Abby wondered what had triggered the subtle change in the Director's handling of the situation.
She hopped up, and tilted her head, her pigtails twitching.
"So," she began, cocking an eyebrow at Madeleine. "What sort of science experiment should we do today?"
Madeleine smiled eagerly.
"Classic," she suggested slyly.
"Classic?" parroted Abby. "That means – "
"Volcano!"
Madeleine chimed in, and they finished the sentence together – Abby figured such shenanigans were the perfect way to pass time while she ran her diagnostic searches.
Autopsy's doors swung open in an accommodating way, and Timothy McGee strode through them. He nodded amiably at Jimmy Palmer as he walked in, and stopped at the foot of the closest metal table – Ducky was elbow-deep in a body, and McGee wasn't one who liked to get too close at times like that.
"Ah, Timothy, what brings you to see me?" Ducky asked good-naturedly.
"Madeleine's here," McGee said promptly.
"And you are hiding from her?" Ducky answered, amused.
"No," McGee said quickly, eyebrows going up. "I thought you'd like to know."
Ducky beamed, and looked up, meeting the young agent's eyes amiably. He nodded in thanks, and went back to his work.
"Did Jennifer get away from her meeting?"
"Uh, things got a little dicey with whoever she was negotiating with," McGee answered grimly, wincing. "Tony went and picked Maddie up."
"I thought Anthony was at a crime scene?"
"Yeah, he left Ziva and me in charge of it and went to get Maddie at school."
"How did you and Ziva do?"
"Well, I only got walked all over by one local LEO, and Ziva only made two witnesses cry, so –"
"A rousing success," supplied Ducky, and McGee grinned.
Ducky stepped back with an organ in his hand and dropped it on a scale. He looked at the number and nodded thoughtfully, content to sit in silence with Timothy while Jimmy did something loudly (and slightly clumsily) in the storage room – taking inventory of medical supplies, most likely.
Ducky had seen Madeleine recently, when Jenny brought the little girl over so she could see all of Ducky's mother's dogs groomed and gussied up with ribbons and little bow ties – but Jenny was also keeping Madeleine fairly focused on – and busy with – school and sports and friends, and Ducky had thought that seemed smart of her. He knew Madeleine needed to be away from NCIS for a while – because first, it had been quite a scary place to be, when Gibbs was in the hospital and everyone was trying to catch a terrorist – and then, after Gibbs had been – sent away – it would have been difficult to adjust Madeleine to the whole situation if she kept coming to NCIS and staring at her father's empty desk.
She had seemed quite happy when she had come to see the corgis. Ducky supposed that overall, Madeleine was okay, so to speak. She had shown them all many times that she was a particularly resilient child, and Ducky knew from the subtleties in Jenny's conversation that the whole decision to make Gibbs take a break had been a difficult one – but a necessary one. It didn't take extensive psychological training for Ducky to acknowledge that Gibbs hadn't been recovering the way he needed to – he had been dangerously close to becoming stuck in a past he'd never recovered from.
Still, he felt like he should ask –
"How does Madeleine seem to you?"
McGee shrugged a little and frowned.
"Cheery and adorable," he said. "Like always. She, uh, - she got mad that Tony was sitting in Gibbs' chair, at his desk."
"Ah," Ducky murmured sympathetically.
"I think it made her feel like the situation was permanent," McGee added with a wince.
"It certainly is not," Ducky said optimistically.
McGee slipped his hands into his pockets and tilted his head thoughtfully. This whole thing had been something he'd been carefully and quietly minding his own business about – he thought it was a very twilight-zone sort of shake-up, having Gibbs gone and Tony incharge and this big – gap – where 'normal' was supposed to be – but he'd tried to take it in stride and go on as if this were just a typical evolution of the job. It wasn't, he knew, but he didn't know how else to handle it – and he'd done such a good job of acclimating himself to this new environment that Madeleine's presence was making him think all sorts of things – at first he thought it would never last, Tony in charge and Gibbs gone – but now he wondered what it would be like if –
"You don't think this will become permanent, then?" he asked aloud.
Ducky looked startled.
"Gibbs in Mexico?" he returned, clarifying what Timothy was asking.
McGee shrugged, and nodded.
"No, no, of course not. This, permanent? Not on your life."
"It's been a month," McGee muttered skeptically.
"A month is hardly a blink," Ducky said – and he smiled and started taking his gloves off and cleaning up for a little break. He saw the look on McGee's face, and he wanted to fix it – he didn't want McGee possibly conveying to poor Madeleine that her father wasn't coming back.
"Timothy," he began warmly. "From what I can tell – I think it's obvious to all of us, considering his mood on the day he packed his desk – Jethro did not choose to leave of his own accord. That in itself implies his desire to stay here with his family. Jennifer's decision to make him go was … a difficult one; I'm sure, but not necessarily a wrong one. He hadn't recovered, and going back to his old work routine before he had was not helping. It was shoving a reality he didn't quite remember on to him before he'd acclimated to his memory loss, and the recovery of his memory, and for a mind that tortured, it was much easier for him to try to sink back to happier days."
"Isn't he happy with Maddie and Jenny?" McGee asked.
"I'm quite sure he is," Ducky answered logically. "But I'm also sure that back in his young, Marine days, things were much, much easier, and much less filled with incomparable loss. He had to succumb to, and overcome, grief all over again. The pressure of having to be 'okay' for the sake of his present family was no doubt overwhelming and stifling."
McGee rubbed his head, looking upset. He sighed. To put it simply, he missed Gibbs. He wasn't really wary of admitting that – he knew better than to mope about it around Madeleine, or mention it in front of Jenny, and he didn't dislike how Tony ran the team – but it didn't feel right without the growling El Jefe leading them all. He could only imagine how Madeleine must feel.
"He hasn't even called them," McGee said in a hushed voice.
"How do you know that?" Ducky asked neutrally.
McGee hesitated.
"I overheard the Director asking Abby if she could track down the number for Mike Franks again," he confessed. "She was pissed."
Ducky blinked, and sighed heavily.
"I do think there's a lot of anger there," he said quietly. He didn't mention to McGee that once, years and years ago, Jennifer had done the same thing when she'd first sent Madeleine to live with Gibbs – she hadn't called for weeks and weeks, while Gibbs got angrier at her.
"How can he just not call his daughter?" McGee asked.
"Perhaps he is worried about how he will sound," Ducky said heavily. "Perhaps he is worried she's mad at him, and he doesn't know what to say." The medical examiner paused. "I can never quite predict or explain Jethro, Timothy," he said simply, and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "If anyone knows him best, it's Jennifer," he added frankly. "I think she knows what she's doing."
McGee smiled a little, his mouth quirking up – that was probably true. Working with them for the past year and some was enough to show him that unequivocally. Gibbs knew what kind of fight he was going to have from the Director seconds after they caught a case, and she knew exactly at what point he was going to acquiesce to her orders. It was fascinating to watch – McGee always secretly wondered what their home life was like. The team never got too much of a peek into that now that Gibbs wasn't a single father.
"She'd like to see you," McGee said wryly, remembering what Madeleine had said suddenly. "You know – she's got a bone to pick with you – she's learned in school that ducks aren't really yellow."
Ducky arched his brows comically and spread his hands out.
"Not at all," he drawled, thickening his accent loftily, "have I ever given her the impression that I'm yellow?"
Madeleine put her hands on her hips and squinted up at Ziva suspiciously.
"Are you sure I'm not interrupting any super secret agent special awesome work?" she asked sweetly.
Ziva laughed.
"I am not a secret agent," she said calmly, and arched a brow. "You are not interrupting," she assured, and bent forward. She reached out with her thumb and narrowed her eyes good-naturedly. "I see Abby left her mark," she said, smudging off Abby's sparkly black lipstick from Madeleine's cheek.
Madeleine squealed and leapt back.
"Leave it, leave it!" she insisted, smirking. She blew her hair out of her eyes. "Abby said it's good luck if she kisses a Gibbs on the cheek!"
Ziva smiled and nodded in an accommodating way, stepping back. She sat down at the table in the break room and popped open a can of caffeine-free soda for Madeleine, sitting back with a little Styrofoam cup of tea for herself.
"Thanks for the soda," Madeleine said politely.
Ziva inclined her head – it was no problem at all. Jenny had called to the bullpen to say she'd be done with MTAC in an hour, and to send Madeleine up at five – that was when DiNozzo let the team leave. Madeleine had come skipping up from Abby's lap, dusty with baking soda from a volcano experiment, and there had been half an hour to kill until Jenny was free and back in her office – so Ziva had suggested a small treat while McGee and Tony cleaned up the last bits of their efforts on today's case.
"Ziva, are you going back to Israel?" Madeleine piped up suddenly, eyeing her critically.
Ziva arched her brows, slightly taken aback.
"No," she answered simply.
"Ever?" Madeleine prodded.
Ziva paused, and tilted her head.
"It is my home, Madeleine, I may return to visit my family," she allowed – what family she had left, that is.
"But you're not going back for good?"
It was a question Ziva couldn't really answer, but Madeleine was young enough that right now, there was no need to really delve into the complexities, particularly as Ziva simply understood her feelings now enough to be able to say –
"I do not think so," in a neutral but sure tone.
Madeleine looked relieved.
Ziva leaned forward, concerned by the look on the little girl's face.
"What has made you think I am going back to Israel?" she asked. "It is not near a holiday, even – and I do not take vacations."
"They kept saying – "
"Who is they?"
"They, Ziva, they … it's just the they they talk about."
Ziva opened her mouth to respond, then looked puzzled, and then cocked her head. Madeleine sighed and lowered her lips to her soda, biting on the edge of the can.
"You know," she whispered, "they, people, the bosses of Daddy and Mommy, they were saying you had to go back, for a while. I heard Daddy being angry."
"How do you know about all that?"
Madeleine looked sage and prim.
"I know everything," she whispered in a singsong voice.
Ziva gave her a look and snorted. She let the hot tea in her cup burn her palm a little and sat back, mulling over her answer. The agency had done a very good job of keeping what had happened recently under wraps – the fact that Iranian intelligence had tried to frame Ziva for espionage and murder so immediately after the terrorist attack that NCIS had been unable, due to political maneuvering, to stop – was not good. It had been suggested that Ziva was in league with the men who had blown up Gibbs and arranged the attack on a U.S. frigate – and if it hadn't all gotten cleared up by him – by Gibbs himself – Ziva might well be on her way to Israel now, sequestered away in shame, branded a traitor like her brother.
It was Gibbs who had saved her – it had almost been Gibbs' last act, before he left for Mexico – to fight for Ziva, and prove she was innocent; she sometimes wondered if it was the stress of that last case that had really cracked him: really made it impossible for him to get it together. She had been yet another person whom he was supposed to know and love as a family member and he hadn't quite gotten that familiarity back yet.
Madeleine moved her foot and nudged Ziva, and the Israeli smiled softly.
"That will not happen," Ziva assured Madeleine. "I am staying here, with the team – with you."
Madeleine put her elbow on the table and propped her cheek up, pursing her lips matter-of-factly. Her eyes glittered and she looked monumentally relieved.
"Daddy told Mommy you could hide in the basement if you had to, for the rest of forever."
Ziva grinned, her heart warmed by the sentiment. She braced herself and smiled – she'd been trying so hard not to engage too much in conversations about Gibbs, for Jenny's sake, because she didn't want to provoke any tears or trauma from Madeleine – but this she had to say.
"It is because of him that I am safe," she said, and Madeleine looked happy, her eyes glowing – she did love her Daddy being the hero, and Ziva guessed it was especially meaningful now that she'd been jolted quite suddenly into realizing her father wasn't perfect.
Ziva knew that was a horrible thing to realize – though Madeleine was lucky her father was just struggling with some very understandable demons; he wasn't a ruthless killer like Eli David, a calculating politician who used his children as pawns and his citizens as fodder for propaganda. Ziva missed the days when her father had been a hero to her and only a hero – but because of her complex relationship and experience with her father, she alone had understood best why Jenny had to do what she had done when she banished Gibbs to Mexico – and Ziva had made it her mission to make the others understand.
"Good," Madeleine said emphatically. "Guess what?" she asked.
"What?" Ziva asked obediently.
"I get to do a presentation in class! We all were supposed to choose something unique about us, and I thought Delia was going to choose something Jewish, but she didn't, she chose her pet hedgehog! So I chose something Jewish," Madeleine said eagerly, "and my teacher said I should do Hanukah but everyone knows Hanukah, they have a Rugrats episode about it! Also they teach it in school because it's politically correct, Mommy said so – and then she rolled her eyes."
Ziva snorted in amusement at the last comment, and she leaned forward, taking a thoughtful sip of her tea. She licked her lips to soothe the slight burn and pursed them, realizing Madeleine wanted her to ask what she had chosen.
"What will your presentation be on?" Ziva queried patiently.
"I wanted to pick something that would be cool because no one already knew about it – well, except Delia, she gave me the idea."
"And?"
"Purim!" Madeleine exclaimed. She took another sip of her soda and cocked an eyebrow. "Only, I forgot I don't know anything about Purim, because I wasn't supposed to bother you about Judaism for a while, and also Daddy doesn't know how to get me Jewish lessons."
Ziva tried not to laugh at the idea of Jewish lessons – and winced a little at the blunt mention of her recent struggle with her faith. Gibbs had subtly – and unbeknownst to him, most likely, restored it – when he told her that her father didn't have to represent who she would be – she realized her father didn't have a monopoly on how her faith was represented, either – but for a while, after Ari's death, and the stunning revelations she'd faced about her father – she had just turned to the shadows for a while, living in a secular haze.
She was sorry Gibbs had noticed that so much he'd discouraged Madeleine from bringing it up, because Madeleine had always held some sort of key to Ziva's heart, soul, and mind. It was Madeleine who had made her feel something other than despair when Tali had died.
Ziva grinned, and pushed her hair out of her eyes.
"You are one lucky goose," she said wryly. "Purim is my favorite holiday."
"It's duck, Ziva!" Madeleine giggled, rolling her eyes. "How can you get that one wrong, you work with a Duck!"
"I work with a Ducky," Ziva corrected primly. "Only your Aba calls him Duck."
"Just remember it rhymes," Madeleine said earnestly. "Lucky duck – and okay, so why is Purim your favorite?"
"It celebrates Hadassah, and Hadassah is my favorite Jewish woman."
Madeleine stared at her blankly a moment – and Ziva was about to translate, as she had forgotten that Madeleine's Torah was in English and she'd only ever read it in English, when it clicked –
"Oh, Esther?" Madeleine asked.
Ziva's eyes brightened, impressed. She nodded – yes, Esther; Queen and savior of the Jews of Persia. Madeleine shifted onto her knees and leaned forward, cupping her hands around her soda can. She blinked rapidly a few times.
"Ziva – tell me the story!" she asked.
Ziva's eyes flicked to the clock – there was still some time to spare; she could probably get it out – and these days, she was prone to doing anything for Madeleine; anything for the child who had saved her from grief so many years ago, whose father had taken her in and been a surrogate to her, and whose mother was for so long her only female friend –
Ziva smiled, and nodded, and she quietly began the story of how Esther saved her people, and began the great tradition of Purim – and in the back of her mind, she hoped that by the time Purim came around this year, Gibbs would be back, his head healed, his heart mended, to see Madeleine having made it through and waiting patiently for him, and herself having overcome the demons that threatened her faith.
Ziva knew Jenny was doing the right thing, forcing Gibbs to confront his demons and fight them down – and as difficult as it was to work in the bullpen without him, and hear Madeleine talk about him longingly – it would turn out right in the end –
"Ziva, wait … tell it in Hebrew … "
- and Ziva was willing to do what she could, in the mean time, to keep Madeleine's faith alive; she thought of Madeleine, demanding DiNozzo tell her if the Mexico situation was permanent, and she had unbreakable resolve to keep that faith alive – in Judaism – and in Gibbs.
Jennifer Shepard was just checking her watch again, brows furrowed worriedly, when her office door flew open and her eight-year-old daughter skipped in. Madeleine shoved the door hard enough that it hit feebly against the wall, and Jenny smiled a little – maybe one day she'd storm in here with enough anger to abuse the door just like her father always did.
It wasn't that Jenny particularly wanted her daughter to ever be that angry at her – or that inconsiderate of doors and privacy – but these days, every little thing Madeleine did brought Jethro to mind – the good and the bad.
Madeleine darted around the desk and threw herself at Jenny, sprawling in her lap dramatically and pressing her face against her shoulder. She beamed and sighed heavily, clutching her mom's arms.
"Hi, Mommy," she said loudly, her voice muffled in her mother's soft blouse.
Jenny leaned over and kissed the top of Madeleine's head, stroking her hair back and nudging her up. She looked her over in a quick, fond glance and then bent forward to kiss her again, wrinkling her nose.
"Hi, sweetie," she answered gently, taking a deep breath. She took Madeleine's hands and held them together, immediately apologizing. "I am very sorry I couldn't come get you, and I am twice as sorry you had to wait so long – "
"It's okay, I know you're busy," Madeleine said earnestly.
Jenny nodded.
"Yes, I am busy, but I said I would come get you like it was a normal NCIS Monday, and I didn't, and that was not good of me."
Madeleine blinked at her, and shrugged. She really wasn't mad at Mommy for sending Tony, or for making her wait. It wasn't like it happened all the time or anything. Madeleine had lots of friends whose parents handed them off to nannies and never saw them.
"It's not a normal NCIS Monday," Madeleine said, attempting to comfort her mother.
Jenny tried not to visibly flinch – she interpreted Madeleine's attempt at being soothing as a dig about Gibbs being in Mexico, which made things vastly far from normal – and she cleared her throat, trying to move the conversation hurriedly away.
"You weren't in the bullpen alone, were you?" she asked. "Is the team still here?"
"No," Madeleine said, hopping back and sashaying around Jenny's desk, her hand drawn delicately along the edge. "They all left. Ziva stayed a little longer; she was telling me a story. I sat in Daddy's chair while she packed up." Madeleine stopped and cocked a dark eyebrow at Jenny. "Pony tried to steal Daddy's chair."
Jenny swallowed bracingly and curled her hands in, digging her nails into her palms.
"I don't think steal is the right word, Madeleine."
Madeleine seemed to glare at her for a moment, almost meanly, but the look was gone in an instant, and she shrugged.
"Well, I sat there," she said matter-of-factly.
Jenny nodded.
"What story was Ziva telling you?" she asked warily.
"The story of Hadassah," Madeleine answered, her eyes lighting up some. "I am doing a presentation on it in school. Well, on the holiday Purim."
"Ah," Jenny said, nodding. She smiled. "Tali always loved Purim. She liked to dress up as a tropical bird."
Madeleine grinned and leaned on the desk.
"Where's Miss Cynthia?" she asked, changing tune. "I wanted to see her hair. It's so pretty."
"She left early today because her sister had a baby," Jenny answered.
"Aww," Madeleine cooed, crinkling her nose. "Mommy, when do you think Abby and Timmy will have a baby?"
Jenny laughed a little, taken aback.
"I suppose that is up to them," she said, and then leaned forward and reached her hand out, tapping Madeleine's knuckles. "Please don't ask them, hon," she advised. "It's a private question, and you never know if something sad might be keeping them back."
Madeleine nodded.
"And – not all married couples have babies," Jenny added neutrally.
"I knooooow," Madeleine drawled, giving her mother a smart look. "You and Daddy aren't married and you had babieeeeeessss."
Jenny held up one finger.
"One baby," she said, and pointed it at her daughter. "Smarty-pants," she accused – Madeleine probably knew what she had meant, but she decided not to continue the conversation. "Are you ready to go, ahuva?" she asked, starting to gather her things from various drawers – glasses, cell phone charger, a thermos, and a couple of files, for later.
"You don't have to stay a little longer?" Madeleine asked curiously – she was used to Jenny saying she had to stay a little longer – that exact wording was always used. She hadn't noticed it so much when Daddy was here, because he had usually been home – unless there was a very, very big case – but now she noticed it a lot, because Noemi or Abby kept her for that little bit longer.
"I thought if we go home and have dinner now, we have time to watch a movie before bed time," Jenny answered.
Madeleine bounced up and down.
"Can we watch The Wizard of Oz?" she asked eagerly. "Please – "
"I would prefer you pick a shorter movie," Jenny said, "but if that's what you really want, we can watch it – if you agree to lights out at bedtime, no books."
"Yes, I agree," Madeleine said automatically – and Jenny should have known; the child was mad for the Wizard of Oz – she had been since she was tiny.
Jenny grinned, and Madeleine licked her lips.
"Are we going home or to the townhouse?" she asked rapidly. She went on quickly: "Mommy, please can we go home this week? Oz is sad sleeping in your study, and I want to snuggle with him. I sleep better."
Jenny swallowed, gritting her teeth together – they had spent a disproportionate amount of time at the townhouse lately for a myriad of reasons – reasons Jenny tried not to think about right now. She knew her daughter didn't like it much, because Jenny had strict rules about the dog in that house, and her room wasn't allowed to get as messy – but it had been easier in many ways, as well. The townhouse had given Madeleine something else to be annoyed about and to complain about and dwell on as opposed to pining for her father – and though Jenny wasn't sure giving Madeleine surrogate things to take her emotions out on was exactly helpful, she'd been scrambling to run damage control in some way, the first few days – and then she'd gotten into the habit of the townhouse. And – without Gibbs' presence, her security team far preferred the townhouse.
But Jenny knew Madeleine thought of Gibbs' house as home and the townhouse as a sort of vacation house. She didn't blame her – after all, the house on Laurel street was where she'd really come in to her own while Jenny was still abroad – and she wasn't bothered by it – but for Jenny, staying in that house for even one night without Gibbs was almost torture.
She steeled herself, and put on a composed face; she nodded.
"We can go home," she agreed. She crinkled her nose in a friendly way. "I think Oz will be glad to snuggle up on some pillows with you."
Madeleine beamed, and Jenny got up. She turned off her computer and came around the desk, slipping her arm around Madeleine's small shoulders and steering her gently towards the door.
"I hope you don't mind squishing in the back of the SUV with me," she said wryly.
"Oooh, we're being driven?" Madeleine squealed. "Ooh, Ima, can I talk to Mr. Agent Melvin in a British accent?"
Jenny tilted her head back and left, headed down the catwalk from the Director's office with her daughter in tow.
Melvin called the head of Jenny's security team to tell him Jenny would be staying at Agent Gibbs' house for the evening. It didn't matter in an immediate sense – Jenny never had guards posted around her at all hours of day – but for certain reasons, they did need to have tabs on her. Other than that, Melvin wasn't a particularly talkative agent – though he bore Madeleine's comical accent affectations with grace.
"Anyway – did you know ducks aren't actually yellow? They're really this awful gross-ish brown colour. The lady ones. The man ones are prettier, to attract mates. Which is weird, because in humans, ladies are the pretty ones and men are just kind of blah."
Jenny laughed.
"I think men can be pretty," she countered wryly.
Madeleine stuck out her tongue and shivered, reacting negatively – something Jenny was completely fine with. She wasn't too keen on Madeleine developing romantic interests at an early age.
"So if the boy ducks are the pretty ones, does that mean they don't have to worry about personalities?" Jenny prompted.
"Hmmm," Madeleine pondered. "We didn't talk about that. It's a good question though, Ima. But humans have to have good personalities," she noted.
"Yes, they do. It's very important that people have good personalities to attract mates."
Madeleine blinked.
"It's also important they remember whom they're mated with," she said shortly.
Jenny's mouth popped open slightly, taken aback by Madeleine's off the cuff, relevant, and slightly cutting comment. She clearly didn't hide her expression well, because Madeleine shrank back a little, looking wary.
"What?" she asked uncertainly, apparently regretting her decision to throw that little dig out. "It is."
Thoughts collided in her mind; she didn't know what to say. She wasn't exactly sure how to handle the comment because she didn't know if Madeleine was accusing her or acting out or just saying something because she felt it was true – sometimes, Madeleine said things with absolutely no agenda that just happened to hit hard or open her eyes; she didn't know which situation this was.
Jenny took a deep breath and swallowed hard.
"Yes," she said, nodding carefully. "It is."
Madeleine stared at her, and then turned and looked out the window, falling silent. Jenny leaned back against the seat and watched her critically, on alert for any signs of tears or distress.
Madeleine seemed to be handling this whole ordeal with an odd amount of anger, denial, and nonchalance; for the first week, she had asked repeatedly for Jenny to tell her when Gibbs was going to come home. 'Will Daddy be back by – ' and she'd inserted a date, or a holiday, or an event – my softball game, Saturday night, the school carnival, Abby's birthday – and so on. Jenny had calmly tried to explain that it was an indefinite situation - -except for one night when she'd simply snapped that she didn't know, and Madeleine had started crying. Though she'd felt horrible about that evening, and she'd tried to discuss the issue, Madeleine had gotten up the next day and scaled back her inquiries; the questions had faded to once or twice a week and now – a month later – she had resorted to subtle hints that she was fishing around for an answer or an estimate to when she'd see her father again.
It didn't help that Gibbs hadn't called.
The only reason that was manageable was because Jenny hadn't told Madeleine he'd have any contact with her; they hadn't discussed it. She hadn't known if she was going to allow it, just because the whole point of this was to make him isolate everything he was feeling and really deal with it. However, realistically, she didn't want – and couldn't expect – him to cut himself off from Madeleine, and she couldn't do that to Madeleine.
She was hesitant to contact him first, though, in case there was some reason he was waiting. She tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, because she knew how badly she'd handled giving him custody of Madeleine five years ago. But – the instinctive, natural, mother part of her was angry. Madeleine had asked if he would send letters twice, and she hadn't known how to answer.
She was realizing quickly, and gravely, that even though she felt in her heart that this had been the right solution - the only solution – to Gibbs' deteriorating mental state, she hadn't thought it through or planned enough to handle the transition smoothly.
"Madeleine," she began softly, as the car pulled to a stop in traffic and Melvin sighed in mild irritation at the standstill.
"Ima?" Madeleine responded, turning her head and arching her little eyebrows.
"Have you been thinking about what you'd like to do this weekend?" she asked gently. "It's not supposed to rain on Saturday, so horseback riding is doable," she coaxed.
Madeleine licked her lips and scrunched her nose thoughtfully. She clicked her tongue a few times – something she had picked up from Kate Todd, Gibbs said, and that she did when she was nervous or anxious.
"I want to go to Stillwater," she blurted out warily.
Jenny was at a loss for words again. It wasn't necessarily an odd request – Madeleine liked Stillwater; they had been there at Easter every year since Jenny returned, and Jackson frequently came to visit his granddaughter – but it wasn't often Madeleine initiated going: she was a child, she waited to be told when a visit to Pennsylvania was planned.
"Madeleine, we'd have to leave on Friday after school, we'd get there very late," she said diplomatically.
"But Grandpa wouldn't mind," Madeleine said sincerely. "He says we can visit anytime."
"I know," Jenny said, "but I might need to be available for NCIS on Sunday, and you know cell reception isn't always wonderful out there – "
"Well I want to see him," Madeleine interrupted. "I want to ask him things about Kelly."
Jenny clenched her jaw and smoothed her hands over her legs, looking away. Her muscles tightened and she tried to process that, rummaging around in her mind for something to say.
"Why do you want to talk to him about Kelly?" she asked finally.
Madeleine blinked a few times, and she shrugged evasively.
"Madeleine," Jenny prompted a little sharply. "If you're curious, I can tell you about what happened to your father's other little girl."
"I know what happened to her," Madeleine fired back. "I want to know about her."
Frustrated, Jenny bit back a snappy retort – her cheeks flushed. She knew, she knew in her gut, that Madeleine was curious about Kelly all of a sudden because she was confused about Gibbs' inability to keep things straight. In an eight-year-old's mind, remembering who your family was should be easy; Madeleine had no grasp of all the trauma and denial Gibbs had put himself through before he started to deal with Shannon and Kelly's deaths, and she had no idea what a struggle it had been for him to fully, wholly commit to Jenny in word as much as he did in deed.
"I don't know if that's a good idea."
"If you're making Daddy go remember us, why shouldn't I know about her?" Madeleine asked brazenly.
"That isn't what this is about, honey," Jenny began.
"You yelled that it was because he was treating me like I was her, so I want to ask Grandpa why I'm different."
Jenny turned to her sharply, reaching out and taking her shoulder. She caught Madeleine's cheek in her hand and leaned close, her green eyes meeting her daughter's identical ones.
"You are different because you are a different little girl. You are unique, you have a different mother, you have your very own personality, and you like different things. There are no circumstances under which you would be the same as anyone else on this planet, and no one – not even your father, Madeleine, expects you to be a copy or a replacement. I don't want you talking to your Grandfather and trying to make yourself be Kelly or make your father feel better by mimicking her. You are Madeleine. I sent him to Mexico to remember that."
Jenny tapped Madeleine's cheek gently with her finger, squeezing her shoulder affectionately and bracingly.
"You understand me, ahuva? You are Madeleine."
Madeleine looked at her, eyes wide, listening. She lifted her chin so Jenny's grip loosened and then she shook her hands off gently, pulling her lips in in a pout and lowering her eyes to her shoes. Jenny watched her glance over at Melvin, and then out the window as Gibbs' street came in to view.
"I know what my name is," she muttered in Hebrew, and lifted her eyes to glare at Jenny. "I want to see Grandpa."
She turned away and curled herself against the window, and Jenny sat back, her shoulders and neck stiff, staring out the front of the car. She felt Melvin's gaze on her in the mirror, and she ignored it – she wanted to kick, scream, and cry, but she had lost the luxury of being beholden to her wilder emotions when she became a mother.
The entire time she was cooking dinner, Jenny wondered if Madeleine was still going to watch the movie with her, or if she was going to want to sit in her bedroom and read a book. They had arrived at the house, and Madeleine had promptly taken Oz into the backyard to play with him – as she was supposed to – and then come in and gone down into the basement with the dog.
Jenny didn't hear a peep from her until she called her up for dinner, at which time Madeleine came traipsing up the stairs obediently and smiled at her warmly.
"Where's Oz?" Jenny asked warily, glancing towards the laundry room entrance to the basement.
"He fell asleep in a corner," Madeleine answered, taking a seat at the table and picking up a fork. She eyed the plate of simple pasta Alfredo Jenny had whipped up and smiled satisfactorily.
"He won't," Jenny paused, "mess with any…thing…will he?" she didn't know how to phrase what she was asking – dogs wouldn't eat boats, would they?
Madeleine, already busy with her first mouthful, shook her head and chewed a moment before replying.
"The boat is too big now," she said matter-of-factly. "He's not a kitty, so he won't claw at it. He chewed up a hammer once, but he was a little bitty puppy then, and Daddy didn't get mad."
"He didn't?" Jenny snorted. "Oz ate a hammer, and Daddy didn't care?"
"Mom. Oz was like, a really, really cute puppy."
"Ah," Jenny said, smirking. She nodded and sat down to her own plate – it wasn't a fancy meal, but she hadn't planned much for tonight and she was loathe to feed Madeleine some form of take out again – it figured that all her teasing of Jethro's take-out would come back to bite her: with him gone and herself the only parent in the picture again, she was prone to running them to grab Chinese or Mexican when she was pressed for time.
She could almost see Jethro smirking at her every time she did it, listing off every healthy thing he'd cooked Madeleine since she came to live with him. She wished she could see him – she pushed that thought from her mind. No one, after all, was doing better at ignoring his absence than she was, and she was trying to keep it that way – she liked to repeat what he'd told Madeleine in the airport: like Israel, like Israel, like Israel.
"Mom?"
"Hmm?"
"There's career day at school, right before we get out," Madeleine said.
Jenny rubbed her forehead.
"Yes, I got that newsletter – I think Tobias forwarded it to me," she murmured, half to herself. "What is your last day, again?"
"June twentieth," Madeleine answered with a gleeful smirk. "We're having a party – we get to paint faces."
Jenny smiled.
"But – career day is three days before that, and you can bring someone in to talk," Madeleine went on. She stabbed her plate with her fork and twirled around some pasta. "Soooo," she drawled carefully, glancing up. "I was wondering if … you … can do it," she asked.
Jenny sat back, slightly flattered. She had been expecting Madeleine to ask for her father – or at the least, Abby. Madeleine usually refrained from asking Jenny things such as this because she knew the answer was inevitably going to be that work would interfere – and she wasn't resentful about it, she just knew it wouldn't work out. For her to have asked –
"I can talk to my security team about it," Jenny said earnestly. "Your school is a nice place, and I'm sure they would be fine with it. I can try to keep my schedule clear for that day, too."
"Okay," Madeleine said, looking up. She chewed her lip. "Um, but if you can't … it's in like fourteen days I think … or three weeks, something," she stumbled, "maybe by then Daddy will be back? And he can do it?"
Ah – there it was. She had probably asked her mother first to soften the conversation before she brought up her father – and Jenny resisted the urge to groan or snap, because it had been a good ten days since Madeleine had explicitly asked the question.
"Madeleine," she began.
"Mommy, please – "
"Madeleine," she said firmly, narrowing her eyes. "I am not going to make you promises like that."
She couldn't say what she really wanted to say – Madeleine was too young – she couldn't say that there was no way in hell Gibbs would be back that quick, because if he was fucked up enough to be unable to call his daughter for a month, he wasn't going to be miraculously healed in another two weeks. She didn't know how to make Madeleine understand that psychological recovery was not as simple as medical recovery – not that medical recovery was simple by any means – but what Jethro was going through was going to take careful time, and Jenny wanted to make sure he took all that time now so they never had to repeat this.
She was on edge emotionally herself; she was terrified this wasn't going to work – that Gibbs wasn't going to do what he needed to, and she was going to have to preserve herself and her emotional health and leave him. She hadn't felt this scared or uncertain about his feelings or commitment since she was young and inexperienced and in Paris, and it was almost twice as bad this time because she had Madeleine to shield from it.
"I just want to know when he might come home – "
"It isn't an exact science, honey. It's going to take time – "
"But it's been time!"
"And if it takes a little longer, I want you to know that's for the best – "
"It's been a thousand years. I want him back. Now."
"It has been one month, Madeleine Jane, and exaggerating things is not going to make you feel better."
"One month feels that long!" Madeleine burst out, dropping her fork and glaring at Jenny. "I'm not hungry. I want to go to bed."
"You will eat the rest of your dinner."
"No."
"Madeleine, you will eat the rest of your dinner, and then you may go to bed. I won't make you stay up and I won't make you socialize if you're feeling upset, but I will not let you starve yourself," Jenny said sharply, getting up and grabbing Madeleine's glass off the table. "You eat the rest of that: now. Stop picking out the tomatoes."
Madeleine opened her mouth to protest, and then let her shoulders fall, screwed up her face miserably, and began to eat. Jenny went into the kitchen quickly under the pretenses of refilling Madeleine's grape juice – and she stopped, and leaned against the fridge, out of sight for a moment, and closed her eyes tightly, trying to hold back tears of frustration and distress.
She didn't want her daughter to hate her for this. She didn't want Madeleine to think she was being cruel and heartless; but Madeleine was also too young to be exposed to all of the very adult issues that had come between her parents since this had all started: and she was too young to understand that she may think it would be fine if she pretended she liked things just like Kelly did to make her father feel better, but it would warp them all in the long run – and therapy was expensive.
Jenny took a deep breath, opened the fridge, and re-filled the grape juice – she wished vehemently that she'd insisted they stay at the townhouse tonight; she wished she'd simply laid down the law and moved them there permanently until Gibbs was better – until he came back.
She grit her teeth and went back into the dining area – to find Madeleine had cleared her plate and disappeared from the table. Jenny sat down at the empty table with a hollow feeling and stared at the glass of juice. She leaned forward, put her head in her hand, and started to eat tiredly – she still had six case files to go over and sign, four budget proposals to authorize or deny, and a couple of field trip or movie showing permission slips to sign for Madeleine.
She rolled her eyes to herself – sarcastically, she thought: she should have just let Gibbs go on like he was, if only so she could have him around to share the burden of being a parent and a person.
She was trying to focus on the sound of her fork hitting the plate rather than her doubts and fears when the dog put his snout in her lap and scared the daylights out of her. She swore loudly, glanced around guiltily, and then let her hand fall to his head, relenting and giving him some much-needed scratching behind the ears. She might not be the biggest fan of the huge, furry, shed-monster, but Madeleine was right – he was a cutie, and he was comforting when she was in need of some silent support.
The person she usually relied on for that was no doubt drenching himself in beer and absorbing sunstroke while he tried to figure out what the hell he'd been kicked out for – Gibbs could be denser than molasses when he wanted to be.
She was lifting her last forkful to her mouth when the phone rang. Out of habit, she reached for the cell phone at her hip – it wasn't that one; it was the landline. She checked her watch – it wasn't too late for polite company to call – so she got up and meandered over to the living room, where she picked up the ancient cordless phone – she swore Gibbs hadn't replaced it since the millennia – and clicked it on.
"Shepard," she answered automatically, wincing at herself – it was a personal phone, she should have just said hello like a well-adjusted human being instead of a federal lunatic with an absent boyfriend.
The line crackled and popped in an ominous way – it sounded dusty, if that were possible, and she cleared her throat.
"Hello?" she asked curtly, already having half-made up her mind to end the call.
She bit into her lip and furrowed her brow in annoyance when she finally got an answer.
"Put Madeleine on, Jen."
His voice was gravelly, uncertain, wary, and tight – and threaded through hundreds of miles and a bad, sandy connection – but she recognized it.
Her heart leapt into her throat and she almost doubled over – she closed her eyes and sat down on the couch, pressing the phone tightly against her ear. She mashed her lips together silently for what seemed like an eternity, and then she drew in a deep breath.
"Jethro?" she asked.
He made her wait a moment, but she took the brief silence as tacit agreement – he said again:
"Put Madeleine on."
She took that for what it was – he clearly didn't want to talk to her: either he couldn't or he wouldn't, and she would deal with that later. It was paramount right now that she let him talk to Madeleine; she knew that innately.
She lifted her mouth away from the phone.
"Madeleine!" she called, loudly and clearly – loud enough that Madeleine would hear her in the basement, or if her bedroom door was closed. "Madeleine, come to the living room!"
She waited a few seconds, and realized she was being innocently ignored. She sighed and changed her tune.
"Madeleine, Daddy is on the phone," she shouted.
It took a total of three seconds for Madeleine to crash into something, slam a door, and come careening into the living room. She threw herself onto the couch, scrambled roughly over Jenny – landing in her lap, and snatched the phone, jamming it against her face.
"Daddy!" she wailed into the receiver, excitement and relief and longing characterizing that one simple word.
Jenny steadied her as she balanced half on the arm of the couch, half on her mother's lap – one foot laying awkwardly on the coffee table. The redhead leaned forward to stop one of Gibbs' books – untouched since he left – from falling to the floor – and she tried to shoo Oz away when he came bounding over wagging his tail to see what the fuss was about. He let out a bark, but Madeleine talked right over the noise.
"Daddy, I miss you. I went to NCIS today, and Tony was in your chair, and I hated it. Why did it take you so long to call? Do they have no phones in Mexico? Is it hot? Aba – thank you for saving Ziva – Aba, come home – "
Madeleine's conversation switched gears so many times it was hard for Jenny to keep up; she wondered if Gibbs was having the same problem. As gently as possible she extricated herself from Madeleine and let the little girl curl up on the couch with the phone held tightly and continue talking – and it definitely sounded like Madeleine was doing all the talking.
She sat down in a chair and watched – her eyes never left Madeleine's animated, smiling, thrilled face. She seemed to be soaking up her father's voice like it was oxygen, sustenance itself – and that look made Jenny's heart hurt in a way she never wanted to feel again – though she knew that now, it would be almost constant until he was back with them.
She had known that Madeleine was going to miss her father – but she realized now she was thinking of this separation in terms of how Madeleine had 'missed' Gibbs when she was living in Israel. Then – Madeleine had been fine when Gibbs was absent; she had adjusted well each time to his leaving, and had slipped easily back into familiarity with him as she got older and each time he came to visit. This – now – this was so different, and she could strangle herself for not realizing how traumatically and unequivocally different this would be.
Madeleine had lived with Gibbs, and only Gibbs during some of her most significant formative years – he was the primary caregiver; he had been a solid and a constant for longer – at this point – than Jenny had been; in this situation, Gibbs leaving indefinitely must have been as heartbreaking and gut-wrenching for Madeleine as Madeleine's leaving Israel had been for Jenny.
Realizing that, understanding that – Jenny felt like she couldn't breathe. She stared at Madeleine with out seeing her; her vision blurred, and her chest felt tight and hot – she felt sick, and for the first time, she felt not like she'd made a logical decision for them both, but like she'd ripped something away from her daughter – possibly damaged her.
She felt the overwhelming urge to scream, and swallowed it down – and she decided to let Madeleine talk for as long as her heart desired.
It shocked her as much as it didn't shock her that, when the conversation was over, Gibbs hung up without speaking to Jenny. While she tried to reason with herself and establish whether she had expected that or not, she acknowledge that it hurt her badly; she was in no state of mind to be strong for Madeleine, and as Madeleine brightly hung up the phone, she selfishly hoped her daughter would want to simply – go to bed.
"He says he can hear the ocean at night, and not just through a shell!" she cried excitedly. "He said – he didn't call me Kelly once, Mommy! He said Emmy and Maddie and even Emmy-Jane and he said Pony so he even remembered Tony right – that means he can come back really soon, I think," she said.
Jenny noticed she didn't ask, and she was grateful for that.
"He was tired, he said tell you hi," she added suddenly.
Jenny tried to smile at Madeleine – she assumed that was a lie, because Madeleine's nose twitched in a suspicious way – but she thought it was unbearably sweet and empathetic for Madeleine to make something like that up, so she nodded, and accepted it.
"I think he can come back by Father's Day," Madeleine said loudly, nodding her head to herself. "Yeah, that would be good. That's soon," she said. "That's before career day, think – Mommy, can we do the movie tomorrow night? I want to go shower, and I'm going to read the Madeline book. I can compromise with Daddy," she said rapidly, running over. "Mommy?"
Jenny blinked, meeting the child's eyes – she was staring at her so closely suddenly, that Jenny almost reared back.
"Mommy, are you okay?" Madeleine asked, quieting down a bit.
Jenny braced herself and swallowed, trying to clear her throat.
"I'm just very glad Daddy called you," she managed – and she thought she sounded perfectly normal.
Madeleine eyed her, and then nodded, brightening again – though she wasn't quite as sunny this time.
"Is it okay if I read Madeline instead?" she asked again.
Jenny nodded.
"Don't forget to brush your teeth," she added mechanically. "I'll come in and kiss you and make sure your lights are out at eight-thirty."
"Yes ma'am," Madeleine squeaked, bubbling over with excitement – riding the high of talking to her favorite man in the world.
She bounded off, and Jenny pushed her hands through her hair roughly, enough so that it hurt a little bit. She closed her eyes tightly and tightened her hands, digging her fingernails into the skin of her palms – she felt something like terror in her bones; fear that he was down there stewing in resentment towards her, fear that her attempt to make him deal with this right was going to backfire and isolate her from her family – fear that if they separated, Madeleine would increasingly choose him –
It was all just rooted in the fear of losing him, she realized – but wasn't that the point of this? – she had to make him decide if he wanted to be with Jenny the rest of his life, or with some woman who was just holding Shannon's place – and until he had called to speak to Madeleine, and only Madeleine, it hadn't truly, coldly occurred to her that his re-traumatization might be the end of them.
She wasn't ready for that.
She checked on Madeleine precisely when she said she would, and the little girl was out cold; asleep in the middle of her bed with a lamp on and her book splayed across her stomach. Gently, Jenny set the book on the table, turned off the lamp, and gingerly tucked Madeleine in. She kissed her protectively – letting her kiss linger on Madeleine's temple for longer than usual –and then slipped into the master bedroom to shower and get ready for a few hours of Director work.
Clean and slightly damp from a scalding shower, she crawled into bed and lost the desire to do the case files and budget proposals she needed to – it didn't matter; they could wait until tomorrow. Instead, she pulled the covers around herself and curled up, turning her face into the pillow he usually slept on and inhaling as deeply as possible – sawdust, sweat, and whiskey; the scent was still here – it was everywhere here, and that's why she'd been avoiding it like the plague.
Her sheets at her townhouse didn't smell like him, they smelled like her, and she liked that right now – but Madeleine obviously liked it here – Madeleine, she accepted, was not as adjusted as Jenny had tried to make herself believe.
And why should she be? She was eight years old and, after her father had survived a near fatal explosion, her mother had forced him to leave for another country with instructions for him to get better – indefinite instructions with undefined parameters and no tangible benchmarks. The thing was – she had done this before, on a small scale; when Madeleine was littler and their biggest hurdle was about the three little words that she wanted to hear from him, to believe it when she heard them on his lips – and essentially, this was the same battle, except it was realer: to an extent, yes, he had dealt with Shannon and Kelly when Madeleine was born and as she grew up: but with the grief re-awakened and so fresh – it had to happen again, and this time it had to happen correctly.
It was like it was happening concurrently with his life with Madeleine and Jenny, though; the primary problem was that he'd recovered his memory in such a sharp jolt after he'd lost it that it seemed like the two realities were happening alongside each other, and he was strangling from grief in one and trying to cope with normalcy in the other. It was a headache and a mess and one moment Jenny felt she had absolutely done the right thing – and Ziva and Ducky swore to her she had – and the next she felt guilty and broken and lost, like she had no idea what the hell she was doing.
Madeleine was in the middle of this, young and impressionable and struggling to understand – and it made Jenny miserable, that once again this little girl was facing something beyond her years and outright unfair. She had seen death and she had experienced war zones and hostage situations and the ache of living worlds away from loved ones – and now there was this, and Jenny wondered if there was ever going to come a day when life would just become normal for Madeleine.
She wondered, not for the first time since she'd taken office ahead of Leon Vance, if it was time to look for something else – she loved the job, but it was demanding and aggressive and it meant she and Gibbs were both in vastly dangerous positions – and she wondered if it was time to hand the crown to Vance, where it should have been all along.
She rolled over and wiped her eyes, staring at the ceiling. Smudges of red and black came off on her skin, and she noted she hadn't taken her make-up off before or after the shower –it was running and messy on her face. She'd fix it tomorrow.
She swallowed bitterly – if only she could fix everything else as easily as she could fix her make-up.
In the dark and quiet, she kept hearing his voice; hearing what he'd said the night they'd fought when she told him he had to leave – You sure I'll come back, Jen?. Words of desperation, meant to hurt her and scare her she knew – and they did, now more than ever. Part of her was sure he'd come back, because part of her had more faith in him than she could possibly explain: Jethro always came through; Jethro was a savior figure – he was a constant, even when he wasn't – but part of her was insecure, the same part of her that had left him in Paris, and held him at arms' length when Madeleine was a baby – if there was a part of him that knew how to threaten her like that, couldn't there be a part of him that didn't love her enough to really put Shannon and Kelly behind him?
He hadn't spoken to her – after a month, a month of no contact – he had called, and he had barely even spoken to her.
She should be angrier, but the thing that angered her most was how much it simply scared her.
She wanted to be stronger than this - she was going to have to find a way to start monitoring him; she needed to begin communicating with Franks, at least – why hadn't she been doing that all along? – and she needed to be more attentive to Madeleine and more realistic about how this was affecting her, rather than trying to just - be normal.
She wiped at her eyes again – and gasped, startled, when something nudged her foot. She bolted upright – and realized almost immediately it was the dog, though that only gave her a moment of comfort – because if Oz was out of Madeleine's room, then Madeleine –
"Ima?"
Madeleine's whisper was almost too quiet to hear, but Jenny had honed maternal ears, and she picked it up. She narrowed her eyes in the dark and squinted until she saw Madeleine standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
"What's wrong?" Jenny asked shakily – she didn't manage to cloak her voice or hide that she was taken aback.
Madeleine shrugged a little.
"Sick?" Jenny asked. "Bad dream?"
Madeleine leaned on the foot of the bed and opened her mouth, hesitating.
"Isn't Daddy being gone a bad dream?" she asked quietly.
Jenny ran her hand over her lips heavily, blinking in the dark. She sighed, her shoulders falling, and nodded slowly.
"Come here," she whispered, reaching out. "Come on, Maddie, it's okay, come here," she coaxed, as if her daughter was little again.
Madeleine climbed on the bed, dragging her stuffed grey animal with her – Tin Man, the animal was called. Oz followed suit, hopping up on the bed like he owned the place and curling himself into a giant furry ball at Jenny's feet while Madeleine snuggled up closer.
Her mother rarely called her by one of her nicknames, so Madeleine knew it was one of those times when she was being extra sensitive to what was bothering her. Madeleine laid her head down on the pillow and Jenny leaned back, propping herself up and looking down at her.
Madeleine wrinkled her nose.
"It smells like Daddy in here," she said.
Her face crumpled, and she started to cry.
"Mommy," she whimpered, her lips shaking, "Daddy just hung up without talking to you. I don't like that. It's mean. I don't think he can come back soon. I think I was being silly," she sobbed rapidly, her words tumbling out so quickly, and in such confusion, it was almost like she herself was still trying to understand them. "I woke up when you tucked me in and I couldn't stop thinking and he sounded really upset and different and I don't think he's okay, but he wasn't okay here either. I don't think he's okay at all!"
Jenny reached out and pushed her daughter's hair back, tucking it behind her ears.
"You aren't being silly," she said softly, soothingly. "It isn't silly to miss him and want him to come home."
Madeleine covered her mouth and buried her head for a minute, struggling to stop crying so she could talk again.
"But I know he doesn't like Kelly or his other wife better, I know it," she burst out aggressively. "He doesn't! Or he wouldn't be a good Dad or a nice boyfriend or … or I don't even know what you are okay…" Madeleine trailed off, and Jenny almost laughed – for the first time in a while.
It was a bright moment in a dark time, Madeleine expressing frustration over Jenny and Gibbs' lack of "married."
"I don't understand why he won't just get better," she cried.
"I know, sweetie," Jenny murmured, leaning down – with Madeleine crying and providing a reason for her to focus on being a mom and only a mom, she was able to pull herself together. "It's so, so hard to understand. You've been trying so hard."
"I want him to come home, though. I miss him," Madeleine cried. "But I want him to be right, like he used to be, so I know he has to stay but … " she stumbled off and rubbed her eyes hard, her mouth hardening in a frustrated line. Her cheeks reddened. "I can't forget about him while he's going to remember us, Ima, I don't like pretending it's all okay – it's not, it's not, it's not!" she raged.
Jenny nodded – she bent to kiss Madeleine comfortingly. It hadn't been a good idea to try to force things into "normal minus Jethro" and try to ignore the absence – she should be talking about him more, and not talking was a habit she had picked up from the man in question himself. There was just – it was difficult; there was a fine line in what she could discuss with Madeleine and in what remained too complex or too adult for her to hear.
"Madeleine, "Jenny began quietly, speaking close to her daughter's ear. "Maddie, did Daddy say he loved you when he hung up the phone?" she asked.
Madeleine turned her face up and blinked, sucking in her breath. She nodded, and Jenny felt relieved enough to cry – though she held back.
"Yes," Madeleine said shakily. "He said he loved me, and he said he would write me letters and call more."
That was good, Jenny knew – Gibbs had always been able to tell Madeleine he loved her, and if that was still in tact, then she could see how this could easily be fixed if he just had time to focus on healing and introspection and catharsis.
"That's what I want you to remember, you understand?" Jenny whispered. "He loves you very much. He loves you more than anything in the world."
"But Kelly – "
"He loves her, too, more than anything in another world."
"Mom, what world – "
"You're my little faithful one, Maddie," Jenny said softly, "you know what other world."
Madeleine sucked in her breath and nodded. She closed her eyes tightly and her lips trembled – she wasn't done crying, but she was calming down a little. Jenny may not be religious, or particularly like religion, but Gibbs was spiritual and Madeleine was faithful, so in this case she chose to use that for comfort – and it worked.
Madeleine reached for the necklace at her throat.
"Daddy needs us to be strong," Jenny said.
Suddenly, all the thoughts she'd had about leaving him – and those thoughts had accosted her violently in the weeks after his accident, when things had gotten harder and harder – seemed to evaporate; she was no longer in the realm of uncertainty, of figuring out where she was going to draw the line and what the final straw would be - she realized in that very second that much of Gibbs' problems stemmed from a fear of loss, and if she could find the strength to show him he wasn't going to lose her and Madeleine if her life depended on it, he'd be okay.
"He will realize we aren't going anywhere, and he'll start to engage himself and attach himself, okay?" Jenny said.
She pushed back Madeleine's hair.
"Make sense? Or need me to explain more?"
Madeleine swallowed, and lifted her shoulders. She nodded – she was almost sure she understood what Mommy was saying. It meant Madeleine needed to write letters back to Daddy, basically – and she was a pretty good writer, her teachers told her so.
Jenny watched her thoughtfully, and snuggled closer.
"I'll call your grandfather, Madeleine," she said gently. "I'll ask him to come visit you this weekend," she was about to hug Madeleine close, when she thought of something – "I have an idea," she proposed: "let's – every night, until it's time for Daddy to come home, let's make a nick in the boat."
Madeleine's green eyes got wide.
"Oh, Daddy won't like that."
"No, he won't," agreed Jenny, "but then, when he gets home, he'll need your help to sand it smooth again. You can spend as much time as you want with him. I know how much you love working on the boat."
Madeleine considered the idea, and she reached out and grabbed Jenny's hand and squeezed it. She nodded – she liked it, and maybe one of these days when Daddy sounded better and seemed better, she'd tell him they were doing and it would make him get his butt in gear and work harder to come home.
Jenny hugged Madeleine close, kissed the crown of her head – and remembered that Gibbs had told her when he'd first moved her back to the United States; she'd slept with him for a few nights before she adjusted.
"Madeleine, do you want to sleep in here with me?" she offered quietly.
Madeleine just nodded, and slipped her arms around Jenny's neck. Jenny bowed her head, content to cuddle her daughter up in her arms and try to get her to fall asleep – to feel somewhat better – and while she lay there, wide awake, she reconciled herself to what a process this was going to be – and she hated that it kept turning out like this: Madeleine having to do without one of them.
basically - so in Mishpokhe, I adjusted dates and whatnot (like Tali's death and Kate's death and when exactly Jenny came back) and this is the same - I switched Hiatus all the way to 2008 (obviously) and pushed the events of 'Shalom' to immediately after Gibbs' accident.
-Alexandra