Thanks for the reviews, guys. ^_^ They really mean a lot. Especially since this story was very, very fun to write. I literally wrote up to here in twelve hours. You'll hopefully not have to wait too long for the last chapter.

Also, jstapny, you won the Jenny sweepstakes. XD

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

Anything

"Jen. Jenny. Put the gun down. Please."

Jethro's words were soft and fearful, but they barely registered in her clouded mind. She let his pleas fly over her head harmlessly, looking down into the hole the bullet would come out of if she pulled the trigger. Her finger rested against it idly as she thought about her father. Yes, that's what she would think about. She wasn't aware of how Jethro was lingering at the door, wondering how to deal with this situation. In reality, he'd dealt with suicidal people before, but never his Jenny.

"Jen, I'm going to take a few steps closer." he told her warily. When she didn't react, just stared at the gun in her hands, he approached her cautiously. He knew that startling her wasn't an option; she might pull the trigger by accident or, worse, feel cornered and try to escape him by shooting herself. He had to establish communication with her; she seemed out of it. The expression on her face didn't spell terror or fear, just rapt attention, the likes a small child would give an object he was first introduced to. However, Jethro knew how well-acquainted she was with the weapon. Healmost knew it just as well as she did; it was the weapon she had held in Paris and, on the mission, he'd had to fire it several times for her.

He knew she kept it loaded.

As he approached her desk slowly, he noticed the half-empty glass of Bourbon by her side. Slowly, the pieces started to fall in place. She was drunk, he decided, which would explain the fluster in her cheeks.

Deep inside, he felt guilt tugging at his insides, threatening to tear him apart. This was hisfault. If he hadn't been so cruel to her, if he had tried to check on her yesterday or the day before, it wouldn't have come to this. He should have tried harder to make peace with her instead of pushing her this far. When he looked at the gun in her hands, he knew that he had driven her to it. If she pulled the trigger, he would blame himself. Not for long, however. No. It wouldn't take long for him to follow her.

"Jen." he called again softly. "Jenny, can you hear my voice? It's Jethro. Jenny, I need you to look at me. Can you do that, Jen?" When she didn't respond, he inched closer. Another foot and he would be standing in front of her desk. She didn't seem to mind him approaching. Now that he could see better into her lap, he realized that she was only holding the gun loosely, staring at it, transfixed. It dawned on him then, that she wasn't actually contemplating shooting herself – at least, not consciously. The faraway look in her eyes told him that her mind was drifting in memories, flashbacks, perhaps. She might have been thinking about her father, who had supposedly taken his own life. Whatever the case, he had to snap her out of it and get her back to reality.

Before there was an accident.

Beginning to inch sideways around her desk, Gibbs tried a different route. "Director of NCIS," he said softly, trying to keep his tone light. His blue eyes were still filled with fear and worry, but he had to maintain his calm. "Do you think your father, Jasper Shepard, would have been proud, Jen?" he asked her softly. The small flicker in her eyes encouraged hi to continue, both talking to her and creeping closer. Only another two feet and he'd be able to touch her hand. "I think he would have been if he weren't murdered." he was sure her jaw clenched. "Would he have greeted you with a surprise party when you returned from Europe, promoted, d'ya think?" he asked, just trying to keep the little attention she'd given him.

"No. I don't think so."

The words were just a murmur, said almost unconsciously, but Jethro's heart picked up at the sound of them. They were proof he was getting through to her. Carefully, he began to lower himself so that he would be crouched closer to her height.

"What do you think he would have done?" he asked instead, inching closer.

"Nothing, probably. Just a proud smile." Jen answered him, her voice clearer and closer this time."Dad was never one for exuberance. Like you, Jethro."

Gibbs took it as encouragement that she said his name. They were starting to communicate fully now and, already, he could tell he was beginning to draw her out of it. Her grip on the gun had strengthened, but in the way a conscious person would hold something. Though it put her in greater danger, Jethro took it as an encouraging sign.

"Yes, he does sound like me. Especially in Paris. Do you remember Paris, Jen?" he asked her softly "That night you looked crestfallen when I wasn't over the mood for the "surprise" night at the Opera. Do you remember it?"

"Of course I remember Paris." she said softly, still gazing down at the gun in her hands. As Gibbs lowered himself to his knees by her side, he saw the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks, silent, yet speaking volumes. He saw the hurt written clearly in her eyes, and his heart bled, for he knew that he was part of the cause. He had never wanted to hurt her. Not like this, at least. If he were to be honest, he'd admit that he'd been punishing her the past few weeks punishing both of them. Never again, he decided.

"Jen?" he asked tentatively, his hand going gently to rest on her wrist, his thumb brushing the joint of her thumb softly. "You have to listen to me." he told her soothingly, looking up into her face. "Let go of the gun and we can talk about Paris, or anything else you want to talk about. Let me take the gun." he begged her in a low, coaxing voice. It broke his heart to see those silent tears of pain, but he had to prioritize. First the gun, then her feelings.

"What's there left to talk about?" she asked softly. Her grip on the gun tightened and Jethro's heart almost stopped beating in fear, but she didn't pull the trigger. "You hate me. You all do." Her voice was grounded now. She knew where she was and what she was saying, a fact that saddened him incredibly. Because, judging by the past few weeks, they really had been acting like that.

"No, Jen. We don't. Idon't. I could never hate you. I've just been... angry. Not just at you, but at myself. I've been really angry at myself, because I let you fight your past on your own. I shoulda been there, Jen. I shoulda had your six. I'm sorry I've been taking it out on you." he pleaded with her. His words were quite true, he knew. He was leaving out some parts that might have been unpleasant; she didn't need to hear those then. She needed to hear the missing pieces to the puzzle that he'd only figured out when he saw her pointing a gun at her head.

"We were fighting all the time..." she said, the tears starting to intensify. Gibbs knew she was close to her breaking point. He could tell by the erratic rhythm her breathing was beginning to acquire.

"Jen, Jenny, listen to me." he said earnestly, his hand squeezing her wrist lightly. He brought the other one up to hold her hands in his, the gun cradled in between them. Her small hands felt cold and clammy to his touch, clenched and shaking slightly. "We can work past that. We can work it out. But I need you to let go of the gun. Please, Jen. Do it for me."

There was a small pause before her hands pulled out of his, surrendering the gun to him while her arms wrapped around his neck. She buried her face against his shoulder, crying loudly. Her shoulders began to shake violently as she clung to him, twisted in her office chair, as if he were the last lifeline she was being afforded.

Carefully, Gibbs removed the clip from the gun and placed the two objects on the floor beside him, then wrapped Jenny in a proper, tight hug, whispering soothing words into her ear.

"What was I doing?" he made out amidst her tears, and he knew that his Jen was back, and that the tears were those of fear, of pain, and of sudden, unexpected and long-awaited release.

With her arms around him, Jen didn't need anything more at that moment. Anything.