End of August, 2016
Alexandria, Virginia
"Kittenshit"
In the months that followed buying a new house, Jenny flew from D.C. to California so many times that she never wanted to get on a plane again. The travel was exhausting, and Gibbs hated that it fell on her to do it. She wished his transfer had come at a more convenient time, but as much as she'd disliked the back-and-forth and thought it a hassle, she was relieved to settle into a new house – a home – in Alexandria, to be firmly established – for good – in a familiar area near her father.
It would have been more miserable, she imagined, trying to navigate all this with a newborn, or even a baby that was a few months old, and she felt that keenly as she sat in the middle of the just-finished nursery and looked around.
They had moved into the house on Laurel Street – that's what they had been calling it since they made the first offer – three weeks ago, and though things were unpacked and neatly put away, the only room that had been painted, gussied up, and readied enough to be considered completely finished was the nursery.
Gibbs had put the finishing touches on the impressively done floorboards – he'd hand-painted a violet and cream checkered painting on them to accent the pale green walls – yesterday, and he'd declared the paint fumes aired out appropriately enough to let her do the setting up of the crib, changing table, shelves – et cetera.
She had finished about an hour ago, and Gibbs had disappeared to pick up some food. She couldn't bring herself to leave the nursery, so she sat on the floor with a pillow behind her, leaning against the wall and admiring it.
It was simple, but perfectly decorated. The crib Gibbs had built was now cozied up with all of the bedding Jenny had purchased, and since she and Jethro had yet to select a concrete name yet, white wooden letters spelling out G-I-B-B-S hung above it.
There were all kinds of brand new things set up neatly around the room, items she'd received from a small and enjoyable baby shower Jackie Vance had thrown for her during one of her visits back home – she was lucky, because though she had not at all wanted it, she'd had two baby showers: Jackie's, which she'd known about, and Saydie's, which had completely taken her by surprise.
She'd taken a lot of the duplicate stuff she'd received and donated it to crisis pregnancy centers.
"Hey," Gibbs greeted, stepping in with to-go boxes in his hands.
"Hey – thought you were getting take-out," she said, cocking her head with interest.
He smirked at her wryly, and sat down, crossing his legs.
"Thought we'd celebrate finishin'," he said, and handed her a to-go box. He reached into a bag at his wrist and pulled out a bottle of red wine. "Surf and turf," he said.
Her eyes lit up.
"Steak for you," she guessed – he wasn't much of a fish person. "Oh, Jethro – did you go to Blackfinn?!"
"Got you that parmesan swordfish you love," he grunted.
She squealed and reached forward, taking the box eagerly.
"That's why it took you so long," she sighed, opening her food and taking a deep breath. She shivered. "Mmm, thank you," she said earnestly.
He shrugged; it was nothing, he was just relieved she could relax now that this was all done. She wasn't having a difficult pregnancy at all, but he'd still been wary of all the stress they had going on.
"I sent some pictures to Dad," Jenny said. She laughed. "He tried to send an emojii back but it was the one with squinty eyes so I think he messed up," she snickered.
"Or he's still pissed you're callin' it violet and cream 'stead of purple and white," grumbled Gibbs.
"Okay, I get your issue with violet versus purple, but cream and white are massively different."
"Don't see it."
"White is for virgins," Jenny said brightly. "That's why I wore cream at our wedding."
He snorted, and then he paused.
"Wasn't that your grandmother's dress?" he asked, arching a brow.
She opened her mouth, and then closed it. She frowned.
"Uh," she began.
"Ha!" Gibbs laughed, giving her a look. "It runs in the family, eh?" he teased.
"I think it was in vogue to wear cream back then – "
"Save it, Jen, your grams got her card punched before her wedding."
"Jesus, Jethro," Jenny groaned, rolling her eyes and trying not to give into him by laughing. He gave her a smug look and she mustered a glare, stabbing her seafood extra hard for effect. "You talk about Grandmother in the abstract, but if we name Babes after her, you'll clean up your act real quick."
"You back to wantin' Abigayle?" Gibbs asked.
"I don't know," Jenny whined. "I really like your father's suggestion."
Gibbs looked a little ruffled, and shrugged.
"Grace Kelly," he grunted pointedly.
"Nyehhh," muttered Jenny. "I told you, I do like Kelly. I wouldn't mind using it. But the Grace thing – "
"You got a problem with namin' our daughter after a Princess?"
"Well, yes," Jenny said bluntly. "She died in a tragic accident - I don't want to name her Diana or Sharon Tate either."
"Grace Kelly Gibbs," Gibbs said stubbornly.
"Abigayle Kelly sounds nice, too," Jenny insisted. "But so does Anna Kelly," she added, tilting her head. "We both have dead mothers," she sighed. "It makes it harder to choose one."
"Grandmother," he grunted.
Jenny lifted her shoulders, picking at her food. She scooped up some rice onto her fork.
"I think I like the name so much because she basically was my mother," Jenny confided simply. "I mean – I wouldn't have half a clue how to do this if I hadn't had someone who was a good mother figure to me."
Gibbs nodded.
"We name 'er Anna, everyone's gonna think it's after that damn movie."
"That came out years ago, the Anna cycle is over," Jenny said flippantly. "It's back to the point where Anna wouldn't be too common – besides, it's supposed to be pronounced 'Anna' like 'ant' if it's got two 'n's' people are just ignorant. And 'Awhna' sounds pretentious if you're American."
Gibbs snorted, grinning. He thought a minute, and looked around the room.
"What was your grandmother's middle name again?"
"Uh, Gertrude."
"Damn."
"Yeah. No."
They both laughed.
"We could tell the Colonel we named 'er that," Gibbs suggested wickedly.
"He'd shoot himself," Jenny said bluntly. Gibbs smirked – their lack of decision regarding names was driving Jasper Shepard crazy. He kept lecturing them – he and his wife had Jenny's name picked out six months before she was born.
"Kelly Abigayle?"
"I don't want to use Kelly as a first name," Jenny said warily. "I would feel weird – middle name, okay; first name, it's stealing another woman's baby name – but you're sure you don't want to name her Shannon?"
Gibbs shrugged. He shook his head – and she was secretly relieved, because she didn't care for the name, and she hated the idea of Gibbs calling their child 'Shan,' which he would inevitably do, because he shortened everything.
She took a deep breath.
"We still have time," she said, unconcerned. "I mean, I do want Abigayle, but I don't want people calling her Abby," she muttered with some finality.
Gibbs tilted his head, thinking about it. He knew he wasn't going to win with Grace Kelly, and he liked the other names Jenny held dear just fine. Anna hadn't been on the list until Jackson had mentioned that Gibbs' mother always wished she was 'Anna' and not 'Ann,' and she'd be mighty pleased if they went that way.
Jenny laughed suddenly.
"Holly wants us to name her Mackenzie Beth," she laughed. "You know," she arched her brows, "so we can call her – Macbeth."
Gibbs gave her a look, and Jenny tilted her head back, giggling. Gibbs shook his head, amused at how funny she thought it was – and making a mental note to call Holly Daniels and tell her to stop putting insane ideas into his wife's head.
Jenny sighed happily and quieted, looking around. She lifted her shoulders.
"We'll figure it out," she said. "We can decide – who best suits this room," she suggested.
She pointed at him with her fork.
"Hey, you know what – why don't we make a deal," she suggested.
"Hmm?"
"We can each pick a name from the five we narrowed it down to, and then you can choose the order when she's born."
Gibbs eyed her warily. That was a lot of responsibility to be saddled with. The name would be a permanent thing, after all. He decided for one more valiant attempt.
"Grace Kelly Gibbs would have a good monogram."
She started at him, a little taken aback – he knew, of course, that she'd been looking at monograms for the nursery walls, and for a baby bag, but she hadn't realized he'd been listening when she brought it up.
"No," she corrected slowly. "It wouldn't, actually – you're thinking of the wrong way to do a monogram," she murmured, and then tilted her head. "But a first and middle name with the same letter would," she paused, "be symmetrical."
Gibbs watched her, unsure what she was thinking.
"If we paired Anna and Abigayle," she said, her face lighting up. "Your mom, my grandmother, A-G-A – the hard 'g' goes good with Gibbs," she went on, and paused, biting her lip. "What do you think?"
He tilted his head, shrugging a little.
"Lot of A's," he muttered.
She nodded, swallowing.
"Okay, well – let's stick with the deal," she said fairly. "Anna and Abigayle are both my picks, so you take yours, and we'll pick the order when the time comes."
He nodded – he couldn't pick Kelly, then, because she'd just said she only wanted it as the middle name. There were two other names on the five they'd agreed on – Grace, and Samantha. He decided he'd think more about it later – since they'd narrowed it down to five, name discussions had gotten less stressful, but before that he'd caused a huge argument because he hadn't taken it seriously enough.
"I like it in here," Jenny said suddenly, looking around. "It's lovely."
She smiled, chewing on her lip. She pushed aside her food, mostly finished by now, and sat forward, wincing uncomfortably as she adjusted her position.
"It looks like a professional did it, Jethro, thank you," she said earnestly.
He looked a little sheepish.
"S'nothin'," he mumbled. "My daughter, too."
"I know," she said humbly, shrugging. She widened her eyes and looked at him, almost in awe. "We only have like, a month left," she reminded him. "Then she's here and there's literally nothing about me that's not completely adult anymore."
She laughed a little, and he smirked – he'd felt like an adult for years before he'd met her, and she said things like this often. He understood why, but it always amused him, put a smile on his face.
"You scared, Jen?" he asked gruffly.
She licked her lips.
"You?" she retorted.
He met her eyes and shook his head – no. She scoffed and tossed her head, pushing her long red hair back.
"Fear is a state of mind."
"Pain," Gibbs corrected. "Pain is a state of mind."
"Whatever, I'm still getting an epidural," she laughed. "I don't care what Ziva says," she muttered. "I'm not a totally Zen, mind-over-matter warrior; I can't do it on mental control alone!"
Gibbs shrugged – he left decisions like that up to Jenny, though secretly he was glad she didn't buy into Ziva's homeopathic all-natural mania; he'd rather Jenny be comfortable than so miserable she couldn't even be happy.
He turned to his side and pulled a box towards him – the lone box of things that hadn't been put up.
"What's all this?" he grunted – she'd told him before, but he'd forgotten.
"My old stuff," she said. "There's a knit blanket Dad bought in Bosnia, and a mobile, and my christening dress."
Gibbs picked up the little dress, delicate and adorned with lace and small. He looked at her, his brows going up.
"She going to be this little?" he asked, almost apprehensive.
"I hope so," Jenny said dryly. "I'm not too keen on anything bigger than eight pounds," she joked.
He understood the humor behind that one, and pushed the box aside, standing up. He took their finished dinner and indicated he was going to get wine glasses, and she got up, tying her hair up and picking up the box. She folded the old blanket neatly, put away the christening dress, and set aside the mobile for Gibbs to hang later.
He came back in with two wine glasses; poured her a conservative amount and himself a large glass, and then he tilted his head at her.
"I got somethin' for you," he told her. He hesitated. "C'mere."
He picked up his glass, and she followed suit, following him curiously out of the baby's room. She glanced into their master bedroom as they went down the hall, and then followed him softly down the stairs.
He turned to her and rubbed his jaw, and she wondered why he was so nervous. He beckoned to her again, and she found herself following him into the basement.
"I was gonna build you a rocking chair," he started, raising his voice as he got ahead of her and crossed the basement. "Dad found this in the shed in Stillwater, last time I was up there helpin' him do the electric. I smoothed it out, fixed it up," he said, trailing off. "Here," he began, taking a sheet of something in the corner and dragging it around a workbench.
He pushed the rocking chair into the middle of the room, in front of her, and gestured at it gallantly.
"It's stable, and it rocks pretty smooth – it doesn't match," he said, crouching down and running his hands over it. "I was gonna find that damn cream colour you like, then paint 'er name on it in violet," he rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat, "but I found mom's initials carved into the arms, see," he pointed, and Jenny came closer, looking.
He paused, watching her trace her fingers in the grooved wood.
"Dad said he built this for her," Gibbs said. "Carved her initials in it, best he could. Then she carved mine," he pointed to a place near the originals carvings, "after she had me." Gibbs looked up, meeting her eyes warily. "I can paint it if you want, but I thought you'd like it. I can trace Mom's initials, trace mine, carve yours – then you can carve the baby's."
Jenny kept running her fingers over the markings – just A-G-S for Gibbs' mother, because she'd had no middle name and always used her maiden instead, he'd told her – then the tiny, feminine L-G-J she'd added later.
Gibbs clenched his jaw, clearing his throat again.
"I got to get you a pillow or somethin,'" he said, and she laughed hoarsely.
"I want to keep it like it is," she said quietly, nodding quickly. "You – I like your idea, painting colours in the initials – can we put this by the fire, though? I think it would look nice in the living room."
He shrugged, pleased she liked it.
"Put it wherever you want," he agreed.
She straightened and crossed her arms protectively over herself, looking at the rocking chair reverently – it hadn't occurred to her that it was one thing they didn't have yet. She licked her lips, and compressed them – it was almost September, and then smack at the beginning of October she'd – she'd actually be sitting in this chair with a baby.
She turned her head and looked at him with wide eyes.
"I am terrified," she admitted, huskily, and quite suddenly. "Jethro," she started.
He stood up quickly, and he grinned, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around her. He ran his hands over her back and pressed his forehead against hers, shaking his head a little. She reached up and squeezed his shoulders tightly, her eyes searching his in a panic, and he laughed at her.
"It isn't funny," she gasped.
"Yeah, Jen," he said lightly, shrugging. "Who the hell isn't terrified?" he asked bluntly. "Hell, we didn't even get a dog first."
"Oh, fuck," she swore, letting out a breath. She started to cry, her lips shaking in a smile. "God, how stupid," she teased.
"You can't be good at this if you think you know exactly what you're doin'," he remarked sagely. "It's like takin' care of your guys on the battlefield," he went on unexpectedly. "You have a plan, but you got to be able to adjust."
She laughed, wriggling her hand up to wipe her eyes.
"You wait until I tell Pride and the others you think of them as your practice kids," she choked out.
He pinched her gently in the ribs, and his hand found her abdomen, lazily wondering if he'd feel a kick or something at this hour. Jenny pressed her palms firmly against his chest, her fingertips curling into his shirt.
"What if I'm not good at this?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"What if you are?" he challenged. He shrugged again, tilting his head. "What's all this 'I' bull?" he demanded. "You want my help or not?"
She licked her lips, coaxed into a smile again. He leaned forward to kiss her temple, his lips lingering there. He closed his eyes a moment, briefly and silently grateful she was his and this had all turned out exactly how he wanted it to.
She crinkled her nose and lifted her chin, mustering a mock look of superiority.
"Ah – then what if you're not good at this?" she asked playfully, her voice still quaking.
He gave her a smug look.
"I got seven years practice on Kayla," he retorted proudly, referring to his goddaughter, Kayla Vance. "And trust me, Jen, we can't be worse than whoever raised those Kittenshit brats."
Jenny burst into soft laughter.
"Kardashian," she murmured into his shirt, shaking her head in disbelief.
She swiped at her eyes with finality, twisting her mouth in a smile as she looked up at him. He looked at her seriously, running his thumb along her lower lip, and she was very aware that he was five years older than her, calmer about a lot of things, more ready for a lot of things in some areas.
"Jen," he said seriously. "We got a house, we got jobs, we want her," he listed. He lifted his shoulders. "Not much else we can offer until she gets here."
Jenny stared at him, absorbed in his words – comforted, of course, and suddenly feeling silly; she rarely had, until this surprising point, worried about her abilities; she'd been too focused on everything else. He, naturally, had worried about her and her health, but it was startling to know he didn't seem at all fazed by the idea of having, very soon, a tiny baby who would depend completely on them.
She pursed her lips, trying not to start crying again, and she gave him a stern, smoky look.
"You promise me, Jethro," she said hoarsely. "You – when I have this baby, you have to freak out, once," she threatened, gesturing to herself. "Like this. At least once – or it's not fair. Or you're just not real."
He smirked, and gave her an arrogant look, pulling her into a tight hug. He nodded, but rolled his eyes, as if he were mocking her, pretending to promise, and he hoped she didn't notice how hard his heart was beating, because that advice was the exact same his own father had told him two weekends ago when he'd panicked in the middle of a general store in Stillwater.
End of August, 2016
Alexandria, Virginia
-Alexandra