a/n: this is my favorite chapter; have fun!


Stillwater, Pennsylvania: 1999

Famous in a Small Town


Having already spent the entirety of the train ride, as well as the whole of Thursday night and most of the car ride from Philadelphia to Stillwater, in a state of extreme anxiety in guilt, Natalie Winter Gibbs had become significantly uninhibited about her little act of deception since the deed was done. It was probably one hell of an exhausted night's sleep that did the trick, but one thing was for sure: Saturday morning in Stillwater, she wasn't only convinced that she'd taken a bold and necessary step – no matter how much trouble she was going to get in – she was slightly smug about it.

And her grandfather called her on that when she came back from an exploratory jaunt around the property, and burst into the store for breakfast.

"You look mighty pleased with yourself, Natalie," Jackson Gibbs growled gently, giving her a mildly chastising look.

He silently offered her the coffee pot he was sitting with. She shook her head.

"You have anything – sugary, like soda…?"

He gestured to the back.

"Take your pick from the icebox," he said.

"Oh, I can pay."

"Nonsense, family doesn't pay," he said strictly. "Your mother lets you have soda for breakfast?" he asked, amused.

"Not per se," Natalie responded, waltzing down to the back to grab a glass bottle of coke – it tickled her to death, the old-fashioned glass bottle; so quaint and small town America. She loved it. She came back to the table, and popped the top open on the side of the wooden table, using it as a makeshift bottle opener. "It's more of an energy drink I'm addicted to – I think it's a pick-your-battles thing for her," she said. "You know, as in, if she lets me eat junk food at will, I might not notice I don't have a father around," she finished brightly.

Jackson grinned a little at the unabashed attitude – there was a lot about this child that was an even, formidable mix of both Jennifer and Leroy, and it was a pity that neither of them were around each other enough to plainly see it. He figured that might be about to change – and for the better. It was why, despite his reservations about stepping on parental toes, he was going to stick more by Natalie than anyone, in this.

Natalie sat down, her eyes shining.

"This property is gorgeous – all that brush down by the creek? There's a little glaze of ice over the water, but you can hear it bubbling underneath – and I went to get the paper at the end of your drive, by the fire hydrant, and someone next door waved at me – "

"That'd be Missus Overton," Jackson said.

"Does she know who I am?"

"'M afraid everyone knows who you are, Bug," Jackson said, snorting. "S'far back as town memory goes, your Mama's the only one who got knocked up so young. Well, now," he paused, forehead crinkling. "There might have been a girl in my wife's grade, maybe seventeen years old…but her parents hushed that up and shipped her off, I think," he shook his head. "Different times. Your parents," he remarked, "flaunted it."

"Flaunted it?" Natalie quoted skeptically – she didn't get the impression that her mother had ever proudly born the badge of teenage pregnancy. She arched an eyebrow at her grandfather, and he tilted his head back and forth.

"Maybe that ain't right," he said, thinking. "I'm sayin', whatever she was thinkin', or feelin', she didn't put her head down. And she stayed in school. That was bold. She – ah, what'm I tryin' to say," he muttered vaguely. "She bucked expectations. Leroy did too, I s'pose. Scandalized a lot of people, the way they didn't hide."

Natalie pressed her lips together.

"Leroy?" she asked.

"That's what everyone 'round here calls my boy," Jackson said firmly. "Nobody ever called him Jethro except your mama. And Shannon, I reckon," he added, after a moment.

Natalie sat back, peeling the label off her Coca-Cola. She wondered why that was, and thought maybe she'd ask later. She was realizing there was so much she didn't know, now that she was here; she was realizing abruptly that she didn't know much at all about how her parents had started out, or what their lives had been like – she knew they left Stillwater because her mother hated it, her mother was treated like a leper, and she wanted bigger and better things for them both. But – she didn't know anything about Stillwater.

Natalie blew some hair out of her face.

"You know, I called her last night," Jackson said sharply. "Your mother."

Natalie looked at him mildly.

"I know," she said, shrugging. "I knew you'd call her, even if I asked you to wait," she said simply.

"You got to call her this mornin', honey," he advised. "She was – spittin' mad, and from what I could tell, pretty damn worried."

Natalie shook her head, and leaned forward, pressing the coke bottle to her lips. She took a drink, and then lowered it.

"I don't have to call her," she said, going on quickly when he gave her a gentle glare, "she's on her way to get me."

Jackson arched his brows.

"You think she's drivin' all the way to Stillwater just to – "

Natalie nodded firmly.

"Was she at my Dad's when you called her? Or paged her – whatever?"

Jackson nodded warily. Natalie shrugged.

"Good," she said flatly. "She assumed I'd be there – I left something with him, so he'd know I … whatever has happened all these – it didn't have anything to do with me not wanting to see him," she said heavily. She winced a little, blinking sharply. "It's this notebook, you sent me in one of my Christmas packages," she revealed. "I kept it full of stuff I'd tell him or ask him. I didn't tell Mom about it, because, you know," Natalie paused. "Well, I always knew it was hard for her."

She sat quietly for a moment, and then her face darkened.

"If I'd have known she was just keeping him at arm's length for her own sake, I'd have been more aggressive."

Jackson smiled a little.

"If it means anything at all, kid," he said seriously, "I always thought she thought she was doing the right thing by you."

"At the expense of your own son?" Natalie asked.

Jackson held up two hands tensely.

"Now – look, me'n'Leroy – that's above your paygrade, Bug, that's bad blood that's got nothin' to do with you. It wasn't my place to fight Leroy's battles, 'specially when it came to you; that was his responsibility. And I always wondered why he just let you go." Jackson looked at his granddaughter for a moment, and then went on, not wanting to leave her thinking her father didn't want her. "Before Shannon and Kelly's funeral, I hadn't seen him since eighty-seven," he said grudgingly, "but I can tell you that the day he left, day he found out you were gone? Had to be one of the worst days of his life, until last February. Could see it in his eyes."

Natalie smiled a little sadly.

"I think that's comforting," she said, a bit dry – it was strange to hear her grandfather say he didn't bear Jenny ill will; it was just nice to hear him say he thought her father had missed her, and missed her terribly.

She felt – contented, with many of his words; his lack of animosity towards her mother helped her cope with her conflicted feelings, her inability to truly and wholly be angry at Jenny because she loved her, and appreciated her, so much. His neutrality about her father, saying neither truly negative things or glowingly positive things, indicated a genuine desire to just let her figure it out, make her own decisions – and that was what she needed – badly.

Natalie pushed her soda aside, and looked intently at her grandfather.

"I'm here because I don't understand anything about this," she said frankly, her voice soft. "I barely remember being here, but I don't remember being unhappy here. I love my mother and I want to know my father and for some reason," she held up her hands, and knocked her knuckles together lightly, "that isn't meshing. And it doesn't make sense, because I've been over what I've been told, and what I've figured out, a thousand times, and it doesn't seem like anyone did anything – so heinous that its irreparable," she said. She paused, and bit her lip. "Except – maybe Mom," she allowed, "but – but even if I don't understand…some of the things she's done, and even if I'm so, so angry…I like the way I grew up. And I appreciate her protectiveness but it – I think it has to stop now. It's just – not fair," she finished hoarsely.

Jackson considered her for a moment. He raised his hand, and pointed firmly.

"You are a very smart young lady," he said simply, nodding his head emphatically. He lowered his hand, and picked up his mug.

Natalie nodded, and swallowed.

"Thank you," she said. "I know."

He grinned a little, and took a thoughtful sip of coffee.

"Hell, I sure wish your grandmother was here to see you," he said heavily. "She'd be so proud – so impressed."

Natalie bit her lip.

"She would?"

"Aw, yeah," Jackson said seriously. He pushed his finger into the countertop. "No one on this earth loved you more than that woman – 'cept your parents, but I figure that goes without saying," he said. "You know, I got to admit my own fault – and Jasper's, too, I know he felt the same – we never disliked you, but havin' you around was a hard adjustment, a hard reminder of the mess the kids got into," he said. He shook his head fondly. "Ann? Never. She accepted it the day they told us and she never had a mean word to say, she never spent her time cursin' the choices, or makin' Leroy or Jennifer's life hell – naw, she was in y 'all's corner, never failed," he explained.

He took a deep breath.

"This whole thing, with your Mom and Dad…it would have broken her heart," Jackson said. He smiled wryly. "But I figure, if she hadn't died, things might have gone on okay. Lord knows it tore Leroy up when his mother died – rightly so – but I don't think he could see how bad it hurt Jenny, too. She still was on bad terms with her daddy back then," he said. He snorted suddenly. "Listen to me, ain't even finished my coffee yet and I'm ramblin' on like an old man – go on, you explore, call your Mama – "

"No, Grandpa Jack," Natalie interrupted earnestly, shaking her head. "This is exactly why I'm here – I want to hear these things. My mother – she never talks about Stillwater, or even what it was really like being a teen mother here, with Dad. She plays it so close to the vest, and I know it's personal, and painful, but I want to hear stories," she said emphatically. "I want to understand."

She licked her lips.

"I know she was ostracized, I know people called her a slut, and things were more liberal in California - but since she spent so long not really wanting to mention Stillwater because it inevitably brought up my father, I just don't know any – organic, raw stories," she explained. "Tell me stories, Grandpa Jack," she pleaded. "Talk to me about my parents. I want someone to talk to me about them. Especially my father."

After a long moment of consideration, Jackson smiled.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, standing up with effort. "I reckon that makes a lot of sense." He glanced at his watch, and then at the old bell that hung above the door of the General Store – his eyes may be going, but his ears were sharp; he'd hear the bell if they went up to the storage area. He beckoned to Natalie.

She leapt up and followed him, up the rickety, dusty old stairs that lead to excess storage above the store – inventory was in the back, always chock full of goods, but up here was miscellaneous overflow, and things that didn't fit in the cramped attic of the Gibbs' house that stood way out back on General Store property.

Natalie crept into the spacious room behind him, tilting her head up at the rafters, spinning around. He cleared his throat, and pointed.

"That window seat? Your mother used to study there, after she got pregnant. Her father never left her at home alone while she was expectin', and hardly ever when she had you; made him too nervous," Jackson explained. "She'd sit there and read, all cozy up here, with tea my wife made her."

"And – my dad?" Natalie asked.

"He was at work, all the time," Jackson said flatly. "Me'n'Jenny's old man made damn sure of that."

Natalie went over to the window seat and sat down as if she belonged there. She looked around – there was a jewelry box, and an old stack of books – a trunk.

"That stuff," Jackson said, gesturing at it, "is either your grandmother's or Jennifer's; if she left it, I put it up here. You can go through it," he muttered, turning. "Ah, here," he said, grunting as he dragged something into view. "This cradle, we kept it in the store, for when Ann was watchin' you – moved it around. Leroy slept in it – old family heirloom," he said, watching Natalie's eyes light up as she came over.

She crouched down and ran her hands over it, inhaling.

"It's so tiny," she murmured.

"It didn't last long – we got you in one of those newfangled play-pen thingamajigs after a while," Jackson said plainly. "Your crib, that was a piece of work – Leroy and I built it, bare hands and all," he paused. "It's still up at the house, though – c'mon, you can come tear this attic apart later," he muttered.

Natalie followed him down the stairs again, starstruck, almost unable to believe he was – opening her eyes this much. Out the back of the store they went, and she caught up, questions bubbling to her lips.

"You never moved the crib?" she asked astutely. "Why – "

"Well, I did, but I put it back out when, ah," Jackson broke off. He swallowed hard. "When Shannon came to visit. Kelly was a newborn, only time I ever really met her," he said, a little choked up. "I felt a little guilty offerin' her your crib, but she didn't mind at all…never did pack it all up again," he added. "'Sides, Leroy helped built it, and it was one of Leroy's babies in it, anyway."

Natalie nodded, swallowing. Her face fell a little.

"You only met Kelly once?"

"They lived overseas, you know," Jackson said gruffly, his face carefully composed. "Paris. For mos' the time. Hard to travel. My passport expired when I left the Air Force."

"You were military too, then?" Natalie asked. She looked down. "And so was Grandpa Jasper," she said. "And Max – Max is my mother's stepfather," she supplied.

"Uh-huh – and my old Dad, too," Jackson said proudly. "You got military in you from ten different lines," he joked. "I think the only thing we don't got is the Navy," he said.

"Well, Mom's NCIS," Natalie supplied lightly.

"Okay, honorary Navy," Jackson allowed.

Natalie grinned, following him into the house, and up the stairs. He took her into Leroy's old room – it didn't look much different than it had; he'd only really attended to it when Shannon had come to visit, because he'd put her up in there.

She felt strange as he showed her Gibbs' bedroom – it looked eerie, almost; exactly the way a nineteen-year-old Marine would have left it, except Jackson had probably made the bed, and cleaned up. He had baseball cards on the counter, and a Raquel Welch poster on the wall, in full ten thousand B.C. regalia – Natalie crinkled her nose, she almost laughed.

"Here's your crib," Jackson said gruffly, pointing – it was in a corner, looking large. "We kept it by the fireplace, downstairs, when you were a baby – see, you lived with your Mama," he said.

Natalie nodded fervently.

"When – Grandpa Jasper died," she said, swallowing hard; she always thought of him fondly – her favorite memory was of him surprising her mother at the California State graduation. "I saw where my old nursery used to be, in his house – Mom's old room…we cleaned out some stuff, but she was so upset over him then, we didn't talk much," she trailed off. "But I had a crib here, too?"

"For when your grandfather was workin' night shifts, he didn't let Jennifer stay in the house alone with you – not sure I blame 'im, sixteen year old with a newborn," snorted Jackson. "She'd come stay here, but Leroy, he'd sleep in the living room with you, on the couch, t'give Jenny a break, let 'er sleep."

Jackson paused, smirking a little.

"Think they always snuck around with each other down there, stayin' up late, plottin' against us adults, tryin' to make their own way with you – but we let 'em get away with it," he said.

He looked back on a lot of it with more empathy and amusement now – everything then had been so stressful, difficult – dark. Not just for the kids, though lord knew Jenny and Leroy thought they were the only ones affected badly, but for their parents, too – they hadn't known how to adjust their parenting doctrines around two kids who had their own baby any more than Jenny and Gibbs had been able to stake their claim as parents when they weren't even legal adults.

Natalie sat down gingerly on her father's old bed, looking at the crib.

"He made that mobile," Jackson said gruffly. "Made it without my help, in woodshop. At the high school."

Natalie bit her lip, looking at it. She got up and came over, touching it lightly with her fingers – it was so simple; a wooden concoction with carved wooden figures, rudimentary, but with a hint of talent that hadn't been harnessed yet, dancing from braided, thick rawhide string. Easily something one could make in a high school shop.

"I think he probably got a lot of shit for it," Jackson reflected mildly.

That made Natalie smile. She flushed a little, pleased as she thought about it – he'd put all that effort into making something for her, and that was so good to know. She crossed her feet at the ankles, tilting her head as she bit her bottom lip a little.

She wished for a desperate moment she could remember what it was like, to have both of her parents around, together, obviously on her side and only her side; facing the world together. She wasn't naïve enough to think there had been anything romantic about the odds they had faced, but it was inherently heartwarming to know that there'd been a time when they really cared for each other, insomuch as teenagers could ever really grasp the full maturity of love.

She looked over at her grandfather.

"Do you think he was a good dad?" she asked quietly.

Jackson hesitated. He folded his arms. He seemed to consider it, and then he gave a somewhat grudging smile, and nodded curtly.

"For someone who didn't know what the hell he was doin'? Yeah, I reckon," he allowed. He set his jaw a little. "I was sure he was always going to shirk things off on his Ma, but that boy…hell," Jackson swore. "Jasper saddled him with pretty steep child support, Natalie," Jackson told her bluntly, "he worked two jobs – down at the mine, landscaping – and he got through school. So he was doin' most of the workin', I think, and Jenny doin' most of the parenting, but that wasn't quite her fault."

Natalie could tell that despite his dissatisfaction with his son, Jackson got a bit nettled at this part.

"I ain't got a daughter, so I don't know how the old Chief was feelin', but he made sure Jenny got full custody, made sure she was going to have more of a chance to get through high school – and didn't give a damn about my boy. I think it really chapped his ass that Leroy got his diploma and Jenny had to go back for the certificate."

Natalie tensed slightly.

"Well, I know mom told me I got sick a few times the first winter," she said. "And going back to school was hard, she worried about me, she was more concerned about being a good mother – "

"Easy, kid," Jackson said fondly, holding up his hands. "I'm not meanin' to say a word against your mother. She did so much. She put up with so much, and her daddy wasn't helpin' her a bit with it." Jackson paused, and then he narrowed his eyes. "I think back on it a lot, now. The both of them … deserved more credit than we gave 'em, back then – me and Jasper, I mean; I already told you Ann was their champion. They were kids, and they did stupid shit, but," he paused, and nodded for effect. "There's kids that's done worse, in their circumstances."

He shrugged, and smiled at her.

"I mean, look atchu," he said gruffly. "Smart as a whip, never ran into trouble with the law, independent," he listed. He looked at her wryly a moment. "Your mother was independent too, now," he snorted. "Careful, there."

"She warns me," Natalie said softly, enamored. She licked her lips. "What stupid shit?" she asked. "Mom – she told me, one time, Gibbs wrote my name on my nose in black marker."

"He did," Jackson griped, rolling his eyes. "Blasted idiot – thought it was cute, and I bet you think it's a cute story, too, but it stung your eyes after a minute and Ann had to get it off with rubbing alcohol."

"She didn't tell me that part," Natalie agreed.

"Bet she also didn't tell you that she thought it was adorable until you started crying, and then threw a fit and blamed Leroy for the whole thing," he snorted.

Natalie shook her head, somewhat amused. She rested her hand on the crib, running her fingers lightly on the edge.

"Did they ever come close to killing me?" she asked wryly.

"Not that I know of," Jackson said dryly. "Think the worse was, once you grabbed a mouse trap at your mother's house, snapped your little fingers so hard they bruised, and Leroy claimed it was because your mother was too focused on some college application instead of watching you, so he brought you here to stay the night. She didn't like that, but when she told her father, he tore her a new one for letting you get hurt and said it served her right. 'Course," snorted Jackson, "then he came over here and barked at Leroy for treatin' you like a bargaining chip instead of a human being, but Leroy was just protecting you."

Natalie nodded, leaning forward. She didn't rest her weight too heavily on the crib – it seemed old, delicate – and she pursed her lips.

"Mom told me little stuff like that," she ventured. "Not that, specifically, but how she'd – mess up, how scary it was for her. She said she was anxious all the time. Other moms could make mistakes, and that was just parenting, but if she made a mistake," Natalie snapped, "Oh, hell no. Unacceptable."

"Yeah, we treated them like that," Jackson admitted heavily. "They treated each other like that."

Natalie smiled a little.

"It's nice, to hear about them," she said quietly. "I know my mom hated it here," she sighed, almost to herself. "I'm just…trying to understand why that had to result in Gibbs just being…excluded from my life."

Jackson was quiet for a moment.

"Your parents were very young," he said finally. "They both had strong personalities. Uncompromising standards can be a person's downfall," he mused, "and most people don't learn to let go of their pride until they're older. They don't realize that there's no shame in bending, but there can be a whole lot of trouble in just breaking rather than compromising."

Natalie pushed her hair back – it was a wise comment; by the minute, she was more satisfied she had done this – come here. She was going to prowl the shops later—introduce herself maybe, see what she could glean from the townies; she was just biding her time, really – and while she did so, she had her grandfather to herself, and he was talking – talking like he'd refused to talk when she asked him about her father all those years ago.

She straightened up, coming around the edge of the crib. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans and arched her eyebrows.

"So, in the shed," she began, "there's a pretty sweet car."

She let the observation hang, and her grandfather scratched his chin.

"Saw that, did you?" he asked.

He turned, and beckoned.

"C'mon."

She hopped down the stairs after him, sparing a moment's glance for the living room – of course she'd seen it last night, because she'd fallen asleep by the fire after her shower, and Jackson hadn't had the ability to carry her up to a bedroom. It was why she hadn't seen the upstairs last night – she'd used everything downstairs.

There was a picture of her late grandmother on the mantle she had been particularly taken with.

She followed Jackson out towards the shed, watching him heave it open, leaving the classic looking, wild yellow car open to the cool winter sun. Natalie grinned and ran her hand over, it, walking around slowly.

"That there was your father's pride and joy," Jackson said dryly. "Spent every time he had tinkerin' with it, buyin' stuff with it – he was damn near about to sell that old truck we gave 'im to get it runnin'," Jackson explained. "I've got no doubt that he was gonna leave us all in the dust the day he graduated."

Natalie perched against the hood, her eyes glittering.

"He's good at this kind of thing, isn't he?" she asked earnestly. "Good, old-fashioned manual labor – craftsmanship," she went on thoughtfully. "The mobile, working on the car – scientific minded," she remarked.

"Scientific?" scoffed Jackson. "The boy barely passed a science class his whole life."

"Thomas Edison was considered an idiot by his teachers," Natalie retorted brightly. "Einstein failed general examinations to get into school in Switzerland," she told him.

"Natalie, I don't know what kind of genius you've built up your father to be," Jackson began, snorting skeptically.

"No, listen: some people don't understand things if they see no purpose to them," she said. "I mean – so, look; you have to understand mechanics, and many aspects of science and mathematics, to put together objects and correctly configure the make-up of a car, or the dimensions needed to measure, cut, and carve wood, right?" she began, spreading her hands out. "Well, if you tell someone 'here's an equation, find 'x' – they might think – what's the freakin' point of finding 'x'? What will I use it for? But in you tell the same someone that in order to correctly construct a baby's mobile to spin on an axis, then need to calculate what 'x' is in regards to length and cut of wood, they can do it without thinking," she said simply. "Learning is about purpose and aligning teaching with what students are interested in – it's not about spitting out facts like a robot if there's no overall meaning to what's been learned."

Jackson blinked at her. His mouth felt a little dry. He arched an eyebrow.

"Guess I didn't do Leroy a whole lot of good berating him for bein' dumb with his grades," he said wryly.

Natalie lifted her shoulders demurely, but winked.

"People are smart in different ways," she insisted. "George Washington, Harry Truman, and Abraham Lincoln were incredibly influential and intelligent men who didn't have college degrees – but two of them had significant practical experience and outstanding military careers."

"Are you workin' on some speech to get you out of college, for your Ma?" Jackson asked, with a look at his granddaughter.

She laughed.

"No," she said, tilting her head. "I'm going to college, and I'm going to work for NASA. I'm extremely smart and I thrive in structured academic environments – I do well independently learning, and I take tests with ease," she recited. "But some people don't." She shrugged simply. She ran her hand over the hood of the car. "I didn't get my brain from just one parent," she said confidently. "I can tell."

Jackson smiled a little.

"You're throwin' me for a loop, Natalie," he said, sighing a little. "Knew you were smart last time I saw you – but you've got the maturity to go with it."

Natalie arched a brow.

"Can you write that down for my mother?" she asked. "I need a character witness for the past couple of days – and when I'm out of the doghouse, I have to get back on convincing her to let me graduate high school a year early."

Jackson sucked in his breath, out of his element. Natalie hopped off the car, and turned, running her hands along the edge.

"What's the engine like – can I look at it? I bet I can help get it running," she mused.

"Do you now?" Jackson asked.

Natalie nodded, fumbling around intuitively to find how to open the hood. She ignored the numbness in her fingers from the cold and found the metal rod to prop it open, peering inside – she liked figuring stuff like this out. She knew some stuff about cars – her mother had always thought it important for girls to know how to change tires, oil, jump engines – things that traditionally males did, but that Jenny didn't have the luxury of remaining ignorant of, as a single mom. Natalie had, as she always did, taken it a step further and read a whole book on how cars worked.

"Dad was building this," she said out loud, almost to herself. She looked over, her hair falling over her shoulder. "Why'd he quit?"

Her grandfather raised his eyebrows at her.

"'Cause if he had any free time, he spent it with you."

Natalie's face flushed slightly. She looked back at the car – of course she'd interfered; but at least she knew that he hadn't let teenage selfishness get the best of him, and ignored her for a car; he'd kept an old truck, and dragged tired feet to try and be a father. These were good things to hear, things to know – things that made it easier to believe hadn't given up on her in a simple, conventional sense – things that bolstered her hope that everything was salvageable – between her mother, her father, and the three of them as a whole.

It wasn't even romance she wanted for them; it was civility, so it could work for her.

She pursed her lips, and stepped back, hands on her hips. Whatever she was poised to say was cut off by a somewhat hysterical, livid shout; Natalie's headturned quickly, though she wasn't as startled as Jackson. Her natural reaction to that tone was to cringe and shrink away slightly, but she managed to hold her ground slightly defiantly this time as she shoot a glance at her grandfather.

"Told you so," she said pertly.


It was something about Pennsylvania, the Columbia Country line, that demanded Jenny say something – initiate conversation, break the thick and loaded silence that hung in the air like molasses – a road trip was an eerie affair when the mood was so brittle and tense.

Lifting her head from the window, where she'd placed it so warily, and let it vibrate subtly along with the movement of the truck, lulling her into a sort of hypnosis, she turned slightly, and parted her lips, hesitating only a moment before she spoke.

"Why didn't you tell her?" she asked.

It had been so long since she'd said a word that her voice came out strained, as if she had bronchitis. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat softly, waiting – it was almost daybreak, and the light outside was an eerie violet. Coming through the windshield, it cast his face in an almost sinister glow.

His eyebrows went up a little at her words, but other than that, he gave no indication he'd heard her – he was used to the silence, too, even comfortable with it – their conversation had revolved solely around technicalities and the frustrations of this trip, a trip that should have got them to Stillwater just after midnight, but due to almost absurd circumstances that in some astronomical way must be on NASA-loving Natalie's side, it had lasted damn near the whole night.

Bugsy had been scarily calm and at peace in the bed of the truck the whole ride.

Jenny rubbed her hand over her knee.

"Jethro?" she prompted.

After a moment, his jaw twitched slightly.

"Tell her what?" he countered neutrally.

Jenny smiled skeptically, turning her head and looking out the front window.

"You know what," she replied, a little sharply – she had no interest in playing games; not now, not anymore – not that it had ever been a game to her, regardless of what he thought. She took a breath, holding it tensely. "You had the moment – she was there, at your house, me none the wiser – you had the chance to eviscerate me," she said, "tell her I left and whisked," Jenny flicked her hand derisively, "her away with me. You didn't."

She bit down on her cheek, her jaw stiff.

"Why?" she repeated, quietly.

His knuckles whitened a little on the steering wheel; she turned to him, studying his profile, and after a moment, he shrugged roughly.

"Didn't seem right."

She let out her breath, startled. Her brows went up.

"Didn't seem – where'd all that anger go, all that venom?" she asked hoarsely. "You had the upper hand, and you – you sent her home to me, instead."

He shook his head a little, his jaw twitching. He didn't say anything about his anger or the animosity he'd felt towards her – the truth was, it had faded – the initial acidic emotion had faded years ago, only to flare back up when something specific, or some new rejection from Jenny, provoked it; it had been dulled by time, acceptance, an increasing maturity and – his increasingly firm belief that it was nothing compared to the other things he'd had to face.

"Wouldn't have done any good, Jen," he said gruffly. He shook his head in a curt way, eyes still firmly fixed on the road. His lips turned up in a tiny, sardonic smirk. "Always thought I'd want to tell her. Hold it over you. Throw it in your face," he said pointedly – that at least got out a little of his latent anger, and frustration, with Jenny and her choices. He shook his head. "Might have been worth it for a minute, but badmouthin' you to her? Her mother? To make me look good or feel better?" he shook his head again, determined, a little sad. "That's manipulative. Isn't right, to do to your kid."

He spoke from personal experience, to an extent; his father had been cavalier with his opinions of Ann Gibbs sometimes – always loudly bitching about their fights when they had them, making offhand remarks around his son that Gibbs internalized, and didn't appreciate. He used Ann for a scapegoat when he said no. Gibbs remembered that; it stuck with him.

"Your one chance to get back at me, and you really didn't want to?" Jenny asked hesitantly.

He turned his head and looked at her finally, a sharp, quick, but poignant look before he focused back on the road.

"You the same person you were fourteen years ago?" he asked, abrupt and harsh – irritated, clearly.

"I – no," Jenny answered, startled – slightly defensive. "Of course not," she murmured tensely.

"Then why d'you think I am?" he asked, somewhat coolly. He grit his teeth. "I don't care about gettin' back at you," he quoted distastefully. "I care about fixin' somethin' I never should have let get broken."

Jenny turned her head, resting her knuckles against her cheek. Gibbs was quiet a moment, and then he rolled his shoulders a little, his neck making a soft pop as he stretched. He cleared his throat quietly.

"She needed to hear it from you, anyway," he said emphatically. "You were always tellin' me I didn't understand. It was your damn choice," he growled, almost under his breath. "She had to hear it from you."

Jenny's knuckles brushed her lips.

"That's fair," she conceded hoarsely.

"You tell 'er the truth?" Gibbs asked stiffly, wary of her motives – he'd always wondered, all these years, what Jenny was telling Natalie about him, if anything at all.

"I told her the truth," Jenny said, blinking sharply. She sat up a little, thrusting her hand towards the road. "Clearly, I told her the truth – she ran away," she stated tersely, her teeth gritted. "I have fourteen years of hindsight, too, Jethro – I told her as straight as I could. And she picked up and ran away," Jenny emphasized, half-angry, half-distressed. "There's your proof I didn't gild the whole thing and give myself a halo."

She put her knuckles back to her lips, wrapping her arm around her abdomen, and turned her head, eying him uncertainly. Under her intent gaze, after a moment, his lips turned up in a grim smirk, and he flexed his hands again, the knuckles whitening and blushing in a quick flash.

"Bastard," she murmured, though the manner in which the pejorative was hurled was almost good-natured in its quiet, resigned acceptance. "I knew – there had to be some part of you that relished this."

"You blame me?" he asked mildly, shrugging.

She didn't respond immediately. She didn't; she took full responsibility for short-changing Natalie when it came to Gibbs, and furthermore, she was still a little amazed that he hadn't been as vindictive and vengeful as he could have been – as he possibly had somewhat of a right to be.

"You weren't completely innocent," she said finally, broaching the subject with caution. "I didn't issue a restraining order."

"Not legally," he said derisively.

She licked her lips and rested her head back against the seat, lifting her eyes. She sighed, and turned her head towards him.

"You went completely off the grid after Desert Storm," she said tentatively. "I thought the first thing you'd do when you got back was call us – Natalie at least, but," she paused, licking her lips again. "It was just cards, from someone else – until you wanted to meet," she reminded him. "Out of the blue."

This time, Gibbs didn't answer – he figured it was natural that they started talking like this, considering their length of time in the car, and how quiet it had been, and how much they had to discuss, but the only person he was used to talking about this stuff with was – Shannon, and if he started discussing what had happened on his side back then, he'd have to talk about her. He wasn't sure if he was ready – if he could – share that part of his life with Jenny.

He swallowed hard, and forced himself to – he'd have to; not for Jenny, not to satisfy any curiosity she had, or confirm any of her suspicious, but to prove that he was capable of being in Natalie's life, that it wasn't just some half-assed, hollow attempt at healing himself.

If there was one thing – one single thing – he had taken away from Dr. Macy, the Marine Corps mental health counselor who'd seen him after the court martial, it was that he was only going to heal with time, and nothing self-destructive or unhealthy would particularly assuage the pain.

He should have learned that when joining the Marines never actually helped him deal with his mother's death.

"Wasn't out of the blue," he said grudgingly. He kept his hands steady on the wheel, and imagined his voice as steady as his grip. "Got a medical evacuation from Kuwait, in ninety-one. I was in a coma in Germany for nineteen days," he rushed through that part – he didn't remember any of it, and he didn't want any sympathy for it. "Woke up in Portsmouth Naval Hospital. I had…issues," he said vaguely, gruffly. "Memory issues. Had a long recovery to go through, and I," he paused stiffly, "I couldn't keep you and Shannon straight, sometimes."

He swallowed hard after he admitted it.

Jenny touched her shoulder, pressing her fingers into her collar lightly.

"You were seeing her then?" she asked softly.

Gibbs nodded once, curtly.

"How long after we – broke up?" Jenny asked, shamelessly giving into her need to know.

Gibbs's jaw twitched tensely, and he tilted his head to the side.

"Two years," he answered finally.

"Ah," Jenny said. "When did you get married?"

He looked uncomfortable.

"Ninety-two – what the hell's it matter, Jen?" he asked edgily. "You saw other men – Natalie told me you dated her teacher, and you think you had a right to keep me from her because I got married?"

Jenny made a mental note to tell Natalie not to gossip like that anymore, and rubbed her shoulder again, shaking her head.

"No, it's not that you got married," she said tersely. "So, in ninety-three, when you came to see her—before you went to Virginia – you were married – and that's what it felt like, to me, Jethro, that you were there because she – your wife – told you to go make amends, and I wondered if it was really what you wanted, if I could rely on you," she listed, sitting up a little. "I understand that you were struggling with the loss of comrades and post-traumatic issues – my father fought in Viet Nam, Jethro, I could have understood that if you'd just given me even one call," she said.

She pushed her hair back, turning towards him as much as her seat belt would allow.

"But there I was – I didn't know for sure you were married, but I saw your ring. I thought this other woman wanted – I don't know, to take my daughter – "

"She wanted me to see my kid," Gibbs interrupted harshly. "She isn't – she wasn't," he corrected, stumbling over the tense. "She wasn't a – monster, she wasn't jealous, she just – "

"Okay, Jethro, I believe that, but do you understand that even now, you explaining this to me – I still wonder if maybe I did make the right decision? You were struggling, and I do get that, and I'm sure recovering brought up all the bad memories of me, and you had to heal all over – but you also managed to have a good relationship and get married in the midst of all that. And do you think maybe, instead of courting her, you should have been reaching out to me and Natalie?"

His face paled slightly; not fear, but anger. He turned to her, and gave her a dangerous look.

"Don't act like you'd have made it easy, Jen," he growled angrily. "Don't sit there and put on that act."

"It might not have been easy, but at least – "

"No," he snapped sharply. "You listen – when I called, you kept her time on the phone short – you picked a fight with me in front of her when I came to visit, you made it seem like I was a bad influence, a hassle – you didn't want me there," he said coldly. "That had a hell of a lot to do with me givin' up," he quoted sarcastically. "You should know better than anyone there's only so much a guy can take."

"I should know? What's that supposed to mean."

"The whole goddamn town of Stillwater treated you like a burden, like it was a relief when you were gone!" he retorted, raising his voice. "I watched 'em do it! You ran off across the country to get away from it!"

Her eyes widened slightly, enlightened – it was a painfully interesting way to put it, and of course, she knew deep down that she had been brittle around him, tense and protective, and it had been about Natalie, but when she was young it had been all about her, too, and how hard it was to break up with her first boyfriend and the man who she thought was the love of her life and somehow be mature enough to navigate parenting with him.

She couldn't do it at nineteen. She just couldn't. That attitude and that choice had led them to where they were today – among other circumstances – but she'd spent so long comforting herself as she grew up and saw more clearly, convincing herself there were several reasons she was in the right and everyone would understand her – it was hard to face the egregious mistakes she'd made.

Jenny pushed her hair back, and sat away from him slightly, turning her head. She looked out the window at the rapidly passing landscape, and closed her eyes heavily. She chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment, and then turned her head, angling her body oddly, her back resting against the windshield, seatbelt looped behind her.

"I'm going to ask you some questions," she said tiredly. "I want to hear the answers from you, instead of prying them out of Mike or Dan."

He didn't look at her; he didn't even nod. Presumably, he was just waiting, so she swallowed hard, and plowed on.

"Natalie said that a couple of years ago, your handwriting showed back up on the cards," she said neutrally. "She said that on one from ninety-seven or – something – there was a number, international. Ninety-seven was…before you – lost them," she went on carefully. "Why did you start sending the cards again?"

Gibbs moved his head from side to side, cracking his neck – everything in him felt so tense and sore; he'd been sitting in the same rigid, defense position for hours on end, and the anticipation of arriving in Stillwater – a place they both hated – where he'd have to face not only his father and his current reality, but the graves of his wife and daughter – weighed on him, heavily. He wasn't sure he knew how to answer well.

He unstuck his jaw, cleared his throat.

"Shannon was gonna send a picture of us one year," he explained tightly. "Me, her," he took a long pause, "Kelly." He shook his head. "We fought about it. I thought she was goin' too far. She got mad, told me I'd," he stopped suddenly, clearly remembering the fight. "She said she was done tryin' to keep the peace," he said, redirecting. "Left it to me."

"And you sent the card," Jenny supplied – there was obvious proof of that.

He nodded.

"And the one with the number?" she prompted.

"Figured you didn't get that one."

"It's a long story," Jenny said dryly. "We were moving to D.C. then, and your stuff was still going to – Melly's," she admitted.

Gibbs grit his teeth – there it was again, evidence of her lack of true desire to keep him connected. Moving, without telling him; never bothering to check and keep up, to have mail forwarded – no effort for Gibbs, but plenty of effort to make sure Natalie called Jackson and Jasper. It made him irate for a moment, but he quelled the anger.

He didn't feel like he should have to prove himself to her, but he'd do it if it meant better years to come for him and Natalie. He'd swallow his pride and his anger and his resentment, and maybe by the end of this car ride, she'd realize he was sincere.

He moved his shoulders a little, shaking the tension out of them.

"Kelly – turned two, started talkin'," he said hoarsely. He swallowed unsteadily. "Got me thinkin' about Natalie. That's – how old she was, when you left," he reminded Jenny – unnecessarily. "Still figured you'd tell me to go to hell, since I was in Europe," he shook his head heavily. "Havin' Kelly didn't make me stop missin' her," he said quietly. "Made it more obvious that I wasn't around Natalie."

Jenny nodded – this was all out of her element; she only had one child. She parted her lips, trying to understand – she'd never had siblings, either, or step or half siblings – she thought there was something fundamental she probably couldn't relate to, about having more than one kid, about what it was like.

"What was her full name?" Jenny asked gently. She'd forgotten - she knew Jackson must have told her, though.

"Kelly Ann," Gibbs answered. He was quiet a moment. "Shannon named her after Princess Grace," he said bitterly.

Jenny closed her eyes, compressing her lips – Grace Kelly, who'd infamously died in a car accident; thinking of that gave way to the even more infamous death of Princess Diana in Paris, not even a year, if Jenny remembered correctly, before Gibbs' wife and daughter would have been killed.

Gibbs remembered the death of Princess Diana clearly; Shannon had been so upset; she'd cried for the people's princess, and embassy activity had been chaotic for weeks. She'd died the same way less than a year later. The whole world hadn't mourned for Shannon and Kelly, though to Gibbs they were the whole world.

"What really happened?" Jenny ventured delicately.

He shook his head a couple of times.

"I know it's classified," she said bravely. "But – "

"CIA operation gone sour," Gibbs said harshly – the tone didn't bother her, though; she felt it was a defense mechanism, to keep him steady, alert.

She watched his face carefully, waiting.

"Shannon was targeted by a Russian woman who was screwed in the op," he said roughly. "NCIS was evacuating them for witness protection," he said. He cleared his throat heavily. "The – Russian – drove her motorcycle into their car on the way to the airport. Killed the agent driving them."

He left it unspoken that Shannon and Kelly had died, too. Jenny caught her lip.

"The medics said Bugsy tried to stop Kelly's bleeding," he said, almost as if he wasn't really there.

She sat forward slightly, and then she swallowed hard.

"Pull over, Jethro," she requested hoarsely.

He turned slightly, defensive – wary – and she sharpened her eyes.

"Pull over."

To her surprise, he did so; he shoved the car into park on the side of the winding road, and he lowered his hands resting them awkwardly in his lap. She leaned forward, unbuckling, looking at him sincerely.

"Jethro," she said quietly, blinking heavily. "I'm sorry," she told him. "I know it doesn't help. I am so sorry," she repeated.

Bugsy got up in the back, and wagged her tail, peering through the window. She sat down, watching, curious.

Gibbs finally looked over at her. His face was unreadable, his eyes covered with shadows. His jaw tightened slightly.

"She was three-and-a-half," he said finally, hoarsely. "Only had her for a year longer than I had Natalie."

Jenny pursed her lips – she felt an unreasonable sense of guilt, a ridiculous and almost arrogant feeling that if she'd never left him at all, this wouldn't have happened, that by some narcissistic law of fate, this was her fault. She didn't say it – the logical part of her knew it was absurd – but she wanted to reach out and touch him, hug him, kiss his forehead – try to make it better, like she had been able to when they were young.

In absence of being able to do any of that, she said:

"Want me to drive the rest of the way?"

He looked down at the console.

"S'a stick," he said huskily, clearing his throat. He kept his face down for a minute.

"I can drive a stick now," Jenny told him.

He was still a moment, and then he nodded, and got out of the car without a word. She reached out and gave Bugsy an affectionate rub on the head as she walked around the truck. They switched places, and after a moment of blush-inducing struggle, she proved herself, and got the old, stubborn truck going – and pulled back onto the road, following the signs. She took a deep breath, and tossed her hair back.

She feared they were about to fall back into that eerie, suffocating silence, when he said, very gruffly, and very unexpectedly:

"Heard about your old man." He leaned forward and rubbed his knee hard, wincing. "What happened to 'im?"

Startled, she pursed her lips.

"You - ? Ah, their funeral," she said, almost to herself. "Jackson."

But –

"No," he corrected, surprising her again. "Shannon told me. Dad told her."

Jenny wrinkled her nose a little. She sighed, and then shrugged.

"He…took on a local gang, and he let his guard down," she said simply. "He was trying to help this young kid mixed up in it. And," she let the sentence hang for a moment, "the kid shot him, twice." She swallowed hard, and then laughed hoarsely. "But that wasn't what killed him. He had a massive heart attack on the operating table."

Gibbs sat up a little, and grinned in spite of himself, in spite of what he'd just had to discuss – to relive.

"Sounds like the Chief," he remarked good-naturedly.

"Yeah," Jenny agreed weakly. She compressed her lips tightly. "We were getting along," she admitted shakily. "He came to California for my college graduation…he started saying he was proud of me," she said. Her voice cracked – losing her father still hurt, several years later; it hurt not so much because he was gone, but because of how much time they'd lost being estranged, and how well things had been going when he was killed so suddenly.

She cleared her throat, and blinked away stinging tears.

"Jackson told your wife?" she asked, trying to make things light – she felt awkward, though; his wife was dead – maybe she should get on to another subject.

Maybe they should go back to fighting; this felt too intimately like bonding.

"She kept up with 'im,' Gibbs said grudgingly. "You did," he added, narrowing his eyes. "The only people who weren't talkin' were me and you," he griped suddenly, his brow furrowing in a scowl.

Jenny gave a hoarse, nervous laugh, biting her lip – better to laugh than burst into tears, but God, it seemed like he was right. She talked to Jackson, and she talked to Jasper; they both talked to Natalie. Jackson talked to Shannon, Shannon talked to Gibbs – and hell, even in a roundabout way, Shannon talked to Jenny and Natalie – through her cards, her subtle attempts to welcome.

It was so – stupid.

"This is the longest we've been alone together since you went to boot camp," she said hoarsely, laughing in disbelief.

"Nah," he said dryly, "since before Natalie was born."

She arched her brows. He shrugged.

"After she was born, she was always with us."

After a moment, Jenny nodded.

"Yeah," she agreed.

They both fell silent, and Gibbs turned and looked to see if the dog was still lying down – he expected she was ; no matter how long they were, car rides put Bugsy to sleep about as quickly as they did babies. After a moment, Jenny ventured in a small voice:

"You know we did…grow apart a little, after her," she said. "Even when we were together. It wasn't the same. That relationship…it wasn't ready for the strain of a baby."

Hesitating, she glanced over at him.

"Please tell me you might understand that…now," she tried earnestly – that would be the first step to him maybe, maybe understanding why she'd gone stir crazy and had to run; it just hadn't been certain, hadn't been black and white back then.

He didn't answer her though, and she felt lost, suddenly, frustrated – she thought they were making progress. She took a deep breath, and lifted one hand, pointing.

"Look," she bid dully.

He did, and it was impossible to miss: the old, wooden STILLWATER CITY LIMITS sign. The paint was chipped, and it was full of bullet holes – they all used to steal someone's shot gun and try to hit empty beer can targets. Gibbs had been good at it, until Jackson had caught him nicking the Winchester. He'd whipped him with it, and Gibbs didn't see target practice again until he was the Corps' star scout sniper.

But in the shame of not having a gun to haul around with the other boys, he'd found Jenny.

"I don't want to be here," Jenny said under her breath. She shook her head. "Ooh, I hate it. She knows that."

She grit her teeth.

"When we came for the funeral, she said it was beautiful. Like a little village from Lord of the Rings," Jenny mused quietly. "The only way I could describe how it made me feel was to compare it to Luke Skywalker trying to escape his Uncle's farm," she said dryly. "But I called the planet by the wrong name and she blew me off," she snorted.

When Gibbs said nothing, she glanced over.

"Star Wars," she said.

Extremely seriously, he said:

"Everyone knows who Luke Skywalker is, Jen."

She made a face and turned to the road, brows up.

"She likes that kind of stuff?" Gibbs ventured.

"Yes," Jenny said quietly. "Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter – the fourth one comes out in July," she said solemnly. She smirked a little. "If you bond with her over Star Wars just – don't mention the most recent one."

Gibbs turned his head slightly.

"You gonna let me be bondin' with her?" he asked.

There was something both neutral and anticipatory about his tone. As if he didn't want it to seem like his hopes would be dashed if she said no, but the underlying fact was – that was exactly what would happen. The difference being that in the past, he'd been too stubborn, or too prideful, or to wary, to keep fighting – but now he'd make sure it was a knock-down drag out, because he wasn't going to stand for it anymore.

It would just be better for everyone if he had her support – at the very least, her grudging blessing.

"I don't know, Jethro," she said.

Clenching his teeth, he stared straight ahead.

She made an instinctive turn down the road that would take them through the main Stillwater drive, and she took a quiet, shaky breath.

"It's not even just you, or how I feel about your state of mind," she said softly. "It's her – behavior, and our relationship, maybe that needs work first. She can't think this sort of thing works; that she'll get her way if she acts out like this."

He didn't answer her. She steeled herself as she shifted lanes, and then slowly pulled down the main road, easing off the gas. They rolled past the fresh food market, the farm supply place – little boutiques, the book store, a pet store, the eye doctor – past Melissa Fielding's dress shop, and then Deborah Henry's, and Jenny felt assaulted by the mere images.

It had been surreal, and damaging, when she was back here for her father's funeral – but to be back here, now, with Gibbs, chasing after her daughter – ooh, she could hear the whispers, and she hated it – she hated it.

Two children chased each other across the street up ahead; a parked Sheriff shouted at them lazily, and then squinted with surprise at the old red truck just as Jenny turned it slightly, and parked it on the street outside of the old General Store.

"Is that the same Sheriff who chased you, me, and Alison down into the creek on Halloween that one year?" she asked dryly.

"Yep," Gibbs said dully.

Things in Stillwater never really changed.

Jenny closed her eyes.

"I can't breathe here," she murmured, before wrenching her seatbelt off, and getting out of the car.

She shoved the keys – his keys – instinctively into her pocket; she checked her beeper, and pulled her hair back – and she swore to God, she heard that old Sheriff – he'd known her father, after all – call inside a store to someone.

"Loo—ookee heeere! Livin' legends!"

Gibbs turned his back to it, ignoring it.

"Hell's gonna break loose," he said, his face expressionless. "They don't have to be good this time," he growled. "It's not a funeral."

It was an astute observation. The townies were free to gawk like they were zoo exhibits; there was no need, this time, to keep eyes down-cast, keep talk behind tightly closed little rural doors, and be respectful. Hell – Natalie had been here longer than twelve hours, she'd probably already been questioned by the Elders – the Elders being every Church lady now smitten with Betsy Carmichael – or some archaic nonsense.

Gibbs whistled sharply, and let the truck gate down so Bugsy could hop down. She darted right over to some flowers in the front of the store, eagerly and curiously exploring. Gibbs leaned against the truck as Jenny came around, her arms folded.

"What time is it?" he asked, disoriented, squinting in the cool sun.

"Ten after ten," she said mechanically, stalling.

Gibbs looked at the store with revulsion; the last time he'd been here, he'd been in his dress blues, anticipating a flight back to Paris – hardly aware that soon his Marine career would be over, and he'd be struggling to keep himself alive in a world that had become so dark to him.

He narrowed his eyes, thinking of the book Natalie had left him, that sat in the glove compartment along with the letter she'd left her mother. His lips turned up slightly, and then compressed in a stiff line; he thought about his mother.

"She wanted this," he said, abruptly.

Jenny blinked, turning her head up.

"Natalie," he said. "She wanted this," he gestured between them, and then at the truck.

"She's extremely cunning," Jenny said fondly, after a moment of consideration – her being here, after an actual, bona-fide, road trip with Jethro, did seem orchestrated; did seem like part of a plan – and for once it was out of her control – it was not Jenny's scheme, Jenny's grand idea.

It was Natalie's turn.

"It might work," Jenny said, almost to herself.

Gibbs turned, looking at her closely a moment.

"You sound like your father sometimes," he said.

Startled, confused, she parted her lips. Before she could ask, he nodded sharply.

"When you talk about her behavior," he said. "She's a kid. She made some emotional decisions," he asserted out coolly. "She wants to be mature but she doesn't think she's bein' treated fairly," he said pointedly. He let that sit for a moment. "Your father never let you forget you made a mistake, Jen. He never forgave you."

She swallowed hard – she thought he had forgiven her, at the end; but as far as Gibbs knew, he hadn't – and he was making a hard-hitting point; those years when she'd been tarnished in her father's eyes had been worse than she could ever imagine, and it only got worse when she tried to do the right thing for her, despite her poor choices, and even then he wouldn't bend.

"I made a big mistake, Jethro," she said shakily.

He nodded.

"So did I," he agreed.

He gestured at the store.

"She didn't make our mistake," he said seriously. "What she did, runnin' off," he reasoned, "it's not as big."

Jenny's brow furrowed. She looked towards the store.

"'M not gonna let you use me to discipline her," Gibbs said flatly. "You can find a way to make her understand she can't scare you or disrespect you," he said, taking a deep breath, "without cuttin' me out."

She said nothing, her eyes shaded. She turned, and started to walk towards the path that would lead to the Gibbs' house – since no one had come out of the store upon her arrival, she assumed they were out back. Gibbs' words did something to her – they hurt her in a way, but it was eye-opening, and maybe she needed it – but she also needed to see Natalie.

Walking beside her, he decided to make his intentions clear.

"You're not gettin' rid of me this time, Jen."

She smiled a little heavily.

"That sounds like a threat," she remarked mildly.

He didn't deny it – he'd never hurt her, but once he found the resources, if Natalie wanted it – if Natalie initiated it, if Natalie convincingly wanted him in her life, he'd take her to court the way he should have done years ago – he never should have let himself not be in this child's life, regardless of how hard Jenny made it.

Bugsy sniffed around the house, taking her time, and near the tree in the back where an old birdhouse still hung, Jenny stopped in her tracks. She saw her, in the old barn, peering into the hood of the dodge charger Gibbs had been building – and she froze.

Gibbs stopped a foot behind her, folding his arms – taken aback to see his daughter tinkering with the engine of his old pride and joy; unsure how he felt about being here with Jenny, with Natalie – and with his father there to witness it all.

Jenny felt a surge of anger suddenly, of frustration at her errant child; the odd cocoon that had seemed to surround her and Gibbs during the road trip dissolved, and she felt again the concurrent panic and rage that had consumed her when she couldn't find Natalie on Friday evening.

She cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, icily, in her best Mom tone, at the top of her lungs:

"NATALIE WINTER GIBBS."

In the yard next to the Gibbs' property, two adults were staring – no doubt someone who had known Jenny or Gibbs in high school – she stood in the yard where Natalie had learned to walk, shouting at her daughter, surrounded by Stillwater and everything it stood for – daunted by what it meant; that for the first time in years, all three of them were here – together.


At no point had Jenny ever considered her life to resemble a sitcom; since it was decidedly not a sitcom – definitely not anything as wholesome as the Full House or Married, with Children staples of the nineties – she did not expect Natalie to look at her thoughtfully for a moment and then take off running.

As it turned out, that's exactly what her almost-fifteen-year-old daughter did – she turned on her heel, and she darted away, with a look on her face that was akin to The Road Runner hoodwinking Wile E. Coyote, leaving her grandfather looking slightly startled, and her mother frozen, unsure of what to do.

Completely unhelpfully, Gibbs laughed. Jenny swung her hand back and slapped him in the chest. He pointed.

"Well, go after her," he suggested, pushing her hand away from him.

Jenny started forward, stopped, and turned around.

"I can't go running after her!" she hissed.

"Why not?" Gibbs goaded, smirking. "You just chased her across a state."

"Because," she nearly shouted, glancing around and then lowering her voice, "because I am not going to be some white trash boondock spectacle – I'm not putting on another show for these – vultures!"

"All you been through, and you still give a damn what these townies think of you?" Gibbs asked sharply; there was something irritated about his face, and she bristled, folding her arms tensely – presumably, Natalie knew Jenny would hesitate to actually chase her down – it's not like she'd tackle her if she caught her, anyway, and she wasn't about to be provoked into a shouting match in the middle of a Stillwater street – but something about Gibbs' tone –

"I don't particularly want to give them more fodder for gossip about how disgraceful I am," she said nastily.

"That was always part of your problem, Jen," he fired back, eyes darkening suddenly. "You cared more about what they thought than what the people who mattered thought."

She stepped back a little – she didn't know he thought about it that way, or viewed it that way, and she wasn't sure she liked the accusation. She grit her teeth, her face darkening. She didn't like being accused of leaving just because she wasn't viewed as such a star, promising student anymore; but she couldn't give him a comeback because she couldn't deny that she'd liked how in California, people thought she was impressive for overcoming obstacles – while in Stillwater, she was just a cautionary tale for good Christian kids.

While they argued, Jackson approached, hands in his pockets. He waited until they both turned to look at him, Gibbs with a stiff, unreadable expression, and Jenny with frustration and exasperation, and after a moment, he grinned a little, and nodded as if tipping his hat blithely.

"Mornin'," he greeted slyly. He lifted his shoulders. "Beautiful day for the chickens to come home to roost," he said conversationally.

Jenny gave him a baleful look; Gibbs appeared to just blatantly ignore him. He lifted his chin, and peered around the land – the same old place it had been when he was growing up, and when Natalie was a baby; not much changed, the hood of his once prized car open and waiting for attention, the birdhouse in the tree.

Natalie had taken her first steps in this yard; he and Jenny had locked themselves in that shed for tryst – once upon a time.

Jenny turned almost in a complete circle, feeling lost – should she run in the same direction? Natalie had probably twisted and turned a couple of times now, wherever she was going; and despite how annoyed Jenny was that she had actually sprinted off, a small part of her was thinking – yeah, you better run.

Jenny threw her hands up, and put them on her hips.

"Seriously?" she snapped, incredulous. "She – she rabbits on me?" she demanded. "It's not enough that she skipped school and high-tailed it across state lines?"

"I don't think she means it real cruel," Jackson said neutrally.

Jenny held up a hand a little aggressively.

"I really could have done without you encouraging her," she snapped dangerously.

Jackson held up his hands a little, saying nothing, smiling good-naturedly. Jenny bit down on her lip and looked between them, her eyes lingering on Gibbs.

"You gonna go after her?" Gibbs asked.

It made Jenny slightly uncomfortable that he hadn't said a word to his father, and more uncomfortable that she'd had a relatively easy and cordial relationship with Jackson all these years while his son had just grown farther and farther away from him.

Jenny pushed her hair back.

"Regardless of what you think it's about, Jethro," she began nastily, "I don't want to air our issues all over this godforsaken town," she growled. "Maybe it's about my image, but maybe," she said testily, "it's also about keeping family business in the family. I'm not going to open her up to anymore whispering, and judgment, than she already gets from these rubberneckers."

Gibbs' face showed a slight amount of contrition at her words, and he inclined his head. Jenny put her hands on her hips again, balling them into fists. Her knuckles cracked as she pressed them against her hipbones tensely. She grit her teeth angrily and narrowed her eyes, thinking.

"Why don't the two of you come in and have some coffee," Jackson began neutrally.

"No," Jenny said sharply, holding up her hands and shaking her head. "No, this is not going to be drawn out any longer."

"You just said you aren't gonna chase her all over, makin' a spectacle," Gibbs pointed out, roughly about the same time his father said:

"I think she wants some space to let you calm down – "

Jenny gave Jackson a seething look.

"I let you hang up on me last night," she snapped. "I left her alone."

"You drove up here," Jackson pointed out mildly.

"This is going to end," Jenny said, ignoring him – as far as she was concerned, Natalie had her fun, she'd cavorted around on a bus alone for hours, and a train, she'd skipped around Stillwater all morning – she'd been given time; now she was going to get the confrontation she presumably wanted.

Biting her lip, she turned to Gibbs.

"I won't chase her," she said. "Natalie doesn't want to play hide and seek," she added, eyes intent. "She's gone somewhere specific."

"S'not like she knows her way around here, Jen," Gibbs snorted derisively.

"She was here for Dad's funeral," Jenny said testily. "And her memory is damn near eidetic."

Gibbs didn't remark for a moment, peering warily at Jenny. He spared a look for his father, who was looking at him with some intensity; after a moment, Gibbs decided he preferred looking at Jenny. She sighed, pushed her hand through her hair, and bit her lip, shaking her head.

"She'd go back where it started," she decided finally, slowly coming to a confident conclusion.

She looked at Gibbs seriously, and he realized he was probably supposed to clue into what that meant. His brow furrowed slightly, and he folded his arms, eyeing her a moment. He cleared his throat.

"The hayloft?" he asked gruffly, arching one eyebrow.

Jenny's lips parted slightly and she – she blushed, dark pink. She glared at him, scandalized, and then very slowly, and pointedly, shook her head.

"No, Jethro," she said coolly, "not the damn hayloft," she corrected through gritted teeth. "The Stillwater Bridge," she went on. She paused a moment. "I took her down there after my father's funeral," she murmured.

Gibbs tightened his jaw – the place they'd use to skip stones in the summer, escape to in order to take a refreshing dip in the creek in the hot day of late July and early August. The place they'd sat when they found out she was pregnant and broke the jewelry box her father had given her.

In the moment it took him to reflect on that, there was a significant silence, and that silence was broken when Jackson Gibbs thrust his palm directly into the back of his son's head – and in a flash, Gibbs felt like he was sitting back at the kitchen table in the store the moment he told his father about the problem.

Scowling, he turned towards his father menacingly.

"You knocked her up in a hayloft – in that old Crenshaw barn?" Jackson groused, glaring at him – he pinpointed the place easily; it was the only place Gibbs had spent all his time to earn a little extra cash, before supporting a family became his job.

Jenny put her head in her hands a moment, shaking it tensely.

"That ain't no way to treat a lady," griped Jackson. "If I'd've known what you were up to – "

"What the hell d'you think I was doin', writin' poetry?" Gibbs retorted – as if it took a rocket scientist to figure out what two small town high school sweethearts were doing hanging out in a barn all the time.

"In a hayloft – goddamn unoriginal – idiots, the both of you," growled Jackson, shaking his head.

"I really can't believe this is happening," Jenny said flatly, lifting her head.

Jackson held up his hands.

"I'll leave you all to it," he said dryly. He smacked his hands together, as if washing them, dusting the responsibility off himself. "You all come on up to the house when you've got your issues straight – and you," he said sharply, pointing menacingly at Gibbs, "go visit your in-laws."

Jackson gave Gibbs a good, hard look before he left them standing there – he'd run into Mack Fielding a couple of weeks ago, and Mack had asked after Leroy. That's how Jackson knew they hadn't heard from him since the funeral, either –and Jackson knew, even if Leroy hadn't always gotten on with Joanne Fielding, those two were the only people who could come close to understanding what he lost.

Gibbs looked down at his feet, and after a moment, Jenny turned on her heel. He looked up, squinting in the November sun, and then he started after her.

"I'll take care of this, Jethro," she warned, turning slightly, giving him a warning look over her shoulder.

He didn't say anything; he caught up next to her. She sighed, frustrated.

"You being there is only going to exacerbate things!"

He shrugged.

"I don't care, Jen," he said flatly.

He wanted Natalie to see that he came, too. He wanted her to know that he cared about what she wanted, and he would be willing to fight Jenny every step of the way – but in the car, and even now as she walked beside him, he wondered if he didn't sense her resolve breaking; regardless of what she said, after this – how could she realistically keep him from Natalie, and vice versa?

She seemed to give in to that. She didn't protest again.

Walking down the hill of some property to a wooded path, they caught the attention of Deborah Henry.

"I'll be – I thought that was you two – was that your little Natalie I saw running around this morning?" she called, though Jenny paused only a second to give a tight, hardly polite wave. "I saw that mess of black hair – always thought she'd be a redhead – "

"Yes," Jenny called back, irritated at the interruption, and falsely cheery, "well, she dyed it after she joined the Satanic Temple, and I've brought her back to baptize her in the creek," she said blithely.

Jenny strode along, as if she'd said nothing, leaving Deborah looking a bit startled, and Gibbs staring at her in mild amusement.

"Thought you didn't want more gossip," he said dryly.

Through gritted teeth, she growled:

"Fuck 'em."

She fell silent, her pace determined. After a moment, she said:

"What did Jackson mean, your in-laws?" she asked. She paused a moment – it had caught her off guard, and then suddenly something clicked, and she stopped a moment, taken aback. "Shannon – Fielding? You married Melissa Fielding's niece?" she asked.

She didn't know why it had never occurred to her before. Why else would he have buried them in Stillwater? But – Shannon Fielding had been a year behind Jenny in high school, once she'd transferred – she'd essentially been a Stillwater girl, but from a town over – and Jenny suddenly didn't know how she felt about this.

She started walking again, reaching up to push her hair back. After a long silence, Gibbs said:

"No one in her family was happy about it."

Jenny looked over her shoulder at him hesitantly.

"They have something against Marines?" she asked.

"No," he said bluntly. "Deadbeat dads," he said sarcastically.

Jenny bit her lip, and found the path she was looking for, starting to follow it to the bridge, and the creek it reached over. She slid her hands into her back pockets, walking the way from memory.

"Did you tell them that wasn't it?" she ventured.

"Wasn't their business," he said sharply.

Jenny shook her head a little.

"Shannon Fielding," she murmured, almost to herself. "You can take the boy out of Stillwater," she began, letting the sentence hang.

She had to admit though, it made a little more sense that Gibbs' wife had determinedly tried too hard to keep the lines of communication open, why she was so genuine – as Jackson had once said – about her openness. There was something about Stillwater, even if you hated it, even if you ran from it, that was in your blood forever; people who had escaped, but knew what it was like, stuck together.

She wondered if Shannon had ever felt like a replacement. She wondered if she'd been right about Gibbs all along, that what he'd really always wanted was a homegrown girl more like his mother – but she stopped her thoughts there; she didn't know Shannon, and Shannon couldn't be too identical to Ann if she'd traveled the world with Gibbs.

"You don't keep in touch with her parents?" Jenny asked after a while.

Gibbs shook his head curtly. He was quiet, and then, falling into step next to her as the path widened, and the bridge was in sight, he looked ahead, his chin pointed, his face blank. He didn't confide in Jenny the reason why – that in a fit of grief, Joanne Fielding had accused him of putting her daughter in danger, of holding responsibility for Shannon and Kelly's death, and even if she hadn't meant it, it was enough to ensure he never faced that accusation again.

He couldn't bear it; he'd already blamed himself enough.

Jenny sighed, focusing ahead. As the old, rusted red of the bridge drew closer, and she stood near it, she turned, and folded her arms, waiting until Gibbs came to stand beside her. Down the rocky bank, standing where she'd stood just a few years ago, was Natalie – a mere three feet away from where Jenny had sat, distraught, in the early months of nineteen eighty-four.

She watched her for a moment, watched the sun glittering off her black hair – she was going to be tall, probably closer to Gibbs' height than her mother's. Her posture was excellent, something Jenny had nothing to do with – it was a blessed, natural poise.

So much about Natalie seemed to just be naturally her own, inherent, instinctive, that Jenny constantly doubted if her skills as a mother had anything to do with it – if she was a good mother at all. She swallowed hard, her voice caught in her throat. When she didn't say anything, Gibbs startled her by calling out.

"Hey, kid," he said gruffly, arching a brow.

She turned quickly, black hair flying.

"You got our attention," he said smoothly.

Charm; Jethro had always had charm.

Natalie looked at them, and took a nimble step back.

Irritated, relieved, guilty, and incensed, Jenny navigated the rocks down to her, standing close to her among the smaller ones near the creek bank – the infamous bridge looming in the distance. Behind her, Gibbs followed, and he found a place to sit on the large rock he'd once sat on fourteen years ago. Jenny stood with her arms folded; he looked intently at this daughter her barely knew – and Natalie's lips turned up in an uncertain smile.

"Well now I – now that I have it," she said bravely, "I don't know what I want to do with it," she admitted, almost sheepishly.

Jenny gave her a split second of peace.

"What the hell were you thinking, Natalie?" she demanded icily.

Natalie swallowed, her eyes widening a little – nervous, clearly; chastised.

"Mom, I felt backed into a corner – "

"Do you have any idea how paralyzing it was for me to not know where you were?" Jenny interrupted harshly. "Do you know how it felt calling people, desperate to know if you were at their house, only to get bewildered answers – I work at a federal agency, I know what kind of crimes are perpetrated on young girls – I was out of my mind – "

"I'm okay, Mom," Natalie said softly, her eyes big.

Jenny blinked hard, forcing back tears.

"I can see that," she said hoarsely, "and I'm relieved – I'm delighted that you're safe, and you got here in one piece, and no one hurt you – because I doubt you'd be standing there as smug, and as proud, of this latest asinine and irresponsible stunt."

Natalie swallowed.

"It wasn't irresponsible," she fired back. "Grandpa Jack is family – and I take public transport alone all the time. I knew where I was going, I made sure I left enough information to let you – "

"Bullshit, Natalie," spat Jenny. "Your little jigsaw puzzle attempt to bring your father and I together – "

"Obviously worked," Natalie said under her breath, eyeing Gibbs.

"– is a glaring example of how immature you've been acting lately – "

"I told you, I felt backed into a corner!" shouted Natalie, raising her voice aggressively over Jenny's. Her eyes flashed and she licked her lips, her face paling a little – with apprehension, perhaps, or just plain anger.

"I don't want to disobey you, Mom, I don't want to disrespect you!" she cried. "I don't want to fight!" she shouted. "But you – you essentially admitted to me that he never really did anything wrong, and you made it hard for him to see me, and then you turn around and tell me I still can't have a relationship with my father? It doesn't make any sense!"

Natalie licked her lips, her eyes filling with tears.

"I'm not acting out to spite you!" she said emphatically. "I don't know what else to do. I don't want him," she said, pushing her hand at Gibbs, turning towards him, "to think I have no interest! If he – if he doesn't want to be around me," she said shakily, talking to him now, "if you can't be around me because of Kelly, or if you don't have any interest in me, that's fine – but I want it to come from you," she said seriously, her voice cracking. "You," she repeated, "not her," she pointed at Jenny, "because from what I can tell, she's been speaking for you for years and – by that I mean – I don't know you, or anything about you, and I want to."

She broke off a moment, taking a heavy, deep breath – she was in it now, and she hadn't expected to be able to get it all out the moment she saw them – she'd been hoping they'd come together, and at least that much had worked for her.

Natalie's eyes flashed, still brimming with tears.

"I want you to have your turn to speak for yourself," she said, "and I'm glad you're here because I think it means you didn't let her turn you away again," she managed. She stepped forward. "Is that why?" she demanded. "Do you – want me around?"

Gibbs, without looking at Jenny, folded his arms, unprepared for the onslaught of her emotion, but determined not to let this chance slip through his fingers, determined not to say or do the wrong thing. He nodded as firmly as he could, meeting her eyes.

"Always wanted to be around, Natalie," he said, forcing the words out as sincerely and steadily as possible. He sat forward just a little. "All this stuff…wasn't 'cause of you," he said, "wasn't your fault," he said huskily.

"I know that," she said, pointing to her chest. "I am a very smart person – I'm book smart, and I'm well-adjusted, an emotionally astute," she said – it was so composed and self-aware, that Gibbs smiled a little, until she looked between them both, her face dark. "I know it wasn't my fault. It was your fault," she said, pointing harshly at Jenny, "for doing what you did. And it was your fault," she said unexpectedly, turning her finger on Gibbs, "for letting her get away with it."

Gibbs didn't say anything to defend himself; Jenny's breath caught in her throat – so Natalie wasn't just angry at her; maybe some of what she had said had gotten through, about it not always just being solely selfish act on Jenny's part.

Natalie wiped at her eyes, her lips trembling.

"I had so much fun on that day on the beach, when I was little," she said to her father. "When you played with me in the ocean? I had so much fun – and I never saw you again. And I know she didn't bring me to see you a couple years later," she added, throwing a nasty look at Jenny, "and I know she didn't tell you we moved and – I know there was stuff, but it wasn't even you signing my cards anymore, and you should have known that whatever my Mom did, it was never my fault!"

Natalie sucked in her breath again, plowing on.

"You could have tried harder," she said weakly, turning on her mother suddenly. "You could have called Grandpa Jack and made him tell me you wanted to see me – "

"Natalie," Jenny broke in suddenly, shaking her head. "Natalie, Jackson knows I'd have put a stop to that – Bug, listen, I did make it hard on him," she said – something about Gibbs sitting there, taking it, made her feel so guilty, and so ashamed, that she had to jump in.

Natalie whirled on her.

"I still don't understand why you made it so hard on him – I don't care if you wanted a clean break, I don't care what was easy, he's my father, and I shouldn't have had to break from him – "

"She had a point, after Desert Storm," Gibbs broke in suddenly, not looking at Jenny – pointedly not looking at Jenny. "I got…off track. I got bitter, Natalie," he said, swallowing. "I let – bein' pissed at her get in the way of you."

Natalie, silenced for a moment, gave a small, hoarse laugh, and pushed her hair back.

"You just – you just defended each other!" she cried weakly.

She licked her lips, her eyes red, her face pale, her lashes glittering heavily. Bright, intelligent blue eyes went from one parent to the other, begging, pleading.

"Please tell me you got something hashed out on that road trip, because if I leave Stillwater without you both I'll – I'll – I will pierce my nose."

Jenny covered her mouth, her jaw aching – even at the height of drama, chaos, and emotional thunderstorms, the worst thing Natalie could think of to do was stick a benign hole in her body. It was a testament to how even-natured and intelligent she was, and it triggered something fundamental in Jenny, a final desire to confess her sins and see if it would clear the air.

"Natalie," she began, her voice cracking, "when I left – the decisions I made when I was nineteen – it wasn't about me not loving him, or me not wanting you to see him, or him doing anything bad; it wasn't about – "

"What was it about, Mom?" Natalie asked, turning her palms up.

"It was about me!" Jenny cried, cringing at her own words – she admitted it raw, honest, and felt as much relief as she did dread over finally saying it. "It was about my life, and what I wanted, and what made me happy – me, me, me – and that's why teenagers should never have children, Natalie, because no matter how hard they try, they just aren't selfless enough yet!"

Shaking, Jenny paused; she licked her lips, and took a deep breath.

"It was about me and what I wanted and how I thought my life should be," she went on, her chest aching. "I – I took care of you, Nat, I love you with everything I have, and I put your first as best as I could from that moment on – but leaving your father, going to California, that was for me. That was because I hated Stillwater, and Gibbs was doing what he loved in the Marines, and I was going to do what I wanted. It was me still not accepting that I had a baby, and my life was never going to be the same again – for a while there, Nat? Me making sure you were not only safe but also smart and better was because I wanted to look good," she said hoarsely, her stomach lurching. "I almost financially ruined us, several times, because I wanted to show you off – new things, owning my own condo, sending you to special camps and programs – I wanted to show you off instead of just love you and be happy I had you. I was a child. I was an immature little girl who wanted it all and never, ever should have understand that I should have been coming last. That no matter how I felt, it was important for you to know your father, and see him, because I loved – I loved my father – "

She broke off, covering her face a moment. She gave a quiet sob, tried to compose herself a little, lowered her hand, and moved on.

"I loved my father, and I know how awful it was when our relationship was broken. And I shouldn't have done this to you – but back then, at least understand, that I was so, so, so in love with your father," she said huskily, "I was so scared it was all going to end so miserably if I married him, and when I did what I did, and I knew he wouldn't agree, or like it, and he hated me, I didn't want to be around him because it was too hard for me – and finding out he was able to move on, to marry someone, that hit me hard," she admitted, carefully looking away from Gibbs, "because I had this ridiculous notion that he'd never stop loving me, either, that I'd just put us on pause."

Jenny stepped forward a little, shaking her head.

"I meant what I said when I told you that in time, as you got older, and Jethro dropped the ball after Desert Storm, I felt I was doing the right thing – and it was to protect you. But at first—what put him, and what put me, in this position, is that I was only thinking about myself. Don't blame yourself – and don't blame him too much. I just needed," Jenny said, "to grow up. It's very strange, the way I matured. The way I saw things…I think I was right to leave Stillwater, and I think – I think I would do it again, in a heartbeat, but Natalie I know I shouldn't have kept your Dad away – "

"But why did you?" Natalie asked shakily, attention rapt. "Your parents were divorced – you clearly loved them both and felt you had a good relationship with them, if you were willing to go live with the absentee one – or even, when you – when you grew up, why didn't you just reach out?" Natalie asked, licking her lips. "Mom, I'm just…trying to understand. I have a great life. I love you – but it seems so simple – that you should have just gotten over it, for me – "

"It is that simple, Bug," Jenny said, reaching out to take her shoulder. "In hindsight, I can see that. With fourteen years of motherhood under my belt, I can see that. But at nineteen, when my whole life was a whirlwind of love I could barely comprehend, and all these other things, and a deep, suffocating fear that I was missing out on things or failing miserably at everything, I just didn't want to deal with my feelings," she said. "I'd had a baby, I'd done all these things but … I'd never broken up with a boyfriend before. And I wasn't old enough to – deal with it the way people with children deal with break ups."

She took a deep breath.

"By the time I mellowed out, and started – questioning myself - I was in too deep. And it's hard to admit you're wrong, Natalie. It's a blow to the pride. I didn't want you to hate me. God, I was so afraid you'd hate me."

Natalie's face flushed, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

"I couldn't ever hate you," she said quietly, pleasingly. "I never…wanted for anything because of you – you sent me to the best schools, you made me feel smart, safe – I couldn't ever hate you, Mom," she said, her voice cracking, "but I really wish it hadn't been like this because – if he'd just been around all along – we never would have fought at all, and I hate fighting with you."

Jenny licked her lips.

"I wanted so badly to be a good mother," she said hoarsely, "it keeps me up at night, worrying if you're okay, if you're going to think you had a good upbringing – wondering if I ever did anything right."

"Mom," Natalie said, her eyes intent, sincere. "You're doing so good."

Jenny put her head in her hands, overwhelmed, and started to cry.

Helpless, and somewhat contrite she'd brought her mother to tears this badly; Natalie reached out hesitantly, and then drew her hands back. She covered her mouth, and then looked at her father desperately – silently asking for help.

Gibbs got up stiffly, rubbing one of his knees. He came closer and smiled at Natalie a little sympathetically.

"She cried like that last time we were here, too," he said gruffly, trying to make conversation.

Natalie lifted her shoulders.

"Over me, again," she said a little wryly.

Jenny laughed weakly, and lifted her head, wiping at her eyes. Black mascara smeared her face, and she pushed her hair out of her face, pulling her fingers through the tangles and then wiping her cheeks again.

She stepped forward and put her arms around Natalie, hugging her tightly. She brushed her daughter's hair back, pressing her lips to the crown of her head, tucking it under her chin.

"I'm so sorry, Natalie," she murmured, pressing her lips against her ear. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "When you never asked about him, I kept convincing myself even more that you were okay, and that it wasn't such a big mistake," she whispered.

"I knew talking about him hurt you," Natalie said, her eyes on Gibbs over her mother's shoulder. "I just didn't know why. So I kept quiet."

She closed her eyes.

Jenny nodded, and leaned back, chewing on her lip lightly. She stroked Natalie's cheek.

"I've been trying to keep it together for you, all my life," she said softly. "I was selfish at times, and young, and misguided, but I wanted what was best for you. I did. I still do."

Natalie nodded. She put her hand over Jenny's.

"But can you…can you please consider that it's – my choice now?" she asked, turning to Gibbs, and then back to Jenny. "He came with you, here, Mom. That's got to stand for something. And if something happens and he," she said, switching gears, "you," she corrected, talking to Gibbs, "can't cope with me right now, because of losing Kelly, and I get hurt – or it takes years to heal this," she turned back to Jenny, "can you please consider that – I choose that?"

Jenny studied her, a panic gripping her, a fear – and it wasn't over having to face Gibbs, or over Natalie hating her – because she started to feel the worst was over now, it had all come to a head, and it could start going towards resolution now – her fear was Natalie growing up, being on her own, not needing her anymore – and for almost exactly half of Jenny's life, Natalie had been the center of it.

Gibbs reached up and rubbed his jaw.

"Natalie," he said hoarsely. He paused, and cleared his throat. "I could've…tried harder," he said gruffly. "I could've – kept writin' letters, kept callin' – could have pushed, could have taken her to court," he listed. "Didn't want to – make you resent me, 'cause I was makin' your Mom unhappy. And I…I was dumb kid, too, Bug," he admitted. He swallowed hard. "Thought if I left the ball in her court," he said, nodding at Jenny, "one day you'd come to me, hatin' her. And I'd win."

Natalie lifted one shoulder.

"Kind of worked," she joked tearfully.

Gibbs just shook his head hollowly.

"Shouldn't have been like that," he said.

He paused, steeling himself.

"Kelly made me see things different," he said huskily. "Made me see what I'd given up on. I should've been around, Bug. No matter what she said."

Jenny let out a slow breath. Natalie studied Gibbs for a moment, and then stepped forward, and reached out for him. She touched his shoulders very gently, and then moved forward, slid her arms around him, and hugged him tightly.

Gibbs caught the back of her head in his hands, surprised, and then rested his palms on her shoulders, squeezing gently. He lowered his head, resting his forehead on the crown of hers, and he tightened his jaw – the last time he'd hugged her, she'd been small enough for him to carry in his arms, and on his shoulders – and in that moment, hugging her was the single most therapeutic thing he'd experienced since he'd lost Shannon and Kelly – more helpful than therapy; more helpful than beating the hell out of Galvin.

He lifted his head, and Jenny smiled at him, wiping at tears again. She lifted her shoulders, as if to give up her fight, and raised her eyes up, turning away a moment. He watched her stick her hands in her pockets, and then loosened his grip, and Natalie stepped back.

She pushed her hair back, her eyes glimmering with brightness, with a distinct happiness.

"You really want to do this?" she asked him lightly. "It's not – she's not just covering for you, making it seem like it was her fault so I don't get my feelings hurt?"

Jenny laughed hoarsely.

"You can't think I'm that much of a saint, after all this," she said skeptically.

Natalie looked at her intently.

"I think you'd do absolutely anything to keep me from getting hurt," she said sincerely.

Jenny smiled at her tiredly – exhausted, emotionally, and from lack of sleep. She licked her lips, and moved her head from side to side a little. Natalie turned her head back to Gibbs, and looked at him a little shyly.

"I'm not a drama queen," she said. "I am – actually an extremely balanced, introspective person with a logical grip on emotions – I'm composed," she informed astutely. "I've been called the Ice Queen in debate competitions."

His lips turned up a little – he didn't mind the drama; it seemed necessary – entirely appropriate.

"I hear my middle name was your doing," Natalie said softly.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw sheepishly. He looked at her warily.

"Uh," he said. "Yeah."

"November isn't in Winter," she said primly.

"So I been told," he answered dryly.

She arched a brow.

"You could have gone for Natalie November," she quipped.

He looked dubious.

"And have you end up a centerfold?" he drawled.

Jenny raised her eyes up, and shook her head – something about Natalie November did sound pornographic, but Natalie Winter, on someone less disciplined and determined, might only have the slightly less offensive connotation of 'exotic dancer.'

Natalie stepped back a few steps, and looked at them critically.

"I think we should stay the weekend," she said. She swallowed bravely. "I want to – stay here, one more day."

Jenny didn't say anything right away, and she knew Gibbs would dread the idea of being near his father, and near the graves of his lost loved ones – she wasn't keen on the idea, either. Natalie looked between them again earnestly.

"I'm afraid if we turn around and go right back, this won't settle," she pleaded, "it'll go back to right where we were."

Gibbs fixed his eyes on Jenny, and Jenny looked down a moment. Jenny took a deep breath, and stepped closer, taking Natalie's cheek in her palm gently.

"The slate isn't just wiped clean because we've shouted and cried," she said heavily. "This is cathartic, but – Natalie, you still," Jenny swallowed, sighing. "You still skipped school, and lied to me."

Natalie's face fell.

"I know," she said softly. "And I don't want to say I'm happy to be punished but," she looked between them, "if it got us to a breaking point – I am."

Jenny let go of her face lightly, chewing the inside of her lip – they had more to talk about, as mother and daughter; and Natalie, of course, would want to spend some time with Gibbs. In the silence, their daughter looked between them, and then suddenly perked up.

"You brought Bugsy!" she cried, as the dog, presumably having tracked them once she was done exploring, bounded down the rocks towards Natalie. "Oh – no – " Natalie started, as Bugsy leapt up to jump on her. "Mom!" Natalie shrieked, reaching out.

Jenny, startled, saw Natalie extend her hand to be steadied, and then, quite simply – instead of grabbing her hand – watched Natalie fall spectacularly into the river, splashing wildly as Bugsy bounded in next to her, pleased to have a friend. She barked excitedly, and Natalie leapt up.

"You – you let me fall!" she cried.

Jenny feigned innocence a moment, and then arched one eyebrow.

"Consider it a baptism," she said dryly.

She figured getting soaking wet in the mossy, metallic Stillwater creek was punishment enough for what was to come, though they had to have a talk, still – and she still wasn't sure everything was resolved between herself and Gibbs.

Natalie flung water up at them both, splashing furiously, shaking her hair out as Bugsy pounced at her playfully, and Jenny wrapped her arms around herself, watching her – she felt Gibbs' eyes on her, but she didn't look over; she'd been caught up in confessing, in telling the truth, and she'd been brutally honest about the way she'd always felt about him – and she wasn't ready to look into his eyes and try to decipher what he thought about that.

He stood there on the rocks where he'd first found out he was going to be a father, listening to Natalie play with his beloved dog, thinking about what had just transpired – what a good step it had been – and he knew, with some sense of solemnity, that he and Jenny still had a conversation to have – that for Natalie it would be easy to look forward with optimism, but for himself and Jen, it would take time to navigate complex emotions, and for old scars to fade.

He turned his head away from Jenny, and blinked, focusing on his daughter. He stopped thinking about all that for a moment, and concentrated on the good that had just come of this – the good that could come out of this, if they committed right now.

"Jen," he said gruffly. Hands in his pockets, he didn't look at her. He said: "We ought to go back p to the house and have dinner with Dad."

Jenny turned her head, looking at his profile.

She said:

"I think that's a good idea."


When lunch and supper had both passed, and things had settled and calmed, Jenny walked to the lone Stillwater Cemetery, intent on paying homage to her father, and Natalie's grandmother. She chose to walk both because it gave her time to reflect, and saved her from having to ask to borrow a car – since she'd ridden here with Gibbs.

As it turned out, she might as well have asked him for a ride; while she sat at her father's grave, having silently recounted the day's events, and taken a moment to trace her fingers alone the stone carving that spelled his name, Gibbs appeared at a grave on down by the back fence – Shannon's, she assumed – and Kelly's.

She stayed with her father a little longer, wondering if she should go over – not right away, of course; he needed time, no doubt – and of course, he'd have seen her here, sensed her presence. She hesitated to barge in on him during a grief soliloquy, but then, with brave resolve, she stood up, thinking – where better to try and bury some the things between them, than a graveyard?

She pushed her hair back, approaching as soundlessly as possible, until she came to stand near him, respectfully a few feet behind him. She folded her arms across her chest and waited, reading the stones over his shoulder –

Shannon Kathleen Gibbs; 1970-1998
Beloved Wife
Kelly Ann Gibbs; 1994-1998

Beloved Daughter
1 Corinthians 15:26.

Jenny tilted her head, unsure what part of the bible it referenced. Her own father's epithet was nothing religious – all it said was 'Hit a SNAFU, Charlie?', which was apparently a reference to her father's time in Viet Nam, and had been agreed upon by the remaining men from his unit. Jenny hadn't protested. She thought it represented him well.

After a moment, she cleared her throat softly.

"What verse is that?" she asked.

She hoped her tone was kind, unassuming; she tried to make it so.

He cleared his throat after a moment, still looking at the stones.

"The last enemy to be destroyed is death," he quoted, from memory. He was quiet, and then shook his head imperceptibly. "Her mother chose it."

Jenny nodded, stepping a little closer. There was a slight undercurrent of bitterness to the way he spoke about her mother. Jenny didn't know Shannon's mother; she'd only known Melissa Fielding, who had always been one of the most hostile of Jenny's denouncers. Jenny recalled her nasty look at Jasper Shepard's funeral, and thought maybe she understood it a little better.

"Was Shannon religious?" Jenny asked.

Gibbs shook his head –no, she hadn't been; not really. She'd baptized Kelly while she visited the states, when he was in Iraq, but she'd only done it to please her mother, and because she didn't want to argue about why it just seemed like a hassle to her.

Jenny squeezed her arms, comforting herself, and looked around the empty graveyard. The sun was sinking fast, and Gibbs turned his head a little, looking at her in profile.

"Where's Natalie?" he asked.

When he'd left his father's, Natalie and Jenny had been inside, going through some of Ann's things. Gibbs had been helping stock in the house, alone – and cleaning out the storage room upstairs.

"Ah, she's asleep," Jenny said lightly, laughing a little. "She fell asleep in front of the fire place – she's not much of a night owl, and I think today was," she paused, "harrowing."

"Night owl," Gibbs remarked mildly, turning back to the stones – his back to Jenny. He snorted softly. "Remember when she used to cry all the time?"

Jenny smiled. She nodded, and stepped forward again.

"I don't actually think she's cried as much as she did today – since then," she said weakly – Natalie wasn't much of a crier, and she hadn't really been one since her toddler years. Even then, it hadn't been more than normal. She didn't remark on that, though – she wasn't sure she wanted to bring up too many reminders of all Gibbs had missed, particularly when he was standing in front of a life lost. She stood there a while, wondering what to say – thinking, perhaps, that it had been a mistake to come over here.

She took a few steps back, and dipped her head. She hesitated, and then turned to go, cursing herself – she'd just have to talk to him later; at least now the ice was so broken she could ostensibly find an opening anywhere – hopefully before this weekend. As she started to walk off, though, he spoke.

"Shannon was always in your corner," he said gruffly, his voice just loud enough to be clearly heard without disturbing the peace of the atmosphere. She turned, looking at him - -disarmed. "The day we met," he went on heavily, "she told me she thought you were brave."

Jenny turned all the way around, staring at his back. Her eyes flicked to the grave he stared at, and she wondered why he kept his back to her – then, he turned towards her, hands in his pockets, meeting her eyes firmly. Jenny licked her lips slowly, swallowing. She hesitated a moment, and then took a deep breath.

"When did it happen?" she asked. "You and her."

Gibbs looked away for a minute, his jaw tightening. He shrugged, and looked at the ground, scuffing his foot before he looked up.

"It just did," he said, almost evasive.

Jenny gave him a half smile. She didn't want to press, but she did want to know more.

"She was takin' a bus, to travel," he said, after a moment of silence. "Same bus I was taking to go back to Lejeune."

Jenny caught her breath, a little dizzy – that fast? He'd taken up with someone else…that fast? The shock of it must have shown on her face, because he shook his head slightly, a muscle in his temple twitching. He narrowed his eyes intently.

"Wasn't like that, at first," he said, answering her unspoken anguish. He cleared his throat. "She was just…there. Somethin' from home." He paused. Strangely, he found it easier than he thought to talk about Shannon with her.

He'd always thought of Shannon – and to an extent Kelly – as something to be protected from Jenny, protected from her and all her incomprehensible and damaging choices. They were sacred and good and something Natalie could experience, but Jenny couldn't – one of the reasons he'd pitched a fit when Shannon had been about to send a Christmas picture.

But they were gone now, for good, and in an almost surreal twist if fate, he felt like he could mention her to Jenny – the same way he'd once felt he could more easily mention Jenny to Shannon.

"When did you start seeing her?" Jenny asked.

He shrugged a little.

"'Bout when I went to Pendleton," he said hoarsely.

Jenny nodded towards his wrist.

"Did she make that?"

Gibbs moved his hand slightly, peering down at it. He pulled his hand more clearly out of his pocket and touched the red and pink yarn bracelet, as it hung on by a thread. He nodded slowly, admiring it. When he looked up, his face was unreadable.

She said:

"What do you mean – she was in my corner?"

Her voice was soft, wary.

Gibbs thought about it intently, unsure how to phrase it. He reached up and rubbed his jaw, folding his arms after a moment – his muscles were tense, and his face darkened a little.

"She just – was," he said stiffly. "Wanted Kelly to meet Natalie, always pushed me not to give up," he grunted. He hesitated. He didn't know how to explain it. "She didn't like me not seein' Natalie," he said finally. "But she…seemed to get it." He paused, his face dark a moment. "She admired you."

Jenny smiled a little, her brow furrowing.

"She didn't know me," she said, barely above a whisper.

Jenny had never given Shannon Fielding a second glance. She was so preoccupied – rightly so – with a baby and Ann's cancer and then Gibbs joining the military – she hadn't had time to think about anything else.

Gibbs nodded once, curtly – no, she hadn't known her.

"She said you had guts," he said huskily.

Jenny bowed her head, digging her toes into the dirt. She chewed the inside her lip, biting back a grateful smile. After a moment, she looked up, and took a quiet, shaky breath.

"That's – flattering," she said in a small voice. She lifted her shoulders slightly. "When I found out you were – married," she said, "and I knew that's who the cards must be from I just thought of her as…some usurper," she confessed quietly. "She made me feel nervous. Threatened. I don't know, like, like," she faltered. She sighed. "Like she was trying to wheedle Natalie away from me – kill me with kindness."

Jenny flushed; she felt nauseous for admitting it – but she had always been both hostile to and devastated by the idea of Gibbs being happily with someone else – especially with another child. She didn't feel that way now, hearing him talk – and it wasn't because they had died, and they weren't a threat - actually, in death, in memory, they were probably more of a threat – but she didn't want to see him in this kind of pain.

Gibbs shook his head.

"She wasn't like that," he managed, words unsteady. "She was…good."

Jenny moved closer, putting her hands in her pockets. She nodded, her eyes on him.

"I would have liked to meet her," she said.

To her surprise, Gibbs snorted a little, lowering his eyes a minute. He looked up wryly, and wrinkled his forehead.

"Nah, you wouldn't," he told her flatly. He shrugged.

She frowned a little.

"Jethro, I – "

"'M not sayin' you would've been hostile," he said bluntly. He flexed his hand slightly, nonchalant. "You just wouldn't have liked it. Me, with her. Them."

The way he said it was so final, and she felt like crying; he might be right. She'd never know, truly, but – he might be right. She'd have always felt inferior to the woman he ended up with, to the family had, especially if Natalie had developed a close, perfect relationship with them – and it wasn't necessarily because she'd have disliked Shannon, or born ill will towards Kelly, it just would have been hard. But that – God, that didn't mean –

"Jethro," she choked out, reaching out to touch his elbow lightly. "I hope you don't think – I can't imagine what it's like to lose – a child, and only a part of me knows what it might be like to lose a partner you love – "

"Yeah, Jen."

"No, I want you to hear this," she said, pleading. "There isn't a single part of me that's satisfied, or happy, or even marginally relieved that – this happened to you. I want you to know that," she emphasized, "believe it," she said softly. "I would have never wished this on you, on anyone," she whispered. She broke off a little, her voice cracking: "I'd have given you Natalie, if it could have somehow spared you this."

He shook her hand off him.

"Don't say that, Jen," he said warily. "You don't – that's givin' her up, and you don't know what it's like to lose – "

"But I'd know she was with someone who loves her; who'd take care of her," Jenny said tightly. "I'm just trying to show you that I'm not glad you're alone, I don't think this is going to be any easier, without them than it would be with them," she said tiredly.

"You'd never have given Natalie up, Jen," he said, his mouth tightening.

"No," Jenny said, swallowing, "but that's why you reached out again, isn't it?" She asked hoarsely. "Because of Kelly. And not in the bad way, that I thought," she said quickly. "Because – you lost Kelly. And it put everything into perspective," she guessed. "It made you think – it was important to get over all of our issues and know Natalie, even if you hated me, and had decided to spite me and wait for her to come to you – it was important because not having a relationship with your daughter if you could, when there was no chance for the other, would kill you."

Gibbs looked at her with steely eyes, both impressed and disarmed by the analysis – of course that was it; that was it so absolutely that he felt hollowed out by her words – drained by how much he'd felt exactly what she was saying.

"That's it, right?" Jenny asked softly. "You aren't just – replacing Kelly?"

He met her eyes.

"S'not like that, Jen," he said, through gritted teeth. "You don't…have another kid, and pick a favorite. It's not one or the other," he forced out, trying to make her understand. "You love 'em both. The same," he managed. He nodded, confirming her words. "None of it," he gestured between them, and then flung his hand around almost comically – at the cemetery, at Stillwater in general, "mattered anymore. She's my daughter," he said hoarsely. He swallowed hard. "Bug was my daughter first, Jenny."

She didn't need to be reminded, and she didn't think in saying that he was implying Kelly was less important to him – but he did seem to be chastising her for thinking Natalie would ever be just a second resort. For a brief moment, Jenny wondered again if Shannon was the one who had more cause to feel that way – but then, she hardly thought so; what he said made sense, about loving children equally. If anything, it was Shannon who might have felt threatened by Jenny – like Jenny felt threatened by her –

But that felt silly now, irrelevant.

There was nothing remotely romantic about this reunion.

"Shannon would have wanted this," Gibbs said quietly. He swallowed hard. "She wouldn't want me…gettin' in trouble," Jenny assumed he was referencing his military issues, "shuttin' myself up," he trailed off – he was thinking of his early Marine days, when Shannon had berated him for almost throwing his career away then, saved him from himself back then. "Only time we ever fought was over you and Natalie. And me not doin' enough."

Jenny felt out of place a moment, uncertain. She didn't know how she felt, learning that she'd been an ongoing – a solitary – point of contention. She was selfishly glad she'd remained in Jethro's heart and mind, when it seemed so much like he'd gotten everything and forgotten about her, but at the expense of driving a wedge between him and his wife – she didn't like it; it made her feel soiled, unworthy.

Jenny pushed her hair back and swallowed, staring at her feet.

"I know how impossible I made it," she said, almost to herself – though it was easier to admit, having already screamed about it in front of him, down by the river. She put her hand to her chest, and looked up. "I know it was selfish. I've always known that, and for years, years, afterwards, I had a maniacal focus on Natalie – tunnel vision focus, destructive focus – to justify it," she told him. "I gave up on you after half a year in the military, Jethro," she said, with lingering dread. "You…may have given up on Natalie, but you held on longer than I did. And you did it," she paused, catching her breath, "I know you did it to keep her from seeing us fight, and because I made you doubt yourself."

She licked her lips.

"When I lost Dad, right after we'd buried the past, and started to move forward, it – nearly destroyed me," she said. "And since then – it's been a process of understanding how damaging it can be to hold on to the past, or to dwell on old grudges, when your time could be cut short so suddenly," she choked, "and I know you understand that," she added, closing her eyes. "And you know, with us working together, us living in close proximity, and Natalie – it can't just be a robotic, linear custody thing – and she's too old for that, anyway – we're going to have to interact, have some relationship," she acknowledged, "and I hope you can forgive me, and we can – work through all these things. For her," she said, pausing, "but also…for us," she finished in a small voice.

Gibbs was silent a moment, and then he gestured behind him with his elbow a little.

"I get it, Jen," he said.

Her brow furrowed.

"You - ?"

"I get it," he said, a defeated look in his eyes. "I left you here. You didn't want me to go."

"You had to join the Marines, Jethro," she said. "It's who you are."

"I didn't have to go right then," he said heavily. He paused. "She – Shannon – it was hard on her. Hard on them. Movin' all the time. Me bein' gone. Deployed when Kelly was born, Shannon bein' away from her family," he listed. "It was hard. She told me it was what she wanted. She chose it," he said, quoting one of Shannon's many words of wisdom. "Kelly, she never lived in the States," he said, his voice hitching. He reached up and rubbed his jaw. "I never liked that you left like that, the letter," he said, "and cuttin' me off. That wasn't right," he reiterated, "I didn't ever do anything to hurt Natalie," he reminded her. "I read the letter couple more times, as the years went on," he admitted grudgingly. He shrugged. "Made more sense."

Jenny took a deep, steadying breath, and let it out, tilting her head up. She pointed to her chest lightly.

"I'm admitting I made the wrong decision in pushing you away, in cutting you off and pretending it was for Natalie's good," she said in a barely audible voice. She transferred her finger, and pointed it at him; tip pressing into his chest gently. "You're admitting it was more complicated than us just – getting married, running off – that we weren't ready."

He nodded, and she closed her eyes tightly. For a moment, it felt like the world turned inside out, and spun in a circle – when she opened her eyes, she lowered her hand, and she stared at him, feeling both a sense of immeasurable relief, and hollow regret. The corner of her mouth turned up.

"Look at how long it took us to grow up," she lamented weakly.

Her face crumpled a little, and she put her head in a moment, holding back tears, composing herself.

She lifted her head – but she didn't know what to say next; would either of them have done anything differently? She wouldn't ask him – it would put him in the position of deciding if it was better to love and lose, or never love – he'd have to say that he wished Kelly had never existed, or that he wished he'd never gotten back in touch with Natalie, and she refused to put him in that position – and she herself wasn't sure what she'd say.

She had put her daughter through so much pain in the past few weeks, and she herself had suffered since leaving him – and she didn't think it was good, what they had done to each other, and how Natalie had ended up in the middle, but she had come to so much opportunity in leaving – college, NCIS, her master's.

She didn't know if the means justified the ends in this situation – and as it were, this wasn't really the end of something.

He cleared his throat.

"You never moved on?" he asked finally. He hesitated. "Natalie, she, uh – said you dated her teacher. Pretty serious."

"Did she?" Jenny asked dryly, her throat still thick with tears. She rolled her eyes a little, and swiped at her cheeks, shrugging. She nodded. "Well, I did," she admitted truthfully. She chewed on her lip a moment. "He was a good man. Natalie liked him."

Gibbs nodded, his jaw twitching tensely at the last part – she didn't blame him; Natalie was what had held her back, too. Jenny shrugged again.

"I didn't love him," she said huskily.

Gibbs nodded, his eyes on her intently.

"All that stuff you said, to Natalie," he began slowly. "'Bout me," he prompted.

He didn't say anything else, and he knew he didn't have to; he'd been there, and she knew what she'd said – about loving him, about somehow, foolishly, always holding out for him. She just smiled faintly, her cheeks flushing – it was dark now, the night cast in moonlight; maybe he didn't see her cheeks glow.

Gibbs put his hands in his pockets again.

"You spend all this time thinkin'…I was pining over you?" he asked. "Thinkin' we'd pick right back up, some day?"

The way he asked – it wasn't hostile, it wasn't vindictive, it was a little incredulous; and tinged with disbelief. Even if they had broken up with less chaos and destruction, a belief like that would have been immature and – fanciful. She knew that's what it was, and when he asked, when he put it into words, she pushed her hair back, hiding her face in her arm a moment. She lowered her hand, and shrugged.

"Hell," she said softly, "maybe I did. When I was younger," she said. She lifted her eyes. "When I thought you'd – come after me, in hell or high water," she simpered dryly. She parted her lips, and stopped.

"And now?" he asked bluntly.

She compressed her lips, and then sighed quietly.

"I've said before," she began softly, "that it's hard not to – care, intimately," she chose her words diplomatically, "for someone who – is the father of your child." She paused, and swallowed. "But it's been so – silly, of me, right?" she asked desperately, "to think myself still in love with you, or more accurately, to think I know you now, like I did back then."

She bit her lip, and then said:

"I used to have a nightmare about you. That you'd died in Desert Storm, and your body kept being covered in sand. And no one claimed you. You were left there, and I had to watch. I couldn't take back leaving you."

Thinking of the old nightmare, she shivered, but she steeled herself, and went on.

"It was so arrogant of me to think you'd never dare move on. That your whole life would always be about me," she hesitated, "when it was my life that was always about – you. Me holding back, because I wanted you and I," she held her hand towards her chest, "didn't know how to make sacrifices, back then. I didn't understand love like an adult."

She clasped her hands, and put her lips to them a moment.

"You've always been stoic, Jethro," she said shakily. "You face things. Accept them. You move on. I…still don't."

He watched her silently for a long time, thinking; saying nothing. She seemed to panic, in the silence, and he sighed, reaching up to scratch the nape of his neck. He wanted to say something, to let her knew – but emotional displays were hard for him, and to share something that would make him so – vulnerable – but he had to make sure she understood –

"Jen," he managed, his voice constricted. He lifted his shoulders helplessly. "I loved 'er," he saw, his voice raw, emphatic. "She wasn't – second best to you, someone who just – was there, to distract me," he explained, referring to Shannon. "I loved her. More'n – more'n I can say," his voice cracked, and he stopped talking.

"I know, Jethro," she said earnestly. "I can see it – in every fiber of your being," she said, her lips trembling. "I'm not – " she shook her head, her mouth dry. "We're different people, than we were back then," she said wisely. "We're not the way we were. I talk about loving you – the way I remember it, the way I didn't heal from it," she said, "and I don't know how I feel about you anymore," she confessed, "but I'm not asking for commitment, or you to feel anything for me."

He nodded, and she felt somehow lighter, somehow cleansed – all these years, hanging on to a brutal unrequited love, and it took only seconds to realize she had deluded herself into some sort of debilitating, infantile Scarlett O'Hara syndrome – loving something that no longer existed, that had changed so much.

The way they were now didn't negate how they'd loved each other as teenagers – but they weren't teenagers anymore, and there were twelve years and thousands of separate experiences between them.

After a moment, he nodded again, and she felt like they had taken steps forward.

"This isn't going to be easy," she said, steadying herself. "This, this – adrenaline we're on now, this ongoing catharsis – it's going to fade, and we're going to fight."

He smirked a little, his eyes flickering with amusement for a moment, and then dulling, remembering why, and remembering the things he'd lost.

"We have to work on our relationship – for Natalie," Jenny decided. "I know we have a lot of things to work through."

He gave her a look – understatement of the century – and she put her hands over her mouth and laughed a little dryly.

"We need to take things slowly," Jenny said, "but I'm not going back to the way I was. And I want to ask that," she took a deep breath, "we don't involve the courts. I'd rather – try to build trust."

She held her breath, anticipating – she just remembered how court had been so awful when she was pregnant, how taking all the custody away from Gibbs and saddling him with so much had driven a wedge between them – she hadn't seen it as much then, but she saw it now; him with so much responsibility financially and so few rights paternally. She'd acquiesce if he wanted legal custody now, but Natalie was fourteen –

Gibbs nodded, though his eyes were sharp. She knew at the slightest indication of wishy-washy behavior on her part, he'd slap her with documents, and she silently acknowledged that she understood. She looked at her feet a moment, and then, after a look around, she caught his eye.

"Have you visited your mother yet?" she asked.

He shook his head, and she arched an eyebrow. He moved towards her, and she turned – he understood she thought they should go together, and instinctively, his hand rested against her lower back as he followed her at a slower pace.

"Think she'd have a few things to say to us?" he asked gruffly.

Jenny pushed her hair back, laughing under her breath – she still wondered, sometimes, what her life – their life – would be like if they'd never lost Ann Gibbs.

Next to her, Gibbs smiled a little, but in the touch of his hand she felt how much he hurt, how the ache of his soul was reflected in his stiff touch. It worried her, but she could work through it – she could handle it, talk it out; they were mature now – they were going to do better.


The sun was out in Stillwater on Sunday afternoon, glittering brightly through the General Store windows as Jenny shared a cup of coffee with Jackson Gibbs, having a last conversation with him as she prepared to start the trek back to the capitol.

Presently, she was staring into her cup in a mixture of amusement and exasperated acceptance – Jackson was ringing up several items that Betsy Carmichael and Maggie Hart – of course, both had different last names now, but Jenny knew them as she knew them – had decided they needed immediately. These items included an onion, a pack of gum, and some cigarettes – non-necessities, and surely excuses to come by and sneak a peek at a homegrown scandal, but since Natalie was safely removed from the squinting publicity at the moment, Jenny tried to take it in stride.

Betsy and Maggie were, as it turned out, the fifth and sixth customers to casually stride in and express faux-surprise at Jenny's presence; as it always did, word had gotten out and ran rampant, and people were eager for gossip – especially after what Deborah Henry had no doubt repeated.

"Thanks, Jack," Betsy said.

"Thanks, Mr. Gibbs," chorused Maggie, in a deeply patronizing, breathy voice.

Jenny sat back, looking up boldly as they turned, and Jackson returned to the table.

"I'd so like to see Natalie again – is she around?" Betsy asked, as airily as possible.

"Nope," Jenny said succinctly. "I lost her. How are your kids, Betsy?"

Betsy sighed. Jenny had heard she was divorced now – that, Jenny applauded her for; she'd made the mistake of marrying that awful Chuck, at least she had the guts to leave him.

"They're rascals," Betsy said. "Driving me crazy – you know the feeling," she simpered.

"Can't say I do," Jenny said breezily. "Natalie is a doll."

Betsy gave her a look, and Maggie Hart cleared her throat, stepping up.

"I know she's real smart," Maggie said, fluttering her lashes. She took something out of her bag. "I know that can misguide people sometimes," she said, affecting a serious look. She handed an item to Jenny. "I brought this for her – I run the library now, and this is a real old copy, so no one'll miss it, and from what I hear, she needs it."

Jenny looked at it, reaching out – and stared.

The Holy Bible.

In Jenny's silence, Maggie spoke:

"Dunkin' 'em in the river ain't all it takes," she said, laughing a little – there was something so hollow and condescending about her preaching.

Still, Jenny took the bible, silently blinking at Maggie.

"Thanks, Maggie," she said, deadpan. "It's been hard. Since she was conceived under a full moon, you know, in the presence of a goat Gibbs had just sacrificed," Jenny sighed, affecting sadness, "well, it's just been a hedonistic struggle ever since."

To her surprise, Betsy snorted; Maggie Hart gave her an appalled look, and both girls ushered themselves out of the store, leaving with the jingle of a bell – Jenny hoped they didn't go prowling around the house exploring; Gibbs had never liked either of them much at all, and Jenny didn't necessarily need Natalie traumatizing them.

For his part, Jackson looked at her dryly.

Jenny sat forward, curling her hands around her mug, pushing the good book aside.

"There wasn't really a goat," she confided slyly.

Jackson held up his hand.

"Enough."

"I wasn't going to tell you anymore," she retorted, dead serious – there had been enough intimate revelations concerning Natalie's, er, coming into being, thanks to Gibbs and his big fat mouth.

Jackson nodded.

"What prompted that?"

"Oh, I told Debbie Henry that I'd brought Natalie back to baptize her because she'd joined the Satanic Temple," Jenny said breezily.

Jackson grinned a little, shaking his head fondly.

"Give 'em hell, Jennifer, they all deserve it," he said. "Go easier on Debbie, though – that's my lady," he said, a little gruffly.

Jenny gave him kind of a funny look – Debbie was nosy, a typical loose-lipped biddy with small town values, but she had been decent to Jenny way back then, and she supposed Jackson could do worse. It did seem an odd choice though, considering the history – but if it had to be a dress shop owner, at least it wasn't Melissa Fielding.

"Does Jethro know?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jackson drawled grudgingly. "Hates it. What'd ya expect, though? He's gonna hate anyone who ain't his mama," he said flatly. He shrugged. "Can't blame the boy."

"No," Jenny agreed softly, resting her chin on her hand. "You can't."

She thought of Ann, and how much she missed her; she wished Gibbs' mother was here to see Natalie – had been around to see her grow up. Though she'd never married Gibbs, Jenny had always viewed Ann as a second mother – especially in the stressful, chaotic, and harrowing months right after Natalie had been born.

"Maggie Hart," Jackson snorted. He arched a brow. "Her, givin' you a bible – when she caught her husband red handed with her own Mama, and just to get him back, went after his Daddy – so I heard."

Jackson then took a very dignified sip of his coffee, while Jenny's hand fell from her chin and she widened her eyes in shocked glee – she laughed, and then held her hand out in disbelief.

"Yet I'm still the spectacle because I had a bastard at sixteen," she lamented melodramatically. She shook her hand, lifting her coffee to her lips. "Natalie could run this town," she scoffed good-naturedly. "With her eyes closed. And one hand tied behind her back."

Jackson smiled gently, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't sell us too short, Jenny," he requested quietly. "We got our charms."

She paused a moment, and lowered her mug a bit contritely – she inclined her head. Her experience was so coloured by what she'd endured after her pregnancy, and subsequent position as an unwed teen mother, that she tended to demonize the whole town, and every person in it – but she did also know, deep down, that it was a part of her, and that before it had all gone sour, she'd had some memorable times in Stillwater.

It didn't mean she loved it, or ever wanted to go back – or wished she'd stayed – but it did remind her not to hate people who were products of the system and their environment, even if they'd been cruel to her; she could be frustrated, but total hatred was unfair.

She nodded to herself, placing her hand over the opening of her mug.

"It's strange being back, like this," she said, looking up, her eyes cautious. She caught Jackson's eye through her lashes.

"You been back before," Jackson remarked. "For Chief's funeral."

She nodded silently, and went on to amend her statement.

"With him," she said softly, keeping her voice low. "It's strange to be back – with both of them. And," she began, hesitating, "the feeling is different."

Last time, she'd been so devastated by her father's death, and then so blindsided by news of where Gibbs' life had gone, she hadn't taken time to be in the moment – she'd suppressed it all, hated it all, wished herself away; she'd been so busy forcing herself to keep it together, she hadn't taken a moment to embrace the formative years of her life and confront where she'd come from.

This time…it was different, as she'd said. For one thing, it wasn't loss and tragedy that had brought her back – it wasn't regression, or pain; it was something to push her forward.

"I 'spect Leroy feels about the same," Jackson said heavily.

Jenny compressed her lips sympathetically – he very well might, since the last time he'd been back had been a funeral of his own. She rested her chin on her hand again, and chewed lightly on her bottom lip, thinking.

She was in here with Jackson; Natalie was out back with Gibbs – they were working on the car. They'd been working on the car all day, and something about it made Jenny feel good, and content. Gibbs seemed skeptical that Natalie wanted to work on it – that she could work on it – and Jenny was proudly positive he'd be astonished with her skill; Natalie was better with machinery than she was with nail polish, and she was very good with nail polish.

"So," Jackson began. "The two of you set some things straight?"

Jenny studied him intently, and after a moment, he cleared his throat.

"'M not tryin' to pry," he said warily. He paused a moment. "Well, I reckon I am," he corrected frankly. "But you got to understand, I had a lot to do with runnin' Leroy off," he said simply, "so if I want my wife to rest in peace, I got a lot ridin' on this."

He smiled a little, his face open, warm.

"It'd make me happy to know you're doin' right for each other, for little missy's sake."

"Ah," Jenny sighed, arching her brows. "She's not so little anymore, is she?" she asked dryly. "Taking a clandestine, solitary trip to Pennsylvania…" she trailed off, clicking her tongue – the anger and shock and panic had long faded, though she still had a talkin' to for Natalie concerning trust and rash decision-making.

But Gibbs had made a good point yesterday – she had made a mistake; but it wasn't one that would irrevocably change the course of her life – it wasn't irreversible; it wasn't their mistake.

And their mistake was doing pretty well, as it were.

Slowly, Jenny nodded.

"We've outlined some things," she said hesitantly. "It's going to be a process."

She lifted her coffee, leaning back in the small wooden chair – it was old furniture, the same furniture she'd sat in, in tears, when she told Gibbs' parents, and then her father, that she was pregnant. She felt confident in it now; she felt like she owned it.

"Natalie wants to have a set night with him, once a week," Jenny said, revealing something they'd all discussed earlier today – during a strangely calm breakfast, for which Jackson had been conspicuously absent – at church, he said; no doubt with Debbie Henry.

Jenny pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I asked Jethro to try this without involving the courts," she said, knowing she was less than trustworthy there, "so I – I agreed to that, to them having their own time – provided she never lets it interfere with her school or her good judgment again," Jenny added, slight annoyance edging into her voice.

"Of course," snorted Jackson.

Jenny nodded to herself, biting the inside of her lip. She raised her eyes.

"And Jethro and I…we work together, now," she said, though Jackson already knew – she was really talking out loud, for the moment. "We'll have to – sort ourselves out, gradually," she said. "I suppose," she murmured. She looked down, and then back up again. "But I won't…be interfering with their time," she said, laughing hoarsely. "I'll want to," she admitted. "I'll want to control the whole thing but – I can't."

Simply, she shrugged. Jackson smiled at her – he looked very proud; very relieved.

"I think this'd make your old man happy, Jennifer," he said seriously. "He was real proud of Natalie, always. Real proud of you, as the years went on. I think there at the end – well, he didn't know any more'n the rest of us that he was gonna go the way he did but – we were gettin' the same feelin'," Jackson confessed heavily.

"What's that?" Jenny asked softly.

He shrugged.

"That we punished you two, too hard, for too long. And it taught y'all all the wrong things about compromisin', and forgivin', and makin' the best."

Jenny smiled softly, her eyes stinging. She looked away, and wiped at them.

"Disappointing him broke my heart every day," she confessed in a small voice. "It was easier not to live with him, you know?" she murmured. "Not have to see that look in his eyes every day." She sighed, and looked back at Jackson, smiling sadly. "I miss him," she said hoarsely. "I really wish he'd been more involved in Natalie's life."

She looked at her hands a moment.

"I wish that about Gibbs, too," she said hastily, as if Jackson might take offence. "And, um, you," she offered." Jenny put her hand to her face. "I convinced myself so completely that I was making a good decision."

Jackson looked at her with kindness. She lowered her hand, and he pushed his chair back, hesitating.

"This has been rough," he said, straightforward. "But I don't think what you did ruined anyone's life. Natalie's had everything she'd never have gotten here. And Leroy – well, I know he's hurtin', but he learned a lot. And he loved a lot."

Jackson cleared his throat.

"I'm gonna show you somethin'. It ain't to make you feel bad or anything, I just want you to know what kind of woman he married," he said.

Jenny watched apprehensively as he went to the bulletin board behind the register. After a good, hard look, he selected a post card and came over, handing it to her. It was a gorgeous snapshot of a European castle, and clipped to the back was a neatly folded, small piece of paper, and a photo.

The photo was of a woman – a redhead Jenny presumed was Shannon – holding a toddler in her lap. They both had flower crowns on their heads, and the toddler was waving, with a pretty little smile on her face – Jethro's smile, and Natalie's.

"Read that," Jackson said gruffly.

Jenny carefully opened the note, hesitating a moment, and then she did. Her eyes scanned quickly –

Jackson,
I didn't tell Jethro what you told me on the phone, about you telling Jenny about us. I did tell him about Jasper Shepard's death, and he seemed upset. I think at some point, he'll heal over this and come around. In the mean time, I still plan on telling Kelly she has a sister, and if Jenny ever asks about us, please give her our address and let her know that if it ever comes up, I'd be happy to make sure Natalie is at home here. Kelly says hi – she's smiling in this picture, but right after Jethro took it she started screaming because some grass touched her foot.
Love,
Shannon.

- and after she was finished reading, she stared for a moment, before she looked up.

Her eyes stung as she shakily handed the letter back to Jackson.

"She cared about him havin' a relationship with your girl," Jackson said gently. "I wasn't – schemin' with her, or anything, never spillin' secrets," he paused, and Jenny nodded – she knew that; she trusted Jackson. "I never knew if I should've told you she offered that."

Jenny compressed her lips.

"I don't think it would have mattered much, then," she said hoarsely; honestly.

She didn't feel any jealous or hostility over the note; it brimmed with sincerity and kindness; Shannon had meant well – she'd had good intentions, and it made Jenny feel ashamed, that a woman she didn't even know could have seen the good in both Gibbs and Jenny herself, and tried to bring that back onto the same negotiation page all along.

"She was good for him, wasn't she?" Jenny asked.

"Oh, yeah," Jackson said, returning the postcard, note, and picture to its pinned place. "You 'n' her would've gotten along. Different women, no doubt," he said firmly. "But you'd have gotten along," he repeated.

Shannon had been more traditional than Jenny in many ways; she was laid back, kind, found pleasure in small things and family – Jenny had been itching to shatter glass ceilings, and go on adventures, and do things, and - well, they were both strong, and confident; but they were different. Jackson saw it, and his son had, too – though something similar in both of them had drawn him in.

Shannon, no doubt, had taught him how to have a real, adult relationship, how to be a parent, and struggle through things, and a marriage, and he'd seen what it was like to have to weather all that – he'd seen a little of Jenny's point of view.

The younger Jethro had foreseen leaving Stillwater, but had envisioned a life experience somewhat similar to his parents', with the obvious difference being he treated his wife better than Jackson treated Ann; naturally, it's what he knew – the older Jethro was more able to understand the woman Jenny had always been destined to be; he was more world wise – it wasn't all about it being simple, white picket fence life anymore.

He'd learned, quite brutally, that even that life was never what it seemed.

As Jackson sat back down, Jenny caught his eye earnestly, leaning forward.

"Do you think he can handle this?" she asked in a hushed tone.

She didn't mean it in a derogatory way; she wasn't trying to back out, or be catty, but she was concerned about her daughter, and she was concerned about Gibbs, too. She knew if anything went wrong, Gibbs would feel awful, and guilty, and he'd be losing something again.

Jackson sat down heavily in the chair across from her, pulling his coffee towards him.

"I mean," Jenny began quietly, intently, "he lost so much. You know how – how he was, between Ann dying and him leaving for the Marines – you couldn't reach him," she remembered. "He wasn't there. He was just – a shell. "

Jackson nodded, thinking about it for a moment. He took a deep breath.

"I think my boy has a long way to go," he said honestly. "But I got to speak up for him here, 'cause I think he can do it. He's got some stuff to work through, Jennifer," Jackson said, "but you got to work with him. You got to give him every chance. You're plenty old enough," he said pointedly, "to handle it when it's hard."

Jackson paused for a long moment.

"And you lost someone, too. You know how hard it is. How it never goes away."

Jenny thought of her father. She pushed back her hair, nodding. She covered her mouth for a moment – he was right; he was absolutely right. She couldn't plan on just balking and stopping everything if Natalie got upset one day, or if Gibbs made a mistake – she'd made plenty of mistakes, hadn't she? And Natalie – there was something so right about what Natalie had said; she deserved to make her own choices about her father. She was a smart girl. If she got hurt – well, Jenny couldn't protect her forever, but at least for now, she could be there to help if she needed to.

"Well," Jenny sighed, finishing the last of her coffee. "I guess it's all up in the air now."

She sat back, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. Jackson took a sip of coffee, and said:

"Natalie had mentioned she wanted to come here for Thanksgiving?"

Jenny nodded, tilting her head a little.

"Yes," she murmured. "That started right after she got a box of things from my mother – I think she wanted to investigate," she said.

Jenny leaned forward.

"That's the week after her birthday," she remarked.

Jackson nodded; Jenny sighed.

"All of this, coming up in the holiday season – I think that could affect things badly, if she wants to just dive into," Jenny gestured tensely, "big, dramatic family gatherings," she said dryly. "Holidays are stressful times, even in wholesome, perfect families."

"No family is perfect," Jackson said mildly.

"No," Jenny agreed, "but this one has a particularly tense history that could be negatively exacerbated by trying to make it all – Donna Reed – " she smacked her hands together, "right off the bat."

Jenny frowned – she was worried about the battles that might come up over holidays; she knew Natalie was going to want to just start up with extravagant family get-togethers as if nothing had ever happened, and that was probably not the greatest idea – Gibbs was still healing, and now Jenny and Natalie had healing, too.

Blending their lives was going to take more than one day on the riverbank in Stillwater.

"My mother – we haven't seen her since we moved," Jenny told him – it had been May, in ninety-seven, when they moved to D.C., when Natalie was finishing up middle school. "She wanted us to do Christmas with her this year – Christmas in Tahiti," she laughed. After a moment, she bit her lip, and shrugged. "I blew her off, but I think…that would be nice."

She pushed her hair back.

"So, I think we'll go out to California for Christmas," she said. She smiled wryly. "But, we'll come back."

Jackson grinned a little gruffly, and gave a sharp nod.

"Might press Leroy to have me for Thanksgiving," he said, "bridge our gap."

"Another thing that would help in the long run," Jenny said softly.

Jackson hesitated.

"He needs to communicate with his in-laws, Joanne and Mack Fielding," he said finally. "Joanne says he's got all their – Shannon, and Kelly's – things, boxed up. He needs to address it all."

Jenny nodded.

"I'm sure it's hard," she said softly. "It's going to be rocky for a while. Difficult."

She was silent a moment, and then she glanced up at the clock on the wall, and sighed heavily. She got up, sticking her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

"We have to get going," she said. "I don't want to get back too late – school tomorrow," she said wryly – and she'd have to get up early enough to get Natalie to school personally, because she'd decided part of Natalie's discipline was being driven directly to the front door of her school every morning for a month so Jenny could see she was going.

Slightly excessive, because she knew Natalie wasn't going to do this again – at least, she was fairly sure – but it was a relatively benign punishment that at least constricted the freedom she enjoyed a little bit so she could see what she'd lose if she couldn't be trusted.

In an odd twist, Gibbs had suggested it. He'd overheard Jenny say, shortly, that she hadn't thought of a good way to deal with the punishment yet, and he'd quite simply just said: 'drive her to school, that's embarrassing.'

Jenny smiled, and turned, heading out to the front of the store – she'd told Natalie to meet her out front, where Gibbs' truck was parked, at quarter to three. She had almost half the day with her father, and Jenny felt that was good for her – she was slightly apprehensive about all of them in the car together for the road trip back.

She instinctively puled her shoulders in a little when the cold air hit her, and then ran her hands up and down her arms, standing outside the storefront with Jackson. Across the street, at the flower shop, someone waved; another person peered out of a window.

Jenny laughed, shaking her head. She checked her watch, biting the inside of her lip. She tilted her head around, expecting Natalie to come from the path behind the store. The sound of an engine revving suddenly broke the small town peace, and Jenny turned around, startled, in time to see a blur of black and yellow whip around the corner and rocket forward, coming to a jolting, inexperienced stop fight near Gibbs' truck in the street.

Jackson gave a choice swear word and shook his head, glowering, and Jenny blinked, taking it in a moment – there was no doubt she was looking at the old Dodge Charger that had once been Gibbs' pride-and-joy project – displayed in the street in front of her, it seemed old and new all at once –

It was running, for one thing, and sitting behind the wheel was an all-too-gleeful looking Natalie.

Stunned for a moment, Jenny just stared at her daughter, who had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel – Natalie driving explained the gear-stripping sound that had accompanied the car's engine – and then slowly, she cut her gaze the Gibbs, sitting slightly smugly in the passenger seat, and she put one hand on her hip, and raised her eyebrow.

It took that, and nothing more, for Natalie to kill the engine and scramble out of the car, snickering.

"It was just around the corner, Mom," she began, breathless, as Gibbs slowly got out of his masterpiece and strode forward, his face slightly unreadable, an almost indiscernible sly glitter in his eye.

Jenny looked over Natalie's head at him.

"She doesn't even have a permit yet," Jenny said dryly, narrowing her eyes.

Gibbs put his hands in his pockets, shrugging. He gave her a small smirk, tongue in cheek:

"When's the first time you drove a car, Jen?" he retorted.

She grit her teeth – another stable of small town childhood was, at some point, joy riding – not that it was something Jenny would condone, having gained adult perspective and realized how dangerous it could turn out. But, she supposed, with Gibbs right there, and only a small stretch of road to handle, it was acceptable that Natalie had gotten a taste of the Stillwater ethos.

Natalie turned her head up.

"I have to learn how to drive a stick, if it's going to be mine," she said wryly, eyes sparkling.

Jenny looked at her a moment, and then flicked her eyes up at Gibbs through her lashes, giving him a warning look – promising Natalie a car was not exactly a great way to begin things; it felt like bribery. She said nothing, though; now wasn't a time to fight – and when he caught her slightly admonishing look, and shrugged a little, sheepish, she knew he didn't mean any harm.

"We worked on it all morning," Natalie said. "It's in mint condition," she bragged. "It can be driven back to the tri-state area. He said you can take his truck, and he can take the Charger. If that's okay."

Ah, so the prospect of another grueling road trip was a little daunting to him, too. Jenny folded her arms, smiling – she felt apprehensive, and a little – insecure. She chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment, before she decided to be neural about what was coming, and pre-empt it.

"I guess you want to ride back with him?" she asked, with a tone that she hoped implied she'd acquiesce.

Natalie looked down, and then up, squinting prettily in the sun.

"Actually…he has to make a stop," she began slowly. She took a deep breath. "And I think you and I need our own therapeutic road trip," she said honestly.

Jenny smiled at her earnestly. Natalie shrugged a little, and then smiled, stepping forward. Jenny seized her and put her arm around her, pulling her close. She kissed the side of her head affectionately, and then ran her hand over her faux-black hair.

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"Figured we can work out gettin' the truck back later," he said.

Jenny nodded – sure, they worked together, they had access to federal cars; it could be easy; as simple as her driving it, leaving it for him at the office garage, taking the metro home. It was a starting point for them working together.

Curious, she held his gaze a moment.

"What stop do you have to make?" she asked.

His jaw twitched tensely.

"My in-laws," he said heavily – it was partly a sense of duty, and partly Natalie, that had convinced him he couldn't neglect the Fieldings while he was in the area.

No matter how hard it was going to be, he needed to see them – he needed to share the grief with people who truly, closely understood; and eventually, he needed to let them go through their daughter's things, and help him sort through the belongings, too. He might even find the nerve, and the strength, to ask them to help him over Christmas – Jenny had quietly mentioned she thought she might see her mother for the holiday, and while he didn't object, he had no interest in another holiday alone.

Jenny stroked Natalie's hair again, and smiled at her. Natalie smiled back, and then lowered her gaze, and grinned at her father. She glanced back at Jackson, and then stepped towards him, giving him a hug and a kiss. He ruffled her hair, kissed her forehead, and nodded a gruff goodbye.

"You be good, kid," he advised wisely.

She nodded, and then turned to Gibbs. She looked at him silently for a moment, almost like she couldn't believe it, and then she stepped forward and hugged him; less intensely than she had at the river, but warmly; comfortingly.

He met Jenny's eyes over the top of her head, and Jenny smiled.

Natalie stepped back towards Jenny, hooking her thumbs in the loops of her jeans.

"So," she began lightly. "See you Friday night?" she asked.

She looked between her parents – it had been mentioned yesterday, in a long conversation – Natalie's desire to have some time, once a week, for herself and her relationship with her father; she had proposed Friday evenings, so she didn't have to worry about school the next day – starting small, an hour or two – it hadn't been set in stone yet.

Gibbs looked at Jenny, deferring to her, waiting; he was already game. He'd take anything and everything he could get, until he was as integrated into her life as he could be – as he always should have been, no matter what happened between himself and Jenny.

Jenny set her teeth, well aware it was a defining step to take, a big moment, but she made herself ready for it, and she glanced down at Natalie and gave a soft, accommodating nod; she had permission, and she had a blessing.

"Friday night," Jenny agreed.

Gibbs nodded.

"Friday night," he repeated gruffly, catching Natalie's eye, and giving her a charming, paternal wink.

Natalie gave both of them the biggest grin, and Jenny couldn't help but smile back – it was such a genuine smile, such a beautiful, happy smile, and she was so relieved that even after all this turmoil, Natalie could smile like that – and she looked up at Gibbs, and spotted the beginnings of a relieved smile on his face – a Gibbs smile, of course, nothing too expressive, but one she knew all the same – and in that moment, meeting his eyes, she silently, apprehensively hoped they could both keep that smile on Natalie's face.


"Baby who needs their faces in a magazine?
Me and you, we been stars of the town since we were seventeen."
Miranda Lambert; Famous in a Small Town


whoa, this was the BIG chapter !
there's a teeny time jump for chapter five

[i hope you all enjoyed by reference to Luke pushing Jess into the river from Gilmore Girls, and my harry potter reference]

feedback MUCH appreciated !

-alexandra