A/N: Thanks to aserene!
"Remember that stakeout in Marseille? August. Stuck in that attic with no air. Photographing everyone who boarded that Lebanese trawler. That second night, that's the frist time we--"
--Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Season3Ep2 'KillAri2'
Jenny Shepard was hot, sweaty, and tired—and not for a good reason. The attic was ten times as hot as it had been last night; it seemed to soak up all sunlight and just bake in the sun all day and even though it was late afternoon now, the heat still lingered and left the air muggy and miserable.
"This one's new," she mumbled, adjusting the lens on her camera and focusing on a man approaching the trawler slowly.
She snapped a few pictures, trying to get a full view of his face. Jethro shifted, looking through the binoculars, and shook his head.
"Same guy as twenty minutes ago," he informed her, letting the binoculars fall carelessly.
Jenny zoomed in the camera as far as it would go, frowning. She shook her head, taking another picture, unwilling to admit he was right but beginning to recognize him all the same.
"Stop wasting film," he snapped at her. She pulled the camera away and gave him a look.
"It might be a different guy. He's wearing different clo—"
"Yeah, well, people change clothes Jen."
Gritting her teeth, Jenny raised the camera back to her eyes and bit her tongue, choosing to ignore him. Judging by the dampness of his t-shirt and hair, not to mention the hint of dark circles under his eyes, he was just as uncomfortable as she. She was willing to let his irritability slide for now, especially when she was sure he hadn't slept since they'd gotten here.
Her sleep had been fitful at best. It was a half-awake slumber; she'd tossed and turned, consciously ordering herself not to talk in her sleep. When she'd woken up with her head across Jethro's knees and her hand resting on his thigh, she was too tired and hot to even react properly embarrassed. She'd just said 'this is awkward', sat up, and reached for a sickeningly warm bottle of water.
"What about this guy? You familiar with his closet of apparel enough to tell me if it's okay to photograph him?" she asked mockingly.
Just because she was going to let his irritability slide didn't mean she was going to be nice. She hadn't had real food in over twenty-four hours, hadn't had a good sleep in three or four days, and was sticky with sweat. No one could expect her to be civil.
Jethro jerked the binoculars up and looked, tossing them unceremoniously into her lap. He nodded shortly and gestured to the camera. Well, she was sure glad she had his royal permission to click the shutter button.
She snapped the picture and unwound the strap of the camera from around her wrist, shoving it as roughly into his hands as he'd just thrown the binoculars.
"Your turn, oh-omniscient-one," she snapped, setting the binoculars carefully on the windowsill and rubbing her hands over her face tiredly. She pushed annoying tendrils of hair out of her face, for once annoyed that her hair was so long. It was thrown up in a messy bun, but she still couldn't seem to keep it from falling out and sticking to her skin.
Taking another forced drink of water just to keep herself hydrated, she capped the bottle and scowled at it. There was nothing that tasted worse than hot bottled water. She could practically feel melted plastic on her tongue.
"I guess there's no chance of going to get some ice?" she muttered in his direction, only half kidding.
"Quit complaining," snapped Jethro.
She gave him a disbelieving look that was quickly replaced with anger.
"I listened to you bitch about missing out on your coffee all morning, and I can't make one complaint about hot water?" she snorted, shaking her head. She held out her hand and took hold of the camera, pulling it. He didn't let her take it, and instead turned and fixed a vicious glare on her.
"You need to sleep or something," she informed him sharply, tugging on the camera. He pulled it back and brushed her hand off of it, focusing back on the window with a set jaw.
"Don't need it," he responded shortly.
"Well, I would sure as hell benefit from you shutting the hell up and getting some rest, so give me that damn camera and go to sleep," Jenny snapped loudly, grasping his wrist.
"Right, and trust you to get the job done by yourself," he threw back meanly.
Jenny let go of his wrist and stared at him, closing her mouth and pressing her lips together tightly. She didn't know why she deserved that, of all things. She hadn't done one thing wrong in this mission unless he really counted wasting a little film as a colossal blunder.
She got up and walked across the attic floor, shoving stuff out of the way with her foot, making sure to be careful of the square hole that led down to the second floor. She sat down on the questionable bed in the corner and leaned against the metal frame, relishing the shock of cool metal against her neck and shoulders.
"You gonna pout now?" he asked.
She narrowed her eyes at him, her fingers itching to pick something up and chuck it at him.
"You're an ass," she replied, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, counting to twenty under her breath to restrain herself. She was beginning to see why Kasey and Decker had been at each other's throats; even though she and Jethro got along infinitely better than those two she couldn't stand this much longer.
She glanced at the growing shadows in the room, hoping to God it would cool down at least a little soon. The sun was already sinking and making it harder to see the trawler, which meant focusing closer on what was going on. Decker had checked in around noon, and informed them to expect a call from the Director at least once. Kasey and Decker had been confined to the London Outpost documenting photos and reviewing reports on Lebanon.
Jethro shifted suddenly and laid the camera aside, turning and pulling his backpack towards him. He pulled out two slightly bruised apples and tossed one to Jenny, giving her a short look.
"Eat. You look sick."
She rolled her eyes, turning the apple over in her hand to determine if it was safe. Who knew he'd be the type to pack fruit when she ordered him to bring food.
"You know just how to make a girl feel pretty," she said sarcastically, deciding the apple would be more refreshing to eat than Oreos or her granola bars.
She brushed her hair out of her face again in frustration, watching him eat and trying to work out a way to relax her muscles some and cool off. The metal behind her was already warm from her skin, and sticky, making it more harmful than good to her mood.
"Shouldn't you be watching?" she asked bitterly, ignoring the look he gave her. "You know, since I'm neither responsible nor trustworthy enough to handle this kind of stuff, being female and all."
"I never said that," snapped Jethro, scowling at her.
"Is that what you wanted to say?" she asked sharply, drawing the apple away from her mouth and leaping down his throat. She swung her legs off of the bed and looked at him sideways, her eyes hard.
Jethro opened his mouth slightly, his eyes narrowing, but she cut him off, shaking her head.
"You've taken digs at my competence all day, why sugar-coat it now?" she stood up, folding her arms and glaring at him. "Tell me why I'm not good enough."
"You're putting words in my mouth," he growled, giving her an accusing look.
"What else can I do? You don't say a damn thing anyway; you expect me to interpret what you want when you want it and it's still not good enough! What have I done that's so incompetent? Where the hell did I lose your trust?"
She stepped towards him, as he stood up across the room, no doubt unwilling to let her have the higher ground. She was furious suddenly and she couldn't explain it, blaming it on everything from the extreme heat to sleep deprivation. She hated that his disapproval got to her this much, and she knew she didn't deserve it.
"You don't know everything, Jen, you're still a probie," he snapped, still remaining surprisingly calmer than she was. "You're still making mistakes at every turn—"
"What?" she interrupted loudly, her eyes going wide. "I know you're completely flawless, Gibbs," she snapped sardonically, "but 'mistakes at every turn'? What the hell?"
"Manassas," he barked, and she winced visibly, hating herself for it. She pressed her lips together tightly, the corners of her mouth going white before she continued, her voice lowered a little.
"I told you that would never happen again. It was a mistake, but it was a plausible—"
"You panicked, you put your teams' lives at risk, you almost got yourself killed!" his voice elevated at the last, shouting.
Jenny started across the room at him, her expression livid, her eyes stinging.
"Shame I didn't, then, huh?" she said hoarsely, "I'd be out of your way," she laughed sarcastically. Jethro's eyes darkened and he reached out, grabbing her arm and turning his back to the window, stopping her as she tried to walk past him.
"No, Jenny," he said sharply, a muscle in his jaw jumping, "Don't you ever think that," he said, furious with her for even entertaining the thought.
She snorted derisively, her eyes suspiciously bright.
"Give me a reason not to, you arrogant bastard.," she snapped, jerking her wrist out of his grasp. "You've don't think I'm capable you don't trust me—"
"I trust you, Jen, but you're not perfect! You're still learning—"
"Give me a goddamn chance, Jethro! Stop holding me back because you think I won't pull it off perfectly! I know I'm not perfect! You're the one who thinks you're infallible, if you can't do it no one can!" she shifted backwards and her foot collided with his SIG on the floor, kicking it towards him accidentally.
"Watch your step!" he yelled, stopping the firearm with his foot.
"I suppose that's another way I'm irresponsible, isn't it? Just proof of my incompetence?" she wanted to shove at him, kick at him, and tell him what else was frustrating her.
"You don't get it, Jethro; I can't work when I don't know what you want from me! All I get from you is disapproval for my mistakes and indecipherable looks; do you expect me to know what you want? What do you want from me? What?"
His hand flew to his temple, rubbing his head in distress, his eyes flashing in struggle.
"Anticipate," he barked, looking up at her, stepping closer and not noticing that she stepped back, "know what to do without being told. You don't need me to give your orders, you never have! You're better than that. You know your instincts better than anyone I've worked with, why don't you trust them, Jen? Dammit!"
He sounded so angry with her, so frustrated, and she reached out to stop him as he advanced, out of breath from shouting and trying to keep up with him while she was distracted by his proximity and the hard, blazing look in his enticing blue eyes.
"I trust my instincts—you second guess me, you, God, you—"
She faltered and he interrupted her sharply.
"So hold your own! This is a partnership, I have to know you trust yourself—you have to tell me what you want—"
She didn't even know what they were talking about anymore. The words sounded like they had a double meaning. He reached out and tried to stop her from backing away from him but she jerked back, not trusting herself to be near him.
"Jen," he barked sharply, warningly, just as her foot hit the edge of the attic's exit and upset her balance. Her breath left her as she stumbled and forced her eyes shut, her mind prepared for a nasty fall. Before she knew what had happened, Jethro had her around the waist, pulling her stumbling forward against him as he backed away from the hole in the floor.
She gasped for breath, standing as still as possible with her hands gripping his shoulders tightly and adrenaline coursing through her like electricity. She pulled back but his hand shifted from her waist to her back and instead she released his shoulders and moved her hands to his face, jerking his head down to her and turning her head up to press her mouth to his.
He responded instantly, running his tongue along her bottom lip and coaxing her mouth open; her knees buckled and she let her hands fall from his face to his shoulders again, drawing his shirt into her hands and pulling him closer until all of him was pressed against her. She gasped for air, refusing to draw more than an inch away from him. He didn't give her more than a second to breathe; he took her open mouth under his again.
Jenny pulled at his shirt, fumbling with the material until she realized she was trying to get it off the wrong way. She dropped her hands to the hem and jerked it upward, attempting to get it off of him without breaking the kiss. He pulled back, his hands going to her top, and started yanking upwards as she threw his against the wall, her small hands falling against his bare skin and sliding over him eagerly. He groaned as he disposed of her shirt and pulled her back with his hand in her hair.
"Bed," she choked before he smothered her again, his lips demanding and possessive, charged with the same repressed lust and desire that coursed through her. He turned and pushed her backwards, his rough hands on her spine sending chills through her. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, working her thumb against the button as the back of her knees hit the bed and Jethro threw her back onto it. He reached for the top of her shorts and tugged, pulling them off and leaving her in her bra and panties before him, his eyes raking hungrily over her body.
She gripped his wrist tightly and brought him down on top of her, her hands pushing at his jeans clumsily, too distracted and breathless to show any finesse. He was heavy, but the weight of a man had never felt so good. She got his jeans off and threw them to the side, running her hand over the cotton material of his boxers and around to his navel. His muscles contracted and she slid her hand under the material, dipping lower. He pushed her head back gently, his lips falling to her jaw and her neck; his arm slipped under her to the clasp of her bra and he unsnapped it, drawing a smirk from her as she thought fleetingly of their earlier conversation.
Jethro drew the straps down her shoulders, kissing her where they had been, his hand following her skin from her neck to her stomach and back up again, brushing her ribs and the side of her breast. She moaned, heat pooling in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her leg around one of his, his name escaping her lips in a hoarse whisper as he cupped her breast in one hand, his other weaving between them, flirting with the sparse silk covering her.
His hand stroked over her arm, slipping under her; she arched against him, finding them hem of his boxers and tugging. Silk and restrictive cotton were disposed off, thrown carelessly across the room; she didn't have time to think about what they were doing, she just wanted him to do it.
He shifted so she felt him pressed against her and shivered, turning her head to find his dark, cobalt eyes on her. She disentangled her leg and wrapped one around his waist, digging her heel into his back, pulling him closer, wrapping and arm around his neck to lace into his hair, pulling him close for another breath-taking kiss that had them both moaning in anticipation.
"What the hell are you waiting for?" she asked throatily, nipping his ear with her teeth, kissing his jaw, wrapping her other long leg around his waist.
He pushed into her and she gasped, throwing her head back, her hands tightening behind his head, in his hair. He gave her barely a second to adjust before he pulled out agonizingly and thrust back in, burying himself in her.
"God, Jethro!"
He didn't have the control or the restraint to take it slow. She threaded her fingers in his hair, pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him, moaning against his lips every time he thrust. Her nails scratched down his back and her muscles contracted; she gripped his biceps on either side of her and broke the kiss, her breathing uneven and quick.
Her eyes fluttered and she dipped her head to his shoulder, biting him gently. He felt her muscles tighten around him; her hands gripped tighter at his skin, the fever of her hot, slick skin urging his pace on.
"Christ…Jen," he choked out, questioning, his shoulders shaking. She tilted her head to his ear, moaned his name loudly in response, her breath hitching.
He wanted her screaming. This was the fulfillment of a fantasy that had been playing in the back of their minds for months and he wanted this memory burned in her mind so it was all she saw and all she felt when she closed her eyes whether this happened again or not.
He found her hands and held them together in one of his, tightening his fingers around her wrists like a rope, pushing them over her head so her knuckles brushed against the bed frame. She bit her lip and gasped, her legs slipping at his waist. He pressed his mouth to her jaw hard, so her cries sounded in his ear.
He felt her coming undone around him and his arms buckled; he pushed against her hard, cresting with her, his shoulders shuddering with this release. He loosened his grip on her hands and felt his muscles relax as he collapsed, managing to shift to the side so as not to hurt her when he fell.
She drew her breath sharply, wincing as his warmth left her, suddenly cold where she had once been miserably hot. Jenny closed her eyes, swallowing, her breathing erratic. His heart beat against her shoulder; his arm lay draped across her stomach heavily, his skin hot and sweaty on hers.
She drew her lip between her teeth, listening to his harsh breathing, for once completely unconcerned with the consequences of her actions. She was speechless at how fast it had happened, how easily and naturally. The tension of the past few days left her body, giving her a sated and cool feeling as she lay next to him on her back, thinking only that her dreams had never been as good as he just was.
Lightheaded, she sighed slowly, finally catching her breath, the feelings crashing over her one at a time: disbelief, dizziness, ecstasy, lust again. Shifting slightly, so he moved his leg from between hers and lifted his head, looking at her indecipherably, she laughed.
"That was unethical," she commented, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
He lifted his head a little more and rested it on his palm, a slow, lazy smirk breaking over his face. He drew his hand forward, splaying his fingers across her stomach, an arrogant, proud look in his blue eyes.
She was amazed at how comfortable this was, how she melted to him, blithely unconcerned that she'd just recklessly made love to her boss in a dusty attic, potentially jeopardizing a mission.
He was caught up in thoughts of her body wrapped around him, her hands brushing against his skin and her how her tempting, seductive mouth had tasted when he'd finally been able to take it under his. He responded at the thought, trailing his hand lightly over her navel and lower, touching sensitive skin. She shifted towards him, rolling on her side a little, but he leaned over her and pushed her back to her original position.
"How unethical?" he asked mildly, his eyes mischievous.
"Very unethical," she replied solemnly, as his fingers grazed the inside of her thigh and her eyes fluttered.
"That means bad," Jethro stated, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth, his mind fraught with thoughts of all the things he was going to do to her now that he could, now that he had permission, that were so deliciously unethical.
Jenny nodded, pursing her lips, arching her head so his lips met her jaw and he trailed kisses down the column of her neck.
"Bad, Jethro," she said chidingly, her lips turning up in a smirk.
She felt him smile into her shoulder, his hair tickling her neck and chest, his hand still lingering teasingly at her thighs. He shifted and placed his legs on either side of her, so he was on top of her again, walking his hand up from her thigh to her breasts, his eyes drinking her in with interest in the now almost dark room.
"We probably shouldn't do it again," he said wickedly, drawing the back of his hand down her side, shaking his head in mock dejection as he bent to kiss her again, lingering on her bottom lip until she moaned softly.
"Probably not," she whispered, stressing the first word. She let his hands roam her; afraid she'd draw blood if she bit her lip any harder.
He murmured something unintelligible against her neck and scraped his teeth gently against her skin, sending a wave of heat down her spine. She shifted one of her legs out from under him, smirking as she tangled it around his, taking pleasure in the knowledge that he was unaware of what she was about to do. His mouth moved lazily lower and she faltered for a moment, closing her eyes briefly, before she wrapped and arm around his bicep lightly and upset his weight, flipping him over under her and pressing his shoulder back into the mattress.
His eyes went wide with surprise, the look on his face surprisingly cute and endearing. You would think he wasn't used to women taking the lead. She smirked and lifted an eyebrow drawing her nails lightly from his shoulder to his stomach, where his muscles tightened again.
"You don't mind," she asked, faking concern, "do you?"
His shocked look faded quickly to roguish and he reached up to place his hands on her thighs, stroking up leisurely, his fingertips sinking into her skin.
"Can't complain about the view," he quipped, his hands moving up her stomach.
Jenny leaned forward slowly, pressing her mouth against his chest as his hands roamed over her again, his touch teasing and sensual.
She hardly remembered they'd been at each other's throats ten minutes ago. It was a means to an end. It was due to sheer luck this hadn't happened earlier; back in London, on the plane even. She should be concerned about her job, their work ethic, the initial stupidity of letting this happen, but she wasn't. All she was concerned about was his hand fisting into her damp hair and his lips against her ear as he moaned her name.
She kissed down his chest, her stomach stirring, wanting him again, and again after that, if just to sate the intoxicating fantasies she'd been having for months now. He shifted under her, his fingers slipping through her hair. She worked a hand between them and gripped him until his breathing was strangled and short.
"God, Jen, what the hell are you waiting for?" he asked gruffly, throwing her words back in her face as her mouth lingered at his navel, testing how long they could wait. She looked up and smirked wickedly, pressing open-mouthed kisses back up his torso until she reached his neck and straightened up, drawing his hands to her hips.
"I want it," she said, lacing her fingers through his and gripping him tightly, shifting her hips so she was almost on top of him, watching the agony in his face, "slow."
He groaned, pushing her hips down, his adrenaline surging at the thought of drawing this out. It was too much to feel her around him and be still, to wait; she pressed his hands against her waist and let go of him, pressing her hands against his chest. He bucked against her, his fingers tightening into her ribs, ignoring the brief look of discomfort in her emerald eyes.
She moved slowly, too slowly, her nails tightening into his skin, leaving crescent-moon marks below his shoulders. His hips moved against hers again, eliciting a moan from her. He roughly slid his hands down to her thighs, teasing her, watching her draw her lip between her teeth and furrow her brow, her eyes smoky, pupils dilated. She lifted an arm above her head, pushing her hair back, throwing it messily over her fair shoulders before she leaned forward, her pace quickening, and pushed his hands behind his head like he had hers. She kissed him slowly, her tongue claiming every part of his mouth.
Jethro gripped the metal frame tightly, his knuckles turning white, nails digging into his own palms.
"Jethro," she mumbled against him, her voice breaking, "Boss," she added, her breath hitching at his reaction, laughing softly.
"Jenny," he moaned hoarsely, throwing his head back, arching into her this time, desperate to feel her clench around him again. She curled her hands into the mattress behind his shoulders, dropping her head to the place between his shoulder and neck with a low keen, her tongue brushing against his skin.
She wormed a hand underneath him, flattening it against his back, pushing against him. She gasped as he thrust, moving her other hand to lie against his, wrapping her fingers around his on the metal frame. Unable to control it any longer, he let go of the frame, holding her hand in his to flip her over and take her hard, unwinding her easily, like it was the first time again.
His shoulders slumped, his head falling to her shoulder, mumbling her name thickly against skin that was once again warm and wet. She arched against him again as he rolled off of her, falling onto his back and jerking her roughly with him.
Jenny curled against his hot skin, shifting onto her side, her mouth open against his neck as she rested next to him. His breathing slowed easier this time, his fingers stroked up and down her spine lazily, his eyes closed. Sleep pulled at her eyes, exhaustion and post-coital bliss chasing away any remaining remnants of bitterness or irritation.
His hand came to a rest low on her back, flattening against her hip, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. Jenny gently blew her hair out of her face, no longer annoyed with it—no longer annoyed with anything—and let herself fall asleep.
Jenny stretched cautiously, rolling her neck. She lifted the camera in her hands silently, aiming it through the metal rods lining the bed frame and out the window, focusing in best she could in the dark on the three men standing on the deck of the trawler. Taking the pictures quietly, she lowered the camera to the mattress and glanced at her partner.
Jethro was asleep again, stretched out next to her in a mess of sleeping bags with his head against her side, breathing in and out evenly. He was tired; more so than she since he'd slept less beforehand, and his sleep was peaceful and quiet.
The temperature had dropped drastically after dark this time, leaving it cooler than it had been. He'd snatched up the sleeping bags and pillows and thrown them over her, not to mention kept her warm in other, more interesting ways. She smiled to herself, rolled, and pulled herself up all the way, feeling his hand slide off of her back and watching as he grasped a handful of blanket to replace her skin.
Jenny shifted backwards to the other end of the bed, leaning against the frame and drawing her knees up to her chest, her hand finding the t-shirt she'd throw off of him on the floor and pulling it over her head. She watched his sleeping form quietly, her skin tingling at the memories that hit her as she looked at him.
There was a musky humidity in the air, a smell of hot skin, damp hair, and sex that made her lazy, calm, and careless. She didn't regret a thing. It was risky; it was tense, it was inappropriate, no doubt stupid and incredibly sultry, this affair. Whatever it was.
Instead of feeling awkward, unable to work with him, she felt like it been a thousand times easier now that this had happened, that the tension was broken and out of the way and they could let it run wild up here where no one was watching and the heat was going to their heads and consuming them while they drank each other in, making up for lost time.
At one point, she wouldn't even have cared if he'd still been married, or if Decker and Kasey had waltzed right in, as long as he kept touching her like he was. Giddily, she remembered fleetingly thinking about calling Fornell and telling him he'd won his stupid bet, or just relishing the told-you-so look on Pacci's face.
She was behaving like a hormonal, uncontrollable teenager up in this private, stuffy attic and she just didn't care.
Jethro shifted in his sleep, and she watched as he looked up, spotted the camera, and raised his head, looking for her. She cleared her throat and he looked back, rolling onto his back and watching her wordlessly, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Just the enticing colors of his eyes made her want him again, and she smiled slightly.
"Sleep well?" she asked, only a little arrogantly.
Jethro snorted and smirked, raising an eyebrow at her tone. He glanced over her appreciatively, his eyes lingering on the lettering on his shirt, scrawled across her chest.
"Neglected our work," he commented, gesturing at the camera non-chalantly, not even forming a full sentence.
"Not me," Jenny answered primly, giving him a look, "I took care of it while you were sleeping. Managed it all by myself," she added with another quirked eyebrow, referencing back with subtlety to the argument that had gotten them into this.
He looked askance again to the camera and binoculars, tilting his head even more to read the notes she'd jotted down on a paper at the very edge of the bed, her neat, pretty handwriting standing out barely in the dark.
"You're good," her murmured silkily, double meaning laced through his words.
He rolled over, the covers shifting with him, and pushed up on his elbows, lifting the camera. She could tell without seeing that he was smirking, always proud of himself. She stretched out her legs and crawled forward, sitting lightly on his back, straddling him.
"You're not so bad yourself," she murmured in his ear, rubbing her hands against the back of his shoulders soothingly, massaging his muscles. He made a noise in the back of his throat, letting her run her hands over him as he caught up on their work.
"Jethro," she drawled after a quiet moment, kissing his shoulders, enjoying the way his muscles jumped beneath her lips.
"Jen," he responded smoothly.
She paused in kissing him, breathing in his heady scent of sawdust, strongly reminded of his basement and coffee mugs and mason jars full of bourbon. She licked her lips, pressing her mouth against his skin again.
"What are we going to do for the next twenty-four hours?" she asked quietly, teasingly.
He shifted and she moved off of him, letting him roll over her, tightening his arms around her and pressing his mouth against hers, kissing her again until she couldn't breathe and he had to break away, his forehead pressed against hers. He smirked.
"Christen the floor," he said smugly, capturing her mouth again mid-laugh.
You have no idea how stressed I was writing this. I kept watching the flashback to psych myself up.
xoxo
Alexa
