IMPORTANT: Generally, I do not like to do author's notes in epilogues or prologues, but considering the vast amount of flak I've gotten for this story, I feel it's warranted: several people have admonished/chastised me for "claiming this story is canon" - here's the thing: I never said this story was canon. I said, and I quote (and it is clearly written in the first chapter) that this is a story "INTERWOVEN INTO CANON" and "MAKING USE OF CANON EPISODES" which means: This is a FICTIONAL story that I decided to place alongside what was ACTUALLY HAPPENING in the show - telling me that I can't call episodes that aired canon is preposterous. I used specific episodes, and specific scenes from those episodes: to call those "AU" would have been plagiarism, and an insult to the writers who crafted them. My story, anything made-up about the Fornells and Emily, is operating on the vastly conflicting information given to us (for example, the change of Emily's hair from blonde to red - the fact that her age was not established until Season 10, the fact that Gibbs dates of marriage have NEVER been established, etc.) - those things, since NCIS never confirms them to the average viewer, are flexible - now, there are some people who've told me they have special contact with the writers and have all this "confirmed" information - -that's fantastic, but as I'm not super special and I'm not privileged enough to be told things like this, expecting me to adhere to secret canon only some people have is frankly, absolute bullshit. I have used the same formula in writing this story that I used in writing Mishpokhe, and not a SINGLE person threw a fit about that story - so to reiterate: I have NEVER claimed what I've written here is "canon" - I said I was molding my story into canon. If you misunderstood that, I apologize, but it is about damn time that some of us (including me) get off our high horses about canon as it regards fanfiction: if we all liked canon exactly how it was, we wouldn't write.
December 13, 2013
It was a lot of hard work, mediating family struggles in the midst of a murder case, and though he had experience with both, the actual experience in this case was stressful and remarkable in an unprecedented nature, because he knew the family so well -
He looked down at the expensive bottle of bourbon he'd been given just moments ago, eyeing the sleek red ribbon tied around the neck, and cracking a small smile.
- to think, Diane and Tobias, asking for his blessing.
He was stretched thin when it came to them – these past few days had been mass chaos, soap-opera-ish – when one got into Diane's romantic pursuits – and even terrifying at moments, but it was over now; Emily was the victor of the day, safe with her parents, and he was home alone, with a bottle of good bourbon.
He untied the ribbon; resting his hand over the top for a moment. His front door opened, and he looked up, silently praying that it wasn't the two of them again – but he was pleasantly surprised.
"Hey, Em," he greeted.
The thirteen-year-old stood in his doorway for a moment, and then smiled, and shut the door behind her.
"You know, they even argued over that," she said, tilting her head at the bottle of whiskey. "I was in the store with them. They couldn't remember which brand."
"Who got it right?" Gibbs asked gruffly, as she came out of the shadows.
She had a book bag over her shoulder, and a thick purple headband in her hair. It reminded him of one Kelly used to have.
"Mom," she said, shrugging.
The bag slipped off her shoulder a little, and she reached to adjust it.
"Shouldn't you be with them?" Gibbs asked, narrowing his eyes.
She grinned.
"I think they could use a dinner alone, to sort themselves," she said, and she couldn't keep the smile off of her face. "I thought," she paused, but she seemed confident. She rummaged in her bag, and pulled out a DVD. "I thought we could watch African Queen again."
He pushed the bottle away, and sat forward a little, relenting. He inclined his head to show her he was game, but held up his hand.
"Your parents know where you are?" he asked sternly.
She nodded. He beckoned her over. She dropped her bag and went to the TV to set up the DVD – just like she had two nights ago, when she'd come running from the mess her parents had made.
He got up and went towards the kitchen.
"Want somethin' to drink?" he asked. "Think I got some soda."
"I could use some whiskey after they day I've had…"
"Cute, Emily," he growled, deadpan.
She giggled. Soda was fine, and he got her one, tossing it to her. She took a seat at the kitchen table while the previews for the movie played, and he sat down across from her with a beer in hand, eyes on hers.
"Got any popcorn?" she asked.
"Got fish food," he countered.
She sighed.
"I can order Chinese," she murmured, and sat forward, curling her hands around her coke.
He watched her a moment – she had such a pretty face, and she was still at that age where she didn't feel the need to obscure it with pounds of make-up. She didn't have freckles, and her nose was a distinct replica of her mother's, but her eyes – were still so blue, and he liked to remember that.
He tilted his head.
"You okay with this?" he asked. "Your parents, back together?"
"It's every kid's dream, right?" she answered. "Like the Parent Trap come true." She pointed. "I'm even a redhead."
Gibbs tilted his beer towards her.
"Didn't used to be," he remembered.
She nodded, chewing on her lip – her hair was so long now, down to her chest; long, thick, and healthy – and she rarely ever cut it. She said it was because short hair made her nervous – but she'd been cancer free since she was eight years old, with fresh, strong bone marrow keeping her going.
It had come back auburn-red, when it had come back, and sometimes when he looked at her, with those blue eyes and that reddish hair, he wondered if Kelly would have looked something like this at thirteen.
He smiled a little. Emily sighed. She wrinkled her nose.
"I think they owe me," she said primly. "When I was sick, I thought they'd get back together, just to make me feel better."
Gibbs didn't mention that the reason Diane and Fornell's probable reconciliation had evaporated after Emily's cancer had gone away was because of the communication problems and frustrations they'd been unable to shake over Emily's paternity – but over the years, that had died out.
Gibbs hadn't pried, he hadn't hovered; he hadn't inserted himself into Emily's life anymore than he had been before, except he'd occasionally babysat more. They had continued with their decision not to tell her – and it had been best, particularly considering Diane's romantic decisions since the cancer had been eradicated – Emily had needed the stability of having one father, the one she'd always known.
Emily took a sip of her soda, and then got up, rummaging through her backpack again, and bringing something back over to the table. She sat a doll in the table in front of her, holding it upright.
"I found her, in my room at Dad's," she said.
He was looking at Strawberry Shortcake, even older and more worn than she had been six years ago.
"Do you remember?" Emily asked.
"'Course," he answered, and pointed at his back. "Still got the scars."
Emily beamed. She put the doll in her lap, and held it close.
"You still have Raspberry Rum Tart?"
He nodded slowly. That doll sat on a shelf next to his tools – never moved, always watched over him. Emily beamed at his answer, and leaned forward, one elbow on the table.
She gave him an intent look.
"How long were you married to Mom?" she asked.
He looked back, taken by surprise.
"Two years," he grunted.
"So shorter than my parents were together," Emily murmured.
He was about to ask why, when she laughed.
"I was just thinking – what if she'd decided to get back together with you?"
Gibbs gave her a wary look – what an unfortunate thing to think about, and what a strangely ironic thing for Emily to mention. Diane's – recent entanglements with Fornell, her divorce from Victor Sterling, and that other boyfriend, had provided ironic – Gibbs knew her remark about 'innocent overlap' had pissed off Tobias, if only because the last 'innocent overlap' resulted in Emily.
Emily laughed, and shook her head. She bit her lip, and tilted her head, long hair distracting him a moment – he liked her hair. It reminded him she was healthy; she was safe.
"Gibbs," she said thoughtfully.
"Em," he retorted seriously.
She blinked. She smirked.
"I always thought it was magic, that you and I had matching bone marrow," she said quietly. She licked her lips. "I believed in magic, a long time." She cocked her head. "We've been learning about hereditary genetics in biology," she said.
Gibbs cocked his eyebrow. The menu screen on the DVD began playing music.
"Eye colour, blood types," Emily said. "I know way too much about my own blood, because I had leukemia," she said. She swallowed, and tilted her head. "Dad's blood type is O. Mine's AB, so it's strange," she trailed off.
Gibbs peeled the label on his beer; he didn't look away, because he didn't want to admit anything – but this was dangerous territory; he didn't have permission to go here, and he didn't intend to.
Emily simply laughed quietly, and shrugged.
"It doesn't matter," she said. "I kinda figure … well, Dad gave me so much blood, I have to have O now," she laughed. And then she hesitated. "And family … is blood and bone…marrow."
Gibbs smiled at her a little.
Emily put Strawberry Shortcake on the table, and squeezed her.
"Did your daughter have blue eyes, Uncle Gibbs?" she asked.
He hesitated, meeting Emily's – Emily's, Kelly's, the eyes were one and the same, and he stumbled for a moment, over what to say – my daughter had blue eyes, my daughter has blue eyes.
He nodded, his eyes on Emily's long hair, her healthy, earnest face – and he swallowed hard, glad that her eyes would stay blue.
December 13, 2013
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