A/N: Thansk for the reviews! So here's the next chapter, I hope you'll like it. I have planned two more chapters + an epilogue. Please review!
Chapter 8
She drifted in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of her surroundings the few moments she was awake, either passing out from pain or the medications she was constantly given to ease the blinding pain roaring through her body.
She was always grateful when darkness swept over her again; numbing the pain sometimes so fierce she couldn't breathe, sending ripples of crimson across her vision before darkness swallowed her with its soothing coolness.
But one time when she stirred, she did not wish to return to the black stillness. When her eyes opened that time, her vision, edged by red, found her husband sitting by her side, head in hands and she hadn't been able to determine whether or not he was crying, before sleep took over once again.
The next time she woke, she managed to hold on, drawing a careful breath only to have the area around her stomach blaze as though a knife was ruthlessly thrust in. She gasped, causing the person standing by the window to sharply turn around. The next second, she felt a hand in hers and she was looking up into her husband's face, while a doctor came running to her side but she took little notice in him as he made sure she was doing fine. Her eyes held those of her husband. The doctor withdrew, assuring her she was fine, and allowing her some alone time with her husband.
Her mind was clearing up, and she could finally focus on something other than the pain as the medications rushed through her system. She avoided looking at him, carefully taking a light breath, the pain felt lessened as she did so and for that she was grateful.
"Water?" her husband asked carefully. She attempted to nod, but found her neck too stiff and had to force a weak "Yes," out through her dry lips. She leaned back against the pillows as she heard him tap up water into a glass. With her eyes half-closed, she could make out his shape as he stood by the counter. She blinked once, twice. There was something about him that seemed out of order. And not just the fact that he was still dressed in the same clothes he had worn the day she'd been shot, or the trash can filled with empty coffee cups that had kept him awake throughout the nights, creating black rings under his eyes from lack of sleep. His movements were stiff and jerky and he seemed tense. She flinched involuntarily as the sharp crash indicated he'd dropped the glass.
He drew heavy breaths, hands placed on the counter and his head was titled downwards. If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought he was crying. But as the sound of quiet sobbing broke the silence of the room, it cut through her like a pain far worse than the one caused by the bullet. She felt like she wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say, or if she even could muster up the strength to speak at all. Her throat felt dried up and lips swollen.
"Jethro," she croaked, though the effort was unnecessary as he had managed to pour her a glass of water on his second attempt. His eyes never met hers as he help her sit up, his hands on her shy but demanding as he helped her tip the glass slowly to let her drink. She heard the low clink of it being put back onto the table as her eyelids closed. Her husband didn't make much sounds, she heard his footsteps as he paced alongside her bed, seeing in her head what he would look like, how he would rub his forehead and run a hand through his hair. She opened her eyes to a vision she was not familiar with. Though his hair indeed looked like a hand had rushed through it several times, the tear-streamed face seemed very strange to her, and did not remind her of her husband at all.
He drew his fingers through his hair again, slumped down in the chair beside her bed and looked so miserable she had to fight the urge to pull him into a hug, knowing she would probably scream out loud if she tried to move.
He jerked a little when noticing she was watching him from under heavy eyelids, he looked away, but was unable to keep his gaze from striding back to her the next moment. She saw his jaw muscles ripple, as though he was fighting the urge to say something, anything at all. He blinked, and she was struck with the sense he was blinking away more tears.
Why couldn't he say something? Even though her mind was a little fuzzy after all the medications and the shooting, she still remembered what had happened between them. She wasn't sure if the divorce was still on, but for as long as he refused to talk to her, she didn't know how to interpret his silence.
"I've never been so scared in my life," her gaze shot up as his quiet voice broke the pressing silence in the room. He sat with his hands in his lap, eyes fixed upon them and his lower lip trembling. "Jen…" he spoke her name, but said nothing more, pulled his lips tightly together as though trying to savor the taste of her name on his lips. Perhaps thinking he would not be given the chance to speak it again.
"I failed you," he stated after what felt like hours. This, however, made her react. Her arm refused to cooperate, and she could merely flip her hand because her arm was so stiff, but he caught the movement and instinctively reached out to take her hand in his. She tensed a little, but figured he must have thought the tension was just because she was stiff and therefore did not pull away, which she was thankful for.
"How?" was all she could say in return to his question.
He shrugged.
"You don't get it?" he spoke softly, his thumb subconsciously stroking the back of her hand.
She flared up a little as he said that.
"I was shot, Jethro. With a bullet in my stomach. Then I have been shot full of medications. I am sorry if my mind is a little lazy," she snapped but did not regret her outburst as she saw the look on his face. He was struggling with a great deal of pain, but so was she, and she just wanted to hear something coming straight from his heart, no stalling, no stupid questions. He felt her feebly trying to tug her hand away from his, but he refused to let her go, his gaze fixed upon their entwined fingers.
"I didn't know, Jen," he finally looked her in the eyes, the sadness and pain in his voice mirrored in his eyes. "I didn't know what had happened, no one had informed me. Hell, the entire agency knew, except me, you husband. I'm a failure as a husband, but what else is new?" his uncertain eyes once again drifted from hers, back down to their hands.
"You're not a failure," she replied automatically, causing him to half-heartedly chuckle, and raising his gaze up to her again. Though she wasn't sure if she meant what she said or not, perhaps not wanting to think about the fact he had failed her, while the truth was that that might have been exactly what he had done.
"For better and for worse, right?" he quoted from the wedding vows they had taken almost two years ago. "I was there for the good times, but where was I during the bad times?" she wasn't sure if he was asking her or asking himself.
"You were in your basement, hiding away from me," she answered anyway and noted the slight twitch of his jaw. "Ever since we lost our baby," she continued twisting the knife and didn't know how long it would take until his fragile control would snap. He swallowed hard. Kept his composure but she felt his grip around her hand tighten as his whole body seemed to tense up.
"You didn't speak to me when we came home from the hospital that day, you tucked me into bed like the doctor had instructed, then I saw nothing more of you. You moved your life into the basement, hiding in the shadows behind your boat. Hiding from me. You wouldn't even look at me, but the few moments I managed to catch your eye, all I saw was blame. You blamed me for losing our baby,"
"Stop it, Jenny! Stop!" he finally broke, rose abruptly from the chair and released her hand as if it had burned him. She clenched her teeth, knowing she had crumbled what was left of his fragile façade, not knowing if she should fear what would come next or not. Her voice had never risen during her rant, nor had it held any kind of threatening tone. All she had done was giving him the truth he had failed to see. Now she watched him as he turned his back to her, looking out the window, and though she registered his slumped posture, she could not help recalling the last time she had been in a hospital bed, and he had turned away from her. Only this time, she knew she could not turn too. That would mean she'd lose him for good, and that was something she wouldn't be able to handle.
"Then talk to me," she demanded and though the area around her wound was tingling with a pain that she knew would turn to a forceful throbbing if she dared moving, she was not going to step down from this fight. She knew it was about either losing him or losing herself.
"It wasn't you I blamed, I blamed myself," his voice was low, but it still carried loud and clear through the room. He grazed his fingertips against the cool glass. The first few raindrops crashed down against the window pane. He glanced at her over his shoulder. She was half-lying, propped up on the pillows and obviously waiting for him to continue. He knew he owed her and as he had already started, he knew he had to keep explaining if he would have even the slightest chance at mending the broken bond between them.
He left his position by the window and approached her once again, sinking down into the chair but did not reach for her hand again. Instead he wound his own fingers together and placed them in his lap, his gaze wandering between his hands and her face.
"It was my duty to protect you; my responsibility to make sure my pregnant wife would be alright," his voice broke.
She reached out her hand and placed it gently on his knee, ignoring the fact that her body was protesting the act.
"It wasn't your fault that I fell in the stairs, Jethro. And besides, if you would have walked around holding my hand twenty-four hours a day, I would have killed you myself," she made a small smile as she attempted the joke. Her husband, on the other hand, looked anything but amused.
"Jen…" he began, and her smile was quickly wiped from her face as he raised his head and she found the blue eyes holding a heartbreaking agony and she knew that whatever was tormenting him was going to slip off his lips any second.
"I had dropped a couple of nails in the stairs that morning. I had meant to pick them up, but you yelled for me, and I forgot about them. You slipped on them later that afternoon…" he couldn't bring himself to carry on, doubting his voice would hold any longer. He looked down into his lap as her hand placed over his. He noticed her strained expression and clasped her hand in both of his, bringing them closer to the bed so she wouldn't have to stretch so much. She looked thankful for that.
"Why didn't you tell me? This must have been tearing you apart keeping all this bottled up," she said softly.
He shrugged.
"I was beating myself up about it, Jen. I didn't see the time flowing, I…" he rushed a hand down his face, "I didn't want to see your pain, knowing I had caused you it. I didn't want to talk about it, but I knew we had to and that honestly scared me, Jenny. I tried so hard to bury it deep inside myself," when he finished talking, his eyes were glittering with unshed tears.
"When you say you 'beat yourself up about it', I hope you don't mean that literary," she said quietly. He avoided her glance and she got the interpretation he'd given himself a head-slap or two. "Jethro…"
"I didn't need you to put the blame on me too," he avoided her question, knowing she'd already guessed the answer.
"I wouldn't have,"
He looked up at her, seeing the sincerity in her eyes and wondered what kind of person he had taken her for.
"It was an accident," she tried to assure him, though this new piece of information put everything in a whole different light, she could not put the blame on him, he'd already punished himself enough.
He reached out to wipe away the tears that had started to run down her cheeks. She put up her hand and held his against her cheek.
Silence stretched between them, neither knowing where to go from now on. When the silence reached the extent it was almost unbearable, they both realized they had to say something.
"I thought…"
"Jethro, I…"
They spoke at the same time.
Their eyes met, he felt the corner of his lips curl up in a small smile, for the first time in a very long time.
"You first," she offered.
"I thought I was losing you, when Cynthia told me you'd been shot. I had had a feeling in my gut all morning, but I was too irritated… after what had happened in the kitchen this morning, and I didn't bother about it," he was staring out the window, gently caressing her hand still. "That's when I realized, I don't know what I'd do if I lost you," again, he met her gaze. "I feared it would be like Shannon and Kelly all over again, and I can't go through that again Jen,"
"So, you've been blaming yourself for the loss of our baby, and been haunted with your memories of Shannon and Kelly, all this time?" she asked softly. He nodded.
"Feels like I can't love anyone without putting them in harms way, or hurting them," a tear trickled down his cheek, dripped from his face and landed on her hand. It broke her heart that he would even think such a thing, but the deep sadness in his pale blue eyes indicated that he actually believed it.
"I'm still here," she assured him. He tilted his head up.
"But our baby isn't," he said in a low voice. Tears were forming in her eyes and he was momentarily confused before realizing it was the mentioning of their unborn child that was getting her upset. She tried shaking her head, but pain rippled up her neck and she stifled a cry of pain.
"Jenny, relax. Calm down," he hushed her and instinctively reached out his hand to caress her head. She tired to do as he said, but found it too hard to fight the battle against the tears and they flowed freely down her cheeks.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly, eyes sparkling with concern.
"I haven't really dealt with it," she sobbed, "I was struggling to find a way to get you back, and I didn't want to grieve alone, if I though about it, I would have broken apart, and I didn't want to do that without you supporting me," her voice broke as she began to cry loudly.
She felt strong arms encircle her and she buried her head in her husband's chest and wept against him, all the emotions regarding her child's untimely death that had been built up over a period of six months were struggling to be released.
Gibbs held her head close to him, one hand entangled in her hair, the other holding her neck in a firm grip. His head was lowered to her ear and he whispered reassuring words to her. He hushed her and whispered her name, over and over again until her crying subsided and she started to hiccup. He sat with her in his arms until she had no tears left to cry, never intending on relinquishing his hold on her, but as he felt gravity pull her back down onto the pillows, he gently loosened his grip and let her fall back. She looked up at him from under heavy eyelids.
"Sleep, Jenny," he ordered, knowing she was already weakened and her breakdown hadn't helped.
"You'll still be here when I wake up?" she inquired.
"You know I will,"
"Do I?" she questioned, and he knew she had every right to. But he knew, it would be different from now on.
"I won't leave your side, ever again. Unless you want me to,"
She smiled a small smile, a smile that warmed him up on the inside.
"Don't you dare leave,"
He leant down to kiss her forehead.
"Sleep, Jen," he sat with her hand clasped in both of his long after she had fallen asleep, just watching her and thinking how damn close he'd been to losing her. That was when he realized his cheeks were wet from tears and he swallowed hard as his eyes never left his wife.
