A/N - thanks for the reviews and a big thank you to Ellie who pulled me through when I was struggling with this part.
Part 10
When McGee pulled up outside Jenny's apartment block he wasn't surprised to see that Gibbs was already parked and out of his car – he hadn't even attempted to keep pace with him on the drive over.
The problem of how they were going to persuade Jenny to let them in was easily overcome – for Gibbs at least. As he lingered on the sidewalk one of her neighbours was leaving and he caught the door and slipped into the building as easily as if he had planned it.
McGee let him go.
The elevator ride wasn't long enough to help Gibbs decide what to say to her. He wasn't convinced that he would do a better job than McGee at getting her to talk, but he owed her the opportunity. He knew that was the least of what he owed her, but he was even worse at apologies than he was at talking about feelings. This was definitely the lesser of two evils.
As he'd driven here he had tried to work out what he wanted from her. He couldn't pretend not to know that she was the Assistant Director of the FBI; now that he had seen it, he wondered how he'd managed to avoid the knowledge for so long. He had known from the beginning of their acquaintance that she was used to giving orders, exercising authority, to making life and death decisions both for herself and for others. If he was honest, the sense that she was his equal had been part of what drew him to her. Her title was a little loftier than he had imagined – but she was the same woman.
What he'd learned of the days events only confirmed that he'd been right about her, that he should have trusted his original instincts and not allowed himself to get caught up in the internal politics of other agencies.
But having sorted out what he wanted from her, there was still the question of whether she would even open her door to him.
He wasn't the last person she was expecting to see – that would have been Fornell; but Gibbs wasn't far behind him on the list.
She hadn't been able to sleep, had been gazing into the fire – her thoughts deep in the past when the soft knocking at the door disturbed her. But she wasn't sure she was dressed for visitors, for this visitor in particular.
"Did I wake you?" He asked – his throat a little dry at the sight of her in a thin vest and dark pants, with a soft blanket draped over her shoulders – an ensemble that looked more than a little like pyjamas.
She couldn't fail to notice the way he looked at her as she stood in the doorway, the way his eyes lingered over her bare skin. Knowing that his appreciation had made her blush she pulled the blanket a little more tightly around her.
She shook her head, but didn't move from the doorway – presumably trying to decide whether to let him in or not. "I take it McGee called for reinforcements?" She said at last, her tone slightly amused and certainly without rancour – though he suspected that was more down to McGee than to him. "What did he say?"
"That you didn't want to talk." He hadn't asked if he could come in and she hadn't invited him inside. "I'm not going to break down your door Jenny – if you don't want to talk to me I'll go away and leave you alone."
"I don't want you to go away and leave me alone." As she spoke the blanket slipped from her shoulder and his gaze fell on the bandage at the top of her arm. "It's a scratch," she said, moving aside to let him in. "I've had worse."
The flames from the fireplace cast a soft glow across the living room, making it look warm and inviting. There was an open book and a glass of wine by the sofa and he guessed she'd been curled up there when he'd interrupted her. It was a scene of peace and tranquillity – giving the impression of a relaxed evening at home. But he didn't think the impression was entirely accurate.
Jenny sipped her wine, watching him as he surreptitiously watched her. She wondered what he was doing here. His presence was unsettling on any number of levels and she badly wanted to be the reason for his visit; but she wasn't sure that she was.
Tim had been kind, gentle and rather wonderful – but she couldn't open up to him about what had happened today. She didn't know that she wanted to talk to Gibbs about it either; it wasn't a part of her life she wanted to think about. But the memories were there whether she chose to share them or not.
She didn't need absolution from him, was sure he wouldn't offer it even if she asked. But his judgement was something she thought she could learn to trust.
"When you first joined NCIS was there someone who trained you?" She said quietly.
"Yeah," he was surprised by her question, but conjured up an image of the tall, rangy man who still referred to him as 'probie'.
"Me too," she said softly, her gaze drifting to the flames. "I killed him today."
Gibbs absolutely hadn't been expecting that and he cursed Fornell for keeping that particular piece of information to himself. "His name was Matt Dean," she said, "we worked together for three years. I was fresh out of the academy and so green I'm not sure how I survived. He taught me – a lot."
"But?" She almost smiled and on another day she might have teased him about his interrogation skills.
"I made a mistake, I confused gratitude and respect for something more. It didn't last long, a month at the most. It's not something I'm proud of."
"You ended it?"
"As soon as I came to my senses. I don't know what I was thinking – I knew his wife and kids, even had Thanksgiving dinner with them one year. But Matt didn't want to stop and things became, difficult. So I applied for a transfer and moved on. I hadn't seen or heard from him in years – but I was looking into some open cases and his name just kept coming up." She took a sip of her wine and then set the glass aside, "he liked to cut corners – but I never saw him take a bribe. I think, after his divorce, money became an issue."
His silence made the confession easier and when she risked a glance towards him he was watching her intently. "He found out I was looking into the cases and used his group to spread rumors about me. According to their version of events he'd rejected me all those years ago, and I had must have borne a grudge ever since. God, he wasn't that good. People, my colleagues, believed him – because they knew that I'd pursued the man I held responsible for my father's death. Obsession, bad decisions – a mess of my own making."
"There's enough blame around," he told her, thinking about Fornell and Sacks, "you don't need to add to it."
"When we got to the diner he was ready for us, wasn't going to go quietly. He knew I'd shoot him if I had to, that I wouldn't let him harm anyone else; a clear case of suicide by Federal agent."
"You did what you had to."
"Does it ever get any easier Jethro, doing what has to be done?" He couldn't lie to her, not about this.
"No." She nodded, apparently not surprised and the words slipped from him before he could think too much about what they meant. "Next time – when you need backup and can't get it, call me. I'll be your back up."
She opened her mouth to speak – but couldn't find an adequate response; there was nothing she could say that didn't seem trite in comparison. His finger against her lips stopped her from even trying and she stilled, the contact making her shiver. His eyes were dark, compelling and as she moved towards him the blanket slipped from her shoulders.
He moved instinctively to push it back up over her shoulder blades; but his fingers had a mind of their own and he found himself grazing the skin beneath her vest straps instead. For a moment she was absolutely sure he was going to kiss her, but then he moved his hand, adjusted the blanket and tucked it carefully around her.
"Jen?"
His tone alerted her to the fact that she hadn't been entirely successful in masking her disappointment. She looked up to find him watching her – confusion clouding his expression. The rasp of his fingertips against her skin had sent her heartbeat racing and all she could think about was that she wanted the same touch everywhere. She shrugged in response to the question he hadn't quite asked, the blanket slipped again and this time he didn't move to retrieve it.
They watched each other in the firelight, neither of them willing to break the spell. At last she pulled back enough to lift the vest up over her shoulders, letting it fall behind her onto the couch. She hadn't been wearing anything underneath it and a small smile tugged at her lips when his eyes went immediately to her breasts, then back up to her lips. He smirked and then with the same fluid deliberation shrugged off his jacket and unfastened the buttons of his shirt. Her hands brushed over the warm skin of his chest as she helped him push it off, but by then one of his hands was curved around her breast.
She slid off the couch, catching hold of his hands and drawing him with her onto the floor in front of the fire. He needed little persuasion, crawling over her, trailing tiny kisses and warm hands over the bare skin at her neck and shoulders as she fumbled with his belt. When she couldn't quite unfasten it he lifted his head; his eyes warm with amusement at her frustration.
Holding his eyes with her own he pushed her hand away and completed the task, popping the button on his pants for good measure. She licked her lips, which were suddenly dry from anticipation. The low groan the action tore from him was more than she could stand and she moved fluidly, pressing her body into his, reaching up to pull his mouth down to hers. The moment his mouth met hers was tantalising and powerful. She let her eyes flutter shut, tasting the edge of his passion and knowing only that she wanted to drink deeply from it.
The rest of their clothes were shed with the same languor. They shared long kisses while hands trailed over smooth planes, circling towards sensitive spots – then sliding away; the mutual teasing serving only to rouse them both further.
The firelight flickered over her pale skin as he pulled her to him, "Jenny," he murmured, his hand curling into her hair.
"I'm right here," she whispered back, shifting onto his lap, digging fingers into his shoulders as she rose up and then slipped down onto him with agonising slowness.
They rocked together, eyes locked, chests pressed together – emotion bubbling between them. She was wrapped around him, he was buried deep inside her and they were barely moving. He kissed her again, letting his tongue slide against hers with the same rhythm as their bodies.
Tiny noises escaped her, gasps, whimpers – every movement edging her closer to release. He rocked against her, his hand circling around her hip, fingers digging in as he held them both there.
She couldn't look away, moving above him, pressing her lips to his mouth, then his cheek, tugging at his earlobe as his shallow thrusts met her own movements.
Holding back like this was killing him – but it was worth it. Her head was thrown back, hair tumbling down her shoulders and the skin of her throat was just too much of a temptation. He suckled the sensitive skin, bit down gently, then soothed the spot with his tongue. He knew he was marking her, needed to somehow.
She moved a little faster, hips shifting against his as her nails dug into his shoulders. Pain flared in his knees as he pushed into her but he scarcely noticed as she cried out and he held her tightly to him as she shuddered.
Before she had even recovered he pushed her back onto the carpet, raising her hips and diving into her again. She wrapped her long legs around him, meeting his sharp, hard thrusts and the roaring in his ears might even have been his shout as the climax crashed through him like a tidal wave.
He didn't have the energy to do anything other than roll to the side, pulling Jenny with him and pushing damp tendrils of hair back from her face as he kissed her. She smiled up at him, stroking gentle hands over his back, soothing him; before settling her head on his chest. He fumbled around and found the blanket amidst the tangle of their clothes and draped it over their cooling bodies – sliding a leg between hers, keeping her as close as he could. He had a feeling neither of them had expected things to get so intense – but as he let sleep steal over him it was the sound of her breathing that lulled him, the feel of her hair curled around his hand that let him know everything was OK.
When he woke about an hour later the fire had dipped lower and Jenny was curled more tightly around him. Even he had to concede that spending the night on the floor was not a good idea, especially since she presumably had a perfectly adequate bed. He extricated himself carefully from her grasp and then scooped her up into his arms, blanket and all. His back protested a little – but he ignored the pain when she nuzzled into him.
Surprisingly it didn't feel at all odd to be padding naked across her living room, flicking off lights as he went. She stirred against him; eyes opening wide when she realised he was carrying her. "Bedroom?" He asked quietly.
"Second door on the right."
The bed was large and looked comfortable – he laid her down on it, pulling the comforter aside and crawling in with her. "You're staying," she said as he curved his body around hers. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, wanting to dispel the slight surprise in her voice.
"I'll be here when you wake up."
McGee glanced up from his notebook as the lights were turned off in Jenny's apartment. Gibbs had been up there for over 2 hours and now it looked as though he would be staying the night; which meant it was probably OK for him to go home. He smiled slightly; everything was as it should be. Jenny would be OK and in the morning, with any luck, he'd be getting a cup of coffee from Gibbs.
The End - well, apart from the epilogue.