A/N: Sorry about the wait; I couldn't seem to find the time to be able to put it together this past week or so. It's hardly the best, and it's definitely not what I wanted it to be, but it'll do. Beware the fluff parts; you may gag. Also, the repetition is purposeful - see if you can spot it. =]

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Also, my error has been fixed, to those who spotted it. I thank you for finding that, again.

Silence, he determined, was far worse than any screaming match. It lingered in the air like a fog, choked you up as you open your mouth to speak, to break it. Try as he might, he couldn't come up with the perfect thing to say, the justifiable question to ask. He sat in the study while she curled up on her couch, flicking the safety of the gun off meticulously. Though he'd made no headway with his lover, he had determined that said gun had been fired – recently – and that there was no serial number on it. It was damn old, anyway: military issued, hell of a kickback. It'd been something that some of his superiors in the Marines had had; the ones that had already fulfilled their service requirements, and then some.

Glancing toward the living room, he sighed. He wanted to help her – he really did – but if she'd done something wrong, what could he do? Cover for her? Turn her in? His mind whirled with moral obligations and matters of the heart. Perhaps he was just jumping to conclusions, seeing as he had no idea as to why she'd been sitting on that bench, gun in hand, crying in the pouring rain.

It was time for him to stop being such a probie. He had to take care of this, get to the bottom of it; it was what he did for a goddamn living.

He heard gunshots, heard her scream, and he was on his feet and in the living room within two seconds. Eyes wide and alert, he glanced at the television to find some stupid action movie on, which he quickly muted. Gibbs sat on the edge of the couch, coaxing her out of her ball of blankets and limbs, and brought her against his chest firmly. Shushing her softly – something he'd learned with Kelly – he ran his fingers through her thick, tangled hair, his eyes falling closed. "Talk to me, Jenny," he murmured after she reached up to grip his shoulders. He winced minutely as her nails dug in and then relaxed; he rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I didn't mean to, Jethro... I swear, I didn't."

"Mean to what, Jen?" He tried to keep his voice calm, understanding even, because he knew that she could shut down otherwise. But he was so goddamn frustrated; frustrated with her lack of trust, with his inability to keep himself from..

He wasn't even going there at the moment.

She brought the blankets up around her shoulders, slumping back against the couch and lifting her feet into his lap. He sat sideways, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he stared at her. Jen lifted her head to look at him. "I... killed La Grenouille," she managed, biting her lip as she looked down. Instinctively, his arm tightened around her, bringing her closer into his chest. Protecting, shielding.

If there had been any doubt in his mind before on what he would do if the situation called for it, it was washed away at that moment. He would be kidding himself if he thought otherwise.

Gibbs stared at the body for a moment before he reached out and pressed his fingers against the wrist – a courtesy that he wasn't sure the man deserved. The undoubtedly previously olive-toned skin had paled and become cool to the touch, the eyes glassy and blood spatters dried upon his face. It was a haunting image, one that he was grateful Jen would never have to see again. He lowered René's eyelids, turning his attention to the room now.

Being a typically disliked and wealthy man, it wouldn't be improbable that someone would rob him; a robbery that had simply gone wrong.

Hands gloved upon arrival, Gibbs took to his task. He backtracked and started in the living room, tossing things around, knocking over a lamp and a few other things. He made his way around the house, and finally back to the man's study. He stared at the body for another few moments before he stood at approximately the same place Jen would've been, and let the gun – now wiped clean of fingerprints – fall to the floor, he bent down and clicked the safety off, lingering there for a moment.

He was an accomplice; he could certainly be arrested and lose his job for this.

He didn't care.

Gibbs straightened and made one last round through the house, before he backed out the door and left it slightly cracked, busting the side window with his elbow. As he turned and headed to his car, he dialed the familiar number.

"I think somebody just got robbed," he told the operator.

"What did you do?" she questioned as he slipped into bed behind her.

"Went out to get you some of that sissy-coffee you like so much," he murmured, kissing her shoulder as he placed the cup in her hands. She turned her head, smiling faintly. "Long line; guess it's the weather."

She reached over to place the cup on the nightstand, and before she'd turned back around, Leena had wedged her way between them, grinning triumphantly at her mother.

"Ah, and," he smirked. "To pick up the munchkin."

"McGee's nice, Mommy... You should meet him!" Leena nodded seriously.

Jen settled back onto the pillow, the smallest smile still playing at her lips as she listened to her daughter chatter on and on about what a great time she had. Briefly, she glanced up at Jethro, slipping her arm over her daughter in order to find his hand and entwine their fingers.

Frustrated at his chauvinism, frustrated at her inability to..

She wasn't even going there right now.