A/N: I love this chapter a lot, mostly because it's so nice to write Gibbs as affectionate and capable of working through his issues, sigh. [although, God, he was so sweet and so cute with McGee in this past episode, oh my god oh my god].
Chapter Nine
Thane of Lochaber
Jenny held her breath as she watched Holly critically examine the gift she'd gotten for Gibbs—she trusted Holly's opinion; Holly was an expert in purchasing boyfriend's presents. She had Mark's birthday, Mark's Christmas, their anniversary—and she always got Mark's father a present—so yes; Holly was the number one authority, and this evening, she was bearing judgment on Jenny's taste.
Holly whistled finally, and nodded. She held her palm out, balancing the sleek black pocketknife carefully. Jenny reached out and took it delicately, carefully tucking the blade back into the handle.
"Damn," Holly said approvingly. "It's a really hot knife, Jenny," she said, smirking a little. "Yeah, he's totally gonna like it. Like I said—guys, knives, good match," she nodded again, chewing thoughtfully on her gum, and flopped back in Jenny's window seat.
Jenny grinned, running her fingers over the knife. She'd spent a lot of time in hardware stories fussing over the right choice and arguing with salesmen who thought she was nothing more than a silly girl, and she'd finally settled on this one. She was relieved to know Holly approved—she planned on getting her father's opinion tomorrow morning, when his Christmas leave began. He'd been so occupied lately, she'd decided not to distract him by chattering on about Gibbs' Christmas gift—and tomorrow was her last chance; she and Gibbs were doing gifts before he left for Stillwater.
"I love that you had the blade monogrammed; that's super cute," Holly said, her eyes sparkling.
"It's not monogrammed; it's engraved!" Jenny protested, her jaw dropping.
Holly blinked at her.
"With his initials," she said slowly, shrugging.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, so," Holly retorted, snorting. "It's a monogram, you idiot."
"It's an engraving!" Jenny insisted.
Holly lifted her nose and sniffed.
"Semantics," she laughed, pushing her hair back. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to check her text messages.
Jenny gave her a panicked look and threw herself down on her bed, groaning. She sat up, blowing hair out of her face, and glared at her friend.
"Holly, don't utter the world monogram around Jethro. He'll throw himself out of a window."
"What, and he'll think of it differently if you call it an engraving?"
"Yes," Jenny retorted emphatically. She hadn't even considered that it would seem like a monogram—she'd thought it was a nice idea to have a jeweler inscribe his initials on the knife—small, not too noticeable—but now she was having second thoughts. "Maybe I should have gotten his military ID number," she said with a wince.
Holly shrugged, typing away on her phone.
"No, I think Gibbs will like it no matter what," she said absently, her eyes on her text message. "He's kind of a loon about you."
Jenny laughed.
"What are you talking about?" she giggled.
"I mean, not that you bring him around us much—but when he is around, if you're not speaking to him, he just looks at you. Not in a creepy way, but he just looks at you. Like if he blinks, you might disappear," Holly explained. She shrugged, still concentrating on other things. "It's cute."
Jenny chewed her lip, thinking about it a moment. She smiled a little, her nose crinkling, and tilted her head at Holly.
"You think I don't want him around you and Nina?" she asked, sensing Holly had gotten a little touchy—and remembering that Kensi had made a remark about that, too.
Holly looked up, finished with her text, and shrugged.
"I mean, Mark knows you guys really well, but Nina and I don't know Gibbs, or his friends. I guess it's the age difference."
"I don't want to drag him to hang out with a bunch of high schoolers," Jenny said warily.
"Well, he's dating a high schooler," Holly said testily. "He obviously doesn't think we're that immature." She raised her eyebrows. "Look, he's got a job, he's older, he's busy, I get that. I just…you don't have to turn down plans with him to hang out with us like you do, like when it's a movie? Just bring him. He and Mark can talk about football or something."
Jenny nodded her head, frowning a little—she supposed Holly was right; Gibbs' age difference did mean she tended to think of things in terms of 'her' world and 'his' world, and the only time they merged was when she and him were together—alone.
"What's he getting you? Do you know?" Holly asked.
"Not a damn clue," Jenny said, her eyes widening. "He's so tight-lipped—well, about everything—he just said I had to come to his apartment to get it, so we're doing gifts there tomorrow."
"I thought he was going home tomorrow?"
"He is," Jenny confirmed. "Late. He's putting it off," she said wryly. She stood up and went to her closet, ruffling through to the back where her dress for the Benoit benefit was. "I'm just glad he agreed to escort me to the benefit—god, I'm so sick of going every year solo and putting up with Jeanne's snobby bullshit."
"Ha," Holly snorted, "and this year she'll be flaunting DiNozzo, so you definitely need Gibbs as a buffer."
Jenny shrugged, pulling the dress out and holding it up to her critically. She smiled, and laid it carefully over the chair by her vanity.
"That doesn't worry me," she said.
"That Gibbs is going to be in the same room with some guy you jerked off?" Holly asked, raising her eyebrows.
Jenny shot her a warning glare and stormed over to shut her door, on the off chance her father was anywhere near.
"No," she said firmly. "It's none of his business, just like his previous romantic entanglements are none of mine."
"Well, they are," Holly said flatly. "At least, they are when you start having sex. You need to know if he's been with any diseased strumpets."
"Nicely put," Jenny snorted, rolling her eyes. She shrugged. "He said he's only had three ex-girlfriends."
Holly shrugged.
"So? You don't have to call someone a girlfriend to fuck her. He's military. It's totally likely he's had a zillion one night stands—I mean, hello, Fleet Week."
Jenny shrugged again, in a nonchalant manner, and glanced at the clock on her dresser—she needed to start getting ready soon—she'd ordered Gibbs to get here two hours early so he could entertain her while she went through the process, but she knew she should at least be out of the shower and in shorts and a t-shirt before he got here, or her Dad was likely to chair him in the bonus room again.
She pranced over to her desk and pulled up a stool, pulling out her rarely used, expensive make-up for the night's occasion—and as she picked through it, she steeled herself for the conversation she was about to start, and tilted her head, trying to remain careless.
"Hol, you're on the pill, right?"
"Yeah," Holly answered flippantly. Jenny glanced at her in the vanity's mirror, and noticed Holly was examining her nail polish with a critical eye.
"You like it?"
Holly shrugged.
"I mean, I gained eight pounds when I first started," she said with a frown. "But it makes me feel safer than condoms, and the sex is better, without them," she added frankly. "And, I mean, I make sure I take it, and I've never been pregnant, so there's that." Holly looked up sharply. "Why?"
Jenny shrugged as calmly as possible.
"So, the first time you had sex, you used a condom?"
"No, actually," Holly said shortly. "I was an idiot, and we didn't talk about it, so we were just going at it in the back of Mark's car, and I made him pull out," she explained, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't suggest that. I'm lucky I didn't get pregnant."
"You were fifteen," Jenny said dryly.
Holly shot her a sharp look.
"Yes—I remember," she said tartly. She swallowed. "You never ask about my sex life—why?" she demanded again.
Jenny popped the lid off of some Yves St. Lauren lipstick and examined the colour—it would go nicely with her dress.
"I was considering starting birth control," she said lightly. She hesitated. "You are really my only resource on the matter," she admitted bitterly—thinking how it was unfair that she didn't have a mother, or even her grandmother, for this kind of thing. "I obviously cannot bring it up with Daddy."
"No," Holly said logically. "I assume the Colonel would react badly—"
"So badly—"
"He'd club Gibbs with a baseball bat—"
"A golf club, probably—"
"So, that's that," Holly laughed.
Jenny grinned, leaning back and looking at her in the mirror. She chewed her lip, and turned around slightly, pushing her hair back.
"Do you think your mom would-?" she began hesitantly. "I mean, take me to get it?"
Holly chewed on her lip.
"I," she sighed. "You know my parents are super liberal, and she'd totally help you but," Holly frowned, "she wouldn't go behind your dad's back. She'd want his permission, like, explicitly. She'd ask." Holly said.
Jenny rubbed her forehead. She muttered under her breath and shook her head.
"I don't want to talk to him about it," she said again, resigned.
"Jazz'd castrate Gibbs," Holly joked.
"I don't know, Hol," Jenny said tensely. "The one time I mentioned it..."
"You mentioned it? Brave."
"He was against it, but you know he doesn't want me to get pregnant, obviously...I'll figure it out," Jenny said airily, pretending not to care.
"You could check out a Planned Parenthood, they'd hook you up." Holly said.
Jenny made another face, and Holly sat forward, resting her palms on her knees and raising her eyebrows sharply. She noticed the conflicted look on Jenny's face, and tilted her head.
"You need it like—now?" she asked invasively.
Jenny clammed up. She shook her head.
"It was a thought," she said, an edge to her voice. "It doesn't matter; I'll figure something out," she added, without thinking.
Holly squealed a little.
"Wait, so—you're going to fuck him?" she asked excitedly, smiling. "What's the plan?"
"I'm not planning anything," Jenny retorted, annoyed. "I was considering a precautionary, pre-emptive maneuver—forget it, Holly; we're not fucking," she said, the word sour in her mouth.
"Fine, making love," Holly snorted, teasing.
"No," Jenny said, spluttering. "Holly—goddamnit, you are so determined for me to have sex with him, when we've only been dating—"
"Yes, I know," Holly interrupted, her face falling suddenly. "You haven't been dating a socially accepted amount of time, so you're a pure princess who won't put out," she said acrimoniously. "You remind me of that frequently, which incidentally also subtly puts me down for how quickly I chose to have sex."
Jenny blinked at her, her cheeks flushing.
"I don't—"
"Yes, you do," Holly snapped, sitting up straighter.
"You won't—you won't leave me alone about the sex thing!" Jenny said defensively.
"You're the one who brought up birth control!" Holly barked, swinging her legs off the window seat. "I was responding to you asking for my advice—and then you go and freak out when I'm honest, or when I express interest—because you never actually share your feelings about him—"
"You're so crass and flippant about it!" Jenny burst out. "You're always acting like you're the big girl because you've had sex, and Nina and I are sweet little virgins who're beneath you—not everyone just thinks it's no big deal, Holly!"
"That's all in your head—you can be such a self-righteous bitch sometimes, Jenny!" Holly shouted, her eyes filling with tears. "Look—I know how you looked at me when I told you guys I had sex, and I know you thought it was stupid—and I like Mark, and I like having sex with him, but you don't know if I regret doing it so fast, because you've never asked, and you don't know how uncomfortable I feel around you and Nina because you guys are so smart and careful and I'm not like that—so did you stop to think for like a second that maybe I act so flippant and so crass because you are so judgmental, and you think you're on such a pedestal because you're such an untouched—little—maiden!"
"You act like I'm such a child because I'm a virgin!" Jenny snapped back bitterly. "You act like I'm such a poor dear, missing out on everything—and like I'm a coward, and you act like my relationship is childish and boring because I'm—thinking it through, and I'm not just giving it away—"
Holly stomped her foot—she looked like she was about to pull Jenny's hair and kick her. She tossed her hair back furiously and pointed.
"That's what I'm talking about—that! You think I'm a stupid slut—I am your friend, and I can tell you think I'm this dumb cheerleader who just fucked the first boy who made her feel pretty—you don't even get that I act how I do about sex because you make me feel so insecure about my decision, that made me happy, and I have to find some why to try and make myself feel like you respect me—"
"I don't think you're a stupid slut—"
"Sex intimidates you, Jenny, and you hate it that I did it before you—"
"You don't know what you're talking about Holly," Jenny snapped nastily, interrupting her. "You're jealous that Gibbs isn't pressuring me when Mark obviously pressured you—"
"You think Mark's the only one who wanted to do it? You think boys are the only ones who like having orgasms, Jenny?" shouted Holly. She laughed cruelly. "You really want to stand there and act like you asked for birth control advice for Gibbs' pleasure? I don't give a fuck if you want to sleep with Gibbs—you should be safe, and happy, and that's your business—and that's why I try to talk to you, because I know, okay? I have experience—"
"You think you know everything about it, Holly, but you don't!" shouted Jenny.
"That's the fucking point!" Holly screamed. "I don't know it all, but I know something, and maybe if you talked to me and got off your fucking high horse for a second I could give you some pointers—like don't let Gibbs put it in before you're ready, 'cause otherwise, it will hurt—"
"Shut the fuck up, Holly, my dad will hear you!" Jenny bellowed, forgetting to keep her voice down herself.
Holly swiped at her eyes, her face flushed—her eyes furious. She grabbed her things from the window seat and held them in her hands, her lips shaking. She laughed meanly and wiped at her eyes hastily again.
"Why do you care?" she demanded hoarsely. "Don't you want him to know you're still a perfect little innocent virgin?" she snapped, storming past Jenny and leaving the room in a rush.
"HOLLY!" Jenny shouted—she swallowed hard, tears leaping to her own eyes.
She hated fighting with Holly—and this was the worst fight she'd ever had; she was mad, and she was defensive concerning what she'd been accused of, but as she heard the door slam behind Holly, she had the sinking, nauseous feeling that Holly had a point. She lashed out and shoved her stool over, scattering her make-up box. She gasped, and tears spilled down her cheeks—she hadn't meant to start such a fight, and now she was scared her father had over heard, and her heart was slamming against her chest because she was starting to see Holly's side.
She wiped at her eyes and dashed to her window seat, yanking her robe from the corner, and spinning on her heel—she was frantically searching for underwear to take with her into the bathroom when there was a wary knock on her door.
She pushed her hair back, trying to compose her face, and looked up—and her father stood there, looking wary.
"Gibbs is here," he said, his tone neutral and quiet. He stepped to the side and extended his arm, showing Gibbs in. He looked at his daughter warily for a moment—he had been wondering why she hadn't come flying down the stairs to greet Gibbs, and had gotten the door himself, and that's when the shouting had escalated, and Holly Daniels had stormed out crying.
Jenny hastily rubbed her hand over her face and straightened up, clutching things to her chest. The Colonel was slightly annoyed to see the underwear in her hands—mostly because that meant Gibbs could see it, and Jasper Shepard was one hundred percent not okay with Gibbs knowing what kind of underwear his daughter wore.
"Did you hear anything?" Jenny demanded quickly.
Gibbs shrugged, looking at her intently. He shook his head, and the Colonel raised his eyes to the ceiling. Jenny groaned, wincing a little—she knew her father wasn't going to say anything, but they must have heard. Her father looked at Gibbs, gave her a look, and then backed out. He tapped the door.
"This stays open," he warned awkwardly, disappearing.
Jenny closed her eyes and sat down heavily on her window seat, burying her face in her hands. She took a deep breath and tried not to cry, but when Gibbs moved some books and sat down next to her, she lifted her head and her lips trembled.
He shrugged.
"All I heard was my name," he said. "Holly not like me?"
Jenny smiled weakly, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"It's not that," she said shakily, biting her lip. "She's just—she's so," she stopped, shaking her head furiously.
Gibbs tilted his head. He raised his eyebrows.
"This got somethin' to do with me?" he asked warily.
"I don't want to talk about it," she burst out, frustrated. She put her head in her hands, burying her face in her robe and the panties she'd chosen.
Gibbs considered her for a moment, and then he scooted closer and put his arm around her, tucking her head under his chin. She sucked in her breath, shaking her head and mumbling to herself, and he placed a kiss to her temple, rubbing his nose against her gently. She seemed to like that, because she leaned against him and—after a moment—calmed down.
She tilted her head up, and he gave her a solemn look and snatched her panties away from her.
"Nice hankie," he complimented, for lack of anything better to say.
She sniffed; narrowing her eyes, and tried to snatch it back.
"No, 'm keepin' 'em," he said, deadpan. "That bra's all lonely."
She laughed, her voice cracking a little, and straightened up. She held her hand out for them, and he gave her a smug look and clutched them between his teeth, shaking his head a little, arching his brows suggestively. She returned the arched brow look.
"You sure those are clean?" she asked.
He opened is mouth and let them fall into her waiting hand. She held them to her chest, eyeing him for a moment. She sucked in her breath, still trying to calm down—and glad he was being sweet, and distracting her with his antics. She stood up.
"You gonna wear 'em after I put 'em in my mouth?" he asked skeptically.
She laughed.
"Yeah," she said, smirking, "seems like a promising indication of the future," she teased.
He gave her a slightly stunned, impressed look, and she flushed and turned, excusing herself to the shower—he leaned back in the window seat, dwelling on what she and her friend had been fighting about that involved him—he really hadn't heard anything other than his name, but the Colonel had certainly looked pale about whatever was being screamed from the rooftops.
The minute the Colonel heard the shower start, he dragged Gibbs out of Jennifer's room and downstairs into the study, where he made him sit on the leather sofa where he could watch him like a hawk. For a moment, he worked and smoked his cigar as if nothing were amiss—and then he decided it might be polite to converse with the annoying boyfriend sitting in his study, so he leaned back and glared at Gibbs aggressively.
Gibbs looked back at him with an annoying unreadable expression on his face.
"She tell you what the hell all that was about?" he grunted warily, gesturing wildly around at nothing.
Gibbs shook his head.
"No, sir," he answered firmly.
"Hmpf," growled Jasper. "She doesn't usually fight with her friends," he muttered warily. He looked up and shot Gibbs a withering look. "Hey," he barked, deciding to implement the element of surprise. "You doin' anything that might make my daughter feel pressured to do somethin' she's not ready for?" he demanded.
He realized it was the most awkward statement he'd ever yelled at a young Marine, and he'd yelled at a lot of young Marines, but he refused to let on that he was embarrassed—he concentrated on putting the fear of God into Gibbs with a ruthless glare.
Gibbs blinked.
"No," he made the fatal mistake of hesitating before he said, "sir."
He hesitated—because Jenny had never said anything. He hadn't gone any further than touching her under her shirt—and he figured she'd have said something if that offended her—
Jasper glared at him in a sort of calmly murderous fashion. He pointed with his cigar.
"I told you once that I know every JAG lawyer in the area," he growled threateningly.
Gibbs just nodded, using most of his self-control to keep his face completely blank. The Colonel kept glaring at him critically.
"She's a good girl, sir," Gibbs said suddenly, his face unchanging.
"I know that, Corporal," the Colonel said, in a dangerously soft tone. "You let her be," he advised, and then leaned back heavily. He narrowed his eyes and then tapped his cigar out a little. "She tells me you're goin' home for Christmas?"
Gibbs nodded warily. He clenched his jaw, and then inclined his head.
"Settin' some things right, Colonel," he offered neutrally.
"Good man," Jasper said, nodding curtly. "You start up at Quantico scout school, when?"
"First week of January," Gibbs said.
The Colonel leaned forward suddenly, catching Gibbs' eye.
"Jennifer tells me you want her to spend New Year's Eve with you," he said, his expression dark.
"I asked her to, sir," Gibbs answered. "With your permission."
"Kiss-ass," growled Jasper immediately. He continued to glare at Gibbs, and then tilted his head, cracking muscles in his neck loudly. "She says she'll be with you, and Vance's boy, and she's takin' Nina with her?"
Gibbs nodded affirmatively. The Colonel still didn't let up his brutal gaze.
"You think she should get her curfew extended to one a.m.?" he asked sharply.
Gibbs figured it was a trick question, and he chose his words carefully. He shrugged a little, glancing up towards the ceiling—he heard heavy footsteps running around in a hurry. A few minutes later, Ike came bounding into the study—his fur was damp with steam. Gibbs reached out to pet him, grinning a little at the thought of him so peacefully sleeping in the bathroom while Jenny showered—apparently, it was a habit he had. After a moment, Gibbs looked back at the Colonel.
"I want her to be with me," he said slowly. He lifted his chin. "I wouldn't do a damn thing to hurt her."
The Colonel eyed him closely, considering. He snorted, committing to nothing, and leaned back, his eyes on the dog. There were footsteps, and then Jenny hopped into the study, shaking a towel through her hair.
"Daddy," she said brightly. She scrunched up her nose, reacting to the cigar smoke. "Can I have him?" she asked.
The Colonel blinked at her.
"Put some goddamn clothes on!" he shouted, scandalized.
She looked down—at her little pajama shorts, and her camisole, and her fluffy robe, tied loosely. She smiled and gestured at herself, holding the towel.
"These are clothes," she said blithely, snatching Gibbs and yanking him with her.
"Pajamas are not—JENNIFER," shouted the Colonel after them. "Leave that door OPEN—GIBBS, YOU'D DAMN WELL BETTER BE IN MY STUDY WHILE SHE'S GETTING DRESSED!"
He sat in her window seat while she went through the process of getting ready—drying her hair, slowly applying make-up, fussing over lipstick colours, lacquering a clear coat over her already painted nails.
He liked watching—it was surreal to watch her go from a clean, fresh face, to a face full of make-up—he liked both, because Jenny was a damn good-looking girl, and he appreciated all forms of that attractiveness. He thought it was weird—she was ready to go—hair down, face done, nails done, shoes on—and yet she hadn't put her dress on yet, and she turned around and walked over to him. She sat down on his lap, and he placed his hands on her hips, glancing up at her.
He twisted his fingers in the ends of her curled hair, admiring it—and he leaned closer, breathing her in. She smiled, and pulled his head up, nudging his nose with hers and giving him a kiss.
"You need help getting' that dress on?" he asked, almost hopefully.
There was so little material to her pajamas, his mouth was dry—it distracted him. He slid his hand down her hip to her thigh, and it rested there. She turned slightly and glanced at the open door a little apprehensively, but then she turned back. She reached for his hand and pressed her fingers against his, pulling his hand up a little higher.
He raised his eyebrows at her, and she flushed.
He smirked, and laughed shortly.
"Jesus, Jen, that blush," he said hoarsely.
She laughed, flushing again, and she stood up, standing between his knees. She stroked his jaw and then popped him affectionately on the cheek with her palm.
"You, go wait at the foot of the stairs," she said gently, kicking him out.
He gave her a long-suffering look, and stood up, brushing past her and leaving her to shiver a little. She followed him, and then shut and locked the door—obediently following her father's rules, even though the longing look in his eyes made her feel a little powerful, and kind of made her want to change with him right there in the room—
She shook the thoughts away, and slipped on her dress, checking herself in her full-length mirror one last time before she grabbed her clutch and her coat and made her grand appearance, taking the stairs gracefully—and he, obediently, was waiting at the bottom for her, looking strikingly handsome in his dress blues. His eyes raked over her, the simple, belted, dark green plaid dress that made her eyes sparkly—the sky-high black heels, startling dark make-up—it all came together brilliantly, and she'd chosen to wear no jewelry, something that worked in her favor.
He placed his hands on her waist and swallowed—to think, moments ago he'd been dying to see her naked, and now he was so caught up in how stunning she looked in this dress, he didn't care if she was ever naked.
He just nodded approvingly, and she smiled at him.
The Colonel came stomping down the stairs in his dress uniform, the dog at his heels. He was holding his cover in one hand—for the walk to the metro—and in the other hand, he had a yardstick.
Jenny narrowed her eyes.
"Dad," she began.
He glared at her defiantly.
"What is the yardstick for?" she asked warily.
He held it out horizontally.
"To ensure there is three feet between the two of you when dancing," he growled matter-of-factly.
He smacked it loudly against the bannister, and Ike barked. Jenny's mouth fell open but—to her utter surprise—Gibbs laughed—and then quickly pretended he was coughing, because the look on the Colonel's face indicated it was very much not a joke.
The Benoit Benefit, in theory, was a beautiful, charming event—held every year so Rene Benoit could unload some of his wealth onto charities, and convince others in cahoots with him to do the same for what they claimed was the well-being of mankind, but really was nothing more than the desire for a tax write-off. She had used to love it—when she was little, and the darling of everyone's eye—but then she'd gotten older, and Rene Benoit had gotten slimier, and she and Jeanne had stopped getting along—so since she'd turned fifteen, she'd dreaded the banquet every year.
Ah, but this year—this year, it wasn't so bad. It turned out—Gibbs had a particular distaste for rich snobs and black-tie events, so his snarky, under-the-breath comments made her evening almost unbearably funny—and even though her father was watching them like a hawk, and she had to be polite and courteous to so many people who knew her by name—it was almost enjoyable.
"Jenny!"
The saccharine, sweet voice made her roll her eyes, and she turned around with a glass of punch in her hand, shooting Gibbs a smart look first, and she flashed a dazzling grin at Jeanne.
"Bonjour," she greeted lightly, leaning forward to kiss the other girl's cheek.
Jeanne returned the European greeting, the look on her face so clearly fake that Gibbs raised his eyebrows—he recognized her; she was the girl who had glared so meanly at Jenny at the football game ages ago.
"This is Jethro," Jenny said politely. "My boyfriend."
The guy on Jeanne's arm looked Gibbs up and down in a smug way, and Jeanne clung to him girlishly, stroking his arm.
"You've met Tony, of course," Jeanne trilled, narrowing her eyes.
Tony DiNozzo nodded his head gallantly, looked over Jenny approvingly, and slung his arm around Jeanne—and Jenny couldn't help but smirk, because he was such a playboy, and she knew she'd had a hand in making him think he was irresistible, because of her little hook-up with him last year.
"Hey, Jen," he greeted breezily.
"Jenny," she corrected mildly, inclining her head.
Jeanne, affronted at the correction, nodded at Gibbs.
"I heard him call you Jen—on the dance floor," she said. She sniffed. She gave Jenny a bit of a cold look. "You know, Tony's starting on the football team this year—and you still think he's beneath you," she remarked, as if it were casual.
"Jeanne," Tony said, rolling his eyes. He rubbed the back of his head, and Jeanne just shot Jenny a nasty look. DiNozzo tugged on her arm, trying to coax her away coolly, and Jeanne cast disapproving look at Jenny's dress.
"You still can't get it through your head that plaid is tacky," she said, turning on her heel and dragging DiNozzo away.
Gibbs raised his eyebrow and then clanked sideways at Jenny. She turned to him solemnly.
"Go ahead. I can take it," she sighed dramatically.
"What?"
"You heard her—I'm tacky. Break up with me," she said, leaning forward and grabbing his shoulders tightly. "But please—before you do—oh, Jethro, let me keep my dignity, get me my coat so I can cover up," she lamented.
He snorted and took her waist in his hands, gently pushing her back. He tilted his head and glanced in the direction Jeanne and Tony had gone.
"What's her problem with you?"
"I don't know," Jenny said, exasperated. "We used to be friends—grew up all over the place together, because of her dad's contract with mine. I moved back to DC permanently, and then she'd been in private school, and at the benefit when we were thirteen I had a red, wool plaid skirt on and she told me I didn't have any taste, and it was a shame my Dad hadn't gotten out of the Army like hers—she changed, got all caught up in this weird world of rich snobs," Jenny sighed. She shrugged. "And now, she thinks her boyfriend wants me—and at the same time, she thinks I treat him like crap."
Gibbs snorted.
"Women," he growled.
She poked him in the chest rudely, and tilted her head up. He smirked at her, and then gestured her over to a table, where they sat down with punch and she leaned back and sighed, tilting her head. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and watched her.
He rested his palm on her knee and ran it back and forth, surveying the room—he was bored out of his mind, but he sensed she was too, and that made it better.
"We still on for tomorrow night?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm," she murmured. "And I'll actually cook this time—no fiascos," she said, laughing as she met his eyes.
They planned to do dinner and gifts before he hit the road for Stillwater—and she was excited for it; she had to work all day before that, and it would be a welcome relief to see him before he left.
"Kind of wish you were going to be here for Christmas," she said, shrugging a little.
He considered her, and then smirked. He didn't say anything—but he suddenly felt incredibly happy, that she'd said that to him—it was a nice admission, an emotional one, and he relished it. She pushed her hair back and leaned forward, giving him a look.
"What?" she asked, biting her lip. "What's that look?" she asked. She smirked. "You know, Holly said—" she started, and then she stopped, and her smile fell.
Gibbs frowned a little, squeezing her knee comfortingly.
"What'd she say to you, Jen?" he asked. He wasn't one for hitting girls—but man, he'd been annoyed when he'd seen Jenny crying, and he was pissed off at Holly Daniels for causing it.
Jenny raised her eyes to the ceiling and grunted softly.
"Nothing, she just," she started. She winced. She chewed on her lip. "Nothing," she said finally. She shrugged, and Gibbs didn't really push the subject—he figured it was something between them he wouldn't understand anyway.
He just rubbed her knee again, applying a soothing pressure, and looked at her. She looked back at him after a moment. She licked her lower lip and seemed to consider him for a minute, and then she leaned forward, and touched his jaw.
"I like the way you look at me," she said, pursing her lips.
He gave her an appreciative once over, admiring how she looked, and then he smirked a little.
"Red hair, red coat," he joked. "Green dress—you look like some damn mistletoe," he teased.
She pinched him, and shoved her hand against his chest.
She cocked an eyebrow.
"So, are you gonna kiss me?"
He reached out and pulled her close—apparently going completely insane and forgetting they were in public—and he was so distracted by her tongue—she was more aggressive than usual—that he didn't remember where they were until a yardstick came crashing down on his head.
He swore—and Jenny leapt up, glaring.
"Daddy!" she hissed.
The Colonel looked at her coolly, and gestured with his yardstick to his colleague.
"Rene," he said. "This is the Marine I was telling you about, although when we spoke of him, he didn't have a death sentence attached to his name."
Rene Benoit chuckled in his deep, suspicious tone, holding out his hand and introducing himself to Gibbs in his eerie way—and Jenny folded her arms and fumed at her father, while the Colonel let a slow, triumphant smile slide over his face, and smacked the yardstick into his own palm for good measure.
The benefit had been blurry this year—because she busied herself with Gibbs, ignoring the stuffiness of the affair, and avoiding the people she was usually politely obligated to dance with—and it had been a chaste, demure affair, since the Colonel was with them—but she was relieved to have her time with Gibbs before he left, in his apartment, without her father.
She was infinitely glad he'd decided to leave for Stillwater late on the twenty-second, so that way they didn't have to do gifts and say goodbyes with the Colonel stomping his foot on the porch. This was much better—her pasta had turned out perfectly, and there'd been no unfortunate hospital trip to interfere—and, with the help of Ziva, she'd managed to acquire a bottle of very interesting Israeli wine—which she'd brought, and had one demure glass of with dinner.
It was later, after their usual game of duck hunting—when they were snuggled up on the floor watching the night's Christmas movie on TV—that she got up and went to her bag, and got the knife out for him—she'd only wrapped it in light tissue paper, because she knew he wasn't much for flamboyance.
She sat down on him, straddling his lap, and he put his hands lightly on her knees as she presented her palm to him. She tilted her chin up.
"Merry Christmas, boyfriend," she said loftily. She smiled, her eye sparkling. "You're the first man I've ever said that to."
He grinned, and took it from her, opening it slowly—he was glad they were having a good night, because she'd been a little distracted when she'd come over—and he'd noticed she was texting Nina on her phone; apparently Holly was refusing to talk to her.
He let the knife tumble out of the paper and raised his eyebrows—he ran his hands over it, finally finding the release button and popping it open. He held in between them, admiring the blade—and then he ran his finger along it lightly.
He peered at her around it.
"My dad has a rule," she said. "Always carry a knife," she recited. "I'm sure the Marines issued you one, but," she pointed. "I picked this out, so it's like me protecting you."
He snorted.
"Protecting me? From what?"
She grabbed his t-shirt earnestly and shrugged, smiling softly. She didn't want to say—but she'd had a nightmare the other night that he went off to some warzone, and all she did was stand there and watch bullets fly, and wonder if he was okay, so she liked the idea of something she gave him protecting him. She leaned forward and kissed him quickly, her cheeks flushing a little.
"You like it?" she asked hesitantly.
He snapped it closed and opened again, examining the blade. He nodded slowly, and she watched his eyes move over it. He swore softly, in approval, and met her eyes, closing it again.
"Hell of a blade, Jen," he complimented.
She looked proud, and she bit her lip—and he slapped her hip gently, nudging her off of him so he could run into the bedroom and fetch her gift. She sat on the couch, rubbing her knees—and then he reappeared, and she stared at him for a moment before she leapt up, her mouth falling open.
He couldn't really be holding—
"Is that a kitten?" she shrieked. She leapt into the air and covered her mouth as he came closer. She squealed into her hands, her eyes wide, and he nodded slowly, a gruff look on his face as he held his hands out.
She stared for a moment, and then she lowered her hands and stepped forward, reaching for the little kitten—and it was so little, so little and charcoal grey, with big, sweet dark eyes, and a little white on its ears and its tale—she squealed again as she cuddled it against her chest.
Gibbs watched her, and she collapsed on the couch, stroking the kitten's ears and beaming—and he crouched in front of her, watching her shower affection on it—and he grinned a little smugly.
She looked up sharply.
"You," she began. "You—it's a kitten," she spluttered, her eyes shining. She laughed. "Holly," she swallowed hard, shoving through the flicker of pain, and going on: "Holly told me to get you a cat!"
"Leon told me to get you one," he retorted, arching his brow. He hesitated. "I, uh, called Nina, asked her about it. She said you wanted one, but Ike hates cats."
Jenny nodded, distracted—and then looked up, her face falling.
"Ike," she moaned, looking with fear at the little kitten. "He'll eat this little fellow—is it a boy kitty?"
Gibbs nodded.
"I figured I'll keep 'im here for you," he said gruffly, echoing what Vance had told him. He shrugged. "I could use a guard animal," he joked, deadpan.
Jenny wrinkled her nose, holding the kitten up to her face and snuggling him sweetly. She giggled and cooed over him, and the kitten mewled and pawed at her face. She set him on her lap, and the little thing leapt at Gibbs, swiping him with his paws. Gibbs frowned, and caught him, placing him back in Jenny's lap—and she gasped at his cuteness, sweeping him up and holding him up.
"He's so spooky looking—all the white, and grey," she cooed. She smirked. "He's named Banquo, then, like the ghost!"
Gibbs blinked, shocked that she'd picked a name—and then he narrowed his eyes.
"Banquo?"
"From Macbeth," Jenny said, occupied with the kitten. "Banquo, Thane of Lochaber, the father of kings," she said gallantly. "Like this little baby might be the king of my heart!" she squealed, making a mental note to assure Ike she loved him later.
Gibbs rolled his eyes.
"You're always makin' book references, Jen," he growled.
She looked up primly.
"This relationship is built on Macbeth, Marine," she said loftily, smiling brilliantly. "And you—you read, too!"
"Manly books."
She kicked him gently, and he laughed, falling back on his heels. He sat down on the floor, watching her, and she bit her lip, glancing at him after a moment. She blushed a little—because for a split second she felt dizzy, and that surprised her—because it was a dizzying feeling that just overwhelmed her with how much she—liked him.
She took a deep breath, and then he sat forward, reaching into his pocket. He held it in his hands, and then he rubbed his jaw, and held it out.
"Here," he muttered. "Made this for ya."
She clutched the kitten gently in her arm, holding the curious little Banquo there for a moment—and she delicately took what he was offering, looking at it thoughtfully—and then she realized it was a piece of wood, the size of her hand, carved into—
"You built me a boat!" she cried, her head tilting back as she laughed—and remembered that she'd teased him on their first date, and asked him to build her a boat. She eyed the wooden masterpiece more closely, and was stunned with his talent—and suddenly she just felt very cared for, and very admired—like he really did remember her wants and her thoughts, and like her as much as she liked him, and she slipped off the couch to her knees in front of him, getting closer.
He shrugged sheepishly.
"I can build you a real one," he said smugly, lifting his chin. "Someday."
She raised her brows, holding up her kitten.
"First we raise our kitten, then we move into our boat with our kitten," she said, with an almost giddy laugh.
Banquo meowed aggressively at Gibbs, and he rolled his eyes, leaning forward and dodging the cat to reach for Jenny. She laughed quietly as he pulled her close and yanked her onto the floor with him, sort of rolling so she was on top, and Banquo flopped cutely on Gibbs' chest between them.
He shoved his hands through her hair, pushing her hair back, holding it, and she smiled at him, stretching out on top of him. She shifted—adjusting—and she liked the feel of him under her like that, even if they had plenty of clothes on—she still pressed her hips into him a little, and he set his jaw.
He slipped his hands from her hair and then they were on her ass, and he pulled up her shirt a little. She laughed, and tilted her head. She picked up the kitten, her elbows pressing into Gibbs' ribs, and made sure Banquo's adorable little face was boring into Gibbs'.
"The kitten is watching," she hissed mischievously.
Gibbs smirked at her, and his hand slide back down to her ass—she was wearing a skirt, and she'd foregone tights. She allowed the kitten to pounce of Gibbs' chest, where it bounded to the little boat she'd set next to his knife, and swatted it, and Jenny met Gibbs' eyes as his hands ran along the edges of her panties under her skirt. She moved her legs a little, and then she clutched his shoulders—and he took a leap, and suddenly his hands were in her panties, against her bare skin, and she closed her eyes, her heart leaping into her throat.
It scared her, but it exhilarated her—and she liked that he was finally indicating that he did want something else, because it made her feel less crazy for stressing over it—but she also knew that she couldn't do this now, even if his fingers stroked against—whoa, she gasped, a high pitched gasp—even if she—might think she wanted to, and her head was spinning.
She started to say something, but instead, she lowered her head, and her forehead touched his, and she started to kiss him—slowly, tentatively—in a scared, uncertain way. He shifted, nudging her knee, and she pressed her knees into the carpet and hovered over him. He slid his hand around, between them, and resumed his touching—and then, she felt him brush against her hesitantly, and his finger pushed inside her.
She jumped and parted her lips.
"Ouch," she gasped, involuntarily—and he yanked is hand back immediately, pulling his head back and looking at her, startled.
She grasped his neck, shaking her head.
"I'm sorry," she muttered.
"I hurt you?" he asked—and he appeared completely stunned, as if he hadn't expected that to happen.
"No, I – it's okay," she said, trying to soothe him. She shook her head. "It was like, it," she fumbled, and then stopped, and sat back. Her body was tingling—she felt electrified, and she shifted against his groin. He grabbed her hips and made her stop—but he'd started it, and she knew she wanted it finished—but she lost her nerve. She smiled weakly. "It's okay."
He sat up and pulled her to him close, pushing her hair back. It occurred to her that his hand—his fingers—had just been inside her—and she blushed, and chewed on her lip.
"Jen," he muttered apprehensively, looking like he was about to start something.
"It was the angle," she said assertively, and a little too loudly—and suddenly she was scared he was going to ask her if she'd ever done it before, and she didn't want to answer, because she felt like a child—she felt so young. She nodded, to reaffirm her statement, and then she leaned against him, meeting his eyes. "I wanted you to…keep going."
He looked at her warily, intently, and then he nodded, and he leaned forward and kissed her—but it was a gentle, tentative kiss—and she let it stay that way, even though she could definitely feel him through his jeans, hard, and pressed against her panties as she still straddled his lap. She smiled and buried her head in his neck, embarrassed suddenly. He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled his knees up. She leaned back against them, and she pursed her lips—starting to say something—when the kitten suddenly leapt at Gibbs' neck, and tangled his little baby paws in the dog tags that always hung there.
He gave a grunt of annoyance, and Jenny let out a shriek of hoarse laughter—and she was thankful for Banquo, because she wanted to just think and feel what had just happened—and she definitely didn't want to address her state of—well, virginity—now, while he had time to go back to Stillwater and—see his old high school girls and—remember he hadn't had sex in a while.
She thought she would miss Gibbs on Christmas morning—but when she sat on the floor, crisscross applesauce, with a mug of steaming coffee—stirred with a peppermint stick—and a Santa hat on her head, she realized…she was enjoying the traditional, father-daughter Christmas.
She was curled in front of the fire, Ike snuggled up next to her, waiting for her Dad to come in with the doughnuts he'd run down the street to get—like he did every Christmas morning—and when he came in, covered in snow and growling about the weather, she smiled to see Ike bark and wag his tail happily.
The Colonel came in, with the breakfast and his own coffee, and he sat down on the floor with her and opened the box—it was a testament to how well Jenny had trained Ike that he sat patiently until he would be awarded the leftovers—and before they got to presents, they just enjoyed the cold holiday morning, and the company.
Jenny tucked her hair behind her ears, closing her eyes for a moment and smelling the coffee—and the scent of scotch and cigars that always lingered in the study—and then her eyes fell to the Christmas tree.
She smiled—and her father eyed her warily.
"You thinkin' about that damn boy?" he asked.
She met his eyes, and grinned.
"No," she said thoughtfully. She took a deep breath. "He needs to be in Stillwater," she said quietly. "Christmas is—one of the big holidays," she said, and shrugged. "You know, Dad," she said wryly, "he won't ever replace you."
The Colonel grumbled, but he looked at her warily.
"I got eyes, Jennifer," he said. "You're serious about 'im."
She shrugged a little, her expression good-natured.
"How serious can you be at seventeen?"
The Colonel took a long sip of coffee.
"You'n'him, you've proved age isn't always an indicator," he said bluntly, eyeing her intently. "You've made me proud, earning my trust back," he added, straightforward. She looked up, and smiled at him. He gave her a bit of a pained smile. "You're still seventeen," he agreed gruffly, a conflicted look on his face. "I can't let you go yet, Little J."
She took a deep breath, and somehow, she knew he was thinking about that fight with Holly—because she'd concluded now that he had definitely overheard most of the fight, and she knew he was worried about her, and probably a little angry and resentful, and she just rested her hand on Ike's head, and breathed out slowly before she answered.
"Daddy," she said firmly. "Don't worry about me."
She hoped she conveyed what she meant—she was navigating her way with Gibbs as best as she could, and she thought she was doing splendid—she felt comfortable, he didn't make her feel pressured or scared—she was dealing with what she could, and she was thinking—and taking it slow—
The Colonel raised his hand, and he saluted her.
"No can do, G.I. Jen," he warned her gruffly. "It's in the job description."
"Okay," she said, with a quiet laugh. "Then—don't worry about him…with me."
He seemed to catch her drift—and he felt like he could relax, knowing she didn't feel scared, or—intimidated or—harassed by him. He nodded gruffly, and then he reached out and yanked the Santa hat off her hair and ruffled it.
She giggled and reared back, nearly spilling her coffee—and then she leapt up, and grabbed an old, frayed stocking off the fireplace—stockings her grandmother had made her, the Christmas after Kimberly left—and she spilled so many cigars at her father's feet that he swore, surprised.
He looked up at her, and she saluted him, this time.
"You know, I may always be Little J to you—but I'm old enough to play Miss Claus," she teased—
-it was always him who watched her open gifts and her stocking, and this year, her excitement had been in that she'd done equally for him.
He laughed at her, examining her choice in cigars—and impressed with how well she paid attention—and then, when she pulled, out of nowhere, a bottle of scotch she claimed Gibbs had given him, he snorted—and for the first time, he wondered—without animosity—if this was the boy his daughter was going to marry.
He watched her tear into her own stocking, and he smiled wearily—she didn't know how hard it had been to raise her, without her mother, and he thought for a second, after their conversation, and after these past few months—seeing how maturely she did her best—that he'd done it half right.
"DADDY!" she shrieked suddenly, chucking a chunk of coal at him. "That's not funny!" she whined, bursting into laughter—and again, even though she felt a twinge in her heart that told her she missed Gibbs—she was glad she was sharing this Christmas alone with her father, because it was the last Christmas of her childhood—and later, there would be dinner with Noemi, like there always had been, since she was fourteen, and she was fine with reveling in that—because things were changing so quickly, and she felt like she was growing up, and even though she liked it, and she was digging her claws into the experiences—
It was nice to stop for a moment.
It was snowing in Stillwater—a white Christmas that made everything bright and immaculate and sparkling.
Gibbs spent the morning in the garishly decorated store, drinking coffee and reading the paper at a table with his father. They didn't exchange gifts, and they hadn't talked much yet—Gibbs had gotten in late, and then spent Christmas Eve chopping wood for the Fieldings—and a little time with Shannon's father, before he'd come home.
It was when he was mid sports section that Jackson Gibbs looked up and grunted.
"What is it that made you come back?" he asked in his tense, hasty tone.
Gibbs shrugged silently.
"Didn't think I'd see you again unless they were drapin' a flag on you," he joked dryly. "Leroy, c'mon—talk."
Gibbs looked up, his expression blank. He lowered his newspaper slightly, and shrugged again.
"The way I left things," he started.
"You mean gunnin' out of here the night after she died?" Jackson interrupted shortly. "Disappearin' for a week, comin' back enlisted, skippin' her funeral, and hittin' the road again after that mess of a fight?"
Gibbs swallowed the resentment in his throat, and nodded—yeah; that's what he meant.
His old man shook his head.
"You were hurtin', Leroy," he swore. "We were all hurtin'."
"No," Gibbs said quietly. "Not like me."
"Yes," Jackson snapped. "I loved that girl. Half raised her; she was always out there in that shed with you. Watched you try to put some sense in to her, but she was just a sad girl—just wild—"
"You didn't know 'er like I did, Dad," growled Gibbs.
Jackson nodded curtly.
"It was bad," Jackson said. "You felt responsible. I get that. And Joanne Fielding, she didn't help, screamin' at you at the hospital like that," he said, shaking his head.
Gibbs winced—he hated to think of it, hated to remember how he'd been standing in the hospital in the next city over, listening to people repeating that Shannon Fielding was dead on arrival, and how her mother had—grabbed him and screamed that this was his fault, that Shannon never would have died if—well, Gibbs didn't know why Joanne blamed him, but he knew he blamed himself.
Jackson sighed heavily, closing his eyes against the memory as well. He cleared his throat.
"You, though," he growled. "You ran out of here, you didn't go to that girl's funeral, and next thing I know, you're sittin' at that bus stop, in that uniform, holdin' that picture of her. And you didn't say a damn thing. That's not how men act."
Gibbs nodded his head curtly—he'd come here for this—to make things right; to start to heal. Because—Jen had made him think he needed to do that, because he'd hurt her as an extension of how badly this was hurting him, and he wanted to live up to Jen's expectations—because Jen was the girl Shannon had told him to look for.
"I know," he said heavily, and took a drink of his coffee.
Jackson laughed sharply.
"You gonna visit her grave?" he asked, after a long moment.
Gibbs stared at his mug for a long time, and slowly shook his head—no. He couldn't do it; not yet. His father nodded, and said somethin' about how it would take some time to get there—and then Jackson leaned back and stretched, and looked at his son knowingly.
"This change of heart—it got anything to do with that sweet girl you brought by couple months ago?" he asked.
Gibbs lifted his head. He looked at his father warily, reluctant to say anything—and then he thought about how Jen would be hurt if he said she didn't meant anything to him—and he was just now starting to realize she was going to mean a lot to him, and even if she'd started out as a hot girl he ran into one summer day, for the first time he realized—with a daunting feeling—that she might be the girl he married, one day.
So, he looked at Jackson, and he nodded firmly.
Jackson Gibbs grinned, and reached forward, and shook his sons' shoulder—in a more familiar, friendly way than they'd interacted in a while. He raised his eyebrows with interest and snorted.
"Pretty woman like that, Leroy, you gotta brag about 'er—so, what've you got to say, son?"
Gibbs leaned back in his chair, holding his coffee mug stiffly—and then he smirked, and he realized—hell, he had a lot to say, when it came to Jen.
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