A/N: It's all fun and games until somebody gets deployed. /smirks/. Ah, but again, this is one of those chapters where the final scenes were written long before I actually started the story (a.k.a I wrote parts of this when I was still dragging my feet with Mishpokhe).

Chapter Nineteen

The Godfather

Jenny moseyed out of the kitchen with a spatula covered in chocolate brownie batter, cupping her hand to make sure it didn't drip as she wandered towards the study. She tossed her hair back so it fell down her back and leaned in the doorway, sticking her tongue to the spatula blithely.

"Daddy," she began, tilting her head to the side.

He glanced up at her and narrowed his eyes. He tapped his pen on his desk.

"Yes, Jennifer?" he asked finally.

"How eighteen am I?" she asked, blinking slowly.

He glared at her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She smiled and lowered the spatula a little.

"Well, legally, I am an adult," she said logically, "however, since you will be funding my college education and feeding me and allowing me to live here for the next four years, it would be wrong of me to completely disregard your wishes."

Her father squinted at her suspiciously.

"Affirmative," he agreed gruffly.

"But you've nixed my curfew, you've quit asking me exactly what my plans with Gibbs are, and you hardly ever ambush him and demand to know if he's pressuring me," she pointed out, and then glared mildly at him, "except for that incident last week."

"That's not what I was on to him about," the Colonel said tensely. He was telling the truth—he'd dragged Gibbs into the study to tell him, again, that he needed to 'fess up to Jenny about the deployment.

"Mm-hmm," Jenny muttered skeptically, her cheeks flushing a little. She didn't say anything else, and the Colonel cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"What do you want?" he asked, exasperated, and then his face changed. He straightened up. "Jennifer, do not tell me you want to go to Beach Week," he growled warily. "It doesn't matter how much I trust you or how much I turned you loose on your eighteenth birthday, that little tradition is a festering cesspool of idiocy, alcohol poisoning, and rape."

Jenny licked off some more brownie batter and shook her head, looking appalled.

"I don't want to go to Beach Week," she said, shaking her head emphatically—Holly was going, and begging Jenny to go—there was absolutely no way Nina's parents would allow it—but regardless of how much she'd loosened up over the past year, Jenny refused to put herself in the volatile nightmare that was Beach Week.

She pointed her spatula at her father.

"That bit about me being turned loose, that's what I'm getting at," she said, and shifted her feet, crossing her ankles. "You're letting me make my own decisions because I'm eighteen, but at what point does it cross a line, since I'm still living here and you still support me?"

The Colonel leaned back in his chair. He studied her intently, and then narrowed his eyes, rubbing his jaw.

"Why don't you just tell me what you want?" he suggested shortly. He didn't want to deal with semantics and mind games from her. He shrugged his shoulders roughly. "It depends, Jenny; you want to shut the bedroom door when Gibbs is here, fine; you want to move in with him for the summer, I'll put my foot down."

She laughed, looking taken aback.

"I can't live with him," she snorted, smirking a little. "Not until he learns that socks aren't oven mitts."

The Colonel stared at her warily, and she cleared her throat, putting the spatula back to her lips for a moment. She looked back at him, and then set her shoulders back.

"I was wondering how you'd feel if I went on a vacation with just him, after graduation," she said bravely. "I want to go to the beach, but not the—ah, festering cesspool," she quoted. "I was thinking of going up to Cape May in Jersey, after the parties die down, for like four days."

Her father looked at her with a blank expression that she found impossible to decipher. He said nothing; his face didn't move—except perhaps his eyes darkened slightly—and she waited a moment before swallowing, and filling the silence.

"I didn't know if that was something I could just do, or if I needed permission," she went on, slightly hesitant. "It's not that far away—it's a little closer than Stillwater, and we've been dating so long now—you know, honestly, I'll see if Jackie and Leon want to go, or Holly and Mark…I just want a graduation trip," she paused, and shrugged. "I mean I figure you can go, if you—"

Her father held up his hand, stopping her. He considered her a moment, and then snorted.

"I'm not goin' to Jersey to lay on a beach with you and your boyfriend," he said, scrapping that idea—his loud silence had nothing to do with reluctance to let her go, or a need to chaperone her—she was right; they had been together a long time now, and as much as it irked him, and made him uncomfortable, that Jenny might be sleeping with Gibbs, he wasn't going to ask, and he wasn't going to pretend like it was his business to guard her chastity. Not anymore, at least, since there were no legal ramifications to fear.

She laughed, sticking the spatula in her mouth to have something to do and falling silent, waiting patiently—earnestly.

The Colonel cleared his throat and looked at her narrowly.

"Was this little excursion Gibbs' idea?" he asked sharply. There was something threatening in his voice, and she was taken aback; he hadn't even had a hint of hostility towards Gibbs in months now.

Shepard waited for an answer, forcing himself to keep his cool—he knew Jenny was still ignorant of the deployment, or she wouldn't be so collected and carefree—she'd be worrying herself to death, or shutting down, or something. The Colonel knew his daughter well, and that meant he knew when she hadn't been made privy to bad news. If he found out Gibbs was acting like he wouldn't be in the goddamn Middle East after Jenny's graduation—

"Nah, I haven't talked to him yet," she said breezily, licking her lips. "I wanted to clear the idea with you first."

The Colonel set his jaw. A muscle in his jaw twitched—he was so angry for a moment he couldn't speak. June was coming up fast—Jenny's last week of classes was this week—and she needed more than a split second to prepare for the shock that was about to hit her. It didn't sit well with him that Gibbs was pushing it off; he'd tried to give him some leeway and be sympathetic over the boy's stress and confusion, but it was getting out of hand.

Jenny was planning vacations. She was completely in the dark.

It took everything Shepard had not to blow the whole thing wide open right there—but that was not his place; he absolutely could not get in the middle of her relationship without having any idea of how they worked. She'd get mad at him, she'd get mad at Gibbs, and if it ended in disaster, there'd be irreparable damage between himself and Jenny—and Jenny was his whole life.

Instead of blabbing, he nodded his head sharply and threw his hand into the air.

"Yeah," he said gruffly, shrugging curtly. "I'm fine with it," he told her, snorting derisively. "You go ahead and plan that with 'im."

Jenny paused, her brownie covered spatula frozen in her hand, and stared at him warily. She swallowed and straightened up, tilting her head.

"Dad-?" she started.

He set his jaw in a slightly annoyed way and smiled tightly.

"It's fine, Jennifer."

"Okay—well, it sounds like a situation—Dad, you sound like a passive-aggressive sitcom wife right now, like, 'oh it's fine' but really you expect me not to make plans—"

He held up his hand again, and then rubbed his jaw.

He looked at her intently.

"Is he still actin' weird?" he demanded.

She shrugged, taken aback. She looked at her father critically for a moment, feeling defensive.

"No," she said roughly. She frowned. "He's tense, but he's treating me fine," she added. "He's dealing with something personal; he'll talk about it when he's ready."

The Colonel made a skeptical noise, and Jenny narrowed her eyes.

"You know something I don't?" she demanded sarcastically. Before he could answer, she shook her head and chewed on her lip, indicating he shouldn't answer. She didn't want to admit that she'd started to think Gibbs was acting weird because she'd said I love you—even though that had happened weeks ago, and she hadn't mentioned it, she was wary it was sinking in that she felt that way, and she wondered if he was freaked out trying to decide if he should say it back.

She was still pissed at herself for saying it, on that note.

"Did you and Jethro have some sort of tiff unbeknownst to me?" Jenny asked curtly.

"No," the Colonel said abruptly, his face guarded. He gave her an unreadable look, and lifted his chin. "You talk to him about that vacation, Jen," he advised pointedly.

She put her hand on her hip gingerly, the spatula sticking out at an odd angle. His tone was making her suspicious, and she narrowed her eyes, chewing her bottom lip tightly, not yet ready to back down from the slightly weird conversation—but the doorbell rang three times, and Ike went howling down the stairs.

"What the hell?" the Colonel growled, half-standing, annoyed.

Jenny turned around, and walked towards the door. She reached for the handle, squinting through the glass, just as the doorbell rang again, and Ike snatched the chocolate covered spatula from her hand, and she swore, wrenching open the front door.

"Holly," she hissed, trying to mitigate the situation—her father hated their old doorbell; he was going to shout at Holly if she didn't stop. Jenny was about to tell her to knock it off, when she noticed Holly looked like she was barely keeping it together. And then she remembered—Holly didn't usually ring the doorbell; she always knocked in a cute pattern. "Holly?" Jenny asked, her tone softening.

Holly reached up shakily and rubbed her cheek, sucking in her breath.

"We broke up," she managed bravely, taking a deep breath. "Jenny—Mark broke up with me," she whispered.

Jenny's face fell—she completely forgot about the tense confrontation, and about whatever Gibbs had done to piss the Colonel off. She reached out, put her arms around Holly's shoulder, and pulled her into the house—she was so relieved she had a bowl full of brownie mix waiting in the kitchen.

She didn't bother baking the brownies; she took the bowl of gooey batter, Ike, and a bottle of Advil upstairs—Holly just looked like her head was killing her—and shut herself in her room with her friend, locking the door securely. Holly was always so jubilant and exhilarated that it was upsetting to see her so dejected, and when she was safe behind the closed door of Jenny's bedroom, she burst into tears.

She collapsed in Jenny's window seat, and Jenny handed her the brownie batter sympathetically, just remaining silent and supportive for a moment. She sat down on the floor, leaning against her bed, and snuggling Ike when he lie down and put his loveable head in her lap. She waited for Holly to catch her breath, and then she cleared her throat.

"You want me to call Nina?" she asked gently.

Holly shook her head, taking a deep breath.

"No," she said, her voice wavering badly. "I—I wanted to tell you guys separately; both of you together overwhelm me…and I—I need you right now, Jenny. I know you've never been through a break-up but you—you have a boyfriend, so you understand," she choked on her words, and swallowed. "You understand some things Nina doesn't."

"Nina would theoretically understand them," Jenny said, cracking smile.

Holly laughed hoarsely.

"This is so real, though," she said, and her face fell again. Her eyes closed tightly, and she lowered her head, hiding behind her hair, looking as if she were about to face plant in the brownie bowl. She made a pained, hiccupping noise, and Jenny looked down at Ike, frowning weakly.

She didn't quite know what to do. Holly and Mark had been together so long—

"Holly," Jenny began cautiously. "What—happened?" she asked gently. "I know you were planning on separating before college—"

"We were," Holly burst out, lifting her head. She blinked rapidly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "We discussed that; we agreed on it," she said earnestly. "He—he changed his mind!"

"Without any indication?" Jenny probed. "Did something happen—maybe at Prom?"

"No," Holly cried softly. "No, Prom was perfect. I was the fucking Prom queen, it was a fairytale night," she managed, shaking her head and leaning back. Her head fell heavily against the wall. She closed her eyes again, tears dripping from the corners of her eyes.

"What happened?" Jenny patiently asked again.

Holly pushed her hair back, and dipped her finger in the chocolate treat. She sucked on it sadly, and then took a deep breath and clutched the bowl, removing her finger from her mouth.

"We broke up last night," she admitted. "I—it didn't sink in until this morning, and then I thought if I stayed in bed it would go away…I only got up to come to you," she explained. She licked her lips and took another deep breath. "We were at my house, waiting for a late night game of laser tag and he just…he started talking, he said he'd been thinking," she broke off, swiping at her face. She was silent for a moment, and then she grit her teeth. "He said he didn't want to spend the summer with me if we were just going to break up," she choked out. "He said it didn't make sense for us to wait, and then have to deal with the emotional fall-out on top of adjusting to new schools."

Jenny nodded slowly, listening attentively to Holly. She scratched her dog's ears rhythmically, and Ike thumped his tail gently, as if he was aware that there wasn't much happiness in the room.

"He didn't even bring up that point when you guys-?"

"I think he tried, but I didn't listen to him, I just bubbled on with my own plans," Holly interrupted, bursting into tears again. "He hates it when I do that—I talk over him so much," she cried regretfully.

She hugged the bowl closer and drew her legs up, shaking her head.

"It's so frustrating because—because I get what he's saying, Jenny, it makes sense—I didn't even think about how hard it would be to break up with my long-term boyfriend and then move all the way across the country—I mean those are major life changes, even possibly devastating ones, and I didn't think…but I didn't think it would hurt this much."

Jenny compressed her lips, watching Holly sadly. She felt so awful for her best friend—it really was an impossible situation, and she felt helpless to make Holly feel better—because she wasn't going to break up with her boyfriend when she went to college, and her gut reaction was to suggest Holly and Mark just stay together and see what happened. But—that's not what they wanted.

"He just—he just sprung it on me, he wants to cut it off clean—I think he wants to be able to let loose at Beach Week, and when he goes to Disney World with the football team but I…I mean, he could have waited until after graduation, so I had a whole summer to try and avoid him and so no one at school would whisper about it," she said.

"His timing wasn't very thoughtful," Jenny said tightly.

"Don't be mad at Mark, Jenny."

"He hurt you," she said, but her response was half-hearted—Mark had been so much a part of her life for years that she knew he was a great guy; he'd always treated Holly well, and he'd always been nice to Jenny and Nina. She liked him, and this situation sucked all around.

Holly wiped at her eyes.

"I don't understand why it feels like my heart shattered," she growled to herself desperately.

"You were with him for a long time, Hol," Jenny said softly.

"Yes, and I love him—but I never had a fantasy that it would last!" Holly retorted frankly. "He was my high school sweetheart, and that's as far as I ever thought—it's like I'm crashing from a high, and I'm scared because I'll be on my own again, not because I lost Mark—I've told you, I love Mark, but I knew we'd break up—I love everyone. I'm not like you—"

"Me?" Jenny broke in hastily, raising her brows.

Holly rubbed her nose and smiled weakly.

"You," she repeated. "You, you're loyal and committed and you're a one guy kind of girl and I…that's not me, it won't ever be me; I get bored, and I don't want to be tied down or be with one man forever…I mean, you want to marry Jethro, don't you? I never wanted—"

Jenny gave her a panicked look, completely startled.

"We haven't—you and Mark were together way longer than Jethro and me have been!" she said. She pushed her hair back, biting her lip. "Holly, when have I ever said—"

"I don't mean now, I mean you don't think you and Jethro will break up!" Holly broke in earnestly. "You want to stay with him when you go to college—I didn't want to stay with Mark. I want to have other love affairs. You—" Holly stopped.

Jenny pushed her hair back again, gathering it in her hands. Holly's words struck a chord in her, and she felt lighthearted and scared at the same time. Holly was right—she never thought about breaking up with Jethro, and it never even occurred to her that he might leave her—but the idea that that meant she was ready to up and marry him was—terrifying.

She was eighteen years old, for God's sake.

The redhead bit her lip and leaned forward.

"Holly, it still hurts because you did everything with Mark, he was your first everything," she said kindly. "Even if you know in your heart it's time to go separate ways, it's still going to be hard to live in the world without him—you'll do it, of course, because you're Holly, and it's like you said—you'll get bored of heartbreak," Jenny paused, and smiled faintly. "I don't think this is easy on Mark, either, babe."

Holly shook her head, wiping at her face.

"He was so upset," she said, her eyes filling with tears again. "He started crying—I've never seen him cry—and he tried to be macho, like he said he wanted to be free to do what he wanted this summer, and he wanted to be over me by August—and that hurt my feelings, but I know he was just trying to get it over with—and I just sat there and stared at him and then, when he was done—you know what I said?"

Jenny rubbed Ike's snout softly, and tilted her head.

"What?" she prompted gently.

"I said 'Okay.' And then I said 'Are we going to laser tag or not?'"

Jenny looked at her, eyebrows raised, and then Holly giggled weakly—and Jenny laughed, too.

"Well—did you?" she asked.

"Yes," Holly wailed, in disbelief. "We went to laser tag anyway—and I kicked his ass and then I went home and went to sleep and woke up and cried for hours!"

"Oh, Holly," Jenny said softly, giving her a gentle smile.

Holly turned her attention to the brownie batter, taking the wooden spoon Jenny had stuck in there and swirling it around to get a large amount. She lifted it, eyed it, and sighed, closing her eyes briefly and composing herself slowly.

"I want to be mad at him so badly," she muttered, her shoulders slumping. "I wish he'd been mean, or made it easy, but I know it tore him up, and he was nice."

"Mark's a good guy," Jenny agreed.

Holly nodded.

"I don't want to bash him. I want him to be happy. I just…I don't want to go to school, and I don't want to see him at graduation and I…I don't know how long it will take for me to stop thinking of him as my go-to."

"It might be easier than you think, if he's out of sight, out of mind all summer," Jenny said.

Holly nodded, pushing her hair back and licking the wooden spoon. She swallowed after a long period of indulgence, and leaned back again, clearly calming down. She licked her lips and sighed heavily, looking out the window.

"I can't go to Beach Week," she said in a raw voice. "It won't be what I wanted it to be…were you, um-?"

"No," Jenny said, sensing the question before it was asked. "I wasn't going to go," she said, and smiled when Holly looked relieved. "You, Nina, and me—we'll have a sleepover, and go through all four years of yearbooks," she offered.

"Can we watch Anastasia?" Holly asked hoarsely.

Jenny smiled.

"I'll even make sure Nina doesn't say a word about the historical fallacies."

Holly laughed tiredly and nodded, biting her lip. She'd like that—spending time with her friends. She looked down into the bowl again and took a deep breath, setting her shoulders back.

"I was afraid Jethro would be here," she admitted. "I didn't want to scare him, crying and looking a mess."

"He's only scared of women with crosses."

"Crosses?"

"Like, you know, Jesus necklaces."

"What the hell?" gasped Holly, cracking up. "Is he a vampire?"

"He's my Edward," Jenny simpered, and then made a disgusted face—she couldn't keep up that charade for even a second. She snorted loudly, and shook her head. "No, um—his first girlfriend, this super sweet, timid religious girl, Maggie—when he broke if off, she took it really poorly, and he accidentally broke her cross necklace somehow, and she gathered it in her fist and scratched his face and neck with it."

"Oh my God!"

"Yeah, Jethro's not too big a fan of God after that," Jenny snorted.

Holly giggled, and Jenny was glad she'd been able to make the other girl smile—Holly really was so upset, and seemed so out of sorts and not herself. It broke Jenny's heart, and she wanted to do anything she could to make Holly feel better, and to make it easier.

"Hol?" she began. "You—you want me to subtly tell people? At school?"

"Mark's telling the football team," Holly said, shaking her head. "They've got it covered—but thank you, Jenny," she said, biting her lip to keep it from shaking. "If you could—tomorrow—just make sure you help avoid the subject? If someone brings it up, and you're there?"

"What subject?" Jenny feigned innocence.

Holly stared at her.

"Mark and I broke up—"

"Holly."

"Oh, you were joking."

"Jesus."

Holly groaned and tilted her head back.

"More chocolate," she said weakly, wallowing in brownie batter for a moment.

She licked the spoon clean, licked her lips, and closed her eyes, resting silently for a long time. Jenny leaned back, looking down at Ike and making faces at him—the dog was staring at Holly as she sat in the window seat, and Jenny thought it was sweet—Ike seemed to care about Holly's heartbreak, too.

Holly shifted, sitting forward. She set the bowl on the cushions between her legs and looked down at it. She looked over at Jenny, thoughtful and hesitant, and then she bit her lip. Jenny blinked at her, waiting for whatever was coming.

"Can I ask you something?" Holly inquired quietly.

Jenny nodded curtly, still rubbing Ike affectionately.

Holly took a slow breath—it seemed like she was afraid of spooking Jenny.

"Do you think…Gibbs is the one?"

Jenny didn't answer. Her heart sped up—which, she supposed was her answer—but her logic ignored it, and she felt confused—it was such a huge, monumental question, and she was too calculating, too logical, to stop and listen to her gut or her soul.

"I'm eighteen, Holly. I don't know anything about the one."

"What does age have to do with it?"

"I'm too young," Jenny said. "I can't decide my whole life on a whim."

"It's not a decision," Holly said quietly. "It's a feeling. Don't you have a feeling?"

She did: she felt scared, and overwhelmed, and daunted—because maybe she did feel that, and it went against everything she'd taught herself since her flighty, immature, too-young mother left her at an old, unfamiliar home in Tennessee.

Jenny looked at Holly, and Holly smiled at her wryly, compressing her lips and saying nothing.

"If I asked him the same question, what would he tell me?" she asked—secretively, as if she knew—because Holly had a sixth sense about these things, and Holly thought Gibbs loved Jenny like there was no tomorrow.

Jenny swallowed hard, and her mouth felt dry. This was about Holly, she was supposed to be comforting Holly, but instead, she blurted it out, because her chest was too tight to hold it in suddenly—and it had been weighing down on her, way in the back of her mind, that she'd said the words and:

"He hasn't said it back."

Jackie Vance leaned over the counter in Gibbs' kitchen, watching Gibbs eagerly.

"She's adorable," Gibbs said, deadpan, handing the photo back to Jackie.

"You know what you're looking at, right?" Jackie asked, taking it and holding it up. She pointed. "This is her foot, and this is her palm—she's kind of making a fist, and this is her nose—"

"Yeah, I can tell," Gibbs said seriously.

"Can you really tell? Leon said he could, and then four days later he announced he'd been lying and he thought she looked like a lumpy watermelon."

Gibbs snorted.

"Hope he changes his mind," he said wryly.

Jackie grinned, and shifted, slipping the ultrasound photo into her back pocket. She looked quite proud of herself, and tilted her head, chewing on her bottom lip as she eyed Gibbs intently.

"So, now that you've seen her, will you do it?"

Gibbs looked down at the beer in his hands and didn't answer. He took a swig of it and put it down slowly, listening to the loud sound it made against the ceramic counter. He lifted his shoulders.

"I won't be here when she's born, Jackie," he said gruffly.

Jackie shrugged.

"That doesn't matter," she said, exasperated. "Leroy, you can write her a letter, and I'll give it to her to open when she's old enough to read. That would be cute," she coaxed.

"'M not good at words."

"You're better at words than you think you are," Jackie corrected sharply, catching his eye. "You don't say much, but when someone hits a raw nerve, you've got real power."

"What the hell's that mean?"

"When you say something mean, it destroys people," Jackie explained. "When you say something heartfelt, it sweeps 'em off their feet."

Gibbs snorted at her skeptically, and rolled his eyes, taking another sip of beer. He still hadn't told Jenny about his deployment, and he was trying to figure out how to do that—with the Colonel breathing down his neck—and now Jackie and Leon were asking him to be the godfather to their baby. He'd expected it, he figured, but he was wary of committing, now.

He kept thinking it would be bad luck if he agreed, and then got killed in Afghanistan, and the little Vance never met her godfather.

Jackie reached out and nudged him, pursing her lips.

"I'm not asking you for a kidney," she pointed out.

"She's s'pose to have a godmother, right?" Gibbs asked shortly. "You got to ask someone who's married, unless you're plannin' to ask Jen," he snorted.

Jackie shook her head—she loved Jenny, but in case something happened, she wasn't going to put that burden on the girl.

"My godparents weren't married," she began.

"Ask your sister and her husband," Gibbs tried.

"You lost your mind?" Jackie growled, alarmed. "Christy's already got three kids, I'm not trustin' mine to her and that deadbeat husband—and Brenda doesn't even take care of the one she's got!"

Gibbs pointed to his chest.

"You trust me to take your kid if somethin' happens?" he asked skeptically.

"More'n anyone, you idiot!" Jackie retorted immediately. She gave him a look. "All you do is take care of people, Gibbs!" she said earnestly. "You forget I know all about that poor Shannon you watched over when you were just a boy—you forget I know you put Stephanie back together after an abusive relationship," she listed. "I'm not plannin' on dying, baby, but god forbid if something happened to Leon and I," she trailed off, her point made clear.

Gibbs looked down, his jaw tight. He smiled a little, and Jackie grinned—she knew he'd come around; he was just very careful about his commitments because once he did commit, it was all or nothing, and he had a real, pathological fear of failing people.

"Don't make me settle for my second choice, Leroy," Jackie said seriously.

"Who?"

"Tobias," she revealed wryly, and Gibbs snorted loudly.

Fornell had left for his own deployment a four days after taking Nina to the Prom, and other than knowing that he'd gotten to his base in Iraq safely, they hadn't heard from him.

"We're naming her after you, for God's sake!" Jackie said.

Gibbs glared at her.

"Kayla Jethro?" he asked skeptically.

Jackie laughed, and slapped his hand in admonishment.

"No," she growled pointedly. "Kayla Lareina," she said gallantly.

Gibbs arched an eyebrow, clueless. Jackie lifted her chin primly.

"I looked up female versions of Leroy, and I couldn't find any. So I looked up what your name means, and it means King. Lareina means Queen in Spanish," she explained proudly.

Gibbs considered her for a moment, and then grinned. He took a drink of his beer and dipped his head. If she'd put that much research into it—and she really thought he was that important—

"It'll be good practice," she added earnestly. "I know you want kids someday, and you'll be so good at it. You can start now, and maybe not be as scared and worried as me and Leon are."

Gibbs nodded his head, agreeing silently. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "I'll do it. Can't promise letters," he added under his breath.

Jackie flew around the counter and hugged him, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"I knew you'd agree," she said smugly. "Leon really wanted you to do it—I know y'all act like you don't give a shit about each other, but he did care," she informed him seriously. She grinned again and squeezed him in another hug. "And you damn well will write a letter—if you can write to Jenny, you can write to my baby, and I know you can't go ten months without talkin' to your girl."

Gibbs cleared his throat roughly and didn't say anything. He stepped away from Jackie and finished off his Corona, withdrawing a little—he didn't want to talk about Jenny. Jackie had lectured him, too, about telling her as soon as possible, and it was starting to really weigh down on him—he knew she needed to know, but he kept putting it off. First he couldn't ruin Prom, then he couldn't put that on her while she was studying for final exams, and then…he just couldn't bear to ruin her summer, because she'd talked so much about how perfect it was going to be, and instead of a whole summer together, he had to go to Afghanistan.

Jackie tilted her head and leaned where he'd been standing, watching while he washed out the glass bottle to throw it in a recycling container. She narrowed her eyes.

"You still haven't told Jenny, have you, Leroy?" she asked.

He grunted vaguely at her, shutting off the faucet violently and chucking the bottle away. It made a treacherous noise, and he leaned into the oven behind him, looking at Jackie tensely.

"No," he answered finally, his voice brittle.

"She can handle it," Jackie told him firmly. "I know you think she can't—"

"Jen can handle anything," Gibbs said abruptly. "Doesn't mean I want her to have to."

"That's sweet," Jackie said softly. She shook her head. ""You can't do it for her," she pointed out, shrugging lightly. "You know—Leon doesn't mention Iraq much…I think he had it pretty brutal over there, whatever he was doin'," she said hesitantly, "but he came back. He's okay."

"Doesn't mean I will," Gibbs said bluntly. "He wasn't at Camp Dwyer."

"You can't think fatalistically," Jackie pleaded earnestly. "It just invites bad luck." She bit her lip. "What's got you most worried about tellin' her?"

He reached up and rubbed his jaw. It was so many things—he was worried she'd cry, and he didn't want to upset her. He was scared he'd never see her again, and telling her, saying it out loud and watching her realize that was a possibility would scare him more. He didn't know how it would affect their relationship, because she was so young, and he'd be so far out of sight—it would be different than the way they'd planned to see each other on weekends while she was at college—and he wanted her to be his, unequivocally, forever, and the reason he hadn't told her that was because he didn't know how serious she was about him—she was mature, but she was so young—

He felt like he didn't know anything. He hadn't ever been in love before.

He only remembered that once, Shannon had said: love isn't logical. You just do what love tells you to do.

He didn't know if Jenny thought that way, though.

He shrugged at Jackie. She gave him a sympathetic look, and sighed.

"You've got to tell her, Leroy," she said heavily, lifting her shoulders. "You've only got three weeks left."

When she said it—three weeks—his heart sunk, and because he realized how close it was, and how badly he'd fucked up in waiting—she was expecting a summer fantasy in three weeks, and he had to tell her he'd be in the Helmand Province.

It was surreal to sit on the hood of her car in the parking lot at Alexander Hamilton High School and know that she'd never again enter the school as a student. It was terrifying and exhilarating; it was bittersweet, as the seniors stood around in the parking lot, laughing and goofing off and celebrating the Thursday half-day that ended their twelfth grade education.

Music played from cars—Jenny's included—and people took their time relaxing and hanging out with each other, discussing post-graduation plans, reminiscing about the years gone by and just absorbing the freedom they were about to be handed. The revelry was amusing, and fun—but for Jenny, it wouldn't feel real until her diploma was in her hand next Sunday—ten days from today.

She pushed her hair back with her sunglasses, shoving them off of her face, and grinned as Nina swung herself up on the car and sat down next to her—she had a paper crown on her head with Valedictorian written on it.

"I'm a real Czarina now," she said primly, gesturing to the hat.

Jenny grinned, and held up her hand—which had a paper wristband on it that identified her as her superlative: Most Likely to Succeed and Most Loquacious. Sara Porter, the Student Council President, was making them and handing them out with confetti and candy—she was that adorable—and Jenny was quite proud of hers.

Nina giggled, grabbing her friend's hand.

"That's why you're making Tim's speech for him," she said, and Jenny snorted.

"I'm not complaining," she said, leaning back on her elbows and crossing her legs lazily—she had ended up coming in third to Timothy McGee; she'd gotten her B in AP chemistry, and he'd ended up besting her when the GPAs were weighted. He was Salutatorian, but he'd persuaded Principal Morrow to delegate the speech to Jenny, because he was wary of public speaking, and he knew she wanted to give a speech more than she actually cared about her class rank.

Third was pretty damn good, after all, and the persons ranked fourth, fifth, and sixth, were an entire GPA point behind her—whereas the difference between herself, Nina, and Tim was about .04 points.

Nina grinned, and looked around her, adjusting her crown dramatically. She noticed Holly playing a game in a circle with some cheerleaders and a couple of kids from the band, and smiled lopsidedly.

"I think the week got easier for her," she said.

"Well, it helped that she skipped Monday and Tuesday, and Mark skipped the rest," Jenny snorted.

"What's his excuse?" Nina asked—she was more annoyed with Mark than even Holly was, but Holly thought it was endearing, and didn't ask her to back off.

"He's visiting LSU again," Jenny said. Mark really was out of the state—and frankly, Jenny thought it was good. It let Holly feel a little less like a target while she enjoyed her last week of school, and Holly was popular, so she thrived on all of the chaos and activity. It would have been awful if she was feeling down and couldn't enjoy it.

"I thought Holly and Mark would last forever," Nina muttered.

"So did I," Jenny said, and then laughed. "And all this time, Holly's the only one who never wanted it to."

Nina grinned—it was so fitting for Holly to want a lifetime of long, passionate love affairs that ended rather than one great relationship that ended only at the grave. Nina sighed, and leaned back, stretching out next to Jenny.

"I'm not like that," she said thoughtfully. "I don't think." She paused a moment, and smiled. "I turned out so opposite of what my parents wanted."

"They wanted a stupid college drop-out with no ambitions?"

"That's not what I mean!" Nina laughed. "They wanted a socialistic little atheist with apathy towards the United States," she told Jenny. "But I'm so far from it—how can I be apathetic when I've had so many chances here I wouldn't have had in Russia? That's why they freakin' moved in the first place. The U.S.S.R. crumbled to pieces the year I was born."

Jenny nodded.

"And the atheist part? The socialism?" she goaded.

Nina snorted.

"I'm more in favor of state-led, regulated capitalism," she said flippantly, and then giggled, "and I'm so firmly Lutheran they're still struggling to find out how it happened."

Jenny giggled—she didn't know where Nina got her faith, either, but she had never asked; she figured it was personal.

"I want a big white church-y wedding, and I want to be married until the end of time, and I want a big, rough, American husband and loud, spoiled American kids."

"You better hope Fornell comes home safe," Jenny laughed.

Nina giggled and pushed her hair back.

But...I do want to go back to Russia for a while. See if I can make a difference. You know, the problem is...Putin allows anyone who doesn't like it to leave, as long as they don't come back if they criticize him...and so everyone leaves, and no one cares about the people left." Nina smiled benignly. "I'd like to do the opposite."

Jenny rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and tilted her head.

"I'm not like Holly either," she mumbled, and then shrugged. "But I'm too young to know what I want, really."

Nina gave Jenny an intent look.

"You want Gibbs," she said.

Jenny smirked at her.

"You know what you want, Jenny," Nina said wryly, shrugging. "You always have. You think too much."

Jenny squinted in the sun, and nodded. It was true, perhaps—but that was just because she was almost pathologically terrified of seeming anything like her mother, and her mother had let her down, and hurt her father, and broken her grandparent's heart, and Jenny was scared of being like that.

"What are we doing on graduation night?" Nina asked, cocking her head. "Holly mentioned a bonfire or something, before everyone disperses to Beach Week—but I didn't know if you and Gibbs—"

"Ooh, that sounds fun," Jenny said. She waved her hand. "Gibbs and I are going to dinner with Dad afterwards, I assume, but I will spend the night with my ladies," she said primly. She grinned. "I've got all summer with him," she added breezily.

Nina smirked.

"What are y'all doing tonight, again?"

"Celebrating me basically being an adult," she said smugly. "You know, so the last of the babysitting jokes can die out, because I'm a co-ed now."

Nina laughed, and Jenny sat forward.

"We're driving out by this dock, where we fished after my birthday, and we're gonna feed the ducks, just relax."

"Oh yeah, just relax," Nina drawled. "Get real, Jenny."

"What?" the redhead feigned innocence.

"You totally wanna do it in his truck!"

Jenny shoved Nina roughly, and then bit back a grin, trying to be indignant.

"What kind of damnable harlot—"

"The same damnable harlot who said you wanted to do it in a truck when we were fifteen!" Nina laughed, and Jenny flushed, swallowing her own laughter.

"Well, if it happens, it happens," she said, attempting to remain aloof.

Nina lunged over and pulled down the sleeve of Jenny's top, peeking down her shirt.

"Ha," she snorted, noting the caliber of bra. "It's happening."

"Harassment!" Jenny shouted, jumping up on her car and popping her sunglasses down on her face. She pointed at Nina seriously—someone snatched a picture, and Nina giggled, falling backwards on the red Mustang.

Holly bounded over, grabbing Jenny's ankle.

"Hey, Miss Opinionated," she said. "Sarah wants a picture with your male counterpart—and then like seven guys want to drive your car—c'mon, pictures," Holly was saying, trying to tug Jenny off the car.

Nina shoved Holly, Holly grabbed Jenny's ankle for support, and Jenny let out a shriek and slipped, falling hard onto the hood of the Mustang and then sliding right off of it onto the pavement. She earned herself a long scrape on her thigh from the front of the car, and probably a huge bruise on her shoulder and ass.

Holly gasped, and Nina jumped off the car, laughing hysterically. Kensi Blye took a picture, and then Holly and Nina hauled Jenny to her feet. Holly tried to apologize through her giggles, and Nina brushed off Jenny smugly, catching her eye.

The redhead flashed a smile, and looked around at the raucous parking lot again, letting it all sink in.

This was it.

This was over.

She wasn't dying to get out—but she wasn't going to miss it, either.

It was usually Gibbs who was prone to fall asleep right after they had sex, but tonight, in the cool warmth of night that enveloped them, she was struggling to stay awake. She snuggled against him heavily under the blankets, her clothes wrinkled, but back on her body. She was still barefoot, and he hadn't put his shirt back on, but they were decent enough that if someone happened to walk by the dock, they wouldn't be caught literally with their pants down.

She shifted her head and sighed, pressing her nose into his chest and smiling a little. She bit her lip smugly—Nina had been right, of course; she'd had every intention of having sex with Gibbs in the bed of the truck the moment it got dark, and he hadn't needed much persuasion.

She figured the thrill of going at it outside, in the open, with only the blankets and their clothes and sawdust for pillows, was what had made it the best sex she'd had—to date. He certainly seemed smug about it, except he hadn't said a word for half an hour, and his muscles were getting tenser and tenser the later it got, and the more he stroked her hair.

She kept breathing him in, her eyes closed comfortably.

"I wish I could go home with you," she murmured, pouting her lips.

He grunted, and ran his hand down her back, his fingers pressing gently into her spine. She laughed a little.

"I was trying to get a feel for how much adult decision-making I'm allowed to do when I'm still in my father's house, and he thought I was trying to move in with you," she snorted softly.

Gibbs looked down at her warily.

"How'd he get that idea?"

"I don't know," she murmured, shrugging. She shifted and kissed his jaw, resting her head back and blinking at him. "I wanted to know if he'd let us go to the beach together," she started, and then she compressed her lips, tilting her head. "What's going on between you and him?" she asked.

Gibbs looked at her guardedly, his eyes darkening. He set his jaw, and lifted his shoulder.

"What's that mean?" he asked shortly.

She gave him a look, and moved her hand out from under the blanket, pushing her hair out of her face and untangling it a little.

"He was pissy about you," she said bluntly. "He reverted back to how he acted when we first started dating—and he hasn't said a word to you the last few times you've been over."

Gibbs grunted.

She smacked her hand against his chest and grinned.

"You have to have noticed," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "He usually calls you an asshole or something at least once," she joked.

Gibbs didn't say anything. He looked at her, and then he slowly shifted to his knees, got up and rummaged around for his shirt. She lounged back into his corner—the truck was a little warmer where he'd been leaning against the corner—and watched him, narrowing her eyes. She couldn't think of anything that would have pissed off her father lately—unless he'd somehow figured out she and Gibbs were having sex and decided he couldn't handle it.

She propped her elbow up on the truck and pressed her fingers against her temple, watching him pull his shirt on. He swung off the lowered tailgate, and went around to the cab. Seconds later, he reappeared, and looked at her dully.

"You want a beer?" he asked.

She was a little taken aback, because he usually didn't explicitly offer her drinks—he just didn't say anything if she got something from his fridge. She also didn't know he had beer in that cooler in the floorboards.

"Yeah?" she answered, her voice going up uncertainly.

He ducked into the cab of the truck and got one; uncapping it and hopping up to pass it to her. He walked back around to the tailgate and leaned against it, his back to her for a moment. Then, he turned around, facing her. He took his dog tag from his neck, and held it out.

She stared at him.

"You've still got the other one?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded dumbly—she had it in her wallet; she'd never put it on a chain. The beer was cold against her palm, and she pulled it a little closer to her chest. He tossed the chain, and the remaining dog tag to her, and managed to loop it around her beer bottle. The metal landed neatly on her arm, and she looked at it.

She smirked, and took a drink of beer, shaking her head back and breathing out slowly.

"Keep 'em," he ordered. "They're commisionin' me new ones."

"You get a promotion?" she asked.

He looked at her a minute, and shook his head.

"New MOS," he corrected. "Your old man's pissed at me because I'm a coward," he said roughly, narrowing his eyes.

Jenny, halfway through another sip of beer, stopped and sat forward. She let her arms lie loosely against her knees, and held the bottle at its neck, her smile fading. She didn't know what he was trying to say—Gibbs wasn't cowardly; he was brave.

"What did you do?" she asked, exasperated. "You refuse to duel him or something?"

Gibbs put his hands on the tailgate, physically bracing himself. He had planned to tell her tonight, and he didn't know if it was a good thing or a bastard thing that he had waited until after they had sex. He wasn't really sure it mattered at all, because this kind of thing just wasn't going to go well.

"I'm being deployed."

She was in the middle of drinking when he said it, and she didn't react. She swallowed, lowered the beer bottle, and looked at him for a moment as if she hadn't heard him at all. She blinked.

"What?" she asked quietly.

"Jen," he pleaded. He didn't want to say it again. It had been hard enough to say it the first time.

The longneck made a loud noise as she set it down and pushed it away. She turned her head, propping her elbow on the truck again and touching her lips lightly. She pressed her nails into her lips silently, and he watched her apprehensively. She stared into her palm for what seemed like an eternity and then she—started crying.

She was composed for a second, and then a second later she completely dissolved into tears, and he stared at her in shock—if his jaw hadn't been clenched so tightly, it would have dropped. It wasn't that he'd never seen her cry—he'd just never seen it happen so suddenly and so badly—there was usually some provocation, or build up, to her starting to cry like this.

He just stood there—he didn't know what to do. He didn't want to climb back into the truck, because he didn't feel like cuddling up to her, but he couldn't just let her sit there and cry. She kept wiping at her face angrily, like she was trying to stem the flow. She did him a favor, though—she got up and came towards him, climbing out of the truck to his level.

He reached out, and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Jen," he said quietly.

She turned her head and took his hand, pulling it against her chest. She held onto his fingers tightly, clutching them close, and swallowed hard a few times. When she spoke her voice was so steady, he was startled again.

"Where?" she asked in a small voice. "Where are they sending you?"

He didn't want to say it out loud.

"Afghanistan," he said.

She closed her eyes.

"Helmand Province," he went on.

She bit her lip and tilted her head back, looking up at the sky. He watched her throat move as she swallowed hard again, and then she dropped his hand and stood back, placing her hand on her hip. She turned, kicked the dirt violently—she seemed to forget she was barefoot—and then cried out, leaning against the tailgate. She kept so silent for so long that he started to feel the need to talk—she perched up on the tailgate.

"Fuck," she said hoarsely, and started crying again. She reached up and covered her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Jethro," she choked out. "I—I was never like this with my dad; I thought I would take it better, I," she paused, and then threw her hand out. "You said October!" she cried desperately.

She clutched the tailgate, leaning forward.

"You told me—October!"

"I thought-!" he started defensively. "I didn't ask for it, Jen—my number's up!"

She looked down at her legs, trying not to attack him—she knew it wasn't his fault. He had no say in where he was sent. She just needed something to say, and she didn't know what that something was—she didn't know if he needed comfort, of if he needed her to be strong—and she was completely appalled at her reaction, because never in a million years had she expected herself to completely lose it like this.

She looked at him, her lips parted, and her eyes wet and red.

"Why is my father mad?" she asked hoarsely. "Is he mad—because you've got to go? Is he blaming you?" she asked tersely.

"He's pissed 'cause I didn't tell you—"

"You're tellin' me now!"

"Yeah, well, I got the orders the day I left sniper school," he said.

She blinked, her expression confused and anguished, and then she straightened, shaking her head.

"You told Dad before you told—"

"No, he ambushed me—he figured it out," Gibbs interrupted harshly. "I didn't—no, Jen, he was pissed 'cause I blew you off for the guys—he kept harassin' me to tell you, but I couldn't ruin your Prom, and you had exams—"

"I don't care when you fucking tell me," she interrupted loudly. "Don't listen to him, it's none of his business—he doesn't know how it was affecting you," she said rapidly, trying to process all the information. She looked at him earnestly. "Are you okay?" she asked desperately. She blinked, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment.

He looked at her, a shadow falling across his face.

"I'm fine," he said curtly.

She didn't believe him.

"You have to—be scared, or, or—pissed off or—something!" she said wildly, searching his expression. "Marines…Marines go to Dwyer—Dwyer is so dangerous," she choked on her words, and compressed her lips hard. "Jethro," she moaned quietly, and then took a deep breath. "When-? When do you-?"

He grit his teeth angrily, leaning against the tailgate next to where she sat. He pushed his fists into the truck, his eyes fixed ahead of him for a moment, and then he looked at her.

"June eighth."

She stared at him, and then the colour drained from her face and she sucked in her breath as the reality really sunk in.

"Jethro—that's," she started, gasping. "That's ten days from now—that's my graduation!" she shouted—her eyes darkened harshly, and she leapt off the truck, shoving him hard. "He was pissed you didn't tell me—you blindsided me!" she railed, her nails digging into him. "Jesus Christ, you bastard!"

He turned to her, trying to figure out a way to run damage control. He reached for her, and she slapped him away. She pointed to herself violently.

"My father has no business telling you what to do, but you owe it to me to give me some time to prepare!" she yelled at him. "Ten days, Jethro! Ten days?" she cried. He tried to approach her again, and she shoved him hard. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she bellowed, and then burst into tears again.

This time, he plowed right through when she tried to shove him, and grabbed her tightly around the shoulders and held her to him. She buried her head in his chest and cried, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I don't want you to go," she sobbed. "I don't want to lose you."

"I'll be okay, Jen," he said automatically, instinctively saying it to sooth her—though he realized, if he started thinking that way, instead of—what had Jackie called it? Fatalistically?—then maybe he'd have a better chance of making good on it. He stroked her hair, and tilted her head back, his fingers resting amongst the curls and against her neck.

"It'll be okay, Jenny," he said gruffly, forcing himself to sound steadier than he felt.

She parted her lips, looking at him so unhappily. She slid her hands up his back, cleaving closer to him, and then leaned forward and pressed kisses to his shirt, lingering close to him. She closed her eyes.

"Jethro," she said hoarsely. "You should have given me more time you—I started making plans, I was looking forward to this summer…I know this isn't your fault—I know you don't want to go…but I needed you to prepare me," her voice went up, and she pulled back—he managed to keep a hold on her a little. "I—I'll barely have a second to process this before I—I tell you goodbye and then…I just have to walk across the stage and get my diploma like nothing's wrong," she burst out, her eyes flashing again.

She looked a mix of angry and defeated and weak, and he ran his hands over her shoulders.

"You could have told me last week, you could have told me the day after Prom—tonight was so good," she stopped, and then suddenly violently shoved him back again. "You sure as hell made sure I got it good before you sprung this one me!" she lashed out, her eyes flashing. "What, did you think if I had an orgasm or two I'd be easier to deal with?"

"That's what you're complaining about?" he retorted in disbelief.

"I'm trying to deal with this!" she shouted—she didn't care if she'd sounded ridiculous. "I knew this could happen, I knew it I just—I'm an Army brat; I know how this works but I can't—I can't," she stopped, tears spilling down her face again, and she pushed her hair back, turning away. "I'm so scared," she said into the dark, her back to him. "I'm so scared, Jethro—it was supposed to be me, going to college—not you going to war!"

He came towards her and took her arm, pulling her around. He touched her cheek. His eyes met hers, and he looked apprehensive—insecure; worried.

"It won't change—"

"It will change!"

"It won't change us, Jen, you'n'me—"

"Yes, it will!" she cried desperately. She jerked her head away from him. "I won't be able to see you—I'll hardly be able to talk to you, I'll—I won't even get notified if something happens, not until they tell your father," she stumbled over her words and wiped at her eyes again. "It's not like I can visit you on weekends! I don't remember most of Dad's dangerous deployments—and there was always someone taking care of me, and distracting me…but this is different," she said. "It's different."

He stepped forward and kissed her hard, pulling her close again. She didn't have to explain herself; he'd never been deployed before. He was feeling everything she was—and more, because he was the one in the line of fire. He kissed her until he couldn't breathe, and then he kissed her again, and he was suddenly thinking about what she'd said, about she'd have to find out through other people if something happened to him—she wouldn't get his flag if he died, and if he never came back, he'd never have the pleasure of knowing she was his—

He swallowed hard and pushed her hair back, wiping tears off her face.

"Jen," he said huskily, kissing her jaw. He tangled his hand in her hair. "Jen," he said again, nudging her cheek with his nose.

She tugged on his shirt—she was listening.

His heart seemed to stop.

"We can get married," he said.

She froze—she became so still, he thought her heart must have stopped, too. She moved her lips, mouthed the word 'married?,' and then blinked hard, staring at his chest.

"What?" she asked in a deathly quiet voice.

"Let's get married," he repeated gruffly.

The words were out of his mouth so quickly, he didn't even know what he'd said—but the moment he heard himself, he knew it was exactly what he wanted: Jen. He wanted her to be his, and he wanted to be hers—he wanted her to have his flag, and to be comforted, knowing she was in the states waiting for him, so he'd have someone to fight for.

She looked at him, and bolted backwards. She licked her lips and pushed her hair back, her face pale, and her eyes wide and scared.

"Jethro," she moaned. "Jethro, are you—have you lost your goddamn mind?"

He looked at her defiantly.

"No," he growled seriously, taking her hand and pulling her back gently. He looked at her intently, his jaw set. "I want you to marry me," he said gruffly.

She saw how serious he was—she saw it in his eyes, and her eyes stung again. It was too much for her to handle—a deployment, a chaotic proposal that she was sure was thrown out because of the high-emotional charge they were operating on—

She bit her lip and slipped her hand from his grip.

"I can't marry you!" she cried hoarsely, her voice breaking. She pushed her hands through her hair, guilt and fear and panic gripping her. She was so unprepared for this, so young.

"Why not?" he demanded firmly, refusing to look away from her. "You said you loved me."

She licked her lips, her mouth had hands shaking. So they were going to talk about that now; it was going to come up now.

"Yes," she shouted harshly. "Yes—but you didn't say it back! I said it months ago—Jethro, I'm eighteen! I'm eighteen years old and I'm young and stupid!"

He grit his jaw.

"I joined the Marines when I was seventeen!" he growled roughly. "It isn't so young, Jen," he said, marching towards her and taking her arm. He slipped his hand into her pocket, his fingers tightening on her denim shorts. "Men die over there at your age! They're sending me over there—"

She looked stricken, and shoved him weakly—not without enough force to push him away, or to loosen his hold.

"Don't do that to me, don't blackmail me like that—please, Jethro, I'm scared enough," she stumbled away, trying to put space between them so she could think clearly, and he stormed over and pulled her close, clutching her shoulders tightly.

"Did you mean it?" he demanded.

"Mean what?" she cried, exasperated.

"When you said you loved me, did you mean it?"

She made a strangled, sobbing noise. She tried to think of some way to talk about something else, but she couldn't lie to him—he knew when she was lying, anyway, something about her eyes—and she was furious with herself for ever saying that—

"Yes!" she cried. "Yes, but—"

He touched her face, his thumb brushing her lip, catching tears.

"I love you, Jen," he said. "I swear it. I want to marry you. I want to come back to you."

She swallowed, trying to mitigate the situation.

"You can't—don't say it because I did, Jethro—I didn't hound you about it because I wanted you to say it on your own terns—"

"These are my terms!" he barked. "I love you!"

He hadn't ever said it because he thought it would spook her—and then when she'd said it, something had held him back, like he was afraid of binding them together like that, for her sake, in case it made her feel trapped—and he hadn't ever had much luck with loved ones; he didn't want to jinx it—but this deployment changed his mind on everything.

He kissed her hard and, distracted and upset, she kissed back until she couldn't-and then she snatched his hands into hers.

She held in a vice like grip.

"Jethro," she breathed heavily. "I can't! You're not thinking clearly!"

"I'm thinkin' damn clear!" he growled fiercely.

"I'm in high school!" she cried.

"Not anymore—"

"I'm not out yet, Jethro, and you won't even see the day I am because you're off to—" she stopped, and laughed madly. "You want me to run to a courthouse with you and marry you in the next ten days? I—I want to go to college—you don't understand. This is so much pressure—and I'm so stressed and I don't want you to get hurt or killed in fucking—Kandahar or—"

"Helmand," he corrected roughly.

"It's the same!" she shouted, tears spilling down her cheeks again. "I can't just marry you on a whim—I can't do it. I don't know a goddamn thing about the world—I'm too young—hell, you're too young—we have no idea how hard it would be—and you cannot ask me to make a decision like that this quickly, when all I can think about is you getting killed over there—"

"Shhh," he hushed. He shook his head, tightening his grip on her, stroking her neck. "I'll come back safe. I'll come back. Say you'll marry me."

"It's not that simple!" she yelled desperately, her voice breaking hard. "You might change over there! You might not love me anymore when you get back!" she screamed—she was so frustrated with him, and she hated herself for being mad when she knew he really needed her support—but he was being so completely irrational. "Then what would happen?"

She shook her head and stumbled backwards, hugging herself tightly. She looked so broken that he physically hurt from it—but his pride was hurt, and he was out of sorts. He didn't know what she was talking about—his tongue was tied, and he couldn't untie it, but she had to know he'd never stop loving her. It didn't matter what he saw in Afghanistan, or how badly he got hurt, he was trying to commit to her—he wanted her to know that she was all he needed but she—she was so reluctant—

He stared at her, watching her cry, his arms hanging at his sides—what did it mean, then?

"I can't. I can't!" she cried. She ran her hands through her hair violently, avoiding his stricken face, hunched forward. Her hair hid her face and she leaned against the tailgate, holding her stomach tightly. "Take me home. Jethro, please. I want to go home. I want to go home."

She kept repeating it—hoarsely, and she sounded sick, and defeated, and it made him feel awful. The Colonel had been right—it didn't matter how he planned it, it never would have gone well—and then he'd stuck his foot in his mouth, and he had to take her home in this state, with so many unresolved things in the air between them—and the whole drive, he had to make sense of it, and try to understand—if she didn't want to marry him, did that mean she wanted to end it?

The Colonel was smoking in the study when the front door flew open. He heard hoarse shouting and stood up quickly, eyes narrowing. He barely got down the hall before he saw Jenny rip her hand out of Gibbs' grip. She flew up the stairs, refusing to look at him, and he heard a violent sob before she slammed the door so loudly the house shook.

His jaw tightened, and he slowed down, approaching the wide-open front door wearily.

Gibbs stood on the front porch, his face pale and his jaw tight. His clothes were wrinkled—his shirt had wet patches on it, and it bothered Jasper that they were probably his daughter's tears. The Colonel set his jaw, and turned, looking up at the landing hollowly, at Jennifer's closed bedroom door.

He heard something break against the wall, and winced.

He turned back to Gibbs grimly.

"You told her?" he asked.

Gibbs didn't answer. He looked right back the Colonel, his eyes on the closed door, too, and then he opened his mouth. Nothing came out for a moment.

"She's hurtin'," was all he managed to say. His voice was raw.

The Colonel quietly glared at him, for some reason, refraining from asking. He studied Gibbs for a long time before he did his fatherly duty.

"You break up with her, Corporal?"

"No, sir," the Marine answered tightly.

The Colonel gave him a grim, hollow, wise smile.

"You did the other thing, didn't you?" he guessed bluntly—there were two things young Marines did before their first tours: broke it off, or proposed.

Gibbs just stared at him heavily.

The Colonel cleared his throat.

"Go home, son," he advised sagely.

Gibbs held his glare for a moment. He turned sharply on his heel and—unlike a different night, months and months ago, when he'd slept on the porch to make sure Jenny was safe the next morning—he left.

The Colonel shut the door loudly, his expression dark.

He turned and looked up at the tightly closed bedroom door, and he knew he had no idea what the fuck he was doing.

He stood watching her door for a long time; it wasn't until Ike trotted halfway up the stairs and whined at him that he realized he should move. He followed the dog to the bedroom door, cleared his throat loudly, and knocked.

"Jennifer?" he asked gruffly.

He had to at least check on her. He had to know she was okay, even if it was only one percent okay.

He got no answer, and he knocked again, louder.

"Jennifer," he growled, raising his voice. Silence—and he rattled the doorknob. "Make a noise or something, kid," he demanded, panic rising in his throat.

He heard scuffling, and the door wrenched open—and he'd never seen his little girl look so bad. Her eyes were almost as red as her hair, and her face was as pale as snow; she looked drained and abused and angry and scared and her lip was bleeding—she had worried it with her teeth until the skin broke.

He swallowed, setting his jaw.

"Daddy," she said, mustering as much steadiness as she could. "I can't do this tonight. I have to be alone. I have to cry until I'm sick."

He grit his teeth.

"He asked me to marry him. He asked me to marry him and I said no and I have to be alone. You have to leave me alone."

He cleared his throat.

"I had to make sure you're gonna make it through the night, Little J," he said firmly.

She smiled, but it didn't look anything like the smile he was used to. Her face crumbled. She nodded her head—nodded, and then stepped forward and hugged him tightly, and he wrapped his arms around her in silent support, at least glad he could give her a hug before she—what had she said?—cried until she was sick.

She slipped away from him after a moment, and locked herself in her room, and he turned and slid to the floor stiffly, wincing at the pain in his knees. He tilted his head back against the door stubbornly, and when Ike came and laid down next to him, thumping his tail forlornly, the Colonel decided he was there for the night—just in case his daughter needed him.

fun fact: the marry me scene/take me home right now scene is the first scene of this story I wrote.

feedback !

-alexandra