A/N: Thanks to Aly!
**I'm really sorry about the loooong wait between updates. My life sort of imploded on itself. Well, I've quit my job now, pretty much at my parents insistence, but I'm glad to be much less stressed right now. Updates should be more regular; especially when the semester ends and I finish up this horrid Algebra 2 life. Now that I have bored you with my life, on to the chapter!
***WAIT! One more note: MatteaAM wrote a story called 'I Love You', and I think you should all go read it because a) she based it on this story and that makes me feel special and loved and b) it's a really, really good little one-shot. Seriously. *glares* Go read.
The blackout lost its appeal before long. Their block and a few of the surrounding blocks were completely down, and after three days with no air or heating—no electronics at all—Leroy Jethro Gibbs was running on a short fuse, and Jenny's had proven even shorter. She couldn't get warm, couldn't sleep well, and neither one of them could find a damn thing to eat that didn't need heating up to be decent.
The lights finally came back on going into the fourth night—right in the middle of the night—and woke him up, brightening the room annoyingly at about two a.m. after he'd finally managed to toss and turn himself into a fitful sleep. It was cold enough in the house without the added discomfort of sleeping alone, and having no warm body to press close to.
Jenny was sleeping in her room. He didn't know when the escalating amount of spats and arguments had cumulated into a shouting match, but they'd both finally lost it and she'd informed him in a rage he could sleep alone tonight. Putting his foot in his mouth as usual when he was dealing with redheads, he'd responded that she wouldn't last five minutes in her cold bed without him, meaning she'd stayed in her room just to prove him wrong even if it killed her.
He rolled over and blinked hazily in the light when they flickered back on as if nothing had ever gone wrong, and he was relieved to hear the heating switch on from somewhere downstairs. He ran a hand over his face trying to clear his eyes. He debated going back to sleep or trudging downstairs to cook something. He'd have to get up to turn the light off…
Muttering darkly, he sat up in bed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, still half-blinded by the unfamiliar bright light. He thrust off the covers, grimacing at the cool air that hit him, and strode out of the room into the hall instead, slowly inching the thermostat towards the heat side. Jenny would appreciate being warm when she woke up, and maybe it would put her in a better mood.
Meaning not pissed at him.
Noticing suddenly that the lights throughout the house were on, he trudged down the stairs flicking them all off, finally settling on just going back to bed and sleeping off the irritation and discomfort he was feeling and starting over in the morning.
He paused at the top of the stairs, looking stonily at Jenny's tightly shut door. He wouldn't put it past her to have locked it, after she'd all but slammed it off the hinges, but the anger towards her was starting to ebb away. He could hardly remember what they were fighting about anyway.
Jethro grumbled under his breath again and went over to her door, pausing slightly before turning the knob quietly and opening the door to look in on her. The two lamps in her room were shining, right next to her bed, and Jenny was curled up in the middle of it. Jethro pushed the door open a little further and snuck across the room silently, turning off one lamp with the most docile clicking noise it could make.
Jenny shifted in her sleep, and he gave her a quick glance before he walked around the bed to the other side, reaching for that lamp as well. Jenny sniffled quietly in her sleep and then lifted her head, blinking her eyes open and looking at him, brief confusion etched on her face before it melted into an expressionless mask.
"Power's back," Jethro said, his hand resting on the switch for the second lamp. "I turned the heat up."
"Thanks," Jenny said softly, sounding like she hadn't slept at all.
He noticed she was wearing a sweatshirt and gave her a look. She was obviously freezing her ass off, but she was too damn stubborn to just crawl into bed with him. Frankly, he was cold, and he wanted her to stop punishing him. Jenny sighed and smiled a little, pulling the covers back. Without a word, he turned off the lamp and got in next to her.
Jenny shifted onto her stomach next to him and rested her head on her arm, closing her eyes lightly. Laying on his back, Jethro couldn't help feeling eerily like he was married again, sleeping with someone who was, for all he knew, still pissed at him.
"You realize this means I win," Jenny informed him quietly, without moving. He shifted his head to look at her and scowled.
"You win?"
"You couldn't last a night without me," she gloated, correcting his earlier arrogant jab at her. Frowning at her sleeping form as a ghost of a smirk flitted across her inviting, pink lips. Jethro rolled onto his side and subtly wormed his foot closer to Jenny's; trying casually to find the hem of the sweats she was sleeping in.
Finding it, he snuck his cold foot up her leg and Jenny shivered, burying her head in the pillow and curving her shoulders in.
"Nah," he muttered flippantly, shrugging, "Just knew you'd be cold."
"Mmm-hmmm," Jenny mocked, her eyebrow going up even in her half-sleep.
Jethro rubbed her leg teasingly with his cold toes. He wrapped an arm around her waist snugly and settled down next to her, burying his face into her shoulder and messy waterfall of hair. Jenny laughed softly and laid her hand between them, resting her fingers next to his head. He sensed she wasn't quite herself; the fighting must have bothered her more than he thought.
He ran his hand up her back and pushed her hair off her neck, kissing her there lingeringly, his personal way of smoothing things over. Jenny didn't move. She didn't say another word, but the rigidity of her body relaxed a little. He waited for her breathing to even out, when the room started to warm and the atmosphere got more comfortable, before he let himself fall asleep.
Both tired and relieved to finally have the luxury of heat and electricity, they slept late into the day. Jenny woke up and slipped out before the near midday sun woke him, shining too bright for comfort, and finding her gone proved just how tired he'd been. He generally woke up before her, and had always noticed when she left.
He glanced at Jenny's clock, groaned at the late hour, and dragged himself out of bed, feeling lazier than usual. He was suspiciously surprised she hadn't woke him up, though he was glad to find there was no smell of burning food like there had been the last time she'd snuck out of bed first.
He rubbed his eyes and walked out of the room, giving a cursory glance around to look at Jenny's things. He didn't spend much time in her room, though neither did she, and he knew she used it mostly for storage. In other words, her stuff was unorganized and all over the place.
Jethro was halfway down the stairs when the scent of coffee hit him and he sped up a little, thankful that one of the one things Jenny was capable of 'cooking' was coffee. He walked lightly on the carpet, alert for her, surprised she hadn't appeared yet, and found her before he got to the kitchen.
He looked in the doorway to the living area as he passed and found her sitting on the floor against the couch, her knees stretched out in front of her, silent and peaceful looking. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, her hair tied up messily—one of his favorite styles—and she was reading something intently in her lap, with a few other papers spread out around her.
She didn't notice him, and he watched her silently for a moment, studying her profile and the way he could see her eyes move slightly as she surveyed what she was reading. Opting not to disturb her, if only to get on her good side since he didn't know where he stood after last night's semi-forgiveness, he backed away from the doorway and plodded into the kitchen, rummaging around for a clean mug. It was eerie how many things had been left out, just as they had been before, when they had returned to the safe house after Olivia's death.
A tea cup of Ducky's had been resting on the counter—not appetizing at all, obviously—but complete with a teabag and looking pretty much as if he were about to walk back in and claim it. It was sobering, if anything.
Jethro rubbed a hand over his eyes as he poured a cup of coffee and cleared his throat, blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the window above the sink. He swallowed a burning mouthful of coffee, by now immune to the temperature, and turned around sighed in relief. There was nothing like fresh brewed coffee.
Soft footfalls behind him alerted Jethro to her presence. He turned around slowly, the mug held lightly in one hand, and focused on Jenny. Something in the way she looked stopped him from greeting her.
She leaned against the doorframe, her shoulders straight, her lips together, and her face otherwise smooth and expressionless. She didn't look angry, but with a trained eye he could tell she was upset—and not in the way she had been after their fighting last night. The warmth of the room suddenly dropped; he could feel hurt emanating from her.
Without word, Jenny lifted her hand slightly and held up between two fingers the file on their mission. Swallowing slowly, Jethro looked at it and then up at her face pointedly, settling his gaze on her guarded emerald orbs. He hadn't noticed she'd been reading the case file.
Jenny came forward and gently placed the file on the table without a word, letting her fingers slide off of it as she stepped back and folded her arms protectively, her brow hardening just a little as she met his gaze again.
"Were you planning on briefing me on this mission at all?" Jenny asked quietly, and what made him wary was the completely non-threatening tone of her voice. He could tell she was angry, and she wasn't showing it.
He didn't know the answer. He hadn't gotten that far yet. He wasn't about to tell her he had actually been planning on lying.
"Jethro," the volume of her voice heightened and she demanded an answer.
"I did brief you," he said before he could stop himself. His mouth had a penchant for digging his grave for him. Jenny's eyes narrowed slightly and she parted her lips.
"'We're back-up and control for Vance; this is his clean-up,'" Jenny repeated to him, mimicking the exact words he'd mumbled to her in bed when she'd asked about it. Jenny picked up the file delicately and flicked it open with a nail, her eyes scanning the page. She looked up at him sharply over the tip of the manila.
"Acquire targets; execute. Extradition deemed impossible; removal of threat imperative. Sanctioned by Director Thomas Morrow; NCIS. Operatives: Jennifer Shepard, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and Leon Vance. Black Ops. Classified. Assignment: Exterminate," she read aloud from the foremost part of the file and Jethro made it a point not to visibly flinch. Jenny shut the file and threw it down with a loud slap on the table. "It sure as hell doesn't sound like you briefed me," she snapped dangerously.
Jethro swallowed, setting his mug on the counter behind him. He could tell this wasn't going to be easily resolved. He'd made a mistake, maybe, in not being honest with her; but she didn't understand he was trying to protect her.
"How would that have gone over, Jen?" he asked shortly.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You know damn well," Jethro barked, harsher than he intended to, "How would you have reacted if I told you we were being sent to murder the French targets?"
"I don't suppose we'll ever know," Jenny said sharply, her eyes flashing angrily. "What were you thinking, Jethro? That I can't handle the job? I'm not strong enough? I'm too much of a," she paused, smiling sarcastically, "a female?"
"Jesus Christ, Jen—"
"Don't," she interrupted coldly. "Don't. This isn't a simple back-up mission. It's an assassination, Jethro—you didn't think I had a right to know that? You didn't think it was a bit of an important detail?" she demanded, unfolding her arms and planting them on the table. She glared at him like he was insane, repugnant.
"I didn't think you'd agree with it!" Jethro snapped, pushing the mug away from him on the country in a physical manifestation of his frustration. He stepped closer to her, his shoulders tightening visibly. "You couldn't stand it when you shot Assante point-blank, you think I wanted to put you through it six or seven more times when I watched it tear you up? Dammit, Jenny, it wasn't about not thinking you're good enough. We have to do this, I didn't want you fighting it—"
"Stop," she interrupted again. "I am not fighting the assignment, Jethro, I am not unable to carry out this mission. Those men hurt me, they took away my independence when they tortured me and they almost beat me—I'll be damned if I can't take away their lives in return! I am not angry because we're being sent to kill!"
He gave her a cool, calculating look. He hadn't expected such a cold confession of an unforgiving nature from her. He had judged her wrong again. Jenny glared at him from across the table, pitted against him, fire in her eyes.
"I am angry because you didn't trust me enough to know no matter what my personal feelings, I will do my job."
"It's not about trust, Jen," he said sharply.
"Goddammit Jethro, it's all about trust. What were you going to do? Take them out alone—or throw me into the middle of a firefight, unprepared, unassuming, and pretend it was all an accident?"
"I care about you a little more than throwing you into the middle of a gunfight," Jethro snarled.
"I'm not so sure," Jenny said coldly, her eyes gone cool as ice.
He looked at her harshly. It didn't sit well with him to have his feelings for her challenged; he sure as hell wasn't about to try and convince her of them. He stared at her stonily, not saying a word, and she clenched her jaw, sliding the file across the table towards him roughly.
"You as good as lied to me," she said.
"I didn't do it to hold you back."
"I don't need to be protected, Jethro!" Jenny shouted, reading between the lines perfectly. "I'm your partner and your lover—your girlfriend, or whatever you want to call us—but I am not your damsel in distress! I'm not even your probie anymore!" she reigned in her burst of anger for a moment and backed away from the table, as if restraining herself, pressing her lips together. "You owe me more than this."
"I wasn't going to leave you in the dark, Jen. You got to the files before I got to you,"
"For some reason, I don't believe you," she snarled.
"When you asked me about the mission, we were naked in your bed Jenny! You think the first thing on my mind was the mission? You think I wanted to talk about sanctioned murder?"
"It doesn't matter when I asked you about it!" Jenny yelled, throwing her hands up. "You would have lied no matter what the time because you're a goddamn chauvinist and no one is ever going to cure you of that! You thought I would be upset, you hid the nature of our assignment—"
"Good intentions count for nothing, Jen? You'd been through enough—"
"The road to hell is paved with good intentions!" she snarled. "Lack of information like this could have gotten me killed; your chivalrous plan would have backfired then, right, Jethro?"
"Jenny," he hissed, walking towards her. He grabbed her upper arm roughly, pulling her forward, "I wouldn't do anything to put you in danger and you damn well know it."
"Our jobs are dangerous, Jethro!" she shouted, wrenching away from him. "Face it! There's a chance one of us could die every day and I know that! I signed up for it! If we choose each other over the job, we could put others in danger—that's what you're doing! We've both done it, and if it happens again, we can't be partners anymore."
"I can't believe you're saying that," he growled.
"Why can't you just admit you were wrong?" Jenny yelled, her voice rising, her eyes brightening a little as Jethro noticed tears sprang to them. "You hurt me Jethro! You didn't have faith in me, you didn't think I was strong enough or something, something kept you from trusting me, why won't you just tell me you were wrong!"
He heard her voice crack, and he reached up to rub his forehead stiffly in frustration, sorry she'd reacted like this, sorry he had hurt her, but stubbornly refusing to relent. He didn't give a damn if it was old-fashioned. He didn't want her getting hurt. He would have kept her out of the firefight if he could.
Pulling his hand away, he narrowed his eyes and reached for her, but Jenny pushed her hands out, pressed them against his shoulders, and shoved him back, turning on her heel to leave the room. He caught up to her half way down the hall.
"Where are you going?"
"Out. I can't stand looking at you right now," she snarled hoarsely.
"No," he said forcefully, pinning one of her shoulders against the wall. She struggled, her eyes lighting up with anger, and he grabbed her other arm. "No," he repeated more forcefully, "last time you went off alone in this city I almost lost you. You can be pissed at me all you want but you're not leaving this house."
Jenny wrapped her hand around his on her shoulder and jerked it off of her, yanking her other arm out of his grip and reaching up to massage her shoulder.
"If you don't want to lose me," she said quietly, "you better start trusting me."
He studied her pointedly, letting her threat sink in, glaring at her. It was like everything had gone silent, not that there was much going on besides their fighting anyway. He refused to apologize. She didn't understand his reasoning. She didn't understand that he'd lost before, and it was worth pissing her off royally if it meant he wouldn't have to suffer that again.
The next thing he knew, he was kissing her.
Jenny moaned, half surprised, half outraged, when he grabbed her chin and kissed her passionately, pushing her back into the wall again. She could taste something contrite in his kiss but it didn't mean anything if he couldn't voice it. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt in her hand, digging nails into his skin through the material, and closed her eyes tightly. She pushed him back, holding him inches away from her.
"What do you want me to say?" he growled, shrugging.
She parted her lips, infuriated, exasperated, still reeling.
"What the hell does it matter?" she asked him, implying he didn't give a damn anyway. She leant her head back against the wall and closed her eyes again, losing her resolve to hold back tears until she was alone.
"Jen," he whispered hoarsely, his fingers running up her cheek as he stepped closer. He put his forehead close to hers. "Jenny," he wiped the falling tears away, the tension leaving him. He sighed heavily. "Don't cry," he pleaded quietly, kissing her cheek and pushing her hair back. He ran his hands up her shoulders soothingly.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, biting her bottom lip. She pushed him back again, gentler this time, and let go of his shirt. She looked like she was going to say something for a moment, but then she pressed her mouth together tightly and turned, dodging around him to the stairs. Her knuckles were white on the banister as she gripped it, the knuckles of her other hand pressed to her lips lightly. He heard her start again halfway up the stairs, her breathing quick and quiet.
Slamming his fist against the wall, Jethro backed up until his back hit the stairs and slid down the wall, dropping his head to his knees dejectedly and running his hands through his hair roughly. A door shut quietly upstairs and he banged his head back against the wall. The thought occurred to him that if Shannon had ever heard of him acting like this, she'd kill him. It was a thought that made him regret his actions more than anything.
Jenny couldn't decide if she was still angry with Jethro. She couldn't understand half of what she was feeling anymore, when she was around him. There was a lot going on in her mind and in her heart.
At the moment, she was rather blissfully uncaring of sorting through anything in her minefield of thoughts. There was too much hot water, soap, and steam in the way. She sighed and opened her eyes under the steady spray of water from the overhead, looking up through the waterfall and pressing her lips against Jethro's again, leaning into him for support, because the gentle motion of his hands rinsing shampoo out of her hair was weakening her knees.
She was thankful NCIS footed the bill for utilities, because they'd been in here way too long. Her toes were probably wrinkling, which wouldn't look any good with the open toed heels she planned on wearing tonight. Jethro was taking her out, his way—she thought—of making up. Or something. She wasn't sure what all he'd said when he'd picked the lock on her bedroom door and come in, coaxing her out of her tears and persuading her to get dressed up tonight. She just hadn't wanted him to see her crying, and he'd barged in anyway.
Jenny pressed butterfly kisses to his shoulder languidly, her tongue tracing the drops of water that raced down his skin. She held on to his waist lightly, preventing herself from slipping, blocking complicated thoughts from entering her mind right now. Jethro still worked the knots and soap from her hair patiently, lulling her almost to a sleep.
He disentangled his hands from her thick hair and wrapped his arms around her, dropping his head to her shoulder and kissing her neck lightly. He reached behind her and flicked off the water; chill bumps sprang up immediately all over her at the loss of warmth and she snuggled into him, angry or not. He swung back the shower curtain and snatched a fluffy towel off of the sink, wrapping it around her.
Jenny blinked water out of her eyes and looked up at him, clutching the towel around her shoulders and letting him take her upper arm so she wouldn't lose her balance and fall stepping out of the shower. She took the remaining towel off of the sink and handed it to him.
"Get dressed in your room," she ordered softly, wrapping her towel around her middle and securing it. She leaned lazily against the sink and opened the cracked door with her toes, wriggling them. She knew this would take infinitely longer if they tried to get ready to go in the same room.
Jethro leaned down and tucked a lock of dripping hair behind her ear, brushing his lips against hers as he slipped by her. Jenny shut the door soundlessly behind him and pulled the whole of her hair over one shoulder, shaking her hand through it a little so it would dry more easily. She flipped on the fan so the foggy mirror would unclog faster and started toweling off.
She was a little taken aback by Jethro's desire to take her to the Eiffel Tower. She wanted to go, she always had; she just didn't think it was a place he'd ever set foot near. She knew he was doing it for her, and she knew he was so good at knowing her inside and out; it was why she couldn't decided if she was ever really mad at him and not only frustrated.
That in and of itself made her angry.
Shaking out the towel, Jenny wrapped her hair up in it and left the bathroom, swinging her bedroom door shut as she passed and giving a brief thought to the lock Jethro had ruined breaking in. There was a reason to be angry.
Jenny opened her bureau silently and picked out a strapless black bra and black lace panties, shutting the drawer again with her knee as she sat on the bed and pulled them on. She opened the next drawer and maneuvered on some dark tinted pantyhose, careful not to draw a run in them like she usually managed to do. Jethro had never seen the dress she planned on wearing; she'd been saving it. She moved her clothing out of the way in the closet and carefully pulled the dress out with the hanger, holding it up to admire it before she delicately removed the hanger and untied the waist to loosen it.
Jenny stepped into it and adjusted the off the shoulder sleeves and neckline, tying the ribbon tightly around the waist and returning to the bathroom to make sure it fit the way it was supposed to. She smiled slightly and reached for her bag of cosmetics.
She could hear Jethro downstairs when she was finally ready; she knew he'd be ready at least half an hour before her because she took her time tonight. She slipped on her second shoe and examined the stiletto before she stood, picked up her second earring off of the bedside table, and left the room, her beauty regimen complete.
Jethro ran water over the coffee maker again in the kitchen, asking himself for the third time why the hell he had decided to clean it instead of just making some more. He turned the water off and was reaching for dish soap—again—when he heard Jenny's soft footfalls on the stairs. He dried his hands on a dishtowel and wandered down the hall, more than eager to see her.
Jenny stepped into the hall in front of him, her hand resting on the end of the banister, almost his equal in height on her stilettos. Jethro swallowed hard, looking at her. The dress was deep crimson, reminiscent of wine; it rested off of her fair shoulders and accentuated her waist perfectly, flaring out and whispering around her knees. Red teardrop earrings, flame-like stilettos, and soft apple lipstick matched. He reached out to touch her waist, his fingers running over the soft, cool fabric.
"You're going to freeze," he managed to say, eyes trailing back up to her arresting green eyes.
Jenny smiled a little, and shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly. Jethro cleared his throat and shrugged his suit jacked off of his shoulders, holding it out to her. She took it, lifting an eyebrow.
"You can wear that," he said gruffly, reaching out to touch one of her curls reverently. He liked it when she left her hair down and curled around her shoulders and neck.
"Are we walking?" she asked quietly, taking his hand away so he wouldn't mess her hair up. He shook his head slowly.
"I called a cab," he said. She smelled like she always did, intoxicating; like honey and orchids and something spicy he never could place. Jenny lifted an eyebrow as if impressed with him.
He stepped past her and opened the front door, and the gust of wind made her shiver. She clutched Jethro's jacket and went out the door; there was indeed a taxi waiting on the streets outside. The sidewalks were covered in a thin layer over powdery snow, and Jenny carefully avoided getting any on her toes. She opened the cab door and slid in before Jethro, neglecting to buckle her seatbelt and spreading his jacket over her lap. She turned and looked at him.
"Dinner?" she asked.
"Le Jules Verne," Jethro pronounced flawlessly, instructing the driver as well as answering her.
"You learned to speak French," Jenny said lightly. Jethro shrugged and pulled a face at her. She started to tease him lightly when it suddenly struck her what he'd said. "The restaurant in the Eiffel Tower?" she asked hesitantly.
"You had to pronounce it to get a reservation," Jethro quipped slyly.
Jenny furrowed her brow a little.
"How the hell did you manage to get one…" she trailed off, taken aback again. It was exactly the kind of high-end, fancy place Jethro would despise, and on top of that, it was expensive. He smirked at her, in that omnipotent, arrogant way he had.
"You want to walk or take the lift?" Jethro asked casually.
"Stairs," Jenny said immediately, looking at him again. He nodded in acceptance.
"Stairs up to the second floor; that's where the restaurant is. If you want to go to the top though, we'll have to use the lift. It'll be after six."
Jenny pursed her lips.
"You did your research," she murmured. Then she nodded, settling back for the relatively short ride to the base of the Eiffel tower. "I want to go to the top," she said quietly, almost dreamily.
Jethro looked straight ahead and smiled a little to himself. At least he seemed to be redeeming himself in her eyes. When the taxi came to a swift stop at the entrance for the tower, Jethro paid the driver and held his hand out for her to take as she got out. He leaned down and kissed her ear as he reached behind her to shut the door, whispering:
"You're beautiful, Jen,"
"Suck up," she whispered back, wrinkling her nose at him in amusement. He grinned and released her hand as they walked towards the entrance.
"More than three hundred steps to the second floor, Jenny," muttered Jethro teasingly, his hand drifting to her lower back and resting lightly there. "Think you can handle it?"
"I don't know Jethro, but I'm sure glad you briefed me about them first," she hissed back sarcastically, keeping her tone light. Jethro looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. She just looked back, and he wasn't sure if she was kidding or actually reprimanding him.
At the foot of the stairs, she turned to him and touched his cheek patronizingly.
"Is it okay if I walk in front?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow mockingly.
"So I can catch you if you fall?" he asked, putting on airs of chivalry. Jenny smirked and turned the corner of her mouth up in approval.
"Nah," she said, tilting her head as she turned and rested her hand on the railing, "so I'll have something to land on if I fall."
He rolled his eyes behind her back and followed her up, determined to prevent her from falling anyway. Sexy as her heels were, they all but screamed accident waiting to happen.
Jenny had pulled his coat on and was pretty much swallowed in it, but he couldn't complain. He liked it when she wore his things; they always smelled like her afterwards and he was reluctant to get the smell out. She barely spoke as they climbed the long stairs, either because she had nothing to say or because she was out of breath, he didn't know. The air was ice cold and the trek was formidable, but it had a sort of romance to it. It was the Eiffel tower, after all.
Jenny turned to him when they finally—finally—reached the second floor and smiled a little, her cheeks slightly redder with the cold and the workout.
"I need a drink," she told him with a soft laugh, and he grinned, agreeing wholeheartedly. He doubted this place served bourbon, but he'd bet money there'd be a pretty strong wine available.
They were seated near the outer area of the restaurant, away from the other people and closer to the view of the city. Jenny casually shrugged his coat off of her shoulders and slipped her arms out of it, resting them on the table in front of her. It was a quiet, luxurious atmosphere, with impeccable tablecloths, shining silverware, and softly flickering candles. She resisted the urge to giggle at the sight of Jethro in the midst of such frippery.
"I feel like I should break something," she whispered conspiratorially, as the waiter approached them. Jethro smirked. There were reasons he loved Jenny.
She ordered the wine in her perfectly accented French, keeping her conversation with the tense looking waiter short and concise, showing little interest in him. Jethro appreciated it, considering tense waiter's wandering eyes were showing more than a little interest in Jenny.
"What are they serving tonight?" Jenny asked, placing her napkin in her lap.
"Something frilly, salad, steak, something else frilly, and something weird," Jethro answered.
It was Jenny's turn to roll her eyes. She sat back silently as the waiter returned and poured their wine, leaving the bottle in a small, chilled bucket for them to use at leisure.
"You know which fork to use on your salad?" Jenny asked, quirking an eyebrow as she lifted her wineglass.
"I already told you I don't eat rabbit food."
"You better eat it. They charge your firstborn child for it," Jenny snorted.
Briefly, Jethro's eyes flashed, almost too quickly for her to notice—but she did. He looked momentarily upset, but still hardly missed a beat in his response.
"I'm charging this to Vance's undercover budget."
Jenny laughed good-naturedly, tasting the wine. It was strong, and spun her senses, but she liked it. She licked her lips and looked at the imprint of her lipstick on the rim of the glass, glancing at Jethro over the rim. He smirked.
Jenny shifted and glanced out over the expanse of Paris, her eyes roaming over the lit up buildings and tiny cars moving around below.
"It's a different city from up here," she said. "Pretty," she added.
Jethro didn't say anything. He watched her profile, drank in her neckline, glared at the waiter when he came with the first course and dared to flick covetous eyes at Jenny. Jenny admired the view silently, and snapped out of it after a few minutes to eat her food.
"My father brought my mother to Paris when I was three," she said quietly, folding lettuce leaves with her fork methodically. "He brought me a cashmere blanket with my name embroidered on it back. I still have it, somewhere," she murmured thoughtfully.
Jethro remained carefully quiet. The few times Jenny mentioned family, she spoke of her mother. She had only mentioned her father once before in conversation, beyond that she only mumbled about him in her nightmares. She looked up at him across the table and smiled
"He promised me he'd take me one day."
"Yeah?" Jethro questioned hesitantly. He was wary of asking questions about her family. "He never did?"
Jenny looked at him passively, and then slowly shook her head.
"Didn't get the chance," she mumbled, stopping short with a shrug.
"Diane wanted to go to Paris, for the honeymoon," Jethro said gruffly, changing the subject as he noticed her mood waver. Jenny cocked an eyebrow at him curiously.
"Oh?"
"I took her to St. Augustine," Jethro finished.
Jenny laughed, tilting her head back.
"Close enough," she quipped. She lifted her wineglass again and smiled a little wickedly, "I'm sure Diane would be thrilled to know you're in Paris with me."
Jethro smirked. He thought that fact might cheer Jenny up a little.
He was glad she seemed to be responding to him. The fighting earlier had been a little unorthodox; they hadn't really made up but then again they never really did. They just ignored their problems. He just wanted Jenny to stay happy. It was easier to distract from the problems instead of face them.
They moved through courses smoothly. When time came for the main meal, Jenny refilled the wineglasses with a wry smile.
"Good thing there's a lift to the top floor," she said, picking up her knife and surveying the asparagus stalks and steak au poivre the waiter had left them. She bit her lip, looking at him like he'd done well. She stabbed an asparagus stalk and bit off the end sharply; Jethro made a face.
The man really didn't like his vegetables.
Jenny cut into her steak and forked a piece, holding it up with a mild lift of her eyebrows.
"I hope you like your steak raw," she said, showing him the red meat. Jethro looked at suspiciously.
"I don't think its dead," he said drily. Jenny ate the small bit with a smile and swallowed.
"The French eat their meat raw," she said, cutting off another piece. She crinkled her nose a little. "Better like pepper too," she added, "a lot." He smiled. Pepper, he could handle.
The pepper stung her mouth, but the wine washed it down easily, though she was careful not to have too much. She didn't want alcohol going to her head and breaking her down in tears again or something funny like that—which it very well might.
She noticed, halfway through her steak, Jethro really seemed to be refusing to eat his asparagus, and hers were all gone. She was beginning to get jealous of his abundance of asparagus. In an underhanded action, she curled her leg around his under the table and cut her eyes at him, stealing two or three of his asparagus stalks while he was considerably distracted.
He looked confused when she released his leg, glancing around. He noticed what she'd done and scowled at her, picking up his plate with a patronizing look and brushing the rest of his asparagus onto his plate.
"All you had to do was ask, Jen,"
"The other way was more fun," she said, with a delighted smile at the vegetable.
"It's snowing," Jethro pointed out dully, nodding behind her. Jenny twisted, pausing with her fork in another asparagus, and looked out, watching the tiny flakes fall slowly. She smiled at the landscape laid out before her and when she turned around, finished her meal silently with that same smile.
Jethro couldn't have been more pleased with the weather's decision to snow than if he'd ordered it to himself.
"I don't think dessert is an option," Jenny said as she looked.
"Jen," Jethro said solemnly, "you want to be able to say you had dessert in the Eiffel Tower."
She looked at him with amused eyes, and nodded, accepting the statement. She leaned forward a little as she picked up her wine and said:
"Is that your way of suggesting you'll eat mine?"
He smirked, and nodded to the waiter when he asked in fairly accurate English if they would have the dessert. Jenny ate a few bites and pushed it away, unwilling to make herself sick on it. Jethro didn't each much of his either, whining that it was too sweet. Jenny personally felt he had a problem with eating something that had decorative sugar flowers all over it.
He pointed to the ceiling as Jenny finished her wine and she nodded, pushing back her chair and picking up his coat as she stood up. She rested it over her arm and fell into step next to him as they made their way to the lift. It was past ten o'clock now, and the last lift to the top was at eleven. They weren't the only ones taking this particular lift; there were a few other couples and a small group of students.
Jenny smiled at the older couple standing close to them; amused at the way the woman was fixing her partner's bowtie.
"You want to be squished in the back or up front?" Jethro muttered in her ear.
"Squished," she said, just to watch him scowl at her. His hand fell to her back again as he followed her on. Jenny leaned into the back corner of the lift and smiled at him lopsidedly; biting back a snort as the teenage boy next to him accidentally elbowed his shoulder.
Jethro glared at the miscreant and he shrank away, looking subdued. Jenny poked Jethro in the side and pulled him towards her a little, rolling her eyes. The others got off the elevator first, and Jethro prodded Jenny to leave before him.
She stepped out onto the third, top floor of the Eiffel Tower and looked over the replica of Gustav Eiffel's office and smiled softly. It was really hard to believe she was actually standing here.
Jethro stood behind her, looking over her shoulder, and smiled at the back of her head, admittedly pleased with himself. He hung back as Jenny started her prowl around the quaint exhibit, taking in the sight interestedly. He resorted to watching those suspicious teenagers and keeping an eye on the others up here, just to make sure none of them were undercover assassins here to hurt Jenny. That was highly unlikely, but he could never be too careful. He found his way over to a place out of the way and waited for Jenny to find her way back over to him, taking the time to look out over the view himself.
She appeared at his side after a few more minutes, resting her head on his arm voluntarily and touching his side.
"Look at the stars," she sighed, pointing a little. She was right; you could see the stars from the top, clearly and perfectly. Jenny shifted his jacked on her arm and pursed her lips a little as something knocked against her thigh that she hadn't noticed before, from the pocket of the coat.
She reached for it, but Jethro moved her hand and got into the pocket first, producing her camera.
"Thought you might want it," he said mildly, shrugging. Jenny looked at it disbelievingly. She quirked an eyebrow at him and stepped away a little, reaching for it. He stepped back and held it out of the way, putting his finger on the shutter button. Jenny settled back on her heels and pressed her lips together in a small smile; he captured the moment, with the city of Paris spread out behind her, perfectly.
"Cute, Jethro," she murmured, taking the camera from him. She held it up and snapped a picture of him in retaliation, earning herself a glare. She held the camera away from him and smiled softly again.
"Excuse me," Jenny turned in surprise at being spoken to, to face the older woman who she'd been amused by outside the lift. The lady smiled at her sweetly and gestured to the camera. "Would you like a picture of the two of you?" she asked nicely.
Jenny looked at Jethro with a smirk and handed the camera to the woman.
"We'd love one," she said, knowing it would kill Jethro. He scowled at her and she pulled him closer by the fabric of his shirt, touching her hair self-consciously as he slipped his arm around her waist indulgently. Jenny gave the woman and the camera a genuine smile and the woman clicked the picture, handing the camera back with her own smile.
"Merci," Jenny said gratefully.
"De rien," the woman replied with a laugh. She gave a small wave and returned to the man Jenny assumed was her husband. Jenny turned to Jethro and looked at him closely.
"If you didn't smile, I'll castrate you," she threatened with a smile.
"Who would that hurt more, me or you?" he quipped.
"I think we established last night you're the one who can't do without me," she answered primly, lifting an eyebrow.
Jethro cupped her chin in response and pushed her back a little into the shadows for a swift kiss, ignoring his usual dislike for public displays of affection. Jenny looked at him, unreadable, when it was over, her eyes guarded again.
He could sense she wasn't herself still. He knew she was still upset and still hurt. He didn't know a way to fix it without turning back time, and he'd still probably do the same thing. He didn't want to bring it up again lest he upset her. Jenny turned towards the view of Paris and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin on the crown of her head.
It occurred to Jenny to tell him she loved him; but she didn't. She couldn't bring herself to say it again. She kept feeling like it was going to backfire on her, though Jethro had said it more to her than she had to him. That wasn't usually how it worked between men and women.
Jenny shivered in his arms and the kissed her throat, rubbing her arms quickly to warm her.
"Want to head home?" he asked.
Jenny took his hand and twisted it to look at his watch. It was nearing time for close anyway. She turned in his arms and nodded shortly, disentangling herself and leading him to the lift. The other people were lingering; the lift down wasn't as crowded as the one up. This time she opted for the lift down all the way; the stairs had been a fun experience once and only once.
Back on the ground, on the green that spread out under the Eiffel Tower, Jenny slipped Jethro's jacket back on and slipped her hand into his uncharacteristically as they walked. There was no way to keep the snow from seeping through her hose onto her feet now, and she was beginning to feel like her toes were icicles.
"Jethro," she said softly, stroking his fingers with her thumb, "rule number one?"
"Never screw over your partner," he answered instantly, without even thinking. She stopped and turned to him, alone on this particular pathway in the snowy moonlight. She looked up at him, her hand in his, sharply, pointedly.
"You screwed me over," she said quietly, and before he could brush off the accusation with a lewd joke, she shook her head slightly, "When you didn't brief me. You don't understand how reading that file made me feel," she paused and swallowed, "you probably never will. I don't care. Don't ever do it again."
He looked at her impassively. His jaw tight, he ran his hand up her arm and pulled her in a little. She resisted, refusing to look away from his blue eyes.
"Rule number eight," she prompted hoarsely.
"Never take anything for granted," he responded slowly.
She just looked at him; her eyes clear about what he was supposed to understand from that statement. She wasn't to be taken for granted.
"I don't, Jen," he said huskily, putting his face close to hers.
"You better not," she said a little sharply.
"Rule eighteen?" he murmured softly. He knew it was her favorite, and had a damn good right to use it against her. He felt her brow furrow a little as she tried to work through it. It's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission.
Jenny rolled her eyes a little and gave a small, exasperated smile.
"You could just say you're sorry," she hissed, kissing the corner of his mouth. She put her hands on either side of his neck and held his gaze. "I forgive you," she added, kissing him softly. She drew it out, warming her lips with the kiss.
His cell phone's sharp, annoying ring broke the moment and she parted her lips, stepping back a little as he reached in his pocket to answer it. He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her as he flicked open the phone.
"Gibbs," he barked, and listened silently.
Jenny watched his expression harden and his eyes go almost blank. She snuggled into him slightly, stealing his body heat, and continued look up at him, until he grunted an affirmative, repeated a location in a low murmur, and hung up the phone.
He looked at her stonily for a moment and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"Vance," he informed her quietly, and she understood without an explanation.
"Tonight?" she asked dully. He nodded.
She gave him a curt nod in return and pulled away, turning to begin the walk to catch a taxi home and change clothes for a different kind of outing. Jethro's hand pressed heavily into her lower back again, leading her; the trip home was silent and tense.
Oh, yeah. There was something I forgot: The bit where Jenny says she and Jethro can't be partners anymore if they keep making bad choices is modeled after a conversation between Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler in Law and Order: SVU.