A/N: I forgot to say this last chapter- we broke 200 reviews! Thanks so much! :) My muse is kind of being an elusive bitch…it's annoying, seeing as how I actually feel like writing.

Disclaimer: I own my OCs and the plot.

"Oh I wanna see you again, but I'm stuck in colder weather, maybe tomorrow will be better,"-'Colder Weather', Zac Brown Band [A repeat song, but I love it, and it fits amazingly well.]

Jethro stood in the darkened elevator, one hand clenched in a fist at his side, the other leaning against the cool metal wall, supporting his weight as he sagged slightly.

Jenny was so frustrating, but he shouldn't have thrown what he'd said into her face the way he had. But he'd been hurt, and pissed, and he'd just been sick of how she seemed to think that she was the only one who could ever hurt the way she was.

Because she wasn't.

He knew lost just as well as she did- he'd lost a wife and daughter. Had she forgotten that? His life had been ripped apart just as hers had-he'd been to some pretty dark places.

He'd contemplated ending it all; he sat with a loaded gun in his face, his finger on the trigger. He knew the kind of pain that erased everything but the end from your mind-he had felt that pain cut like a knife at his heart. There were scars there that would never heal; they bled still, and he'd grown to understand that they always would.

But Jenny was much more fragile than he was; she didn't have the calluses or the resistance he'd built up over the years. She'd been ripped open by the memories this case had brought up, and now, he'd thrown the words that she feared the most in her face.

He'd said he was leaving.

And in that moment of fury, he'd meant it. But now, thinking calmer and a little more collected, he realized that Jenny now thought that he meant for good, and he didn't. He wouldn't leave her, not over this.

But she didn't know that, and now, she was probably doubting everything that had happened over the past day. And that meant that her trust in him had probably been shattered.

"Damn it," he muttered, slapping the elevator wall. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."

He needed to fix this.

But how?

Jenny sat in her office silently, seated on her couch. Her knees were tucked up underneath her chin, her feet bare and dangling slightly off the edge of the couch.

She was numb. Completely and totally numb.

She didn't mind this part; the part where she totally and completely shut herself off from pain, and emotion. She liked this feeling of weightlessness she was feeling.

She couldn't find it within herself to care about a thing.

She wasn't getting anymore work done today, she'd decided that from the beginning. And to be honest, she didn't even want to be in the office anymore, because she didn't want to see Jethro. Not today, not tonight, not tomorrow.

It only took her a moment to collect her things, seeing as how she hadn't brought much, and then she was saying goodbye to Cynthia, keeping it short and simple; she had a headache, she didn't feel well, and to call her if anything catastrophic happened. Her assistant assured her everything would be under control, and then Jenny was on her way, standing on the catwalk as she waited for the elevator.

When it opened, her heart stopped, as Jethro was inside, standing passively. He saw her and his eyes widened, his mouth opening to speak.

"Jen…"

"I don't want to hear it," she said softly, shaking her head as she kept her cool, even as the tears welled up behind her eyes. "I'm going home; I'm done. I can't keep doing this, and if you don't want to help, then fine. I'll find someone else who will."

"Jenny, I didn't-"

"Go to hell Jethro, I don't want to talk to you, not right now," Jenny said, shaking her head as the tears started, frustration increasing her emotion, breaking past her barriers. "You want out, then fine, you're out. Just leave me alone, Jethro, because I can't do this with you, not now. I'm done."

With that, she closed the elevator doors on him, shutting out his desperate face and letting the tears fall in the silence of the elevator. When the lift reached the parking lot, she found her detail and slipped into the car, eternally grateful for the discreetness of her security team.

Slipping her phone out of her pocket, she dialed the becoming-familiar number, holding the ringing device up to her ear. When the person on the other end picked up, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Patricia? Do you think you could come over? I need you."

Half an hour later, Jenny was in comfortable sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, curled up on the couch with Patricia, two mugs of tea on the table and a fire in the hearth.

The older woman had been there when Jenny and her detail had arrived, and Jenny had never felt so grateful to one person in her entire life. Patricia had led her inside and taken her upstairs so that she could change from her work attire into something casual, situating herself between Jenny and the bathroom, discreetly, but Jenny noticed. Most likely because every part of her body wanted to be in that bathroom, digging through the trash bin to find the razors she'd thrown out, but she appreciated the fact that her friend was looking out for her.

Now, with her head on Patricia's lap and the older woman's fingers working out the tangles in her thick crimson curls, Jenny let the tears really fall. She tried not to let Patricia notice, but the attempt was futile.

"Jenny what's wrong?" the older woman asked softly, her voice gentle as she combed her fingers through Jenny's hair. Jenny wiped at her eyes, the salty tears still running in rivers down her cheeks.

"I screwed it up, again," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I can't keep anything safe anymore."

"What do you mean?" Patricia asked as Jenny sat up, tucking her knees under her chin, her eyes red and puffy from her tears. "Jenny?"

"He came, yesterday, and stopped me from breaking my streak," Jenny answered quietly, her fingers reflexively curling into a fist. "And he stayed the night, and he…he helped forget my nightmare, and he was perfect, if not a tad bit overbearing. And then…I snapped at him, and now he's gone."

"Who, Jenny?" Patricia asked, her storm gray eyes holding a hint of confusion. Jenny sighed, closing her eyes and laying her left cheek down on her knees, her voice muffled slightly by the fabric of her sweats.

"Jethro."

There was silence between the two women as Patricia processed, and Jenny let her think about it. She was tired, she was sad, and she wanted someone to understand her.

It was starting to feel like no one ever would.

"Do you want to get into any details, Jenny?" Patricia asked, her voice neutral. Jenny lifted her head tiredly, blinking the tears out of her eyes.

"Maddie Tyler tried to commit suicide yesterday," Jenny said, watching as Patricia's eyes widened, horror filling the normally-peaceful gray depths. "She failed, I found her unconscious with the pills on the bed, and she was taken to the hospital for treatment."

"Jenny…oh, Jenny," Patricia said, clearly unable to get the words out. But the tears that pooled in the corners of the older woman's eyes were all that Jenny needed, and she nodded, biting her lip against the emotion.

"It was like finding Lizzie all over again," Jenny answered, her voice barely above a whisper. Patricia reached over, squeezing her hand tightly, and Jenny returned the squeeze easily. "I was a wreck, at the hospital. I snapped at Jethro, told him some things I shouldn't have, at least not yet. He followed me back to my house, found me about to cut in the middle of the bedroom. He stopped me."

"He stayed the night because…because I asked him to," Jenny continued after taking a deep breath, her fingers weaving together, picking at her cuticles with her thumbnails. "Woke me up from a nightmare, made me forget because he knew I needed it, and because I made it impossible for him to say no."

"How?" Patricia asked, obviously wanting answers. Jenny flushed pink in embarrassment, and Patricia nodded in understanding, her graying hair flashing in the low lighting of the fire. "Go on."

"Then this morning was alright, after we woke up. And in the car we made the decision that we'd keep quiet about whatever it was we had, because I didn't want people to know, not yet, not when everything was so new and different and breakable. Maybe that was the best decision," Jenny said, breaking off as she got caught up in her thoughts. "Anyway, my boss got me in MTAC and asked if we were screwed on the Tyler case, which I don't believe we are. He…he threw my past in my face, told me I couldn't let my personal feelings get in the way of my job. Like I'm the kind of person that would fuck up a case because I can't be professional. It's like he doesn't even know me!"

"Then that's his loss," Patricia said, running her hand soothingly over Jenny's arm, and Jenny took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"I went back to my office and…had a fight, with Jethro. He…he said things that I know he didn't mean to hurt me with but…he wants out, and I'll give it to him, because I know I don't deserve him, but I wish he wouldn't leave. But he doesn't want this, and so he's gone," Jenny said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she shook her head, tears coming to the surface again.

Patricia pulled her closer as the tears morphed into sobs, Jenny's thin frame shaking as she released her emotion in the safest way possible. Jenny buried herself in the hug, not caring that her tears were staining Patricia's pale blue sweater, or that she looked like a fool. She was hurting, and mourning, and she just wanted, for even that small moment, to feel like even a single person cared.

She just wanted someone to care about her.

Patricia settled a now sound-asleep Jenny on the couch, throwing a soft, brown-colored afghan over the younger woman's sleeping form. The house was quiet, and the dying fire kept the living room warm. Patricia was more comfortable with Jenny sleeping downstairs, away from the temptation of the bathroom.

While she was thinking of it, she headed upstairs, taking the bag out of the bathroom garbage can and bringing it downstairs, slipping into her shoes and quietly stepping outside, knowing the trash company would come to collect it tomorrow. She had just set the large metal can by the street side when a battered old pick-up truck made its way down the street. It parked itself right in front of Jenny's house, and a man stepped out of it.

He was older and attractive, a fit body and silver hair, his face weathered, but still obviously handsome. Patricia stood and watched with curiosity, and it was only when he raised his gaze to her and she took in the deep, sapphire eyes did she realize who this man was.

It was Jethro.

Her need to protect Jenny kicked in, and she met him when he walked over to the house, clearly intent on going inside.

"Excuse me, but I'd prefer if you didn't go inside," she said, stopping him from getting any closer to the house. He looked at her, obviously wondering who she was and why she was blocking him from Jenny's house.

"And who are you, exactly?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest, the long-sleeved shirt not hiding the muscles in his forearms and biceps. Patricia could see where Jenny was attracted to him, but was also reminded of Bobby; he exuded a definitive masculine vibe, his authority obvious.

"I'm Patricia Evans, a close personal friend of Jenny's," Patricia told him, watching as his eyes flickered slightly, this information clearly new to him. "I'm going to guess that you're Jethro Gibbs?"

"That I am," he answered, his gaze suddenly guarded. "Why can't I see Jen?"

"Because she's fragile, and right now she's really hurting," Patricia said, watching as he flinched slightly, his blue eyes holding traces of pain. "And my job is to keep her safe, and right now, she isn't safe with you."

"I never meant to hurt her," Jethro whispered, his voice hoarse. "I would never intentionally cause her pain."

"And I believe you," Patricia said, her gray eyes studying him in the darkness of the evening. "But I will do whatever I have to to get her back to a place where she's okay, and right now, she's nowhere near it."

"I can't do anything?" Jethro asked, his eyes suddenly desperate. "There isn't some way that I could help?"

"Not tonight," Patricia told him, shaking her head. "Maybe in the morning, after she's slept, and had something to eat, and isn't as raw over all of this."

"Can…can I come then?" he asked, hesitant. Patricia sighed, rubbing tiredly at her eyes.

"No," she answered, holding a hand up when he began to protest. "Not the morning. But I'm having her stay home tomorrow, no arguments. If you'd like to come after work, in the evening, I'm sure you would be better received."

Jethro seemed to contemplate it, and then he nodded.

"I'll be here tomorrow night," he said shortly, heading back towards his car. Just as he reached it he turned, one hand on the door handle. "Thank you. For keeping her safe."

"I've known that girl for over forty years," Patricia said, watching as his eyes widened slightly. "I'd do anything for her. Anything."

Jethro nodded, clearing his throat slightly.

"Jenny needs more people like that in her life," he said simply, and Patricia nodded. She watched him get into his truck and drive away before heading back inside, closing the thick front door quietly.

She checked in on Jenny, who was still sound asleep on the couch. She headed into the kitchen and made herself another cup of tea, bringing the warm ceramic mug into the living room, curling up on the arm chair opposite Jenny and pulling her knitting into her lap.

It was going to be a long night, but Jenny was worth it. More than worth it.