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Chapter 5: A Few Repairs

Grimy, physically exhausted, and emotionally drained, Jack Sloane stepped off the elevator and into the familiar NCIS bullpen. As much as she had tried to prepare herself for being here again, she still felt both the swell of fondness and the pain of loss. The large room was almost empty, with only a couple of agents bent over desks. Not one was from Gibbs' team. Gibbs' team. She caught a heavy breath with that thought. As she trudged past the familiar area, she could not help looking over at his desk. Photos were still pinned up on the wall behind it, manuals still lined the bookshelf, as if they were all just waiting for him to return.

She swallowed hard, pushing back tears, and climbed the stairs, picturing moments of flashing smiles down at him as he looked up at her, his eyes sending a message his face did not reveal, moments of quiet concern, of flirty banter, of barely concealed sexual interest.

It had been a long series of flights to get there, leaving her plenty of time to process the fact that Gibbs was – was not alive anymore. But no amount of time could take away the sharp ache in the center of her chest at the stark realization of loss. Taking a ragged breath, she stepped into the outer office, and, not seeing anyone there, rapped her knuckles in a sad tattoo on Leon's door.

Almost immediately, she was enveloped in Vance's arms, the dirt of her military gear soiling his pressed suit. But she couldn't find the strength to pull back. Instead, she let her body fall against him, took strength from his support.

"Jack," he whispered, rocking them both in comfort and relief. "Thank God you got out."

Finally, unable to keep the tears from streaking through the dust on her cheeks, she stood straight, and sucked in a breath. "I – I got your message. Not until we were at the airport, but I got it." She shook her head, still in disbelief. "Oh, Leon. What a cluster."

She supposed Leon had more time to deal with the tragedy than she had. He was composed, almost smiling even. "Listen, Jack," he said, one hand grasping her wrist and tugging her toward the hallway, "I gotta get to autopsy. Come with me."

Suddenly horrified, she backed away. Surely, Leon wasn't saying they were going to see Gibbs, or what remained of him, anyway. "I'm – I'm not ready. Leon, I don't want to see – "

He stopped, mouth open. "Oh, no. No, Jack, that's not what – well, do you trust me?"

There was only a tiny number of people Jack Sloane had ever really trusted in this world. Leon was the only one left alive. "You know I do."

"Then, come with me. Please."

Closing her eyes against the immense sadness that swept over her, she nodded, looked up again, and let him lead her to the elevator.

XXX

As the familiar whoosh greeted them, Leon steered her into the stark atmosphere of Autopsy. Her eyes scanned right and found Palmer leaning over a body, his back to them, his voice low as he regaled the latest victim with tales in the same manner as his predecessor.

It was all a normal scene, and she took some solace in the fact that at least not everything had changed.

Until she heard the victim talking back. And the voice from the victim sounded like – no. It could not be.

"I'm tellin' ya, Palmer, I'm okay."

Her brain was so overloaded, it forgot to tell her feet to move, and she stumbled to a halt. Leon stopped beside her. What. The. Hell?

"You are most definitely not okay," Jimmy answered firmly.

Jack noted somewhere in the back of her mind that Palmer had grown up.

"You should have stayed longer than two days in the hospital," he was saying. "Me checking you today was part of your deal to leave before they wanted you to. You shouldn't even be out of bed."

"Palmer – " Leon started.

"If that knife had gone deeper, you'd have more than just a row of stitches; you'd be in ICU right now."

"Palmer – "

"And if you don't let me rewrap those cracked ribs, you could find yourself back there with a punctured lung. Plus, I want to put more salve on those burns – "

"PALMER!" Leon finally roared.

Palmer spun around, revealing the "body" on his table, a body that was suddenly struggling to push off the metal slab.

"Gibbs!" It was possible the scream came from her own throat, but she could not have testified to it.

"Jack!" Gibbs. Sounding hoarse and in pain, but definitely Gibbs.

She didn't understand, and she didn't care. Her brain finally connected again with the rest of her body, and her feet moved, propelling her forward. Grinning wildly, Palmer slid an arm around Gibbs' shoulders, leveraging him into a sitting position on the table. She could see now that he almost did look like one of Dr. Palmer's victims himself. Clad only in a gray pair of boxer-briefs, he was a multi-colored palette of bruises, burns, and abrasions. His teeth were clenched tight against the pain. His hair was shaggy and wild. His beard was scraggly. In other words, he was beautiful.

By the time she reached him, she had already pushed Palmer out of the way and was clutching at Gibbs' bare shoulders. "Oh, my God, Gibbs! I thought you were dead!"

"Not hardly," he quipped in a surprisingly fair imitation of John Wayne.

"Bastard."

"So they tell me."

Almost giddy, she pulled back to look him up and down and before she noticed the woman standing behind the table. Frowning, Jack glanced from Gibbs to the woman and back, her heart stuttering.

The woman extended a hand, smiling. "Marcie Warren," she said, tilting her head so that Jack could see a bandage on her neck. Apparently, she and Gibbs had been…together…for whatever happened.

Gibbs used the moment to pull on the USMC t-shirt he had folded on top of the rest of his clothes at the end of the metal table. He didn't seem ill at ease about Jack meeting this woman. She should have guessed he would move on. After all, she made the choice to leave.

Glancing at Marcie, Jack could tell she was Gibbs' type: confident, attractive, maybe gutsy, judging from the presence of the bandage. Slightly taller than Jack herself. Damn.

She met the offered hand. "Jack Sloane. I worked at NCIS – "

"Before you went to Afghanistan," Marcie finished.

"Ms. Warren is a reporter," Vance explained simply.

What the hell was Gibbs doing with a reporter? He hated them almost as much as he hated lawyers.

After an awkward silence, Marcie took a breath and said, "Well, I'd better be going. Just wanted to see you safely back home." Jack wondered if this reporter knew how very fitting it was that she referred to NCIS as Gibbs' home.

She stared, even more intrigued, as Marcie gave Gibbs a gentle hug. "Good working with you, Gibbs. You ever want to go freelance, look me up. I'll share the byline."

Gibbs smiled. "Take care of yourself, Marcie. You're a damn good reporter."

"And you're a damn good investigator. Thank you for finding closure for me."

His eyes softened. "Thank you, Marcie."

Jack was not sure if she was more jealous of Marcie or more appreciative of her apparently having something to do with Gibbs being alive. She watched the reporter leave, then slowly turned back to the autopsy table and narrowed her eyes at the man sitting on it.

After a moment, he asked, "What?"

"Marcie Warren?"

His brow lifted in a shrug. "A friend."

"A reporter?"

This time his shoulders joined his eyebrows in the shrug, and she decided that she could get the details later, so she stepped close again, smoothing her fingers over his shoulders and down his broad chest, eyes moist with the emotions of the moment. "Damn it, Cowboy, I was so afraid that – that – "

"Hey." His own arms wrapped around her, pressing his lips across her jaw before he pulled her tight and just held her, his head resting against her breasts.

They didn't hear the autopsy doors swoosh open and then closed again. They didn't see Palmer and Vance slip out. They only felt each other's solid, living, breathing bodies.

She nudged his head up so that she could reach his lips. They stayed like that for a long time, him in only a t-shirt and underwear, sitting on the autopsy table, her, fully clothed in grimy camo, standing between his legs, holding and kissing each other as if they had never thought they would again. And she reflected that most likely they had not.

"So," she breathed, finally, hand brushing gently through his hair, "I hear you got a few repairs to do on your boat."

He half-laughed, half-groaned, burying his face against her again. "A few." After a pause, he tightened his grip around her waist, and murmured, "Worked on her for seven years. Would be…a commitment…to do that again."

She pressed a kiss on top of his head before she asked carefully, "Would it help to have a…partner?"

For a moment, he remained silent. Then, he lifted his head, those icy blue eyes looking directly into hers. "Still might take years to build her," he warned.

"I know. Question is, is she worth it?" She couldn't keep the vulnerability from her voice, but his next words washed any doubt away.

"Oh, yeah." He smiled, cradling her face in his large hands. "She's absolutely worth it."

In that moment, in the middle of Autopsy, Jack Sloane didn't know if her future included NCIS. She didn't know if Gibbs' future included NCIS. But she knew that their future included each other…and maybe the best boat Gibbs had ever built.

END

And remember Rule #3! Never believe what you are told. Double check.