A/N: Hello, my loyal readers! I've had this idea in my head for quite some time, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to dive into another story so soon. I don't know how long this will end up being, but if you like it, be sure to let me know!
He had neighbors. Not that he had really expected otherwise, after all, it was a fairly popular apartment complex, but still…it annoyed him. He had counted on neighbors, certainly. What he had not counted on (or prepared for) was being able to hear said neighbors. Being a quiet person, he wasn't overly concerned with anyone filing a complaint against him for noise, but he couldn't say the same about the people surrounding him.
He'd not seen anyone on the day he'd moved in, having deliberately waited until later in the evening to move to avoid interactions of any kind, but he'd heard the neighbors directly to his left arguing about something or other as he'd tried to fall asleep. Luckily, his years of military training had made it so that he was able to sleep in nearly any conditions, but it didn't make it any less annoying.
He was now beginning to second-guess his decision to even move into this apartment in the first place. After all, he had a perfectly good house to live in, not even twenty minutes from here, but the thought of being there alone, surrounded by memories, haunted by them….no. He just couldn't do it. He didn't know how he could have ever fooled himself into thinking he could. It was too painful.
He hadn't seen (or heard, for that matter) the person who lived in the apartment to his right, but the manager had told him that it was just one person, perhaps sensing that he preferred not to be disturbed. He guessed that whoever the person was, they must work a good deal, and if that was the case, he figured that would only work out better for him in the long run. Less noise that way.
It wasn't until his fourth night in his new place that he had any indication that someone did, in fact, occupy the apartment to his right. Near midnight, he heard the door open and close, followed by the sound of someone dropping their keys on the floor. A quiet swear reached his ears, and he nearly laughed when he realized the speaker was a woman, and as the shrill ringing of a cell phone filled the air, he frowned. What kind of person called someone at almost midnight?
She answered the phone sharply, her voice betraying her annoyance, and he guessed she'd had the same thoughts he had.
"Yes, DiNozzo?"
Hm…what a strange name. Probably Italian.
"I literally just walked in the door. Can I have five minutes to put my coat down?"
There was a pause as she listened to whatever this DiNozzo had to say, and when she spoke once more, he fought the urge to laugh again.
"I swear to God, DiNozzo, if you don't let me get some sleep, you're going to run twenty laps naked in the gym tomorrow. Your concern is noted, dismissed, and ultimately not needed. Good night."
Poor DiNozzo. Still, it was obscenely late. He honestly couldn't have said that he would have been any more polite. He could hear her moving around in the apartment, and just before he turned off the light to go into his bedroom, it occurred to him that she had a very mesmerizing voice. He could definitely get used to hearing it.
Less than three hours after he'd gone to bed, he was awakened by a loud crash, followed by an exasperated "Son of a bitch!" that made him frown, but when he realized it was coming from the apartment next to his, he shrugged it off, turning over slowly. It dimly occurred to him that there was a loud knocking on the other side of her door, and as though he tried to ignore it, he couldn't stop himself from listening to her voice.
"Is there a reason you're knocking on my door at 02:45, Agent DiNozzo?"
DiNozzo, again. Hm…interesting.
"Sorry, Shep. We got a call, and your phone was off. I tried calling."
"Did it ever occur to you that my phone was turned off for a reason? Sleep, for example."
"I know. It's just that—"
"Forget it. Give me five minutes."
The door closed, and as he listened, he heard DiNozzo grumbling quietly outside.
"Think I know why you're single," he muttered, "You're downright bitchy in the morning."
"Only when you wake me up after less than two hours of sleep," came the woman's voice from inside the apartment.
"Damn, Red…you got ears like a bat."
"And don't you forget it, DiNozzo," she quipped.
He decided, right then and there, in spite of not knowing anything about this woman, that he liked her.
Slow days at his recruitment office were beyond boring, but he did his best to get through them, preferably without losing his mind. Before, his mind was often filled with memories of a life long ago taken from him; of bright blue eyes that had once looked into his so lovingly, of laughter that was as clear as a bell, and those…those were the days that hurt the most. It was days like those that reminded him of exactly why he couldn't stay in his house and threatened his fragile grip on sanity.
He'd always tried to drink as much coffee as he could on those days, intentionally mainlining caffeine into his bloodstream to keep himself awake in the darkest hours of the night. Night was the worst. That was when the dreams came, More nightmares than dreams, really, for even a good dream was torture to him now. Night was when he woke in a cold sweat, so desperate for any kind of respite that even the bullet in his gun was starting to look welcome.
In a way, he supposed he owed his new neighbor a thank you. He'd now spent the better part of the last two weeks thinking about her, wondering what she looked like, what she did for a living that would prompt a visit from someone at nearly three in the morning, what her name was. Technically, he knew the answer to this last, at least partially. When she'd answered another call one evening after work, he'd heard her give her last name, and he briefly wondered if she were military of some kind. After all, it was standard practice to refer to someone by surname in the armed forces. Given the way she'd berated her fellow co-worker, it seemed likely enough, but he didn't want to assume anything. As the saying went, to assume….well, anyway, could anyone really blame him for being curious? He didn't really care even if they did. The opinion of others had never mattered much to him to begin with.
A quick glance at his watch told him that it was nearing 17:00, and he frowned as he checked it again. He'd only had a few potential recruits that day, as was usually the case in the winter months, and he couldn't believe he'd seriously just spent his entire day thinking about his faceless neighbor. In a way, he supposed it made sense: she'd given him a mystery to solve, and he'd always enjoyed a challenge, though he couldn't have told anyone which mystery he was more interested in figuring out. Was it the personal and physical details or was it her strange job that kept her so obviously busy?
Sighing as he gathered his things, he made his way to the door, careful to lock it securely behind him, and as he headed to his truck, he frowned. He absolutely hated winter now. The constant cold, the lack of sunlight, the whisper of depression that seemed to linger in the very air…give him spring any day. Though he supposed the season fit his mood, the only one he'd had since he'd lost them. It was only early December, but already there was a light flurry of snow falling around him as he walked, and he pulled his jacket tighter around him.
He especially hated snow. It reminded him of the times he'd been pulled out of the house, coaxed into building a snowman, into building forts made of frozen ice crystals, of the rare times it had been tossed at him, freezing his skin as it soaked through his shirt. Climbing into his truck, he turned the heater on full blast, hoping to thaw out his freezing fingers, and when the feeling had returned to them enough that he felt comfortable driving, he pulled out onto the road, thankful for the deserted streets.
He made it back to his apartment in record time, trying to beat the rapidly increasing snowfall, and as he pulled into his parking space, he noticed that he wasn't alone in the lot. A woman in her early to mid-thirties was just climbing out of her car, the sleek little black car he'd parked next to, and she nodded at him as he opened his door.
Just from that brief glance, he could see she was incredibly attractive. Long slender legs clad in gray denim, impossibly high heels that he wasn't sure if she wore for height or style, porcelain-white skin...but it was her hair that captivated him the most. Fiery red, pulled back into a long ponytail that reached her shoulders…it was absolutely stunning.
She didn't speak to him as she sorted through the various bags in her car, and he returned her nod as he walked inside the building, too cold to give the matter much thought. By the time he'd made it to his door, the woman in the parking lot had long been forgotten, his only thoughts focused on the glass of bourbon that he'd already decided to pour. It had definitely been a bourbon kind of day.
He opted to wait until he'd taken a shower to sit down with his beloved drink, sipping it slowly in the dark of the evening, lit only by the fire he'd built in the grate. He could hear his neighbors to the left screaming again, and though he did his damn best to ignore them, the walls were simply too thin.
"I'm just saying, if you would at least try to look for a job, we wouldn't be so bad off right now!"
"You know I can't work! I've got a bad back!"
"No, you've got a bad case of being a lazy bastard, Greg!"
He sighed, tipping back his drink, and when he heard the door to his right open, he immediately straightened, listening for the sound of her voice.
"No, my loud ass neighbors are fighting again. Greg still isn't working, and apparently Laken is sick of it. She's been screaming at him since I came up the steps."
He frowned. Her hearing really was like a bat's if she could hear them, too. Or perhaps they were just that loud. He thought maybe it was a combination of both, wondering who she could be talking to.
"Hang on, Amy. I've got another call coming through. Shepard. No, Derek. I'm a little busy. I'm on the other line. I'll have to call you back."
As he took another drink of his bourbon, Gibbs walked closer to his fireplace, stoking the fire while he listened to Shepard talk about her day with Amy. The fireplace had been one of the deciding factors when he'd been looking for a place to rent, and he'd been relieved to find a unit that had one but was yet still reasonably priced.
"Yeah, we should. I know, it's been way too long. But you know how busy I am this time of year, not to mention it's...yeah...I know. I just really miss her. Sometimes I call her phone just to listen to the voicemail pick up. On my way to work in the mornings, it's so hard not to drive past her apartment and..."
He heard her pause, and he wondered briefly if she was crying. He had no idea who she was referring to, nor why their relationship was in disrepair, but he couldn't deny that he was intensely curious. Unfortunately, it was getting rather late, and he had to be up early to be at the recruitment office. Sighing, he drained the last of his drink and as he returned to the chair he'd previously been sitting in, he prepared to get some well-deserved rest. He never slept in the bed, too painfully aware of its size and emptiness, and as he felt his eyes beginning to grow heavy, he hoped he would not dream tonight.
The loud scream, followed by several thundering knocks on the door next to his woke Gibbs in the earliest hours of the morning, and he groaned as he opened his eyes. The three knocks were distinctive, quite obviously police, and there were several more screams, making him all the more curious in spite of the lateness of the hour. He made his way groggily over to the front door, pulling it open slowly, and as he blinked in the darkness, the officer in front of him turned to face him.
"Sir, do you know who lives here?"
He shook his head.
"Nope. Just moved in two weeks ago. Think the woman who lives on the other side of me does, though. Might try her if she's home."
The officer nodded, and Gibbs made his way back into his living room, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Couldn't he get just one decent night of sleep? Was that really too much to ask? Between the nightmares, the long hours at the recruitment office, and his extremely loud neighbors, it certainly seemed so. He heard the officer knock on Shepard's door, and as he sat back down in his chair, she opened it, no doubt having already been awake.
"Ma'am, do you know who lives in apartment 6?"
"Yeah. Greg and Laken Masterson. They're always fighting about something. Is everything alright?"
"I'm sure you've heard the noise tonight, and we received a call from someone in the building about a domestic disturbance. We've knocked on their door, but no one's opening it."
"The apartment manager should have a key. One second, I'll give you his number."
She returned moments later, and he assumed she must have handed him a piece of paper, and after the officer had thanked her, she closed her door again, the sound surprisingly loud in the quiet. There was a long moment of silence, and Gibbs had very nearly fallen asleep when he heard Shepard's voice again, so soft he almost couldn't make out the words she'd said.
"Hi, Heather. I know you probably think that I'm being stupid, but I wanted to tell you about what just happened. Apparently, my neighbors are fighting again, and the cops actually showed up this time. One of them knocked on my door. He was actually kind of cute. Hearing them yell at each other kind of reminds me of being a little kid again, listening to Mom and Dad fight through their bedroom door. In a strange way, it's kind of comforting. Still, I'm worried that one day he's going to end up hurting her, and that's the last thing I want to happen. Anyway, I hope you know how much I miss you, and I love you. So much."
Gibbs frowned as he listened to her make her way into her bedroom, wondering who she'd called and why she'd sounded as though she were on the verge of tears.
In all the ways he'd imagined his life would have turned out, he'd never thought that this would be one of them. Spending his days at a boring office job, his nights running away from the painful memories of the past, drowning his sorrow in any liquor he could lay his hands on, but it was the only way he knew to survive. One day at a time, one minute, one second, one breath. He passed his time by listening to his neighbors through the thin walls of his apartment, trying to put their faces with their voices, and so far, the only two he was entirely certain of were Greg and Laken Masterson. He'd watched them both being arrested a week earlier in the late hours of the morning for another domestic disturbance and while he couldn't blame the officers for doing their job, it had made his nights decidedly more boring.
The Masterson's provided the majority of his entertainment, their arguments and raised voices almost as captivating as an old television show, and with Shepard working what seemed to be all hours of the day, his mystery had vacated the premises. He hadn't heard her since the night the Masterson's had been arrested, though he'd listened to her describe the entire situation to that DiNozzo guy over the phone as she'd done what he himself had: watched through the window as the couple was hauled away.
Her commentary had been witty, bitingly sarcastic, and he'd found himself smiling each time she'd made some clever remark, though he couldn't have explained to anyone the reason why. He didn't even know what this woman looked like, why was he so enamoured by her? Gibbs had decided, by the end of that week, that he was making it his mission to discover exactly what Shepard looked like, or he would go insane trying.
Shepard, however, had other plans, as she'd been working nonstop since that night, and when he finally heard her come through the front door, closing it a bit harder than she normally did, he frowned. He strained his ears, listening for any sign that something was different about her that night, but found nothing, and as he heard her phone ring, she groaned in frustration.
"Shepard. Well, spit it out, McGee, what is it?"
Hm...he'd been expecting DiNozzo again. This one was new to him, and he moved his chair a bit closer to the wall to listen better.
She sighed.
"McGee, put DiNozzo on."
Ah, there he was. The ever-annoying DiNozzo. Or, at least, that was how he seemed to be.
"Tony, whatever it is, you can handle it. You're the Senior Field Agent for a reason, now will you please give me time enough to myself so that I can take a shower? I'll be back in an hour."
He heard a loud clattering from the other side of the room and it took him several minutes to realise that she'd thrown her phone across it. Seconds later, the unmistakable sound of crying reached his ears, and as it grew louder, he found himself feeling suddenly, inexplicably sorry for Shepard. He didn't even know what it was that had made her cry, but just from the conversations he'd heard through the wall, she didn't seem like the type to fall apart easily.
Her phone rang again, and she let out a frustrated sound that was a strange combination of a sob and a scream, the sound of her hand slamming onto the marble counter top echoing in the quiet.
"God damn it! Can't I just have five fucking minutes?!"
It didn't escape his notice that she never answered the offending device and when he heard her take a deep breath, he realised she was walking towards her bathroom.
"Come on, Shepard," she said quietly, "Get your fucking shit together. You don't have time to fall apart. You know better than this. You are better than this."
As he listened to the woman on the other side of the wall simultaneously berate and encourage herself, Gibbs had never felt more confused.
"Derek, I really don't have time for this. I'm working all day, every day, and—"
"That's the problem. You never think about anything but work. What about us? What about your friends? You can't put your life on hold because of a stupid job."
"You think my job is stupid?"
"Better be careful, Derek," Gibbs muttered, taking a drink from his glass.
"No, but the way you're acting is."
"Bad move..." Gibbs whispered.
"You don't eat, you don't sleep, you drink every second you're not at your precious desk, and I can't even imagine how your team puts up with you. I know you want to do the best you can, but you're not perfect. And you don't have to be. You hide in your work."
"From what?" Shepard scoffed, her voice harsh.
"From everything. Your loneliness, your failures, from facing the fact you live a lie. You're always preaching not to be numb, but that's exactly what you do. You push everyone away and then when they leave, you pretend not to care. But I know you, and you do care. At least...you used to."
A pause.
"What happened to that girl? The one who used to see the good in everyone? Who always fought for what she believed in?"
"Get out."
Okay, this wasn't where Gibbs had expected this to go. Nor, it seemed, had Derek.
"What?"
"If all you're going to do is stand there and pick apart everything I do, every choice I make, then you can leave. I don't need to be judged by you."
"I'm not judging you! I'm just saying that you—"
"Derek, please leave. Now. And don't come back."
"Wait...don't do this. You can't just decide that this is over. Not if you love me. It doesn't work that way!"
Gibbs took a long drink of his bourbon, shaking his head.
"She doesn't love you. That's just it."
"Unless...you don't love me anymore?"
Shepard said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes. There was a loud slamming that Gibbs interpreted as Derek hitting the door frame, and he rolled his eyes. He knew where this was headed, and it wasn't going to be pretty.
"But...I love you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Of course it does," Shepard answered, her voice surprisingly soft, "but it's also your misfortune. I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, Derek."
The response Derek gave was so quiet that Gibbs missed it, but he heard Shepard's door close not even a minute later, and the sound of retreating footsteps told him that her (ex) boyfriend had begun his long walk back down to the lobby. He was sorely tempted to knock on her door and offer her a glass of bourbon to dull the pain because he knew, no matter how coolly she'd played it in front of him, Shepard was still feeling the aftershocks of the break up. Everyone did. Always.
"Hi, Heather. It's me. I know I shouldn't call so much, but...I just really needed to hear your voice. I...I broke up with Derek today. It's weird, I should...I should be a crying mess in the middle of the floor, but...I just feel empty. Does that make me heartless, like Tony always says? Or did I ever really love him? I just...I'm so confused, I'm working nonstop, and I really wish I could talk to you. I love you, and I miss you."
She sighed, and Gibbs wondered if she was trying to keep from laughing or crying. Probably a bit of both, if he were honest.
"Bye, Heather."
Even as he swallowed the liquid resting in his mouth, Gibbs would have sworn she needed it more than he did.
After answering so many mind-numbing questions that he wasn't even sure of how to spell his own name anymore, Gibbs finally handed the young man the pen, watching him tiredly as he signed his form. It wasn't that he hated his job, but the long hours were beginning to get to him, and he only manged the slightest of nods as the pen was handed back to him. He extended his hand, shaking the younger man's firmly, and as he was once again left alone in the office, he ran his hand through his hair.
Briefly, he wondered if Shepard was still working, and he knew, on some level, he was becoming slightly obsessed with his neighbor. The fact that he had no idea of what she looked like had no bearing on this fact whatsoever, and as he watched the hands on the clock tick slowly by, he thought perhaps she might be doing the same. It was true that she'd been working constantly, her break up with Derek being the last time he'd heard her voice, and he wondered if she really was burying herself in her job to escape her feelings.
If that were the case, he could certainly relate, having done the same since 1991. Since the day he'd lost them. To this day, he was still unsure of how exactly he'd made it through that particular time in his life, but in the end, did it even really matter? They were gone, and that loss would weigh on his heart and in his mind until he took his very last breath. There was simply no way around that. If Shepard was running from a pain that was anything like what he'd experienced, the who was he to fault her from trying to put it behind her?
Each tick of the clock was so mind-numbing, so excruciatingly slow that he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it, and as he impatiently waited for the next five minutes to pass, he rolled his eyes. He was seriously beginning to question his decision to become a marine recruiter, needing something more stimulating to occupy his days, but he'd never considered doing anything with his life other than the Marines.
He'd given so much of his life for his country, what would he do if he turned away now? Still, he knew there was no way he could return to combat, not with his knee shot to hell the way it was, and he couldn't think of anything else he could do. He'd only trained to do one thing, to be one thing, and now, as boring as it was, he was too resistant to change to risk it now. Besides, he loved the Marines. Really, he did.
Finally, thankfully, the clock read 17:00, and as he pulled his coat tightly around his shoulders, he hoped it wasn't still snowing. It had been all day, and he detested driving in the dangerous white powder, and when he stepped out into the cold air, he rolled his eyes. Of course it was still snowing. Why wouldn't it be? That was simply how his luck was turning out. He made it to his truck unscathed, a miracle in and of itself given the thick layer of snow on the ground, and as he began to drive home, Gibbs fleeting thought of Shepard again.
How did she feel about snow? Was she comfortable driving in it? Did she have memories of playing with her friends and family in the snow banks? Had she even grown up in an area where snow was common? Was this her first encounter with it? What in the hell was her first name? Okay, so that last one had nothing to do with snow in the slightest, but still...it was driving him insane not knowing.
Pulling up to his apartment, he was surprised to find police units in the parking lot, and as he stepped down from the cab of his truck, he was stopped by an officer guarding the entrance.
"I'm sorry, sir. No one is allowed in the building until it's been cleared."
Gibbs frowned. What was going on? He could hear raised voices coming from the building, and when he realised that they belonged to the Masterson's, he sighed, shaking his head. Really? These two again? When had they gotten released from custody? As he stood out in the freezing cold, he noticed that more people were beginning to arrive, some curious onlookers, and a few he recognised from the building itself.
"Are we all standing here for a reason, or did someone train the building to do a trick?"
Wait. He knew that voice. He turned, trying to see who had spoken, and a loud yell from within the building caused his attention to jump back in the other direction.
"You fucking asshole! This is all your fault! You changed the locks on me, you mother—"
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down. If you would just come with us—"
"No! He can't do this! I pay all the bills, the apartment is in my name! He can't do this! There has to be a law or something!"
Gibbs tried to tune her out as she was pulled from the building, and as soon as Greg Masterson was within arm's reach, his wife lunged at him, her nails scratching and her hands hitting every inch of him she could make contact with.
"You fucking bastard!"
They were finally restrained, thrown into the back of opposite patrol cars, and Gibbs turned around again, trying to find out where she'd gone. He knew it had been Shepard. He would have recognised her voice anywhere.
"You know, it's normal to be screwed up, but it's really screwed up to romanticize it."
Holy shit. It couldn't be. She looked at him, brushing her long red hair out of her face, and when he just looked at her, she gave him a warm smile, not unlike the one he'd given her when she'd first seen him in the parking lot all those weeks ago. He couldn't believe that Shepard was the woman he'd seen then and not even known it, but as soon as she spoke again, all his doubts were erased. Her voice was too unique for him to mistake it for anyone else.
"Are you always this articulate, or am I just special?"
He rolled his eyes, and when she held out her hand, he took it slowly.
"I think I've seen you before. You just moved in about a month or two ago, right?"
"Yeah," he said finally, still hardly able to believe he was actually speaking to her directly.
"Nice to finally meet you. Jenny Shepard."
"Gibbs," he answered, "Jethro Gibbs."
"Jethro, huh? Your parents a fan of The Beverly Hillbillies or something?"
"Nope, just hated me."
She smiled again, and it occurred to him just how pretty she was.
"Can't imagine why. You seem normal to me. You got another name? Maybe it would be better."
He shook his head, meeting her eyes slowly. God, her eyes were breathtaking.
"Leroy. Leroy Jethro Gibbs, at your service."
She laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she took a step away from him.
"I take it back," she said, shaking her head, "Your parents really did hate you."
He merely nodded, too stunned to say anything else. She waved as she walked inside the building, her breath billowing out as she blew onto her hands to warm them, and just before the lobby door closed behind her, he heard her voice again.
"See you around, Leroy Jethro."
Damn, he certainly hoped so.
Nearly three hours had passed since he'd gotten home, and Gibbs was still in shock. How could that woman, that stunning, witty, sarcastic woman he'd spent so long wondering about really be the same one he'd seen all those weeks ago in the parking lot? He was tempted to walk over and knock on her door just to prove to himself that he'd imagined the entire encounter, but it was nearing 20:00, and he knew she didn't get much sleep to begin with.
The loud pounding on her door made him pause, wondering who else had gotten the idea to go over to her place this late at night, and when he heard the raised voice from the other side of the wall, he frowned.
"Jenny, open up! I need to talk to you!"
He heard her slam something down on the table in her kitchen, and as her door swung open, he could detect the irritation in her voice.
"Don't you think if I wanted to talk to you, I would have answered the phone?"
"How should I know? You're always working."
Okay, Gibbs had to give the guy credit for that one. Point one for Derek.
"I have bills to pay, Derek. And I thought I told you that I didn't want to see you anymore."
"Just give me ten minutes."
When he spoke again, his voice was slower, slightly muffled, and it took much longer than Gibbs would have liked to admit to realise that the reason was because his lips were on Shepard's skin.
"I'm sure if you give me a chance, I can remind you what we're so good at."
She sighed, and Gibbs couldn't tell if she was frustrated or giving in to his advances.
"Don't make me hurt you. Did you forget that I'm always armed?"
Point one for Shepard.
"Your gun is on the table. Or did you forget that I know you always put it there for easier access?"
"No, I didn't forget," Shepard's voice was cold, "but I also have a knife. And if you don't get your hands off of me in the next ten seconds, you're going to find out just how sharp the blade is."
Wow, okay. Point two for Shepard. Gibbs had to hand it to her, she definitely knew how to take care of herself.
"Come on, Jenny. I love you, you have to believe me."
She sighed again, and this time there was no mistaking her irritation.
"No, I really don't. And even if I did, love is nothing but a distraction. I've got things to do, and you're really cutting into my night drastically."
Gibbs heard the sound of someone (Derek, he thought) slamming their hand into the wall, and when he heard the raised voice of the younger man, he knew he'd been right.
"You know, you used to have a heart, Jenny. What the hell happened to you? You're not the same woman I knew and fell in love with."
Shepard backed away, her footsteps echoing with each step, and Gibbs unknowingly tensed, waiting for her next words.
"Or maybe you never really knew me at all."
The door slammed behind her, and Gibbs knew, as he reached for his bourbon, that he'd probably seen (heard) the last of Derek Last Name. Her lock turned in the door, making him laugh quietly, and as soon as he heard her make her way into her bedroom, Gibbs shook his head. There was no use denying it now. He had to give it to her. Final point went to Shepard. Game, set, match. Checkmate. No matter how he thought of it, she'd definitely won. Not that he had expected it to go any differently, if he were being completely honest. And he could no longer deny that he was somehow strangely infatuated with the woman on the other side of the wall.
The next time he heard her, she was cursing loudly at someone (or perhaps something, he couldn't really be sure), and when her words were accompanied by a loud shattering, he shook his head, laughing quietly. For someone who was armed with a weapon at all times, Shepard had a bad habit of dropping things.
"Oh, come on, you fucking idiot!"
He frowned. Who was she talking to?
"You seriously can't even make dinner without dropping everything into the floor? Is there anything else you want to destroy this week? Keep going, maybe you can be blamed for the Kennedy assassination!"
Was she seriously berating herself for dropping what had sounded like a single plate? Surely not. Still, he didn't exactly know her, regardless of the fact that he'd been listening to her through the wall for the better part of nearly two months, and it was entirely possible. Maybe Shepard had deeper issues than he'd originally thought. He could hear her still muttering curses quietly, and when she spoke again, he felt suddenly sorry for the younger woman.
"Well, DiNozzo...still think I'm a heartless bitch?"
Her sobs were audible even through the wall separating them, and though he couldn't have explained why, even to himself, Gibbs was suddenly aware of the fact that her tears made him feel just as sad as if they were his own.
A/N: Well, should I continue it, or should it go in the trunk of abandoned stories?