This is a belated but nonetheless heartfelt one shot dedicated to MaidenMoonshine on her third anniversary of writing on this platform. Officially, her anniversary was Nov. 4. I did not forget this special day, dear friend, it was only postponed by life in general. This last year has been a tough one with the isolation and stress Covid has put on individuals, nations and the world as a whole. Here's a reminder to all writers – and for MaidenMoonshine especially – that writing can be healing, loving and connecting. Enjoy!
Silent Night
Jen tossed and turned as quietly as possible for as long as she could stand it before slipping out of bed and down to her study.
As she left her room after shrugging on her robe against the cool air, she took one last glance at Gibbs sleeping. She almost couldn't believe the two had found their way back to each other after she assumed the role as NCIS director.
Their flirting was nothing more than playful at first. Within weeks, they were communicating with only a look like when they were partners. When Gibbs found out Jen was sick – which turned out to be less serious than anticipated – he wasted no time in telling her he wanted her back.
Jen's reticence to reuniting as lovers was washed away by Gibbs's words. Within a month they were basically living together at Gibbs house, with occasional nights at Jen's while the two worked to put it on the market.
Now there were only a few nights left in her family home. And on this particular evening, Jen found herself restless and roaming the rooms of her youth while her future lay upstairs in slumber.
Jen stared out her office window, watching the snow coat the lawn and street, glistening in the street lamp as it made its descent. It was so quiet.
Jen turned and sat at her desk, grabbing a pen and paper. The quiet of the room, the stillness of the snowscape, allowed her to unleash all the thoughts she had swirling in her head and onto the paper.
As the paper filled, Jen's mind quieted. Her restless slipped away with each word.
Jen had been an avid writer from a young age. She was in awe of how books could take her to another place, another time. Her father was her biggest proponent of reading and writing. It was this habit, this solace of writing that got her through when he died.
There was so much love in the grief she wrote about then. And now? So much love to write about with Gibbs – the kind of connection and affection she was certain she would never have again.
It wasn't until a tear plopped next to the word she had just written that Jen realized she was crying. She looked up to see Gibbs standing there.
He rounded the desk and she stood and sank into his arms.
"Shhhh, it's okay, Jenny," Gibbs murmured, kissing her ginger hair.
"It's just… just so much," Jen mumbled into his shoulder.
"I know." Gibbs answered, needing not explanation. He knew the depths and complexities of this woman before him and understood writing was her safety and shelter.
"Bed now," Gibbs said, steering her towards the door.
Jen smirked despite Gibbs's command, feeling safe and loved. Now that the storm in her mind passed, she suddenly found herself too tired to argue against sleep.
Gibbs led Jen back to the bedroom and into bed. He slid in beside her and she curled into his side for warmth and comfort. She was asleep within minutes.
The snow swirled on outside, dampening the occasional late night sounds.
Now it was a truly silent night for Jen, thanks to her journal and the endless blank pages ahead.
THE END