A/N: I know you've all been really hating Gibbs...you're gonna really hate him this chapter too. But I promise this is the last chapter where you will. This is also the last chapter that will be this short, as the chapters following this start to get longer in word count. Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and following this story, I appreciate you all.


It hadn't been too long after the ultrasound that McGee's sister's case had happened. After days of her and Jethro finally being cordial, something had to happen to change that. Ever since McGee had stormed out of her office after giving up his badge and gun, and Jethro had chased after him and righted things, he hadn't talked to her. Hell, he hadn't even so much as looked at her.

She'd let him carry on his silent treatment for a few days, but she was ending it today. It was Thanksgiving, and she couldn't stand being in her house alone this year, couldn't stand the idea of him being alone in his.

Ducky's mother was sick and he was tending to her. DiNozzo was off on some beach vacation with some old college friends and a bunch of women (allegedly). Abby had convinced Ziva to have a girls day with her. They'd invited Jenny too, but she'd politely declined, not really wanting to dodge the inevitable questions about why she wasn't drinking with them. McGee was with family, thankfully, after that whole ordeal. She was just grateful he was at least talking to her. She'd apologized to the young agent, who was gracious and had explained that Gibbs had told him that she was just doing her job. Despite knowing that fact, Jethro apparently didn't get the memo himself when it came to her.

But she also knew she had overreacted, and that Jethro deserved an apology. He hadn't given her a chance to give him one, too busy avoiding her like the plague. So here she was, on his doorstep on Thanksgiving evening, with a bottle of good whiskey to apologize. And considering she couldn't even sample any of it, he should be more than grateful for such a gift. Alcohol was one luxury she'd been missing lately, especially with the many headaches that came with pregnancy, not to mention dealing with Jethro.

She took a breath before she opened the door, not sure what was going to happen. She wasn't sure just how angry he was going to be, or if he'd ignore her altogether. She instantly headed to the basement, knowing she didn't need to question where else he would be. If you didn't see him in the living room or kitchen upon entering, he was in the basement.

She hesitated at the landing of the wooden stairs, wondering if going down was even a good idea. He sat on his wooden stool, his shoulders slumped in a defeated sort of way as he seemed to just stare at his counter. An almost empty bottle of bourbon was by his elbow. The only source of light was from one lamp near him, illuminating his limp figure.

She descended the stairs quietly, grateful that she was wearing a normal pair of tennis shoes and not her usual heels. She hadn't gotten fancy for Thanksgiving, donning a comfortable long sleeve shirt and a loose fitting pair of jeans.

As she got close to him, she realized he had a couple of pictures and some kind of craft sitting in front of him. She set the bourbon on the counter, taking in his sunken look as he just stared at the pictures. She looked down.

In one picture, his younger self was off to the side, cutting a big turkey, and a smiling Kelly sat at the table that was donned with plates and bowls of traditional Thanksgiving food. She assumed Shannon was the one behind the camera. The other one had Shannon and a much smaller Kelly, perhaps only two or three years old, sitting behind a similar table with similar dishes. The toddler was sulking, and Shannon had a tired smile. The craft had undoubtedly been made by Kelly, what looked like a project made at school. A turkey that had been made out of her cut out hand print, with her childlike written name printed in the middle in colorful crayons and her age and school grade scrawled in the top in much neater handwriting.

She realized she'd intruded on something private, and she wasn't quite sure what to do. Here she thought he'd be working on the boat, and just glare at her and maybe they'd have another yelling match. Instead, he was mourning his family and the long gone Thanksgivings he'd had with them. She shouldn't be here.

Then again, she wondered if it was better for someone to have checked in. He looked like hell. She wondered just how much he'd had to drink. She placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing comfortingly. "I'm sorry, Jethro."

He stiffened, looking up at her like he'd just noticed she was there. "Go 'way, Jen," he muttered.

"No."

"What, ya come here to fire me like ya tried to fire McGee?" he mocked, a definite slur in his words. He shrugged off her hand on his shoulder.

She tried to remember the last time, or if she had ever, seen him this drunk. "I came to apologize," she said calmly.

He snorted and gathered the pictures and project, opening one of the wooden drawers and shoving them in. "Too late for that."

"I really am sorry, Jethro. I know I was out of line. But I had to do my job."

"Always doin' your damn job. Ya gotta care 'bout your people much as ya care 'bout your job."

"You're right," she agreed, knowing it was pointless to argue with him when he was like this. "I do care. I care about you."

He narrowed his eyes at her and scoffed, turning away to look down at the now empty counter.

"I'm sorry about your family," she whispered, putting her hand back on his shoulder.

"Don't talk 'bout my family," he growled, pointing at her and shooting her a vicious glare.

She'd never seen him look so defeated. Never seen him on the verge of tears like this. His dark eyes glistened as he looked at her, and she didn't have it in her to feel anything but sadness for him. "I'm sorry—"

"Quit 'pologizin'," he snapped, his hands balling in fists. He shot up and walked away tensely over to the boat.

She breathed out, trying to figure out the best move here. She thought it might be best to just leave. But she also didn't want to leave him like this. She was worried about him. The closest she'd ever seen him like this was after he'd been shot on one of their missions in Europe way back. He'd been a miserable bastard to deal with then.

"How much have you had to drink?" she asked calmly.

"Would ya just leave?!" he shouted, turning to glare at her again.

"I can't leave you on your own like this."

"You didn't have a problem doin' it before," he snarled.

"It's okay to mourn them."

"What would you know? You don't know what it's like."

"No, I don't," she agreed, walking slowly towards him. "I can't even imagine. You've been through hell."

He stared at her, his fists clenched at his side but his glare relaxing.

"I know you're hurting," she continued, reaching him. "You don't have to hurt alone."

His jaw clenched and he turned away from her. She rested her hand on his arm. "I'm not going to leave you, no matter what you say. I'll give you some space if you want, but you shouldn't be on your own like this."

She saw him look down to her hand, and then he placed his over it, tracing her fingers with his. He turned around and placed his hand on her waist, drawing her into him. His hand wandered down her hip and over her ass, drinking her in with his eyes. She closed her eyes at the touch. It had been too long, and it felt good. But she also knew he was way too drunk. She knew that hungry look in his eyes, and she definitely couldn't let things go too far.

"Care 'bout you too," he muttered to her. He pinned her up against the boat, pressing his lips against her heatedly, stumbling a little as he lifted her up around his waist. She kissed back for a minute, the smell of alcohol almost too strong and powerful for her sensitive sense of smell to deal with. He moaned and pressed his hips against hers pointedly. She pulled back immediately, scrunching her nose in distaste at the smell.

"Jethro, you're drunk."

"Jen, I need you."

She put her hand on his face, looking into those sad blue eyes. "I'm here, Jethro. I'll stay with you. Just no sex…not right now, okay?"

He nodded, his eyes glistening again, and then he leaned forward and kissed her much more softly, apologizing. His grasp on her hips weakened and she gradually slid back to her feet, pulling her head apart from his again. He stumbled slightly again, looking distressed, and she threaded her hands into his hair and pulled him forward, hugging him to her shoulder.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay."

"I miss 'em," he groaned in pain, hugging her tight.

She closed her eyes as he shook a little against her shoulder, hating the pain he was in. It was just like that night in the hospital months ago, when she'd visited him after he'd woken up from the coma. He'd lost it, and cried for the same exact thing as they'd sedated him.

She rubbed his back and brushed her hand through his hair. As soon as he had calmed more and had pulled apart from her, she took his hand and pulled him upstairs to his couch. She got him to drink a glass of water and had him lay down, pulling out the blankets and pillow he kept stashed behind for his makeshift bed.

He was so out of it, and she was surprised by how easy he'd been to settle down and tuck in for the night. She refilled the glass with more water and grabbed his aspirin, putting them both on the coffee table beside him. He just stared at her groggily and reached out when she was done. She let him take her hand and she sat down beside him, brushing her fingers through his hair soothingly.

It wasn't long before the thumb he'd been brushing across her hand stilled and his eyes closed. His breathing evened out and he was dead to the world in minutes. She pressed a kiss to his head and wiped away a little bit of moisture at the corner of his eye.

She got up, sighing, looking around. This wasn't exactly the Thanksgiving night she had planned. She'd thought they'd talk and clear the air. In her fantasy thoughts, she would have convinced him to come over to her place for leftovers and they'd end up tangled in her bed. She went over to the little shelf and scanned the books he had there, choosing one that sounded interesting. She went and pulled out another blanket from behind the couch and settled down on the big cushy armchair next to him, laying the book in her lap and watching him as she processed her thoughts.

She was starting to think this whole thing was even more insane than she originally thought. How the hell were they supposed to raise a kid together? Jethro had a lot of scars, scars that were going to haunt him for the rest of his life. He was still struggling since his coma, still not quite the same Jethro she had always known. Then it just made her question if he'd always struggled this much and she'd just never noticed.

She had her own scars. Sure, not as bad as his—but it was more than an exaggeration to say that she actually functioned like a normal human being. She lived at work—hell, she lived for work. It had always been her priority. Getting to the top and being accomplished in her own right.

A baby and another malfunctioning workaholic didn't fit into her plans. There was no way she and Jethro could competently raise a kid normally together.


He woke up, and instantly regretted doing so.

He could barely open his eyes. It was too bright. He knew he was on his couch, but he couldn't remember what the hell had happened last night. He was honestly surprised he wasn't waking up the boat or even his basement floor. He forced his eyes open, blinking rapidly and lifted his head a little. There was water and aspirin on the coffee table…

He closed his eyes again and held his hand to his head, groaning in pain. He felt like his head was going to explode. He knew he'd drunk a lot, but now he was wondering just how far he'd taken it. And how did he have the mental capacity to make it upstairs and get water and—?

A sound interrupted his thoughts and he rapidly turned his head to the source at his right.

Jenny?

He squinted at the redhead sleeping on his chair. That's right…she was here. He was remembering something…she'd been in his basement…but why? He was pretty sure there had been yelling. Then again, there always was with them. He squeezed his eyes shut again, wishing his head would calm down. He hoped to everything holy that he hadn't said anything too hurtful last night, or attempted to take anything too far. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had that much alcohol.

All he could clearly remember was being in a bad place last night. A really bad place. He swung his feet over the couch and got himself in a sitting position. He grabbed the glass of water and downed it, knowing he needed some fluids. He eyed the aspirin critically. He didn't like taking anything that in any way could fall into the category of grunt candy. He figured he'd start a pot of coffee while he decided if he really needed it or not.

He got up, stumbling a little and squeezing his eyes shut again as he stood still and found his balance, letting his body and blood get used to being vertical again. He held his wrist up and glanced at his watch. He raised an eyebrow up at the time. He was glad he'd at least had the mental stability to get drunk on a night when he didn't have to be into work the next day. He'd be hating himself right now otherwise.

He glanced over at Jenny, trying to think if it was a work day for her. She looked peaceful, curled up with an open book laying in her lap. It reminded him of the old days. He figured he'd keep letting her sleep for now. She worked too much as it was, and he knew she was surely reaching her limit by now. He realized he had no idea how she'd been doing. He'd been giving her the silent treatment and avoiding her for days, after she'd overstepped in the whole McGee thing.

But he'd also just been mad at the world, and he'd been partially taking it out on her and blaming her. His wife and daughter had been weighing on his mind heavily lately. They had been ever since his coma. But it had gotten even worse after realizing he was going to be a father again. Hearing that heartbeat had made it too real. Too painful.

Normal dads would be ecstatic. He found himself feeling dread. Sure, it was great the baby was healthy and alive now. But what about if that heart stopped beating at some point? What if something happened to Jenny?

He clenched his jaw at the thought. He walked quietly to her, removing the book carefully from her lap and putting it on the coffee table. He adjusted the blanket draped over her as still as he could, covering her a little better. He brushed the pads of his fingers gently over her hair, listening to her breathe for a minute as he reassured himself.

He gave a nod to himself and moved again, creeping in to the kitchen to get the coffee started. He drank another glass of water and grimaced at the taste and the feel of his mouth. He decided his two most critical tasks right now were getting his teeth brushed and getting his bladder emptied.

He moved quietly as he made his way upstairs and accomplished his tasks. He threw on a fresh shirt for good measure before he made his way back downstairs. She moved a bit in her sleep and made a noise when he approached the living room and he froze, really not wanting to wake her. He told himself it was because she needed the sleep, but he knew he was mainly terrified of facing her. He had no idea how he'd acted with her last night. He had no idea what he may need to apologize for. He had no idea just how much of his ugly side she'd seen. She clearly had made sure to take care of him, and it made him feel weak. He didn't like that she'd dealt with that.

She stilled and he crept into the kitchen, grabbing two mugs and filling them up with the fresh coffee. He added sugar to hers, knowing she didn't like his bitter brew. He made his way back to the living room with the two mugs, placing hers on the part of the coffee table closest to her. The minute he set her glass down, the sound of the mug hitting the surface, she stirred and slowly started to wake.

He sipped his drink slowly, watching her wake up, still wondering what all had been said or happened last night. He only remembered fragments of it.

When she sat up and opened up her eyes, she stared at him groggily for a minute.

"You look like hell," she commented hoarsely.

"So do you," he replied. He motioned to her coffee, and she looked down at it.

"Caffeine. Perfect. Thank you." She reached down and grabbed it, cradling it in her hands and sniffing it deeply. "It's been too long."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"My doctor told me to either limit my intake of caffeine or cut it out completely. I thought the second part was bull, so I've been limiting. It's been hell."

He nodded, agreeing with her. He didn't see why some coffee now and again would hurt. They drank in silence for a few minutes, until he finally couldn't take it anymore. "I don't remember last night," he blurted out.

"I'm not surprised. You were…well, you were out of it."

The grim expression on her face had him concerned, and he gripped his mug a little tighter. He felt like she was avoiding his gaze. She moved forward a bit and made a pained sound, and a petrifying thought crossed his mind.

"Jen, I didn't hurt you last night, did I?"

She looked back at him in shock.

"God, no, Jethro, you didn't…no, you didn't hurt me. You'd never lay a hand on me, not like that."

He eyed her critically, still worried he'd done something stupid. "Good," he breathed out. He felt insecure about himself, not knowing what all had happened.

"You're not that kind of guy," she said quietly.

He nodded to himself, taking a breath and drinking some more coffee. He'd seen good men do some real stupid shit when they were blind drunk. He'd investigated cases because of it. Goodness knows he'd had a lot to drink before and after he'd gotten his revenge in Mexico so many years ago.

"All you did was kiss me."

The comment threw him off, making him inhale sharply right as the coffee was going down his throat. He coughed violently, choking on the liquid.

"Oh, for heavens sake, don't be so dramatic," she snapped lightly, smirking to herself as he sputtered and caught his breath. She wasn't sure if she should be offended or amused that kissing her set off that reaction. "You were drunk, it wasn't like you were in your right mind. If you want to know what exactly happened last night I'll tell you. But nothing horrible happened. You didn't hurt me. You didn't force yourself on me. You were just really drunk, and you were really hurting."

He took in the information, glad he didn't do anything too insane. He really wished she hadn't seen him in that state at all. He wished he hadn't gotten himself in that state to begin with. "Why were you here?" he questioned.

"Because I didn't want to be alone on Thanksgiving again, and I didn't want you to be alone either," she whispered, staring into her coffee. "I was home, and I had this sudden realization…next Thanksgiving we'll have a baby. And no matter what happens between us…kids need their parents on the holidays. Even if they're too young to remember."

He swallowed, staring at her as she shook her head in annoyance. The thought hadn't even occurred to him. She was right. And he was an ass.

"I came to apologize, about McGee," she continued. "You hadn't looked at me in days…and I couldn't stand it anymore. So I brought some good whiskey as a peace offering—it's downstairs, by the way," she added, giving him a look. "I thought you'd just be working on the boat. I was wrong."

"So why didn't you leave then?" he questioned further.

"You asked me to," she sighed. She shook her head. "I couldn't leave you alone, not like that."

He stared at her, and it hit him how much of a bastard he had been to her lately. Shannon would have kicked him to the curb if he'd ever acted that way with her. Jenny probably deserved to beat the hell out of him. He'd gotten her pregnant, and then he'd thrown himself some jackass pity party rather than be there for her.

He put down his nearly empty mug and moved down to the end of the couch nearest to her and reached out, grabbing one of her hands in his. He pressed a kiss to her hand and rubbed his thumb across the spot for a minute, just trying to show her that he appreciated her. She put her other hand on his, her fingers dancing lightly on the back of his hand. The moment was interrupted when a pain shot through his head, making him wince and pull his hand back, holding it to his head and rubbing his index finger and thumb into his head.

"You didn't take the aspirin, did you."

He glared.

"It'll make you feel a lot better. You also need food in your system. Have you had anything other than coffee yet?"

"Water."

He could physically feel her eye roll.

"If I were you, I'd make some breakfast and take some aspirin with it."

"'m not five," he grumbled.

"You're just really hungover and willfully choosing to not do what will help you feel better. Much like a stubborn five year old would react."

"Jen—" He sighed and rubbed his head, shutting his damn mouth. He knew she was right. And if he kept whining he was just going to further prove her point. "Fine. I'll make somethin'. You want anything?"

"Wait, what time is it?" she asked, suddenly in a panic. It was as if the concept that it was morning hadn't occurred to her yet.

She stood up in a flash and grabbed his wrist to look at his watch. He found himself suddenly staring at the way her shirt had been pulled down in her sleep and how he could see her cleavage. She cursed and pulled her keys out of her pocket.

"I'm late," she moaned.

"Don't go then. Take a day."

"I'm the Director, it's not that easy," she snapped. "I need to call Cynthia and let her know how late I'm going to be."

He was surprised at how fast she had whirled away and was almost at the door. "Jen," he snapped, trying to get her attention before she was gone.

"What?"

"Thank you."

She did a double take. "What?" she asked again, clearly in disbelief.

"Thank you," he repeated. "For makin' sure I was all right, and everything."

"I-you're welcome," she stammered.

With that they gave each other one last look and then she was out the door.


"Damn it."

He stepped back and glared at the portion of boat he'd been working on. His clamp hadn't been as secure as he wanted and it had slipped when he'd been driving in a nail. Now it was a bit misaligned. He glared and shook his head, realizing he needed to take a break before he made another mistake.

Another mistake.

He snorted to himself. He looked over at the new bottle of whiskey sitting on his counter that she'd brought. He gulped down the rest of the coffee in his mug. He wasn't going to overdo it after his last night down here, that's for sure. He wasn't going to allow himself to open that bottle until it was actually necessary. He made his way over there and sat down on his stool, staring down at the picture of the black and white blob that he'd placed on the counter. He sighed, closing his eyes for a minute.

He opened his eyes again and glared at nothing in particular. He'd spent the last two days trying to ignore the heightening sense of panic he felt when he would remember that thundering heartbeat he'd heard in that exam room. He'd swing between being terrified, angry, and happy. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over the plot twist life had handed him with this whole thing.

He grabbed the open wallet on the counter and took out the other picture in it, his favorite one of his girls together, both of them laughing. He placed the old faded photo beside the ultrasound picture, looking between both of them. Would it really be possible to love this baby as much as he'd loved Kelly?

The situation was just so different.

He rubbed his finger across the small name on the corner of the ultrasound picture.

Shepard, Jennifer

They'd had their differences, that was for sure. But he knew he loved her, deep down. He always would, all these years hadn't made it go away. He knew she loved him, or at least she used to. She'd told him, so many years ago now. And he hadn't had the guts to say it back. While things had certainly changed a lot since that part of their past, they would forever share those memories and share that past. They'd had so many issues over the past year. They'd hurt each other many times out of spite—but he still had a place for her in his heart. He never liked to see her hurting. He would still kill for her, as he proved when they'd had to rescue her from that hostage situation. He'd spent half his time in Mexico pining after her.

Hell, he still spent part of his time pining after her, in a certain way. But things were so complicated, and he wasn't sure how to navigate the terrain they found themselves in. All he knew is that he'd been a bastard, and he owed a lot more to her than her having to come and take care of him. He should be the one taking care of her. He was the one who'd gotten her pregnant. If anyone deserved to get drunk and forget about their problems, it was her.

He grabbed his phone, eyeing it, feeling like he should call her. Maybe he should just go to her house… He stared down the phone, trying to make a decision. He wasn't sure how to best approach this whole thing. It was easier to keep avoiding the situation and simmer in bitter old feelings for a while longer. But time was passing, and it wasn't going to wait much longer for him to get his shit together.

He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, feeling the beginnings of a headache starting. He wasn't good at apologizing or mending bridges. His exes had all made that very clear to him.

The phone started buzzing obnoxiously in his hand and he cursed, nearly chucking the damn thing. He flipped it open, almost hoping it would be her.

"Gibbs." He listened, feeling both irritated and relieved at the distraction. "Yeah. On the way." He flipped the phone shut, getting up and dialing Tony's number, putting his personal life on the back burner again, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that he was using any excuse to distance himself from emotion.