A/N: Hello, hello. It's been a while. This was based off of a conversation I had this morning with my dear friend and fellow writer, JamJar98. So blame her for this dose of sadness. Also, go check out her new and beautiful Jibbs long fic, Tougher Than The Rest.


There weren't set rules. There were no expectations.

It was just sex.

Or, at least, that's what she had tried to convince herself—and what they'd silently agreed to in their own way.

It hadn't taken long after she came on as Director for them to end up sinfully sweaty and tangled again. And by long, that meant within two hours of them making eye contact again. His quick stop at his house to "change" had resulted in a car ride with too much privacy and close proximity, and before she knew it she had been helping him tear off his clothes by the time they'd gotten inside his front door. It had been a heated rekindling, but neither of them really acknowledged it.

It happened on random occasions after that, when one or both of them was clearly craving release. She tried to ignore the feelings she still had, tried to ignore how right it felt. It couldn't work, not with her position, and not with the heaviness of the past lingering over them. She figured they could both just enjoy the old fun of it all without getting too attached. She rejected any advances he tried to start to further things, and tried to disregard how jealous and frustrated she felt when she would see him with any other woman.

It was perfect. They could enjoy screwing each others brains out without having to worry about being hurt again. That's what she had thought, at least.

She was always naive when it came to him. He was her blind spot.

When she'd been taken hostage that year and he'd rescued her, he showed up at her house that night and made love to her in a way he hadn't all year. She couldn't ignore the care he showed in his touches and his embrace. He'd stayed the night, and she knew they were quickly reaching the end of being able to ignore what was going on between them. It was time to make a choice again, and she'd grappled with her feelings of what to do all night while he slept on his stomach beside her, his arm draped heavily over her abdomen. She remembered watching him and running her fingers through his hair. She could still feel the warmth of his skin next to hers when she closed her eyes, could still feel the rough softness of his hair in her fingers.

She knew that night that she wanted him in her life—she also knew she'd worked her ass off to get where she was with her job. But she couldn't bear the thought of ending things again, of being away from him again. Still, she needed to sort everything out at work. They'd made love again in the morning, and when he'd given her that look, clearly asking her what they were, she told him she needed time. She remembered the frustration and sadness in his eyes, but there was still hope, and he'd given a nod and accepted the answer.

A week later, everything changed.

That damn explosion.

He'd nearly died, and he'd ended up in that coma. She'd spent all that time in the hospital with him, holding his hand, crying, worrying. It scared her to death. She had wondered why she hadn't taken him up on his offers, why she hadn't spent the kind of time with him that she should have. The regret was intense. Seeing his body that had been so confidently making her writhe a week ago suddenly look so fragile and damaged was intense. It was a harrowing ordeal she never wanted to repeat.

She'd realized that time was a wasted concept. She didn't need time—she needed him. All she could do was hope he would come out of it and get better, so that she could embrace their second chance with everything she had.

Much to her relief he had woken up and was all right, barring the severe memory lapse. That first time she'd visited him, he'd at least remembered that they'd made love. She wasn't sure if he was remembering Europe or if he was remembering something from the last year—but it was a start.

The one thing that was certain was that his dead family was fresh in his mind, and he was the one who needed time. She needed to be patient, to give him space and recuperate. She was sure the years and memories would come back eventually. It would probably take some rebuilding to get where they had been before, but she was willing to wait and try.

And then he'd left.

Months of agonizing waiting. Wondering how he was. Worrying about him.

She'd tried to get a couple of calls through to him, but it was in vain. There had come a point when she realized he may never come back and that she may need to move on. Todd had relentlessly pursued her so she'd given in, but he hadn't proved to be a useful distraction. All she could think about, all she wanted, was Jethro.

Jethro.

She stood where she was now, watching him with his new plaything. Colonel Bitch Mann.

Jethro had come back a few months ago, and things had been awkward and tense. She wasn't sure how much he actually remembered. He'd denied remembering Serbia and had gotten short about it, but then he'd given her that picture.

She had spent his first couple of months back trying to be patient and not push any boundaries, but he was about as warm to her as the bodies in autopsy. She started to wonder if all he remembered was the way she left him and the times she denied him. Did he remember any of the good times they shared? Did he even remember the last time they'd made love?

It didn't seem to matter what he remembered, because it didn't take long after he met the blonde to start shacking up with her instead. She wondered how much any of it even meant to him.

It had been quite the paralyzing shock when it hit her that she didn't have him anymore. It was over. All she had left was her job and the memory of her murdered dad.

So she threw herself into her work. She threw herself into her dad's revenge.

But all she felt was emptiness.

So here she stood in solitude, watching him with another woman, wondering why she hadn't done things differently when she'd actually had chances with him. Wondering if she was doomed to never feel his touch again, doomed to forever subsist in the hollowness of this void.

She watched as the other woman laughed and he chuckled in return. She knew he was aware that she was watching, and it hurt that he made a point to ignore her gaze entirely. She ripped her eyes off of the scene down in the bullpen and headed back into the lonely confines of her office.

There may not have been set rules or acknowledged expectations, but there were certainly consequences.

It had never been just sex.