Epilogue
Scrambled eggs and bacon sat on plates in the middle of the table. Coffee steamed in mugs and plates sat with silverware and napkins at the far end, one at the head and the other just to the side.
His and hers.
It had been eight weeks since that first night. He'd called Director Vance and put them both on leave, indefinitely; Leon needed no explanation, knowing full-well what Jack had been through.
She had only made it inside her own home twice since then, and never alone; not even in the daylight.
Not that she hadn't tried - only once, though. She hadn't even made it to her own front door before collapsing in panic; PTSD was a bitch.
An elderly neighbor had found her crouched in the elevator, shaking and rocking, with tears and sweat soaking her face. He'd gone, calmed her, and quoted Rule 25: When you need help, ask. Except she hadn't thought she needed any, she told him. She needed to start getting back to normal, didn't she? She couldn't stay at his house forever, right?
He'd been upset, called her stubborn and ridiculous, but kissed her gently and took her home. And he never let her go back alone. They returned twice, together, for her overnight things, and then to pack up her most important things when she put it on the market.
After that first disastrous attempt at going back, it didn't take much convincing for her to understand she could never live there again. Never lay her head down to sleep where so many terrible nightmares had nearly robbed her of sanity.
Staying with him took no convincing at all. The nightmares still came, the panic still crept in, but he was always there. Always ready to reach into hell and bring her out of the darkness. He doubted he could have made her leave, even if he'd wanted to.
He sat on the couch and watched as she moved about the kitchen, the soft hum from her lips floating through the room.
"Smells good."
She whipped her long curls around, a broad smile across her face. He thought maybe he'd never seen her look better; the soles of her bare feet peeked out from under her tip-toe steps, the way her calf muscles were beginning to come back into shape as she danced around the galley, putting the finishing touches on whatever she was putting finishing touches on.
"Almost done! You gettin' hungry, Cowboy?"
He chuckled. She had come so far, was so much better. She ate and slept, rarely refusing to do either anymore. She laughed. She smiled. She called him Cowboy often, and no longer pulled away when he held her hand, or her body.
The truth of his words, that they were supposed to live good lives, had taken hold.
What he didn't count on was how saving her would change his own life. How happy having her in his home could make him. How much joy simply seeing her every day would bring him.
For years, his team had been everything. When he finally allowed himself to live again, he'd accepted their place as his children - true daughters and sons, meant not just to be protected by a father, but to bring a father light and joy. They were his family, as dear as any born to a man.
But with Jack, it was if he had entered a new level of peacefulness. As if a second door had been opened, one he hadn't known could exist. Sometimes, when he least expected it, she could touch him a way that made a hole inside feel closed up. She would say something, or look at him in that way of hers, and something he hadn't realized was hurting would suddenly feel healed.
Though it was foreign and painful, he thought maybe he loved her. It made his heart hurt and swell and quicken.
Watching her spin back around, that hair flying in the air behind her, the conflicting sensations made him stand quickly from the couch. He couldn't love her, not like he had loved Shannon...his wife.
His wife. Her face filled his mind, the way she'd looked so long ago, standing on the parade grounds at Lejeune when he had shipped out to Iraq. Her auburn hair blowing in the wind, Kelly by her side, smiling and crying and waving. It was the last time he had seen them alive.
Like a rogue wave hitting a sea wall, the memory hit him full force; the last thing Shannon said before he boarded the bus…
"Go ahead, Marine. It's ok. I love you."
It was a gift, and he knew it. A release. Permission. Confirmation of all the things he had been telling Jack for the last two months; of all the things he had been telling himself for years.
"Alright, chow time. Damn, Gibbs!"
He was right behind her, close enough so she bumped into him when she turned, nearly spilling two cups of orange juice on both of them.
"Hey, Cowboy...you ok?"
All he could do was stare. He wanted to speak but didn't know exactly what to say. She set the cups on the counter behind her and put her hand on his face; he leaned into it, closed his eyes, breathed deeply.
"Yeah, Jack. I'm ok. I'm really...really...ok."
He kissed her then, gently but less chaste than ever before, without hesitation and without reserve. He loved her, and he'd be damned if she'd go another day not knowing it.
"We owe them a good life, Jack."
She smiled. He smiled.
"Damn right, Cowboy."