She wakes up to an empty bed that weekend.
In the years leading up to their reconciliation she had grown accustomed to sleeping alone. One night stands had never been on her radar, and the only person she had ever wanted to stay with her had been left behind with her coat and a letter.
It had amazed her how quickly she adapted to having another person sharing such an intimate space. Truly, it had felt as though no time had passed. Their sleeping habits around one another felt as natural as they had in Paris.
Still, she reveled in the mornings that she was able to have her bed to herself. The notion of not having to worry about waking him and the freedom to spread out however she pleased was always welcomed.
When she woke that morning, however, the bliss she normally felt quickly was replaced by menacing anxiety in the pit of her stomach.
The job offer.
It had been three days since SecNav had visited her. Three days since she had been asked to take the position. Three days since her head was thrown into a never ending spiral of confusion.
She was partly convinced that he possessed a sixth sense specifically designed to make her life complicated when the shrill cry of her cell phone cuts through the silence of the room.
The thought it was someone other than him calling at such an early hour in the morning wasn't something she bothered to entertain as she reached for her phone; he was the only person who would dare call her on a Saturday morning.
"Shepard." She greets, partly out of habit and partly to portray the facade that she hadn't just been struck with pang of delight at the notion of talking to him.
That man did things to her that she has never been fully able to comprehend.
"Jen," he says in lieu of a greeting, "You still in bed?"
His ability to know exactly what she was doing unnerved her at times.
"It is Saturday, Jethro. Not even wakes up before dawn to work on a boat." She deadpans.
She can hear him snort on the other end of the line, "You get up at 5am every morning, weekend or not."
"Perhaps I decided to change my routine just to spite you."
"Vindictive has never been your strong suit." He counters.
A grin finds its way to her lips despite herself, and for the first time that morning she finds herself able to relax, "Did you call just to discuss my sleeping habits, or is there a point we're getting too?"
"What are you doing tonight?" He replies gruffly.
The thought of Leroy Jethro Gibbs calling to ask her of her weekend plans is so wonderfully domestic that she can't help but laugh into the phone at the sheer hilarity of it all.
"I have a hot date," she replies, "A certain special agent is taking me out for dinner."
"Are they?" He inquires.
"Indeed," she tells him, "DiNozzo has wonderful taste in Italian restaurants from what I've heard."
There's a deafening silence that follows, and it takes all her self control not to laugh into the receiver.
"Jen."
The battle is quickly lost when she hears the tone of his voice.
"Honestly Jethro," she manages to say through her giggles, "for a federal agent you're awfully gullible."
"Red heads." She hears him grumble.
When her laughter finally subsides, she continues, "I am conveniently free of any type of Directoral duties today and have an impressively lackluster social life, since you're so curious."
"Dinner." He says, which was as much of a invitation as she was ever going to get from him.
"Are you asking me on a date, Jethro?"
There's a brief pause on his end before he speaks, "Bit old to call it dating, aren't we?"
"Careful who you call old Jethro," she warned teasingly, "Or you won't get any tonight."
The bluntness of the statement surprises even her, though judging by the abrupt silence on the other end of the line he was just as thrown by the statement.
"You're gonna be the death of me." He comments.
"Feeling is mutual. So, dinner?"
—————
They hadn't gone out anywhere, which was far from surprising to her. He was never one for upscale places if he could help it.
That, and it was an unspoken understanding that being seen in public together would blow the secret of their relationship to pieces, and neither were willing to deal with that fallout.
Dinner was served at his house, which he had picked up on the way to picking her up, a gentlemanly gesture that she wouldn't let go unrewarded.
She did give him credit; dusty mason jars had been swapped for actual glasses to serve their bourbon in, and he had splurged on purchasing to go food from her favorite restaurant. Everything was simple, but she could see the effort behind all of it.
It made her heart swoon, in every sense of the word.
She was perched on his basement steps after dinner, flipping idly through her book while he sanded his boat. It was a comfortable silence that engulfed her in a feeling of warmth. The night would be perfect, if it wasn't for the nagging words in the back of her head.
Tell him. Tell him. Tell him.
"Jen."
She looks up, "Hmm?"
There's a smirk on his lips as he speaks, "Must be some book, I done said your three times."
"Oh," she says, looking back down at the page she was on. Truthfully, she hadn't read a word of it since she started thinking of LA and the job offer again.
"It's a bit more captivating then watching you sand." She offers, trying to play off her absentmindedness as best as possible.
"I asked if you wanted another drink."
She raises an eyebrow, "Trying to liquor me up, Jethro?"
He shrugs, "I opened my good bottle for this evening."
There it was, one of the things that she felt herself cling to about him. There was always such intentionality behind what he did. Perhaps Jethro Gibbs wasn't ever going to give her over the top grand gestures, but he gave her this. Moments.
"I suppose, since you put it that way." She settles on, flashing him a smile.
He sets down his sanders, brushing the sawdust of his hands before making his way towards the steps.
She expects him to reach down and grab the empty glass that sat on the step above her, but his hands dip beneath the crook of her bent knees and around her back and in an instant, she's being lifted up into his arms.
"Jethro!" She half hisses, dropping the book carelessly onto the steps so she can fasten a hold around him, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Liquors upstairs." He replies, as it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Her arms are wrapped tightly around his neck as he makes his way up the last few steps. It wasn't a matter of her not trusting him not to drop her, but rather an acute awareness that neither were as young as they once were.
"And I suppose next thing you're going to tell me is that the bottle is upstairs in the bedroom?"
He dips he head down to her exposed neck, pressing a light kiss to it and the motion is enough to have her hum in delight. Damn that man.
"It's a possibility." He mutters against her, moving his lips from her neck up her throat, settling just at the corner of her mouth.
"Jethro," she groans, "Put me down."
She can sense his confusion by the way his movements stiffen as he places her on her feet.
It's quickly replaced by understanding followed by a new way of desire when she pulls him to her, hooking her legs around his waist and clinging on to him.
"Now take me upstairs." She whispers, before properly pressing her lips to his.
The job offer lay forgotten on the basement steps for the night.