Author's Note: Suzanne and Gibbs have been apart for at least a week. A person from Jethro's past visits, reminding him of past deeds. With his romantic focus all on Suzanne, he remembered the meeting between he and the First Lady, decided to share the truth during the European trip.
Their 'song' was a classic from Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes I Hope That We Can Be Together Soon. It played in the background as Jethro focused on another woodworking project. He chuckled, connecting his high school years with Philadelphia Soul—the Blue Notes and Hall and Oates.
Suzanne McNamara Gibbs was the third one, the third true love of his life. Shannon was his first. Kelly, his daughter, captured his heart. Suzanne was perfectly fine, in fact knew, the passionate love for his first wife and daughter. At the present, Suzanne was the first. She brought Special Agent Jethro Gibbs joy by simply being herself. The feeling was mutual. As she expressed through simple thoughts and actions, with freedom, he shared with others how much he adored, cherished, and loved his new wife.
For the right, day and night, I'm gonna miss you All my lonely heart seems to do
"I can't wait for you to come home, Susie." Jethro whispered, glancing at the picture on his workable. "Every day, my love grows stronger."
"I hear congratulations are in order."
Jethro Gibbs' past and present crossed because of Suzanne's sudden popularity. It connected the dots for ex-wife number 2, Stephanie. He was in the basement, with Fred by his side. She still had a key, allowing her entry into the home. Immediately, he recognized the potential problem—too many keys and ex-wives. The last issue Jethro wanted was a heated conversation with the current Missus. Fred growled, stopped at once under Jethro's command.
"When I heard the name 'Gibbs' the other day, I wondered…"
"Wondered if I remarried? I did—four months ago." Jethro answered, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose. "I even have a four-legged kid."
"Diane told me that aide is your wife."
"What is this, the ex-wives club?" Jethro focused his attention on Stephanie.
"I must say that she is different from your usual type." She picked up, looked at the small photo of a smiling, laughing Suzanne surrounded in daisies.
"Why didn't you invite me? Afraid Suzanne would object?"
"It got lost in the mail, okay?" Jethro escorted Stephanie back up the stairs into the foyer. Ex-wife was very surprised by the décor—bright colors, even pictures. The eye-catching detail was a portrait of Jethro with Shannon and Kelly. A bouquet of fresh flowers, a Bible, and a set of rosary beads were on a shelf. The shelf also included smaller photos, even one of the newlyweds on their honeymoon. Beneath their picture was a blessing: "May you enter into the mystery which is the awareness of one another's presence - no more physical than spiritual, warm and near when you are side by side, and warm and near when you are in separate rooms or even distant cities."
"Do you even know what the quote means, Jethro?"
"She accepts Shannon." Jethro replied. "She doesn't try to compete or change me. Suzanne encourages me to share my feelings." Stephanie remained cynical with the new Jethro Gibbs perspective, until he revealed the part that enabled changes of heart.
"I now believe in leaving the past in the past."
"Funny you should say that, when during our marriage, it was a three-way love affair with us and Shannon. But…" Stephanie studied the picture. "I don't remember you smiling."
"I truly hope you're well." Jethro opened the door, his eye movement suggesting for Stephanie to leave. "She is my future. You are my past."
The unexpected visit from Stephanie surprised Jethro. He wondered if it was necessary to tell Suzanne. He dialed her cell phone, forgetting she was now 8 hours ahead in Moscow. While it was dusk in Washington, it was overnight. Suzanne was asleep.
"Yeah, Mrs. Gibbs." She answered sleepily.
"I was thinking about how much I love and miss you, Susie." Jethro babbled.
"What's on your mind, Jethro?" Suzanne detected a hint of uncertainty in her husband's voice. Suzanne flipped on the small desk light, sat up in her bed.
"Stephanie came by." Jethro admitted. "An ex-wife—came by to congratulate us."
"I see." A moment of silence filled the cellphone.
"Suzanne, it's not what you think."
"But you felt compelled to tell me an ex-wife came to our home at…?" Suzanne reached for her glasses, reading the clock: 2:47. "…At 3 in the morning in Moscow?"
"She reminded me of my past. I have a past of being a shitty husband."
"Remember when Kay Owens said at dinner no secrets?" Suzanne asked. "Look, Jethro: it's 3 AM in Moscow!" Suzanne emphasized the time difference. "I trust you."
"So you're not mad about Stephanie?" "No." Suzanne replied. "But if you don't change the locks on the doors by the time I come back, then we'll have a problem! Our house is not the Hilton!"
Jethro chuckled, simply said, "Yes, dear."
"Hey…I love you, Jethro." Suzanne chuckled.
"I love you too, Susie."
The phone call hours ago didn't deter her from exercising. In fact, it inspired. Suzanne needed a moment to herself—all to herself. Jogging cleared her perspective. "I'll give him a day off…" She slipped out before daybreak, leaving a simple note underneath the door: "BBL—Be Back Later." The best advice, according to her, came from quiet reflection, no distractions from the Boss or his detail.
Suzanne programmed several motivation songs on her I-Pod for exercise. 'Time to turn it up.' The beginning song was from the band Yes: Leave It. Slow in beat. She called it the "warm-up" song. The lyrics corresponded with her mood.
"One down, one to go...another town and one more show…" She wistfully recited the lyrics. It made sense. Poignant line—her life in the view of others. It was a life in the fast lane, one of cultivated political hobnobbing, perfect appearances and cerebral brilliance. Who knew, she reflected, how much attention one job could bring. A year ago, no one paid attention. She was Suzanne McNamara: food service employee and part-time graduate student. Bland like beige paint; now: everyone's in my face, she thought. Within several weeks, Suzanne Gibbs was a wife and a politico's favorite topic. "Ah…leave it!" 'I miss bland.'
Her personal theme song began her exercise regime—Always on the Run.
"Well, thank God I listened to them…" she recalled on the advice from her parents, dressing for a workout. The most important she learned was from her father: 'Whatever's done in the dark will damn sure show up in the light!'
"But my mama said… Don't take more than a mouthful/ And my mama said/That it's good to be natural/ And my mama said/That it's good to be factual"
Suzanne proudly sang the lyrics, increasing speed. Her t-shirt said it all: All this and brains too. She further hid the appearance in matching black sweatpants and hooded sweatshirt.
"But I'm always on the run…(always on the run).." She sang in falsetto. The machine shuffled to the extended version of "Alive and Kicking." The driving beat helped with establishing a running pace. Suzanne sang along. She thought of Jethro.
"You lift me up…like the sweetest cup I share with you."
She timed herself, surprised that she average a 7 minute mile in about ½ hour time. Amazingly enough no one interrupted her alone time. There were few joggers, no photographers in her path. A favorite track, Wild-Hearted Son, cranked her workout to an intense pace.
"YEAH!" She yelled, her pace quickened. The music screamed from the headphones, drowned her concerns from recent days.
"…You know, I shoot from the hip now/My fist raised in the air/ I'm a whirlwind dreamer, baby/With my head high in the clouds, yeah…"
Indescribably the song illustrated Suzanne McNamara Gibbs' character—brutally honest, stubborn, and a dreamer. Conformity was a difficulty. Justifiable, reasonable explanations why she said not only no but "Hell, No." to certain points of view, suggestions offered by others, was a trait the President admired. Suzanne offered alternate solutions, doable, realistic solutions to reaching the American public. She wondered exactly what she offered to the Owens Administration. On paper, she was the Personal Assistant. In realization, she dabbled in research, some dictation, and writing. Her job responsibilities extended into Schedule and Advancing as well as Executive Assistant.
She managed to find additional energy with 'Running on Empty.' Carefully she listened to the lyrics, 'I don't know when that road turned onto the road I'm running on…' Figuratively, she wondered exactly when the route changed. She wanted to blend in, just work a job without fanfare. Literally, Suzanne, running on the streets of Moscow, never been to Moscow, was physically and mentally disoriented! Giggling softly, she turned back, relying on the smells of baking bread, the colorful dome-shaped buildings. An hour she was gone, but she clocked about a leisurely 4.5 mile trip.
The sun shined brightly and foot traffic picked up. The only concern was she worked hard and seldom played. Suzanne walked back and waved at a passersby. She smiled and greeted, the black hooded sweatshirt covered her hair and most of her face. One even recognized her, complimented her work ethic. Holding a piece of paper, hands shaking, the young woman asked for an autograph. Suzanne obliged, signing the paper, then placing a finger across her own lips.
"Give 'em hell, Gibbs!" A female admirer whispered. "Give 'em hell!"
"Bolshoe spasibo." Suzanne smiled, shook her hand and continued walking.
The run helped with focus, as she was ready to perform her tasks.
"You went without me or Dash." The President bumped into Suzanne.
"I had a lot on my mind, needed some time alone." She swiped the card key. "I'll be ready in 20."
Suzanne met with the President after a quick shower and change. The exercise regimen left only 20 minutes to ready for the conference. She chose the grey pant suit with a ruffled pink shirt, a hibiscus flower on her lapel and matching flat slip on shoes. The entourage was downstairs, a sitrep—situation report-on the upcoming summit conference led by her and Jane. Suzanne worked with Jane once, twice in Washington. Her list of least desirable coworkers forced to work with added the tight-lipped, intense 40 something year old and eliminated Claudia. The feeling was mutual. Why Jane instead of "C"? In another three weeks, they were traveling to Latin America. Jane's specialty was European relations.
"The sweep's been done…" Suzanne glanced at her notes. "Your notes are in your book and the typed agenda will be completed in about 10 mikes from President Arsov."
"Domestic?" The President asked.
"Calm and quiet for now, Sir." Jane added.
"Um…no, it's not." Suzanne glanced at her tablet, reading messages and referring to other media outlets. "P's on the desk for right now, C's observing from the House." Suzanne continued. "Measure 592's still in the House; they're on a filibuster."
"Damn it!" He motioned for Suzanne, excused the others for a five minute break. "They're fighting about the environmental piece." She whispered, showing the streaming clip live from the House of Representatives floor, 1 AM Eastern Standard Time from her tablet.
"It's Samuels, from Alaska, leading the charge."
"You would think they'd listen to their constituents, Q."
"I know…I know." Suzanne rolled the lint brush. "Win, lose or draw, it's good legislation, Mr. President."
"Five years, I've been working on meaningful environmental policy..." The President paced, his fist met with the opposite hand. "Everything I've tried to do, it's been blocked!"
"You want me to call anyone? See if we can get an upper hand?" Suzanne handed the President coffee. As he drank his on fine china, sipped, she guzzled hers from a paper cup.
"No." He replied, flat-toned. "Claudia's been working the angle for weeks…she said it was an uphill battle, particularly with Reps from Gulf states."
"Well…the European junket has been successful for the administration. We've flexed some muscle in Europe." Suzanne finished the last swipe. "The foreign policy is strong…"
"It's still bothersome…I can't get anything accomplished domestically."
"Mr. President, you'll think of an alternative." Suzanne refilled his coffee cup, remembering, subconsciously convincing her boss to savor each moment, good or bad, that the resolution will come from simply drinking coffee in fine china. "You'll think of some way to get the legislation to pass."
Jane interrupted the conversation. "I'm sorry, Mr. President. I need to ask Suzanne a question."
"Okay. I'll check with the box for the agenda, see if Arsov's people are ready." Suzanne peeped inside the room. "Just enjoy your coffee, Sir."
"First rule, Rookie on international trips: don't give the boss bad news before a news conference."
"Don't tell me how to do my job, Jane." Suzanne quickly walked for the communication room, rapped three times before walking inside the office. "And my name, by the way, is Mrs. Gibbs." Rolling her eyes in disgust, she thought to herself to apologize to Claudia once she arrived back to Washington-immediately.
"Hi. Is the agenda ready?" She smiled. The nod indicated yes, which Suzanne picked up the copy, thanked the employee and walked back. The pleasantry turned to seriousness within seconds, the request irritating her worth ethic. Suzanne reached the private room, where the President overheard parts of the conversation.
"I'm just saying…there's a time and place for everything, Gibbs." She glared in disgust. "The junket has been spent answering questions all about you in a dress…"
"Something I did not ask for…" Suzanne reminded. She seldom used her physique in conversation, but for emphasis on her anger, she simply stood tall, leaned in to a whisper.
"You know what? I wouldn't put it past you that my clothes were 'lost' in transit."
Jane scoffed.
"Everyone else's belongings made it to London…a black suit bag with my last name, clipped with the President's? It's not a coincidence."
"You're out of your league." Jane said. "Why don't you go back to working in the kitchen?" Suzanne laughed.
"I'm proud of what I've done before working with the President, so your little comment…is funny. Please, do me a favor. Stay in your lane before I strike you out in mine." Suzanne smiled, scribbled last minute changes, added extra directives. "Now, we can try to remain civil with one another, or I can open that can of Whoop Ass on you...and expose you for the two-faced phony you are." She paused, her eyes directly fixed on Jane, obviously surprised by her calm words and imposing statue. "Your choice, Jane…"
"Let me do what I do best, and you do what you do so well."
"Glad we understand one another…" Suzanne smiled. The President emerged from the waiting room, smiling.
"I have a solution to 592." He announced, walked over and grabbed Suzanne by the arm and took her away from Jane. "It came to me while I drank the coffee." He was smiling once again.
"You needed the coffee break." Suzanne nodded. "It's the sipping instead of the gulp…" He laughed, acknowledged that his aide was right.
"After our conference, will you patch me in with Claudia and Linda? We can clarify some of the alternatives and arrange a stop in New Orleans next week?"
"Yes, Mr. President." Suzanne handed the President the paperwork, rechecked the appearance.
"Let's do this."
She walked with the Commander to the stage, reminding him of the fine points with the Russian President.
"Arsov will ask about our interests regarding international law and international affairs…remind him along with the millions of viewers that it is the best interest of both Superpowers to agree on the proposal based on three components…" Suzanne highlighted each viewpoint. "If he mentions 592, elaborate more on flaws in our democratic process—the right to agree to disagree." Suzanne smiled, straightened his lapel, smiled.
"Well…I hope the pep talk helped."
"Q, I hope the run helped your mind, body and spirit." The President touched her shoulder out of concern. "You're my Executive Assistant."
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States of America…"
"By the way: we don't threaten fellow colleagues." The President whispered in her ear. "That's in the rulebook."