A/N - thanks for reading and reviewing. This is longer than I intended it to be - and I've been told it's a little sad. Thanks to Elflordsmistress for some fantastic suggestions.

Part 4

He was in interrogation when the wheels came off, though he didn't know at the time that was what was happening. At the time he was far more distracted by the fact that the buzz of his cell phone broke his flow and that someone had dared to break rule number 22.

"What!" he growled as he answered – flicking the cell phone open without checking caller id.

"Agent Gibbs," dimly he registered that her voice sounded different, but it wasn't enough to stop his annoyance at being interrupted.

"I'm in interrogation Director," he looked over at his suspect – scowling at the man until he flinched.

"This won't take long. I've been called out of town; I'll be gone for 2 days, so I need you to cover any urgent matters. You'll be able to contact me through the LA field office and Cynthia is re-working my schedule. I'm sure you can hold things together until I get back."

His mind wasn't really on what she was telling him. If it had been he would never have just accepted that she was going to be away; he would have been suspicious, or worried – since she really didn't do unscheduled trips across the country. But he wasn't thinking.

"I'll handle it," was his response, closing the phone before the conversation could be continued and setting about the task of breaking the suspect with considerable relish.

The suspect gave them an address, which led to a raid, which brought them back into interrogation and by the time he finally returned to his desk it was three hours later and Tony and Ziva were crowing over the signed confessions they had obtained, forcing him to snap "reports – now" at them, just to get a moments peace.

Cynthia was standing by his desk, looking nervous but determined and for a moment he couldn't think of a single reason to explain her presence. "Agent Gibbs, the Director left these for you," she waved some files at him, which he made no move to take from her, "there are reports for you to go over and a mission running that you'll need to oversee in MTAC." That was when he remembered the phone call from Jen, but was surprised that she wasn't still in the uilding.

"She's left already?"

"She went home an hour ago – her flight is at 5am tomorrow morning." It didn't exactly make sense that she'd have left – it wasn't all that late after all.

"And this meeting is in LA?" At his question Cynthia's eyes went wide.

"It's not a meeting, I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

"I was in interrogation – there wasn't exactly time to talk." Cynthia blinked and looked even more uneasy. Secretly he admired her loyalty to Jen, but he had no intention of letting her know that. "What's going on?" He demanded, his tone enough to persuade her to blurt out,

"It's a funeral – one of her friends was killed in an accident yesterday." He froze, thinking back to her voice on the phone – wishing he'd asked more questions, listened to his gut.

"What happened?"

"I don't know Agent Gibbs, she got a call about lunchtime and told me to cancel almost everything in her diary and get her on a flight. I think Dr Mallard spoke to her, she was very upset." He nodded and got to his feet, pointedly ignoring the files she was holding out to him. As he headed towards the elevator he had an uneasy suspicion that things were going to get very difficult.

"Ducky!" He strode into autopsy and wasn't surprised at the expression of reproach on his old friend's face. "I was in interrogation and then out trying to solve a murder, I didn't know and she didn't say anything!"

"Hardly surprising." Ducky sighed, "Debra Corrigan, I think we met her once. I remember her visiting just before we went to Europe."

Gibbs searched his memory and found what Ducky was talking about. At the time he'd thought the friendship between the laid back, Californian party girl and the ambitious, driven and very east coast Jenny Shepard an odd one. But he'd had dinner with them one evening during her visit and seen the way she'd brought out a lighter side in his partner.

He couldn't remember anything about the restaurant, or the meal they'd shared but he knew he'd scarcely able to drag his eyes away from Jen, mesmerised by her smile, by the way she'd moved. That evening had forced him to acknowledge that he was a little too interested in her for his own good; something he'd been trying to ignore for weeks. He could remember with incredible clarity the moment he'd looked up and found Debra watching him with an amused expression. He suspected she'd known his interest in her friend was not entirely professional, but she hadn't said a word – just gave him a small, knowing smile.

"She had two sons, seven and four." Ducky said – his voice quiet, shaking his head with regret and sorrow.

"Did Jen say what happened?"

"Car accident – the other driver was drunk, hit her head on. Both children were in the car, they weren't injured." Gibbs didn't even want to hazard a guess how Jen must be feeling, he wanted to ask Ducky how she'd seemed – but couldn't bring himself to admit to being as concerned as he was. He realised that was a futile effort when Ducky said, "what's going on Jethro?"

"Nothing," Ducky shook his head in quiet disbelief.

"That's what the Director said when I asked her,"

"Well, she'd know."

Jen didn't call, though he knew she was at home, that her flight didn't leave until early morning. He told himself that she could have called if she'd wanted him around – completely ignoring the fact that he could have gone to her if he was so concerned.

And he was concerned – Abby had given him a curiously vivid picture of an encounter with Jen after she'd heard the news about Debra. According to Abby the Director had been visibly upset, but holding herself together. She'd warded off a hug – clearly unwilling to accept comfort, or admit that she might need it.

He wasn't surprised – but that didn't mean he thought she was right. But the question remained – was he prepared to do something about it? The answer plagued him. He took it home with him, let it rattle around in his head while he worked on the boat, all of the time telling himself that she could have come to him if she'd needed or wanted him.

By the time he'd finished his first glass of bourbon he was honest enough to admit to himself that he wasn't going to her and, in all likelihood she wasn't coming to him. And maybe it was better that way.

There was nothing wrong with having an occasional lover who knew him well enough to give him what he needed. But it bothered him that the knowledge might just be one-sided, though there was nothing he could do about that now. Except make sure everything was as it should be when she got back – he was even prepared to do the paperwork.

She was exhausted; her body language was defensive and she wasn't exactly looking her best. She was grateful that first class was quiet and she didn't have to make conversation with a stranger. All she wanted to do was curl up in her seat and hold everything together, just for a little while longer.

The recriminations rattled around in her head; the thoughts she'd been keeping at bay while she was around other people forcing themselves on her now. She'd been a lousy friend – though she'd stayed in touch with Deb, she hadn't seen her in over a year, hadn't seen her husband and sons since just before she became Director. She used to tell herself that it didn't matter – that the two of them could be in a room together for just a few minutes and it would be as though they'd never been apart. But now she wished it hadn't been like that, now she wished they'd called each other every week and shared secrets, gossiped, talked about nothing – because there weren't going to be any other opportunities to prove how well they knew each other.

And she felt guilty – for still being alive, because what could she say to a devastated family when she'd taken chances with her life for years? When all the risks and danger should mean she'd been the one who died, while Deb had lived to see her boys grow up?

She'd felt the weight of that guilt as she'd stood at the graveside – an agent by her side, watching her back. As though she was worthy of protection, while Deb had been…

She knew the black dress she'd worn to the funeral swamped her, made her look pale and unwell. She wished she'd thought to wear something else – something bright that would have scandalised some people, but would have made anyone who had known Deb smile. She should have had the nerve to wear some bold colour to the funeral – Deb would have loved that.

She shuffled the files in front of her – scarcely paying attention to them. She didn't want to think about work – was relieved that things had been handled during her absence; she'd scarcely needed to check into the field office. Though, actually an emergency would have taken her away from a family suffocated by its grief.

She hadn't spoken to Gibbs; which didn't matter because, according to both Cynthia and Ducky, he was covering much of her work with surprising diligence. The knowledge that she wouldn't have to come back to an accumulation of crises should have been enough. And it was. But he hadn't called her himself.

She told herself there was no reason why he should. Sleeping together on two difficult nights meant nothing other than that, sometimes, old lovers could offer a comfort and familiarity that couldn't be found anywhere else. But she didn't think that was what she needed right now. She needed oblivion, sleep, a respite from the regrets that plagued her. Seeing Deb's family had been a stark reminder of what she had given up. And, at this moment she wasn't sure what she had given up those things for.

She shook her head, warding off the dark thoughts and the onset of tears, reminding herself that she couldn't cry, not in front of her fellow passengers and the stewards. She felt small; bending under the weight of responsibility and what it had done to her life. Other people seemed large, full of life; while she was fragile and insubstantial - as though she could just be blown away and leave little more than dust behind her.

The last time she'd been feeling this unsettled Gibbs had appeared, almost as though her mood had drawn him to her. She rested her head back against the seat, letting the low purr of the engines lull her towards sleep, knowing it was too much to ask for that to happen again.

She slept a little, but jolted awake with Deb's name on her lips and images of burning wreckage before her eyes. She was still blinking, trying to get her heart-rate to slow down when the pilot announced that they'd be landing shortly.

She still wasn't entirely free of the dream when she grabbed her case and crossed the arrivals lounge, fully expecting to see either Hector or Melvin waiting with the car, completely failing to see the person who was waiting for her, until he stepped into her path.

"Hello Jen."

As soon as he saw her Gibbs knew he'd made the right decision. Her eyes were covered by large sunglasses that really weren't necessary for the overcast DC evening. But, even with her eyes hidden, he could tell she was close to being overwhelmed by her loss; that she hadn't dealt with it at all.

For the two days she'd been away he had regretted letting her spend that first night alone, for letting himself forget that they'd been partners before they'd become lovers and that partners looked out for each other – especially when they had no one else.

But, even with that knowledge it had only been a couple of hours ago that he'd realised that he could make sure she was all right now. Offer whatever comfort she'd accept tonight, even if that turned out just to be a drive home where she didn't have to worry about maintaining a façade of strength. Of course she might feel as though she couldn't afford to let him see her grief, which wasn't a particularly comfortable thought.

"Jethro? What's wrong?"

"Nothing – I told Hector I'd meet you myself. Car's outside." He watched her as they walked, trying to work out if she was pleased or annoyed; wishing she'd lose the glasses. A moment later he got his wish and bit back the instinctive comment that she looked exhausted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her look so fragile, but then he'd never seen her just after the funeral of one of her closest friends.

"Thank you for taking care of things while I was away," he nodded, uncomfortable with her gratitude because after all, he had done the easy thing and avoided what he should have done.

She fell asleep almost as soon as he started the car, which was little short of a miracle given the way that he drove. But he knew if she'd been awake she'd likely never have let him make the decision to head to his place instead of taking her home.

"Have I moved?" A quiet voice asked from the passenger seat just as he turned into his drive, "I don't remember living here." She didn't sound angry and he looked over at her – wondering if an explanation was even necessary. "I hope there's bourbon," was her only comment.

"There usually is."

He was aware of her presence, of her silence as he moved around the basement, working on the boat. She didn't seem to be in a mood to talk and every now and then he flicked his eyes towards the chair where she'd settled to find her watching him, or gazing into her glass. He wasn't at all surprised that she wasn't making it easy for him, though he told himself it had to mean something that she was still here, that she hadn't demanded to be taken to her home. He'd almost decided to ask her about the funeral when a cell phone rang – hers.

He listened to her side of the conversation with growing concern, wanting to intervene the moment he realised that the call was from Debra's husband. Jen's voice was quiet – but he could feel the pain and loss as she tried to say the right things. He could have told her from personal experience that there was nothing she could say that would make the slightest difference right now. But he hesitated, until the sound of a muffled sob drew him across the room to her side.

He pulled her into an embrace as she struggled to continue the conversation, despite her tears. She was fighting a losing battle against the emotions she'd held at bay this long and all he could do was rub her back and hold her just a little closer as the tears started to flow in earnest. Gently he wrested the phone from her grasp and explained with all the compassion he could, that Jen was really in no condition to continue this conversation right now.

"I miss her," she said at last – turning her head into his shoulder, brushing the tears away. "I don't know what to do."

"You need to get some rest," he pointed out, drawing her from the chair and leading her upstairs into the bedroom. She didn't argue as he sat her on his bed and dug around for a t-shirt for her to wear. He was surprised how easily she was letting him take charge as she shrugged out of her clothes, pulled the t-shirt on and crawled under the covers, curling herself into a tight ball like a little girl who just awoken for a bad dream.

He wasn't sure about leaving her, though it was clear she really needed to sleep. As he took a step towards the door she whispered, "stay with me," and he could only guess what it had taken for her to ask that of him.

Carefully he undressed and slipped into bed beside her; stoking her hair as he held her, hoping it might send her to sleep. She was so quiet and still that he started to think it had worked, until she said, "we were going to book into a spa, spend a couple of days being pampered while we caught up – my treat. I've got the date in my diary, I was going to call her at the weekend, make plans."

He didn't respond, there were no words that he could offer that would help soothe the pain. All he could do was let her lie in the circle of his arms and talk, tell him about Debra, say whatever she needed to, until finally the tiredness got the better of her and she fell asleep.

"It's OK," he whispered, hearing her breathing even out and easing her carefully onto her side so he could curl up behind her. "I've got you."

She woke sometime before dawn, jet lag and an unfamiliar bed conspiring to draw her from a sleep that had been more restful than she had any right to expect. A heavy arm lay across her stomach – effectively holding her in place. Jethro – he'd literally been a shoulder to cry on last night; knowing what she needed when she scarcely knew herself.

He'd stayed with her, curled up beside her and just let her talk. She couldn't remember half of what she'd told him, but she knew sharing memories of Deb had helped, letting her believe for a while that her friend was still alive, still just an email or a phone call away.

Lying here in his arms she wished she'd talked to Deb about what was happening between the two of them; she could have used a second opinion on something she barely understood herself.

But Deb wasn't here and there was no getting away from the fact that she had spent the night with him. She knew that just sleeping together involved a very different type of intimacy. She couldn't afford for either of them to forget that this was about the sex.

Turning in his arms she pressed soft kisses to his chest, her fingers trailing lightly along his sides. He sighed, shifting onto his back and she took advantage of the better access this gave her, leaning over him to kiss his lips. When his eyes fluttered open, she whispered, "good morning," before sitting back, pulling the t-shirt over her head and casting it aside.

His eyes travelled over her naked body and now that she had his full attention she leant over him again. He blinked, winding one hand into her hair, looking up at her as she moved teasingly above him. It was pretty clear that his body was responding to her, she could see desire in his eyes, feel evidence of it pressing against her. But she could tell he was holding back.

"We don't have to do this," he said, running his hand over along her thigh.

"I need to," she didn't want to have to explain, was grateful when he didn't say anything more. He nodded to her once and then reached up to kiss her before rolling her under him and taking control. She sighed, letting his touch wash over her, blocking out everything but him. Even if it was only for this moment.

TBC