A/N - thanks for the reviews. I'm glad people are enjoying the story.

The Same Mistake part 3

"Jethro…" He recognised the unspoken request for what it was. And he owed her. For not being there when she woke up in a hospital bed, for being a lousy friend these last few weeks. For not preventing her from being injured on his watch.

"Give me half an hour."

He almost changed his mind; almost turned back two or three times. He dealt with trauma by burying it, refusing to talk about it. But the dream wouldn't allow him to continue with that response and while he didn't believe in second chances, he knew he would have no peace unless he faced this.

As he approached her door he remembered once again the moment he had turned to see her lying on the ground; the horrified expression on McGee's face, the blood. He closed his eyes, driving the images away and when he opened them she was leaning against the front door, watching him. Without heels and a suit and with a soft blanket wrapped around her shoulders she looked smaller, a little too pale and fragile, but assuredly alive. His knees almost buckled in relief.

A couple of years ago she'd reappeared in his life while he was still reeling from the loss of Kate. And he hadn't known how to respond to her. He hadn't known how to cope with the anger and the memories she invoked, hadn't been able to decide what place she held in his life. In the years that had passed he wasn't sure either of them had figured it out. This probably wasn't the best time to start. He hesitated on the doorstep, forcing her to ask, "are you coming inside?"

"I'm not sure."

"Let me know when you decide." She closed the door in his face, but didn't lock it. He'd chastise her for not taking her personal security more seriously; if not for the armed bodyguards he'd had to negotiate his way past to get here.

It took him about 30 seconds to decide to follow her, the dream pushing at him when he was tempted to walk away. As he stepped into the living room she was sitting on the couch, files spread out on the coffee table before her. He was relieved not to find her in the study – a room that had seen more than its share of their worst confrontations. "You aren't supposed to be working."

He tried to stare her down, but she gazed back without flinching. "What are you doing here Jethro?"

"You wanted me to come over," she shook her head, everything about her expression telling him how badly he was messing this up. "You going to offer me a drink?"

"Help yourself," she gestured towards the drinks on the sideboard, "I'm not allowed – doctor's orders."

"How about some coffee?"

"Not allowed that either," he could tell how delighted she was about that. On another day he might have been amused to see how she was coping without caffeine. But one look at her face made it clear he'd be risking his life to even mention it. Heading for the kitchen might at least buy him some time,

"I'll make us some hot milk."

He wasn't the greatest cook in the world, but he could manage to put milk in a pan and heat it. There were spices in a rack, which he could probably add to the finished article to make it taste better. "You can put a slug of bourbon in yours," a voice said from behind him, proving all over again that she knew him just a little too well.

She didn't attempt to hide her amusement at finding him pottering around in her kitchen. In fact she leant against the island and unabashedly watched him for a while, before repeating her earlier question, "what are you doing here Jethro?"

He was having trouble finding an answer to that and when she reached for him, her hand wrapping around his arm to turn him towards her, he wasn't sure he could even meet her eyes. He hadn't needed Ducky to tell him that only McGee's prompt response and the presence of a Doctor among the guests had stopped her from bleeding out before the ambulance reached her. And still he hadn't answered her question.

"Jen," he breathed and then stopped when their eyes finally met. He wasn't prepared, though he'd known he'd have to face this if he came to her. His uncertainty was mirrored in her eyes and only the hiss of the milk boiling saved them.

He backed away, busying himself with the hot drinks and when he handed her a mug she wrapped both hands around it as though she needed to soak up the heat. And still he couldn't find the words to tell her what had brought him here tonight and what had kept him away until now.

He followed her back to the living room and when she curled into the corner of the couch he hesitated before settling into the chair opposite – a safe distance away. She watched him, perhaps waiting to see if he was going to say anything – and then when his silence irked her she asked, "what do you want Jethro?"

"I'm making sure you're all right."

"You're a little late with that."

"You're more than capable of keeping track of me Jen, even now."

"So, you've been too busy to visit me, except in the dead of night?" She was proving his point – but somehow he doubted that was where this conversation was heading. "Too busy to talk to me – except when driven to do so by insomnia? It's OK; I get it. The past is dead, we aren't friends, we aren't anything more than Director and Agent."

It would be so damn easy to agree and walk away – to take the exit she was offering and even tacitly reinforce her conclusion that there was nothing between them but a history they had both long since forgotten. But the taunt of the nightmare was a regular reminder that it wasn't true. Maybe he could ignore that knowledge, as he had ignored so many other aspects of his past, but not while it was affecting his ability to function.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" He was talking about that first day when she had decreed there would be no outside the office between them, but they both knew he was also referring to the choice she had made years before.

"It's what I had to do, there's a difference." She took a sip from her mug and he could see that she was choosing her words with care. "I'll be back at my desk in a couple of weeks, I'm fine."

He didn't need to see her 'tell' to know that she was lying. No one, not even Jen Sheppard, could escape death by a hairsbreadth and be all right. He was carefully not thinking that this might have happened to her before – but he could still hear the lack of inflection in her voice when she told him that Ziva had saved her life in Cairo. He'd made no attempt to find out more about what that meant, whether or not she'd been injured. But it spoke volumes that she believed she owed Ziva a debt.

"You're not. No one could be." He saw the emotions that flickered rapidly across her face, but didn't attempt to identify every one of them. He wasn't surprised when she pushed herself up and took several steps across the room to put some distance between them. He had forgotten that he knew her this well, well enough to tell when she was lying, well enough to go after her.

She turned back to look at him and he could see that she was wavering, "Jen," her gaze was hard and she lifted up and a hand to ward him off. He ignored it.

What happened next was going to be important.

TBC