A/N - thanks for the reviews - this is the last part. Thanks to the person who gave me such great advice in writing this. Somehow it turned out to have a more upbeat ending than I thought it would.

The Same Mistake – part 5

Their eyes met and he said quietly, "I owe you an apology." She sighed, and then reminded him of one of his core strictures.

"It's a sign of weakness,"

"Not between friends," he took another step towards her, "between partners."

She stilled at the words and he knew she was thinking about their fights. About the score of times she'd reminded him that they weren't partners anymore, the occasions when he'd taunted her with the duplicity that had ended their partnership and the frequency with which they'd proven that, despite everything, some bonds were just too strong to break.

"I'm sorry Jen," he wasn't sure what the apology was for and she didn't ask. The emotion trembled deep inside him and it was almost impossible to resist her pull. But still he tried.

There were dark circles under her eyes and he could tell she'd lost weight. It was clear that the fragility he'd sensed in her in that first moment wasn't an illusion. She'd never accept his help and he couldn't risk offering it. He knew that she was going to push away what had happened to her and concentrate all her efforts on getting back behind her desk; it's what he would have done in her place. Had he taught her that, he wondered?

If their history were different, if they were different, he'd reach out to her – but that wasn't going to happen. They'd have to save themselves; both too wary to risk their vulnerabilities with each other. Except of course, she knew why he wasn't sleeping, that her close call had summoned his ghosts. Just as he knew she wouldn't allow anyone close until she was confident she wouldn't fall apart. He didn't even know if anyone had hugged her; but he hoped to hell that Abby had managed to duck around those formidable defences as only she could.

If he thought he could touch her once and stop there he'd do it himself. "You need to get some rest Jen," he told her quietly.

"So do you," she whispered back at him – and then added, "it wasn't your fault Jethro." He tilted his head to look at her; there really was no answer to that. "It goes with the territory."

Whatever he might have said in response was lost with the ringing of his cell phone – he flicked it open, listened impatiently for a moment and then said, "call the rest of my team, I'll meet them at the scene in 20 minutes." He wasn't sure if he was glad of the interruption. "Dead Marine in a park," he told her.

"Well then you'd better go." She followed him to the door and despite the dead body waiting for him he found he was in no hurry to depart. After staying away from her for all these weeks it was surprisingly difficult to leave.

Only as they stood together in the doorway did he realise the multi-layered message of the nightmares. Yes – he'd almost added her to his list of losses, yes - it had exposed his inadequacies and vulnerabilities when it came to her. But she wasn't dead. And those words resonated across his consciousness, the timbre deep and powerful.

For all her complexities and contradictions, for all of her flaws and all of his; still she lived and breathed. She wasn't dead – and he knew from experience that there was more than one way to lose someone. "Did you get what you came for Jethro?"

He'd come for her – for a shot at peace and a resolution that he wasn't sure he had the right to hope for. All the old doubts and hesitations remained. There was every chance they'd make the same mistake – or a whole lot of new ones. And shake the foundations of the agency into the bargain. He'd spent a lot of the night not answering her questions, he figured he owed her at least one genuine response.

"I don't know what I came for, maybe because of something I lost a long time ago."

"And did you find it?"

"Turns out, I hadn't lost it." She couldn't possibly miss his meaning, though she ducked his gaze just the same.

"I've heard that can happen," a strand of her hair slipped across her face and though he'd promised himself he wouldn't touch her, he couldn't quite resist the temptation to tuck it back behind her ear. A smile tugged at her lips at his touch and he let his fingertips stroke her cheek – just for a moment.

"Jethro," he knew what she was going to say, he could see the regret in her eyes, knew how torn she was – because he felt exactly the same way. But neither of them was in any state to make decisions of this magnitude right now.

"Goodnight Jen."

It would never work now, when they were both at their lowest ebbs. But someday, when she was making him crazy, being brilliant, driven and sexy at the same time, he could see himself making that same mistake all over again. And he didn't think there was much point relying on her restraint to save them, not unless she'd got a whole lot better at denial and celibacy.

He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that she was still at the door, watching him as he walked back towards his car. He was feeling better, lighter somehow. Maybe, when this case was over, he'd be able to sleep without the nightmares.

After all, if you were going to make the same mistake the advantage was that the second time you knew how to put the mistake right. He smiled at the thought – and kept walking.

The End