an: honestly franks has been my favorite part of all of these because gibbs is having such existential moments and franks is in the background like 'lol shit probie u got feelings again? idiot.'

Paris

"Why the hell are you goin' back now?"

Franks' annoyed demand was loud to his ears, but he ignored it. He was packing, he had cash for the ticket in his pocket, and his mind was unchangeable.

"What the hell did she say to you?" Franks snapped.

He grit his teeth, shaking his head.

"Ain't no use goin' back, Probie," he growled. "Best thing I ever did was quit."

Gibbs ignored him still. The phone Camilla had left with them lay abandoned on the cot, and Gibbs rubbed his jaw as he picked and chose carefully the sparse things he'd be taking.

"Be back," he grunted, knowing it was a lie.

"No, you won't," Franks said bluntly. "I know you, Probie," he said dully. "You go back, it'll suck you back in. You ain't got nothin' else."

Gibbs grit his teeth.

"What's that lady director got on you?"

Gibbs shook his head.

"It wasn't her."

Franks scoffed, and Gibbs knew he didn't believe the statement – but it was true; it hadn't been that elusive, nostalgic woman on the phone, it had been someone much younger, someone much fresher in his mind and much more definable in terms of what she meant.

I thought you might … save me?

It didn't matter if he was ready to go back yet; it didn't matter if he was healed or if he was capable of doing this job again, or if he would ever be the same; that was the great Ziva David begging for help, for mercy, and he wasn't going to let her down.

"I have to go," he said firmly, without argument. "I have to – " he said again, and paused, leaning heavily over his rucksack, closing his eyes tightly –

…I have to …

-written somewhere on scrawling paper, in the midst of so many other pleading, and justifying, and alternately cold and warm words, were those – demanding understanding, begging for absolution –

…I have to…

He remembered those words on folded, neat stationary; he remembered everything she'd written, everything that had been contained in the pristinely folded letter in the leather coat; he remembered the way her hair had looked the day she left, and what colour lipstick she'd worn, and he remembered how the scent of her perfume had never really left him, not on the plane, not ever.

He remembered their last night in Paris – desperate, secluded, heated, intimate, infused with heartache he had perceived, but hadn't understood until she was gone the next day; he remembered her, sleeping next to him, fitfully, why he lay awake staring at the ceiling in some sort of stark fear, and dread – what would he do with her, once they got back. Could he do it? Could he make sure she wouldn't be like the others?

He remembered things had been tense since the Czech Republic, since Serbia, since her injury spooked him off, and reading that letter, he had been angry – angry at himself, angry at her for never giving him a chance – even if he knew, in the roots of his heart, that he'd have destroyed her, and at his own expense.

"Jethro," she'd whispered, her lips close to his ear, her nails digging into his back. "What are you doing to me?"

He remembered the last glass of bourbon they'd shared, and the way she'd looked at him when he'd joked about her moving in—he remembered everything, the full spectrum of their partnership, how messy and chaotic it had been, how they had stumbled and scraped their knees, all just to sate the lust – how unbearable, overwhelming, it had been, to discover that lust wasn't the only thing there.

"I love you!" she'd said in Paris, standing on a bridge, her hair caught in the wind. She'd looked resigned, uncertain, almost angry, and very pale. "What do you think about that?" she'd asked hoarsely.

He'd laughed.

"That'll be the day."

That, there - he remembered that sharpest of all; that fatal mistake - that nail in the coffin.

He read the letter over and over, replaying snapshots of Europe in his mind, forcing himself to hate her, to vilify her, to blame her, because that was so much easier –

-Gibbs opened his eyes and stared down at his half-packed bag, his jaw clenched tight.

He remembered her leaving; he remembered how it had ended, and he remembered the parts that had been his fault, more clearly than he ever had.

In a moment of nothing but pure clarity, he acknowledged his part in the end of the affair, and he read the words of the letter that seemed to be tattooed on his eyelids and stitched into his skull and standing there, in the Mexican heat, on the verge of returning for savior's sake –

He understood who she was; who she had been to him, and who he had wanted her to be – before he balked, shut down, let Shannon's fate scare him into never letting his guard down again.

He understood why she had left, and why things were the way they were now.

He swore under his breath; his heart ached in his chest at what he'd lost, what he'd let slip away.

He remembered Paris, and everything about it, and everything about Paris – was Jenny Shepard.

Franks lit a cigarette behind him, and shook out ashes on the cabin floor.

"You look like you seen a goddamn ghost, Probie," he growled, thumping him on the back. "Whatsa matter – finally realize you're in love with that mule-headed lady director?"

Franks cackled, a hoarse, smoker's laugh, and Gibbs set his jaw, his blood racing.

He had to go back; he had to – and it wasn't just for Ziva, or DiNozzo, or McGee, the people he owed it to; he had to go back because it was what was best for him, and if nothing else – he had to find some way to tell her that he understood now, he'd remembered Paris and everything in between –

He thought about how she'd looked in the hospital, when he only looked at her like she was a blank slate of a woman, no one significant, and he had to at least let her know he remembered the way they were.

Paris

i also wanted to allude to 'Shalom' because that's my favorite episode of NCIS ever, period.
anyway, hope y'all liked this! i literally wrote 4 out of 5 of these 10 minutes before posting, so there's that.

-alexandra