Author's note:
(sorry in advance for the length!)
Hey guys! Back with another chapter! I have the final two written and I'm going to try and get those up in the next couple of days!
Also, I'm planning a sequel to this titled Let Her Go from Gibbs's perspective after Jenny's death. So spoiler, she does die at the end...
I debated for awhile on whether or not I wanted to change it, but since this is based loosely (very loosely) around "Set Fire To The Rain" which is a sad song, I felt the actual ending fit best.
But I am planning on doing various one-shots that actually give them the happy ending they deserve!
I have a bit written for the sequel which I'll begin to upload after this is done. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it's probably my favorite and I looked forward to writing it when I started this story. I'm very pleased with how it turned out!
As always, thank you for the reviews, likes, and follows. I truly appreciate it and it always brightens my day!
D.C. 2006
Scrawling her loopy signature on another case file, she slid it to the side, reaching toward the other stack and pulled another one in front of her. It has been almost a month since Gibbs has left, leaving DiNozzo as team leader and the rest of them to adjust to the new dynamic.
She and Tony reached an unspoken understanding that they would support each other, both of them perhaps the most directly affected by Gibbs's departure and also the only two who can't show it. The rest of the team was looking up to them, relying on them. They didn't get such liberties with their feelings.
It was rough, Tony perhaps getting the brunt of the change. She had let him complain about how the team was behaving, knowing that's what he needed. She could feel her anger toward Gibbs grow at how he had left, so mindlessly about what he was leaving behind, the mess in his wake.
She had taken on a more active role with the team since those elevator doors closed. Having lunch or tea with Ducky once a week, visiting Abby occasionally, chatting with her as she worked, she had even joined in a few of DiNozzo's "campfires" when they had a particularly difficult case. It was something that was helping all of them, banding together.
But she isn't coping well, she knows that. Her mind can't stop turning over the idea that she had meant nothing to Gibbs besides providing him with the red hair of his first wife, his true love. As if that would transform her into the woman that he so desperately missed and wanted back. Of course, all of this had happened right when she thought that they might be rekindling their romance.
She had come to understand that she might've jumped to conclusions in Paris, that he did care about her, even after she had left him the way she did. He hadn't deserved it, but she would not have been able to do it any other way. Yet, he seemed to shrug off that moment and instead of visibly hating her, he brought her coffee, dinner, talked with her, their familiar banter in place.
It was as if six years had never separated them.
After her kidnapping, she was certain that he had realized what she had. They still cared deeply about each other and with the daunting awareness of their own mortality, the danger and risk they wake up to every day, it might be time to act on it before they were left with nothing but regrets.
It seemed like it was only a matter of time, they were still dancing around it, unsure of how to approach it when they knew each other so well, unsure if they really needed to say it out loud.
Then it all changed with an explosion, a coma, and a search. Suddenly, Jenny found herself reeling, wondering all the things she had wondered back in Paris, only so much worse. Before she could talk to him about it, he had left. Walked away as if this whole part of his life meant nothing.
As if he wasn't leaving anything, or anyone behind.
She doesn't know how she's supposed to handle this. What she's allowed to feel because she doesn't think she should be angry or upset at him, but she is. She hates being weak, but he's always been able to touch the softest, most vulnerable parts of her.
It isn't healthy, the way she tries to cover that up.
Working late hours, not sleeping, drinking too much bourbon as if she can ignore the destruction left in her heart. Pretend like it never happened. Even that is impossible. She can't stop thinking about it, about him.
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She knows she'll never stop looking for him when each time her door opens, she half-expects to see his familiar figure burst through and she is still disappointed when she doesn't see silver hair.
He has ingrained himself in her life, in the smallest, most ordinary things.
It is impossible to forget him. She knows she will never want to.
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There is a soft knock on the door, causing her to look up and take the glasses off her face,
"Come in." She calls softly. The door opens and it is Tony who walks through, sending a small ache through her heart because she knows what they are both thinking as they lock eyes. It should be Gibbs doing this.
"I have our reports on the Everett case." He hands the manila folder to her.
"Thank you, Tony." She studies him, the trademark coffee in his hand is the only deviation from his normal attire. The sign of his new role. "How's it going?" She gestures toward a chair, inviting him to sit down. His jaw is slightly clenched, a clear sign of agitation, she has come to notice.
Tony heaves a deep sigh, shaking his head slightly, "I'm not Gibbs."
"I know," She responds immediately, knowing the conversation they are about to have, "You're not supposed to be."
He scoffs lightly, "Mind passing that memo along. All I've been hearing is 'I'm acting too much like Gibbs' or 'This isn't what Gibbs would do'. I don't think they've made up their mind whether they want me to be him or not."
Jenny looks at him sympathetically, "It's hard on everyone. They'll get used to it eventually. Your only job is to focus on leading the team, something I think you've been excelling at."
"Thank you, Director."
"Jenny." She corrects, they have been getting closer over the past weeks, she's never been one for formalities in informal settings.
"Thank you, Jenny." He smiles, it is brief and falters almost instantly, "I don't think they understand that I don't want to be doing this either. It shouldn't be me."
"But it is." She states, "Gibbs left, Tony. I know you wish things were different, but it's how it is. You'll get used to it, so will the rest of the team."
"I don't even know what I'm doing half the time. Acting like Gibbs makes it a bit easier, but I also feel like I shouldn't be relying on what I think he would do. Follow my own gut, you know."
"I think you should do whatever makes you feel most confident." She pauses, the corner of her mouth twisting upward, "But, for the record, I'd like to see how Tony DiNozzo leads a team."
Silence stretches between them as he considers her words, his head is slightly tilted, eyebrows furrowed. It is a couple seconds before he nods his head and stands up, "Thank you for your time."
She dismisses his thanks with a wave of her hand, "Anytime you want to talk, Tony. My door is always open."
He gives her the patented DiNozzo smirk in return, "So anytime I need to talk about the most effective pick-up lines, best movies, that kind of stuff, I come here, right?"
The corner of her lips twitch upward, "Let me reiterate, anytime you want to talk about anything within reason. Although," She looks at him, eyes scrunched slightly, "I wouldn't mind a little movie debate however. There's only so much paperwork I can handle."
A sincere smile spreads across his face, "See you, Jenny." He heads toward the door, pulling it open.
"Bye, Tony." She calls after him, the wave of his hand indicates that he heard her. She lifts her glasses and slides them on her face, she picks up her pen and starts to read the case file.
Jenny shrugged off her coat and opening the closet door, pulled out a hanger and hung the coat up. She reached down and grabbed her leather bag, carrying it to the office. Over the weeks, she had thrown herself in work, she was ahead of all her deadlines and preparations for upcoming operations and missions. She needed to be doing something because if she let herself relax, she was sure she'd fall apart. Jenny forced herself to head straight for the desk, she had made it a rule that she could only drink on Friday. If she didn't maintain that self-control, she'd be getting drunk every night.
Alcohol wouldn't solve her problems and she needed to come to terms with her new reality. Gibbs was gone. He had chosen to leave. She sighed, running her hands through her hair, annoyed with herself. She didn't blame him for leaving, not when the coma had brought up too many painful memories for him to relive. Yet, she was still so angry with him. She shook her head, as if that could knock out all the feelings and she'd be fine. She lifted her bag into her lap and pulled out the papers she needed and started to work.
File after file made its way into her "completed" stack, giving her a sense of satisfaction at her productivity. It was 0100 and she could feel her eyelids drooping occasionally and it had taken her double the time to finish the last report because she had to keep rereading some sentences. She didn't want to go to bed, positive she'd lay awake just thinking about Gibbs, tormenting herself over the what-ifs and feel the rush of emotions cascade over her body.
No, she would make coffee instead and resign herself to another sleepless night, hoping that by the end of the day tomorrow, she'd be able to climb into bed and fall asleep in seconds. She's been having far too many nightmares to sleep peacefully when she does manage to drift off. Most of them involve an explosion and Gibbs.
Only this time, he doesn't survive. The others are the same ones she's had for the past eleven years. She hadn't had them for awhile, not since she became Director, but now they had started up again.
It was always the same, a stormy night, she'd be in her room reading as lightning flashed across the window. Thunder rumbled as she stood up, walking over to her door, going downstairs to get a drink. Every time, it was as she neared the staircase that she heard it. A single shot. For a second, she thought it was just part of the storm until her mind caught up with the sound.
It had been a gunshot.
She flys down the stairs and bolts into the study, always meeting the same sight. Her father, dead, in his chair. Blood splatter in various spots throughout the room. She screams.
The only change the nightmare ever has is when she leaves her room, heading downstairs because she can sense the air. The way it's heavy and clings to her, a foreboding warning that something awful is about to happen. She races to the study, always, always too late. Always met with the sight of her father's dead body. Always a split second too late to save him. She still screams.
That nightmare happens for the following couple years until she is partnered with Gibbs, then it stops. But it starts again immediately after she leaves and continues until she becomes Director.
.
.
.
.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out the correlation. She's always felt safe with him, regardless of what relationship they have. As long as he is in her life in some capacity, she feels that nothing could touch her.
He has her back, that's what partners do and they've always been the best at it.
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.
Meandering into the kitchen, she started pulling out the necessary items, the black and tan bag of coffee grounds, a measuring cup, and an old NIS mug she had stolen from Gibbs all those years ago. She hated that she was relying on a stupid mug to help her. Hated how weak she felt at the fact that she needed something so superficial to make her feel close to him. Even the coffee was his brand, the same flavor as well.
She thrust the measuring cup in the bag and dumped the grounds into the filter, shoving it in her coffee maker. She viciously stabs the buttons and shoves the mug underneath. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath as the familiar aroma spread through the air.
God, it smelled like him. It was as if he was standing right next to her.
Anger sparks in her again, what a bastard he was, she thinks bitterly, constantly barging in and making a mess of things. Couldn't play nice with the sister agencies or reporters, always expecting her to swoop in and clean up his mess effortlessly. He was always undermining her authority in front of others, calling her "Jen", the affectionate nickname he had coined in their Paris days.
.
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.
.
But mostly, she acknowledges, it's always been how he has barged into her life and messed with her heart.
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The trickle of coffee drew her attention. She absentmindedly tapped the edge of the cup with a polished nail as she waited for it to fill up. It wasn't fair, they had been getting closer and they both felt how the air was shifting, ever so slightly, into something more meaningful. Now it's been ripped away. The coffee machine sputtered and stopped the pour, leaving mere amber drops to fall into the steaming cup. She grasped the handle and lifted it up, carrying it carefully back to the study.
She settled in her chair and took a sip of the scolding coffee, taking some kind of sadistic pleasure in the way the liquid burned her throat. It tasted like Gibbs, the way she would steal his coffee, the only one who could ever get away with it, and how his lips had tasted back in Europe. It was a comfort and a constant reminder of what they would never be again.
If they ever were anything to begin with.
It was the same reason she drank bourbon, in the years after she left him and now, just to prove to herself that they had happened and that he had left an imprint. That it at least mattered to her, still. She rubbed her forehead before lifting up another folder and busied herself in the technological language of the reports.
Jenny's eyes flicker over the email from Bob Summers, asking if they could meet for lunch sometime this week to discuss the upcoming political issues. She can't remember if she's available on the suggested day and time. Reaching over, she presses the intercom,
"Cynthia?"
"Yes, Director?" Her assistant's voice echoes back immediately.
"Do I have any commitments from 1130 to 1400 on Thursday?" She hears the faint clicking of the keyboard in response.
"No, you're free."
"Can you put in lunch with Bob from that time, please?"
"Of course, Director." Cynthia says lightly and Jenny can pick up on the hint of a smile in her voice. The Congressman is quite attractive, she will admit, however, his hair is too dark and eyes are too brown for her liking.
"Thank you, Cynthia." She is about to click the button again when Cynthia speaks.
"Oh, Director," Her voice is rushed, slamming the words together in an effort to get them out before Jenny turns off the intercom.
"Yes?"
"Agent DiNozzo is outside, waiting to see you. Something about a warrant."
"Send him in." Jenny says before reaching over and pressing the button. The door opens and DiNozzo waltzes in, a playful grin on his face,
"Lunch with Bob," He jokes, "I suppose that's going to be the highlight of your week, huh, or night?" He says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. She smiles at his antics, enjoying the familiarity they have with each other now.
"If it is, I'm certainly not going to tell you that, Tony."
His shoulders droop, "You sure?"
"I have no desire for my lunch plans to be the cause of several betting pools through the agency." She says, knowingly.
"Oh, well it's not like they haven't been-" He cuts off, meeting her gaze sheepishly, "before." He finishes, his head bowing in shame at how transparent he had been. She presses her lips together in an effort to conceal her amusement,
"Yes, well I have had a lot of practice with scrutiny into my romantic life." She remarks, briefly thinking about a blue-eyed Marine instead of a white-collared congressman.
Tony's eyes light up, "Care to share?"
"You're relentless, aren't you."
He shrugs, "It's part of my charm and it's also the reason I'm considered to be the best investigator in this agency. Well," He stutters, seeing her raised eyebrow, "After you, I'm sure. The other members of my team are right up there as well. Will you excuse me while I take my foot out of my mouth?"
"I think you're here about a warrant?"
"Right, yeah. Lieutenant Copperfield was found dead in his garage by one of his neighbors yesterday. We think that it's one of the friends, Tom Rippen, who did it. Everyone says he had a strange obsession with Copperfield."
"Based on what?" Jenny interjects.
"Well, we interviewed Copperfield's girlfriend and apparently she and Rippen have had some interesting excursions behind Copperfield's back. Anyway, the Lieutenant was planning to propose. We found an engagement ring when we searched his house. So we think Rippen killed Copperfield before he could propose so he could have the girlfriend. Just need a warrant to search his apartment for the knife but we don't have probable cause."
"Which is where I come in," She supplied, "Pull a few strings, get you your warrant."
"Yeah," Tony grimaced slightly.
"Do you have any physical evidence linking Rippen to the murder?"
Tony shook his head, "We have a hair found on the victim but Abby can't get DNA off of it. She said she could match the hair but we'd need a warrant for that too."
"So you have nothing." Jenny concluded.
"Does a gut-feeling count?"
"A gut-feeling doesn't work on a warrant, no matter how Gibbs-like it may be."
Tony sighs, "It's more than that, have you ever seen the movie The Talented Mr. Ripley? 1999? Directed by Minghella, starring Matt Damon, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow. Really good movie. It reminds me of this case. Even the name Tom Rippen, Tom Ripley. Come on, the only difference here is that Copperfield was stabbed in his garage and not killed with an oar on a boat."
"Was Rippen pretending to be in the navy as well? Sent to befriend Copperfield in the hopes of convincing him to come home?" Jenny added, smirking at the shocked expression on DiNozzo's face.
"You've seen The Talented Mr. Ripley?"
She chuckles, "I do watch movies, DiNozzo. My whole life does not just revolve around work. It was Gi-" She caught herself, thankful that Tony ignored the obvious implication of her sentence, "It was one of my old partner's favorites."
"Yeah," Tony exclaims excitedly, "You have to admit that there's similarities!"
"Still not going to work for a warrant," She says, "But I'll do my best. I can't promise anything. I suggest you try and find some evidence to support your theory."
"Thank you, Direct- Jenny." He corrects, seeing the look she threw his way. "You know, the only thing missing from this is a boat. I never did understand why he destroyed it. It would've been just as easy to toss the body overboard and just clean the boat. Of course, then he'd technically be stealing it, but I suppose that isn't dramatic enough for cinema."
"Only in real life." Jenny remarks offhandedly, searching her email list for a lawyer that owed her a favor.
A soft shout from Tony startles her, causing her to look over, seeing his eyes dance with intrigue.
"That sounds like there's a story behind it." He says joyfully.
"What? Oh-" She remembers her comment and can't stop the corner of her mouth from turning upward, "Yes, I suppose there's a story behind it."
"You have to tell me!" He begs, "I'll give you anything in return. A stick of gum, coffee, dinner-"
"Are you trying to ask me out, DiNozzo?" She teases, enjoying the flush that creeps up his neck.
"No!" He says indignantly, "Not that you'd be a bad date- I mean, I'm sure it would be wonderful but I'm not interested in you like that. You're pretty and everything but-" He stammers before muttering, "Gibbs would find out and kill me if I did."
"Relax, Tony. I was kidding."
He grins sheepishly at her, "So, the story?" She glances up at him, pausing the search for her contact.
"You really want to know?"
"Yes!" He answers as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"It was in Paris," She starts, "Back when Gibbs and I were partners, we were undercover at the time. Ducky was with us as well. I was back at the safe house waiting for a call from Director Morrow for the specifics of our next mission. Gibbs and Ducky had gone out because one of our contacts had been murdered so they decided to see if they could get any information. We needed to make sure our covers were intact before the mission."
"Let me guess," Tony interrupted, "Gibbs did something, he was jealous of the woodwork on a boat and stole it."
"Wrong on both counts, actually." She smirks at the surprise on his face, "I'm sure you know how upset Ducky can be when people mess with a body."
"Well, yeah, he chews them out." DiNozzo's eyes widened, "Ducky stole a boat?"
Jenny shook her head, "I'm getting there, Tony. Well, the police at the scene apparently contaminated the body, mishandled it somehow, I never really understood exactly what happened. Ducky didn't take too kindly to that and decided it would be a great idea to shove the officer off the cliff." She finished, a note of exasperation in her voice.
"No way! I didn't know the Duck-man had it in him!"
"There was a lake below, Tony. Don't get too excited." Her eyes glimmered with amusement at his response, "The police issued a warrant for his arrest, Gibbs too, for aiding and abetting. I see it on the news and I'm furious. They've potentially jeopardized our cover, blowing the whole mission. Director Morrow calls, asks where they are, I have no clue, and he orders me to find them and get them out of the country."
She watches DiNozzo's face as he puts the pieces together, "You stole the boat!" He says gleefully.
"I commandeered a sailboat," She corrects, "Gibbs was pissed that Morrow put me in charge, Didn't believe I could do it, I was still a probie at the time."
"But you had an undercover assignment?"
She shrugs noncommittally, "I was a damn good agent. Top of my class at FLETC, excelled in undercover work I did before Europe. I also had a lot of experience in counter-terrorism intelligence, making me the obvious female choice."
"So you recused Gibbs and Ducky?"
"Yep, took them across the English Channel so they weren't at risk of being arrested. I also cleared the charges against them." She concludes proudly.
"How'd you manage that?"
She gives him a secretive grin, "That, Tony, is a story I'll never tell."
He chuckles, "Wow, you certainly are a force to be reckoned with. I almost wish you were still an agent. Seeing you and Gibbs work together must've been interesting."
"You could say that," She acknowledges, her face softening as memories flicker through her mind, "I'll try and get that warrant for you."
"Thank you, Jenny." Tony heads out the door and she catches herself before she makes a comparison to how Gibbs never would've said thank you. She still hasn't adjusted and she's not quite sure she ever will.
She squints at her notes that she's been scribbling down for the past two hours. She's been in MTAC overseeing operations since 0600. The light is faint, making the strain on her eyes even worse. She heaves a sigh, giving up trying to read her penmanship for the time being.
"Commander Strone?" She calls through her headset.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"What's your status?" The operation is taking place in the Middle East, the navy had picked up intel on a terrorist organization near the Bahrain office. NCIS Special Agents are joining with naval forces to infiltrate and capture any and all terrorists.
"The team departed thirty minutes ago. We should be getting a report within the next five minutes if all goes according to plan."
"Thank you, Commander." She glances down at her notes, reaching over to take a sip of her coffee before attempting to read them again. She could make out the first section of notes but everything beyond the odd squiggly line was unreadable.
She sighed and began to doodle mindlessly on the side of her notepad. Before she finishes adding the final touches to her little sketch of a boat, there's a crackle on the headset, causing her to jolt.
"Director Shepard? This is NCIS Special Agent Eve Summers speaking."
"Copy, Agent Summers, go ahead." Her pen is tapping against the chair in apprehension. If they
were able to successfully execute the mission, it would be a renowned accomplishment for her and the agency. Not to mention, they'd have thwarted a terrorist group.
"We've captured five suspected-terrorists. There were seven overall in the hideout, two of them were killed."
Jenny breathes out slowly, a smile spreading on her lips, "That's excellent news. I commend your team, Agent Summers. Were there any casualties on our end?"
"Negative, Director. However, we found documents in the one room relating to their different suppliers."
Jenny clicked her pen, holding the tip to the paper, ready to take notes, "Any specifics?"
"Yes, we have," There's a faint sound of rummaging paper, "three recorded arms suppliers, al-Kassar, Soghanalian, and Damnjanovic. There's also operation schedules for shipments that I'll send over in my report. None of it is immediate. We also found evidence of sales with a fourth arms dealer. My team hadn't heard of him before so we did a quick search. The name is La Grenouille."
Jenny sat straight up, her eyes wide, listening attentively at Agent Summers's report, "That's his code name. Real name is Rene Benoit. He has one daughter, Jeanne Benoit, currently in medical school in the D.C. area. There's mention of two other kids but we can't find any information on them. He's been in operation since the late 1970s. There's not much else on him besides a few suspected sales to undercover groups in the United States that the CIA and NSA have picked up on. Both occurred in 1995."
Jenny's heart was thumping in her chest, she couldn't believe they had stumbled across a link to La Grenouille, "Thank you, Agent Summers." She tried to keep her voice monotone and steady, "Please send me all the information on La Grenouille as soon as possible."
"Yes, ma'am. Julien Durand is the one who passed along that information. I'll send his numbers over as well." There was a click from the other end, signaling that Agent Summers had ended the call. Jenny sat there, staring blankly at the large screen in front of her.
After 9 years of nothing but climbing the ladder, placing herself in the position to be able to access this kind of intel, it had just fallen into her lap. She checked her watch, she had an hour break before the briefing to SECNAV. Gathering up her items, she headed out and straight to her office.
As soon as the silver door had shut behind her, she dropped everything on the table in front of her and picked up her notes, went to sit behind her desk. The lighting in her office was so much better, she slid on her glasses and jotted down the information Agent Summers had relayed about La Grenouille.
Her mind was racing, the opportunity to go after him was right in front of her, but what was the best way to approach this? It was easy to sanction now that NCIS had found a direct link, but how was she to actually bring him down? She'd need more information first. Once Agent Summer sent over the information, she could start planning.
If Gibbs had kept his secrets from her, she can keep her own. She had thought about telling him about her father once he had recovered from his coma. He, out of all people, would understand. Not to mention, he'd be a great asset for her.
They worked together seamlessly, they always had. Easily anticipating the moves of the other, finishing sentences, coordinating flawlessly.
Unofficially, it probably had a lot to do with their romantic relationship, but they were also similar in their techniques and different in all the ways they needed to be in order to bring something unique to the table. But Gibbs had left and while she hoped he might come back, hadn't filed his retirement package because of it, she wasn't sure if it was going to happen.
She couldn't afford to wait, no one knew how long that intel would be viable. This would be a task for her only, at least for now.
Jenny clenched the piece of paper in her hand. Another dead end. Two weeks of chasing down leads that Julien Durand, Agent Summer's contact, had given her just led to nothing. Grenouille was good, she'd give him that.
Then again, she knew how good he was when eleven years had passed and her dad was still labeled a traitor to the country he had dedicated his life to serve. She would clear his name and she would take down La Grenouille.
She tapped her nail against her coffee cup, glaring at the picture of the arms dealer on the monitor across from her desk. Her body was tense just from looking at him. He had taken everything from her and more importantly, from her father. She had vowed a long time ago that he would pay for that.
Her fingers tightened over the paper in her hand and she slowly crushed it, only stopping when she felt pricks of pain on her palm.
Glancing down, her eyes widened slightly as she opened her hand, half-moon marks indented in her skin from where her nails had dug in. She let the paper ball gently slide out of her hand and rubbed her palm.
Exhaling slowly, she got up, walking over to her decanter and poured herself a glass of bourbon. Lifting it to her mouth, she took a sip and mentally scolded herself. She needed to keep a rational mind, she could not afford to let her personal feelings get in the way too much where it jeopardizes her chances.
Jenny walked back over and sat down in her chair.
In all honesty, she wasn't sure where the anger was truly coming from. At the man who murdered her father and had covered it up as a suicide, after branding him a traitor. Or at the man who she had loved and left and who had come back into her life and lied before leaving her.
She rubbed her forehead, a minute pain in her head, she supposed a headache was coming on. Probably a result from staring at all those pictures. Tilting her head back against the back of her chair, Jenny gazes at the texture of the ceiling, the occasional swirls of paint catch her attention.
She doesn't know what to do, for all her planning and ambition that got her in this chair, she's never stopped to figure out exactly how she's going to take La Grenouille down. She lets her eyes flutter close, the lack of sleep from the past week must be catching up to her. Perhaps if she rests now, she'll have a plan when she wakes up.
Rain pattered violently against the window as she rolled over from her place on the bed. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the violet clouds for a split second. She tucked the edge of her sheet into the book where she had paused and closed it. A strange feeling was in her chest, telling her to go downstairs.
A faint sound is coming from below, she'd think it was people talking but she knows for a fact that it's only her and her father in the house. Stretching, Jenny sits up, delicately putting her feet down on the hardwood floor. She grabs her robe from the edge of the bed, pulling it around herself before she goes downstairs.
The air has gotten chillier and she can feel the goosebumps creeping up her arms. Somehow, she knows that it's not from the cold, no matter how much she pretends it is. Her door opens with a creak as she steps into the hallway. The odd feeling has settled inside of her, causing her footsteps to echo faster.
BANG!
She jumps, looking around for the source of the noise even though she knows that it wasn't anything around her that caused the sound of a gunshot. She sprints the remaining steps to the staircase and skips half of the stairs in her rush to get to her father's study, knowing that something terrible has happened there.
She doesn't think anything of the gust of wind coming from the open front door, as she throws the study door open. She sees the blood first, spattered flecks against the wall. Her eyes take in the gun in her father's limp hand second. She creeps around to face her father, not wanting to confirm what she knows deep down, not wanting to confirm the damage the gunshot had done.
She sees her father's lifeless eyes. Her mouth opens, she's horrified at the way there's instantly no color in his body and if she's making any noise, she's not aware. The pale, dull color of her father's unseeing eyes ingrained into her mind.
He's gone, he's dead, he's never coming back. She falters, stepping backward, reaching for something to steady her, a hot wetness on her face and her breath coming and going too fast.
Much too fast.
"Jenny, Jenny," Someone is shaking her. "Jenny!" She moans, shifting in her- chair? Her eyes flutter open and she blinks, looking around groggily. The face next to her comes into focus.
"Tony?"
"Yeah, I'm here. You had a nightmare." He says, crouched down next to her, eyes wide and anxious. She sits up slowly, focusing on evening out her breath. "You want to talk about it?" Tony stands up, leaning against her desk, watching her. Jenny shakes her head,
"Nothing I'm not used to." She catches his concerned look and musters a smile, "I'm fine, Tony." She knows he doesn't believe her, but he grants her the leniency of getting away with the lie. He jabs his thumb behind him at the screen,
"Who's that?"
Her stomach flips, no one was supposed to see that. This is her mission and it's her mission alone. She forces herself to steady her voice, intent on making sure her next words reveal nothing, "La Grenouille. We came across documents of him selling weapons with one of the terrorist groups we successfully took down earlier this week."
"Just another dirty bastard, then."
"You could say that." She manages, trying to sound as vague as possible, but Tony is not a trained investigator for nothing. Working five years under Gibbs has only helped matters.
"So are we planning to take him down?" He asks, pinning her with a serious look.
"Trying to."
He nods, biting his lip slightly, "Jenny, do you need me to do anything?"
It's slight, her hesitation, before she responds, "No."
"You sure?" He raises his eyebrows. Before she can answer, he goes on, "You've been putting in long hours ever since Gibbs left. You're not sleeping and you're trying to do as much as you can to help me and the team. And this is merely an observation, no judgment, but that decanter of bourbon in your office has been refilled twice already this week."
"You sound worried." She observes.
"Can you blame me? You know when Gibbs put me in charge, he meant it in any and all aspects of his role. That includes looking after you."
Jenny arches an eyebrow at the presumptuous nature of his statement but she can't bring herself to be upset at his words, "What makes you think that you need to look after me?"
"You were his partner. He still cares for you and I don't want him to come back and find out something happened to you on my watch." Jenny tilts her head slightly, letting his words sink in, turning them over.
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In two years, she will recall these words and offer up a silent apology to Tony for what she is about to do.
She hopes that someone will tell him that it's not his fault, that it's only and always been her choices that have led her here.
There's no one to blame but herself.
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She hasn't responded to Tony's statement, opting for a drink instead. It is when he puts a hand on her shoulder that she looks up at him.
"Jenny, do you want help?"
She relaxes her body, "I will let you know if I need help." He nods once, accepting her answer.
She approaches him two weeks later with a manila folder detailing an undercover mission, not exactly how confident she feels about this plan, it's a long shot, she knows. Once Tony reads it over, she'll ask him if he's certain he wants to do this. Undercover work is dangerous, in more ways than the obvious, she's well versed in that.
She catches his slight sigh of relief as he takes the folder from her and knows that it's because he feels useful now. Feels like he's honoring Gibbs, stepping into his role as a leader in helping her like he would. She knows that feeling well, it's how she was a month ago, in a hospital room with her hand outstretched.
Jenny knows this path is dangerous, the revenge, but if she's being honest, she stopped caring the night the elevator doors closed around the man she would never stop loving. He had left and it had been as she had predicted in Paris, shattering. She felt like there were pieces of her everywhere and the most important ones down on a beach in Mexico.
She collected the shards she still possessed and tried, really tried to put herself back together, but it wouldn't hold. She hadn't broken down and she didn't think she would, but she thinks that the instability she feels about herself will show itself somehow. This plan she had to get La Grenouille is probably the result of the emotional baggage she's dragged around.
Gibbs's departure was the thing that made her stop, unable to move under the weight of her pain, crawling inside instead. It wasn't that he could save her, or was supposed to save her. He should be here, helping her. That's what was missing. It simply felt like something they should be doing together.
But he was gone.
Had decided that since he lost the life he really wanted, what did it matter if he tossed away the one that he had slowly built since. It was as if he had woken up and realized that they all had come in second and he didn't want to deal with it anymore.
But she's dealing with it everyday.
Every sip of her coffee brings a memory of him standing by her as she reaches over and takes his cup out of his hand, stealing a drink. It always makes her happy, not from the annoyed gaze she'd receive, that's long since shifted to quiet resignation, but at the fact that one simple act shows others the familiarity they share.
All the glasses of bourbon she pours cements the history that has passed between them, a visible mark, an acquired taste that he's imparted on her. Even walking past a freshly polished wooden table brings up memories of sawdust and firm hands over her own, sanding with the grain with his body pressed comfortably against hers.
Whenever she walks into the bullpen, she still hasn't stopped feeling the slightest tinge of surprise at the lack of a growling, blue-eyed agent even if she's spent the past five minutes in her office, mentally telling herself that he's not going to be there. On her visits to Abby or Ducky, she expects to find him standing amused, listening to one of Abby's rambles or rolling his eyes affectionately as Ducky begins to recall a story from his past.
The pang when she finds the space next to her empty still shakes her. She's trying to find him everywhere and holds on to the traces of him in her life, unwilling to let go.
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When he does come back, he walks back in effortlessly. She is glad to have him back, but there are times she feels like screaming about how unaffected he seemed to be, utterly unaware by what he had left, who he had left.
She and Tony had to pick up the pieces, had to try and bring the team back together with their own hands. They hadn't failed, but they would never be Gibbs. They were carrying around their own hurt, but they couldn't afford to show it, not even to each other.
It had been so hard for so many days and that unspoken understanding they had with each other, the empathy they held toward the personal and occupational difficulties that Gibbs's absence had placed on them only brought them closer.
It had changed both of them. Tony, perhaps, for the better, her for worse, there was no doubt about that.
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Everything was different and it showed. Perhaps in her most of all.