A/N: This storyline is supposed to follow the events of Judgment Day Parts 1 & 2, but with alterations to fit the Jibbs requirement of Jibbsfest. I apologize in advance if anything is off (especially exact dialogue); I haven't seen this episode since it aired and wrote this entire fic based on what little I remember.
Last Judgment
by OrphanActress818
"Agent Gibbs!"
Gibbs turned, coffee cup in hand, to face the familiar voice that called down to him from the catwalk above. It was a voice that had, all too many times, tried and failed to keep him out of the lovely Director Shepard's office.
Sure enough, Cynthia stood in front of said office, her hands braced lightly on the railing of the landing. Gibbs nodded to her in acknowledgement before spinning sharply on his heel and striding quickly toward the stairs. By bounding up them two at a time, it took him mere seconds to reach her side.
He then proceeded to blink at her and sip his lukewarm coffee, content to let his boss' efficient assistant do all the talking.
Cynthia, for her part, didn't miss a beat. She'd been at NCIS long enough to understand that when Gibbs didn't want to talk (usually anytime before he'd ingested his second cup of his favorite Starbucks brew), it would take a very, very large crowbar to pry anything resembling words from him. So, before he had even completely stopped beside her, she had her mouth open and her hands gesturing.
"The Director wishes to see you in her office," she explained quickly, then added for his benefit, "She didn't say anything about why."
Gibbs gave her an almost imperceptible smile before brushing past her and through the door to the lioness's den without so much as a knock.
Watching him breeze through office protocol as if it didn't exist brought a grin to Cynthia's face. Though she would never, ever tell anyone if her life depended on it, it was this blatant rule breaking that made her days normal. Whenever she saw agents cowering, or The Team responding to orders before they had even been issued, or the Director herself shaking her head while trying to keep a smile off of her face, it was as if the world was right.
'He's like the overly sticky, horribly annoying, gets-on-your-hands-no-matter-how-careful-you-are glue that holds this place together,' she mused, before shaking the thought away and heading to her desk and another busy workday.
oOo
NCIS Director Jenny Shepard looked up calmly as the door to her office was opened with a bang. She knew who it was before her eyes and brain had had a chance to coordinate the face she saw; only one person could ever make that dramatic of an entrance without even trying.
Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
"Good morning," she greeted, nodding at him.
"Mornin'," he replied, giving her a watered down version of the famous Gibbs stare that indicated he was not at all happy about being called up to her office before even reaching his own desk. "Wanted to see me 'bout something?"
"As a matter of fact," Jenny said briskly, "I did."
She stood up and rounded her desk, coming to a halt just enough in front of it—closer to her agent than before but still far enough away to tell him she would respect his personal space.
"William Decker," she informed him, saying the name slowly with slightly lowered eyes.
"What about him?" Clearly Gibbs was not about to make this easy on her.
"He passed away two days ago at his home in Los Angeles," she said with a hint of true sadness. Then she smiled wryly and shook her head. Her eyes came up to meet Gibbs' with a hint of a spark in them. "Correction. In his pool, at his mansion in LA. Doctors ruled it as a heart attack."
A small chuckle worked its way up the Special Agent's throat. "'Atta boy, Decker."
Jenny's grin grew just a tiny bit wider. "Well, funeral's tomorrow morning at 10:00. I'm attending. I'll need backup and I figured you'd want to go too, so let's just kill two birds with one stone on this one."
"Fine by me," Gibbs shrugged, gesturing the hand holding his coffee in an arc, "That all?"
"Yes, Agent Gibbs, that's all. I'll have Melvin drop by your house on the way to the airport. Flight leaves at 5:00 AM."
"No need," Gibbs told her, already moving toward the door, "I'll meet you there."
Jenny didn't even have a chance to reply before her door was slammed firmly shut.
"Typical," she snorted before resettling herself in her chair and slipping her glasses firmly into place.
oOo
At 4:41 the next morning, Jenny strode into the terminal the flight to LA would be leaving from flanked by a bodyguard on either side. Watching her from the hard plastic chair he'd been sitting on for the past twenty minutes, Gibbs couldn't help but note that the redhead looked completely in her element. She moved quickly despite the hindrance of the 3-inch heels she was wearing and the heavy-looking bag slung over one shoulder; in fact, it was those two things (plus the bodyguards and the easy way she sipped from the cup of coffee in one hand while texting away at her Blackberry with the other) that set her apart from the civilians that surrounded her.
She slipped the phone into her bag just as she reached him. Out of courtesy, he stood. Their eyes locked.
"Good morning, Jethro," she said politely.
"Mornin' Jen," he answered, then nodded at the two men behind her. As if just noticing them, Jenny turned around.
"I'll be just fine from here," she told them, her voice light but with an undercurrent of steel, "Agent Gibbs can take charge of my security from now until I return from Los Angeles."
"But, ma'am—" one of the guards began. He didn't get any further before a glare from Jenny silenced him. Without another word, the two nodded and retreated back the way they had come.
Gibbs sat back down, this time with Jenny in the chair beside him. They sat in silence for a few minutes, each sipping at their favorite morning beverage. Finally, Jenny turned slightly in her chair and opened her mouth, but just as she did, her phone rang. Immediately, she reached for it, turning so that she once again faced straight ahead.
"Hello, Cynthia. Yes. No, I did not tell him he could…"
Gibbs tuned out the rest of her conversation, choosing instead to lean back and admire the speed at which she slipped back into administrative mode.
And the way the neckline of her top gaped as she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she talked.
Just then, a robotic female voice announced it was boarding time. As Jenny was still talking, Gibbs tapped her on the elbow and waited for her to rise before walking beside her all the way from the terminal to their seats, his hand hovering just above the small of her back the whole time—not touching, but close enough for both of them to be aware that it was there.
oOo
The funeral wasn't exactly a large affair, but there were enough people there that it could be called one. Gibbs and Jenny stood quietly at the back, letting those who had been in better contact with Decker over the past ten years have their chance to grieve.
Altogether, the whole thing ended up taking a little over an hour. People dispersed rapidly as soon as the body was in the ground, people, the two NCIS employees noticed, that seemed to be mainly neighbors and acquaintances they weren't familiar with.
'In fact,' Jenny mused as she scanned some of the names before her own after she finished signing the guestbook, 'there really isn't anyone here that Jethro or I know.'
"Done yet," Gibbs murmured in her ear. Jenny jumped slightly. God, why did he insist on standing right behind her?
"Yeah," she said, handing him the pen, then stepping off to the side.
It was then that she saw him. A tall man with strong Russian features walking up to the table where the guestbook lay. He hadn't attended the funeral, but that wasn't such an unusual occurrence. In fact, neither Jenny nor Gibbs would have paid any more attention to him had it not been for the words he uttered.
"Excuse me," he said, motioning to the man sitting behind the table, "Do you know if there is a Mr. Oshimida on that list?"
Both froze mid stride. They glanced at each other briefly before smoothly slipping back into their roles as partners. Gibbs turned around, blocking Jenny's body with his own while simultaneously getting a good look at the man as he spun on his heel and headed back to his car. Jenny, meanwhile, reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. Placing it beside Gibbs' elbow, she snapped as many shots of the man as she could, making sure to catch the license plate on the car he stepped into before it sped away.
"Did you get him?" Gibbs asked quietly once the car had peeled away and they had resumed walking again.
Jenny scrolled through the pictures she had taken and swore under her breath. "Damnit. I didn't get his face."
"Plates?" Gibbs questioned as he opened his car door.
"About half of it," Jenny replied, still scrolled absentmindedly even as she sat down and buckled her seat belt.
"Send all of 'em to Abby," Gibbs instructed, swerving their rental onto the street in a move that almost caused it to flip over. Jenny barely noticed.
"Should I tell her anything?"
"Just say that I've got a gut feeling," her partner-once-more replied. "She won't question it."
"Sent," Jenny announced after a moment, storing her phone in her bag once more. She cringed slightly as she noticed just how fast they were weaving in and out of the cars of the freeway they were heading down, but said nothing.
After a moment, Gibbs said with assurance, "Decker would've known."
Jenny nodded her head once. "This heart attack isn't starting to look like a heart attack anymore."
"Sure isn't," Gibbs agreed, then glanced at her for a brief second before once again training his eyes on the road, "But what I want to know is how the hell whoever that was knows about 'oshimida'."
"I think that's one question we'd both like answered, Jethro," the redhead stated firmly, turning her head just a fraction toward the window so that he wouldn't see her right eye twitch.
oOo
Gibbs parked smack in the middle of Decker's driveway with a heart-stopping screech of brakes. The house was impressive, though not the mansion Jenny had joked about it being, and utterly still.
Moving quickly, the two made their way through the lock on the door and the security system—Gibbs picking the lock the old fashioned way and Jenny using her recently discovered tech skills to disable security. From there it took them about five seconds to find Decker's laptop.
"He had to have left something," Jenny muttered under her breath.
Just then a small scraping noise came from the closet. Two heads snapped up simultaneously before two bodies crept carefully to the closet door.
Gibbs opened it to reveal a small, platinum blond woman curled up in a corner, blinking owlishly up at them with big blue eyes watery with tears. They watched as she visibly curled into herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and shrinking further away from them.
"Please d-don't…" she sobbed.
"We're not going to hurt you," Jenny said soothingly, crouching down next to the woman. "We're some old friends. We were at the funeral earlier."
The blond head bobbed slightly. "I remember you," she choked out. Then she stood and wiped the tears from her face.
"Why are you here?" she asked, eyes darting between Gibbs and Jenny.
This time it was Gibbs who answered. "We believe William didn't die of a heart attack," he said slowly.
The woman surprised them both by nodding. "Me neither. I'm his girlfriend, Sasha," she told them, "and Will was perfectly healthy. I really don't believe he could just…get in the pool one day and…"
"We know," Jenny sympathized, "It's hard. But we really need your help. If we're going to find whoever did this, we need you to remember if William said anything to you—anything at all that might have seemed strange."
"William never said anything specific," Sasha told them, her voice gaining composure as she talked, "He just said that if anything were to happen to him, I was to deliver a message."
Unbeknownst to each other, both Jenny and Gibbs quirked up an eyebrow at the exact same time.
"To whom?" Jenny inquired.
Instead of answering, Sasha stepped around them and headed for the bookshelf. Pulling a thick volume from the top shelf, she flipped through it until she found what she was looking for. She turned back and handed a card to Gibbs.
He immediately read aloud the name written on it in Decker's once-familiar handwriting.
"Jenny Shepard, Director of NCIS." Once again, the eyebrows went up.
Sasha didn't miss the look. "You know her?"
Gibbs glanced at Jenny before replying. "Unfortunately."
"She's an old friend, too," Jenny added, giving Gibbs a glare that would have made a lesser man fear for his life. Gibbs merely hid his smirk by looking down at the card once more. Under Jenny's name is an address and, taped under that, a key.
He held up the card. "What's the key for?"
"William bought a diner 'bout a month ago," Sasha explained when she saw the key, "He was going to fix it up but never got around to it. He said he left an insurance policy there for this Jenny person."
"Well, we'll make sure she gets it as soon as we get back to DC," Gibbs told her, nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Jenny, however, wasn't fooled. She knew that behind the face showed only perfect sympathy, there was a mind working at twice its normal speed to somehow try and piece this whole mess together.
"Sasha," Jenny said, touching the blond's arm gently, "Do you have any family, anyone you can go to?"
"My parents," Sasha replied.
"Here." Jenny fished the keys to the rental car parked haphazardly in the driveway, "Take this. It'll be safer. Head to your parents and stay for a couple of weeks until this is all cleared up."
"Thank you," Sasha whispered, eyes wide with gratitude. She grabbed the keys and, not even bothering to pack a suitcase, headed out the door without a backward glance.
Left standing alone in the eerie quiet of the deserted living room, Jenny and Gibbs had no other option but to talk.
"Why didn't you just tell her who you were?" Gibbs asked, searching her face with eyes that seemed to demand the truth.
"To keep her safe," Jenny replied simply, moving past him to the garage. They would take Decker's car. "The less she knows, the better."
"Well, that all depends," Gibbs shot back, "on how you think this is going to go down."
Jenny stopped mid-stride and turned to look back at him.
"Just the way you like it," she said with a little smile, "No paperwork."
oOo
McGee entered Abby's lab to find her spinning her chair from side to side while chewing on her bottom lip and scowling at her monitor.
"Hey, Abby," he called, heading toward her armed with Caf-Pow.
"Hi, McGee," she said somewhat dully.
"Watcha lookin' at?" McGee asked, glancing at her screen to see what had her so depressed.
"Oh!" Abby shot straight up in her chair and covered the screen with both hands. "I'm not supposed to tell you McGee!"
"Says who?"
"The Director," Abby replied primly, "She sent me some stuff that she said she and Gibbs wanted me to look at."
"Uh-huh. And now you're having trouble with it," McGee said, trying to pry information out of her as discreetly as possibly.
"Yeah," Abby huffed, "She didn't get a pic of his fa— Hey! You're trying to get me to talk! Well it ain't happening, Mister!"
She poked him in the chest, "It's secret."
"Did the Director tell you to keep it secret?"
"Well, not exactly… But I'm going to anyway!"
"Abby," McGee said, finally resorting to drastic measures. "You know, if the Director didn't tell you specifically to keep it secret, then maybe it's nothing. I could help you. And…" he paused dramatically, "I have Caf-Pow."
He brandished the drink high above his head. Abby looked about ready to weep.
"McGee! You can't do this to me. You can't force me to make decisions like this!"
"Abbs, c'mon. You know I can help." McGee was practically pleading. His curiosity had definitely gotten the better of him.
"Oh fine!" Abby pouted, but she moved her hands and grabbed the Caf-Pow, gulping it down eagerly.
"Is this it?" McGee said as he viewed the images Jenny had sent to the scientist.
"Uh-huh," Abby nodded, "That's all. She just wants me to identify the guy and the driver, but she didn't get a face shot of either of them and I've tried everything, but I just don't know what to do!"
She took a single deep breath before slurping down some more Caf-Pow.
"Hmm…okay." McGee drummed his fingers on the table, staring at the photos thoughtfully.
"Hey!" he exclaimed, "I've got it!"
"Got what, McGee?"
"This guy's on a cell phone," McGee said, pointing at the man walking to the car, "If I can get a record of all the calls made in the area at the time this picture was taken, we've got a name."
"McGee," Abby told him reverently, "You are a genius."
Then she reached out and punched his shoulder. "Why didn't I think of that?!"
oOo
About an hour later, Jenny and Gibbs pulled up in front of the remains of a very old, very rundown diner armed with federal issue handguns and knowledge of Viggo Drantyev, a man who appeared out of thin air three days ago and disappeared into that very same air that morning.
Of course, the unveiling of such information had resulted in another Caf-Pow for Abby—to be put on Gibbs' tab, of course.
"Sure picked one hell of a place," Gibbs said lightly as he opened the door.
"That he did," Jenny replied, looking around. "Now, were would he hide that insurance policy?"
The two searched the entire diner, craning their necks to get a look under each table and chair and even opening up the old-fashioned pot-bellied stove in one corner and peering around.
Finally, Jenny threw her hands up in frustration. "There's got to be something! Photos, numbers…"
"Well, there a lot of photos," Gibbs pointed out.
"Yeah, but—" the redhead stopped midsentence and went over to get a closer look at the pictures hung up on the wall. With a start, she realized that she recognized them.
"Jethro," she called, "Come look at these."
Gibbs walked over to stand by her side. "I remember these."
"He used the code," Jenny murmured, so low that Gibbs barely heard her.
"The dates?"
"They're wrong," she announced. Quickly she pulled a scrap of paper and a pen from her bag and wrote down every set of numbers she could see, moving from picture to picture quickly.
"All right," she said once she was done.
Gibbs nodded once. "And now we wait."
For several minutes, all that could be heard was the screeching of the old windmill outside as the lazy wind passed through; neither Gibbs nor Jenny said a word, preferring to sit in silence with their guns resting on their bent knees.
Suddenly, Gibbs chuckled softly.
"What?" Jenny inquired, her mouth automatically quirking up in response to his laughter.
"Remind you of someplace, Jen?"
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before answering. "Not really."
"Marseilles," he said. "This is just like it."
"No, it's not," Jenny replied, not looking at him.
"Yes, it is, Jenny," he repeated.
"Jethro…" she paused for a moment, as if not quite sure how to continue. "This is different. We were…partners then. That was a mission. I don't know what the hell this is."
She finally looked up to meet his steely blue gaze. His eyes were unwavering as he spoke.
"What changed, Jen?"
"I-I…I really don't know," Jenny admitted, "But it's the past and I'd rather not talk about it."
"Jenny," Gibbs said, "If now's not the time, then when is?"
She didn't answer so he continued.
"And, yes, this is like Marseilles, because I need to be able to trust you like I did back then. You can't keep hiding things, Jen. This may not be a real mission but something could happen and we could die in this hole."
"I know." Jenny's response was quiet but firm. "I know we could die. I know I haven't told you a lot of things. But I will always have your six, Jethro."
He stared at her, her cheeks tinged slightly pink and her eyes nearly crackling with the vehemence she'd put into her statement. After a moment, he nodded.
"That's all I needed to hear."
And so they spent the remaining wait in silence, each reminiscing on better times, better days, when the idea of true partnership came so easily to both of them.
oOo
The next morning found the entire team, plus Abby and Ducky, eagerly awaiting the return of The Boss. The five coworkers exchanged light, easy banter even as they all strained to be the first to hear the tell-tale ding of the elevator.
Finally, that ding came.
"He's here!" Abby cried, leaping up from her perch on McGee's desk and running for the elevator.
"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs…oh. Director…"
"Hello, Abby," Jenny replied, choosing to reply only to Abby's words and not her questioning stare. She already knew she looked horrible, but after the events of the previous afternoon and the handing off of the "investigation" to Leon Vance (who had assured her he would follow any orders she gave him), she had only just managed to arrive back. It certainly helped to have friends in high places—one call had secured a private jet to DC, something that was definitely easier than attempting to find a last minute ticket. Of course, she wasn't sure any airline would let her board a plane dressed as she was.
She was still wearing the light blue shirt and pale jeans she'd worn the day before, though the original color of either garment was questionable as they were both, along with her shoes, stained with red.
"Jennifer?" Ducky questioned, coming up beside her and resting a hand on her shoulder, "You look a fright. And where, may I ask, is Jethro?"
Jenny felt a lump rising in her throat as she looked at all the faces before her. Each was so different, yet so familiar… Right now, however, they all had one thing in common—each was drained of all color and washed over with a mixture of premature grief, worry, regret, anger, and more sorrow than any of them should ever have had to experience.
'And,' Jenny thought, 'It's all my fault.'
With that, the dam that had been holding back all of her tears since the moment she realized that, no matter how hard she tried, his heart would never beat again, broke and she leaned against Ducky and cried.
oOo
Leroy Jethro Gibbs died a hero, Jenny made sure of that. He'd been protecting not only his country, but her as well, when he fell. And, though she had been offered a plot in Arlington Cemetery to bury his body in, she declined. He belonged by the two people he'd loved the most.
It was almost unfair that his funeral was on what would probably be the most beautiful day that summer. The sun was big and bright overhead, shining down cheerfully on the solemn procession before it.
So many people had come to pay their final respects to the man that taken the world by storm. It was amazing to Jenny the sheer number of lives he touched, the number of people who'd loved, honored, and admired him. Tears flowed freely among those people as they remembered the one man they'd thought would always be there.
Everyone except Jenny. She sat in the front row next to a somber Ducky, in an elegant black dress that a certain blue-eyed man had once said was nice, and remained dry-eyed throughout the entire proceedings. Oh yes, she was mourning just as much as the rest, but she'd cried her tears and there was no more room for more. She didn't deserve to keep grieving because it was her fault he was in that coffin in the first place. He'd died for her, even though it was she who was supposed to have his six. And, for that, she would always hate herself.
As everyone moved to leave, she stood and walked forward. She passed Gibbs' newly dug grave and stopped before the all-too-old ones of Shannon and Kelly. The graves looked well-cared for, and a small American flag was stuck in the ground between them.
Standing before them, she bowed her head and whispered, "I don't know whether Jethro told you that he thinks apologies are a sign of weakness, but that's what he taught me. Well, if that's what they are, then I'm so, so sorry. I should have seen it, moved faster…anything really. Then maybe…maybe he would still be here. But I guess that's me being selfish. I regret leaving him all those years ago and I regret never telling him what he wanted to know in that godforsaken diner. All I can hope now is that he's with you now, and that you're all happier than you've ever been. Just p-please make sure he rests in peace."
oOo
That night, Jenny sat restlessly at her desk, a sheet of paper with two words written on it in front of her and a pen in one hand. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get beyond 'Dear Jethro' before she ran out of things to say.
Suddenly, she heard a noise. It sounded enough like a footstep to have her instantly look up and find herself staring at a blond Russian woman with a gun aimed directly between her eyes standing in the doorway to her study.
"Good evening, Jenny," the woman greeted calmly in heavily accented English.
"Hello, Svetlana," Jenny replied, her voice just as calm. Nothing betrayed her fear, for she had no fear. She had a plan.
Within a second the gun that had been sitting on her desk (within easy reach for her but impossible to see to anyone standing in the doorway as it was blocked from view by a rather large pencil holder) was in her hand.
Within another second, two shots rang out.