Jenny stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at her reflection, hazy through the drying steam. All of life felt like it was in a fog right now. When Jethro had come into the bathroom, she truly had been somewhere else, though if asked she would not have been able to answer because she didn't know where she'd gone. It scared her, that she could get lost in her own mind. She hadn't even recognized her own voice when she'd spoken to her husband and vaguely wondered where those rude words came from. She knew he was only trying to help.
Standing in front of her closet, Jenny struggled with what to wear. Three days and still jeans were not comfortable yet. She took her time choosing an outfit, ending up with a high necked sweater and corduroy's. They were looser in the delicate area she was trying to keep pressure off. She wished she could stay in bare feet, but already they were cold, even standing on the carpet. She stepped barefoot into slippers, instead of choosing socks. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Jenny shut off the bedroom light and slowly took the stairs down to the first floor.
When she rounded the corner, she stopped suddenly, watching her husband as he sat at the table. In his hands he held a mug of what she assumed was coffee, but he was barely paying any attention to it. His whole posture spoke of a man who had been beaten and was trying to decide if he could get up and fight again. Her heart squeezed for a moment and she wanted so badly to care. But whatever the disconnect was, she felt like she was watching a scene from someone else's life or seeing something out of a movie as she moved into the room.
There was a full mug on the counter and she reached for it.
"Thought maybe you could use a cup," came the voice from the table.
"Oh, thanks," she said, swivelling her gaze to look at him. He looked so tired. How could she let him know that it wasn't his fault? That whatever was going on right now was something beyond her control? She didn't hate him, she didn't dislike him, she wasn't angry with him, nor in this moment was she even fearful of him. She was completely devoid of emotion but desperate to convey to him that she still cared.
Hesitantly, she reached out her hand and covered his briefly. "I'm going to look for a book to read," she said softly, carrying her coffee towards the library. Surely her touch would tell him something she couldn't. Not because she didn't want to, but because right now she simply couldn't.
Jenny was driving him crazy! Ever since she came down and got her coffee, Gibbs had been trying to figure her out. She was walking around like a zombie or a robot on autopilot. He could hear the difference in her voice, see it in the way she moved and how her eyes just looked blank with no emotion at all. She'd touched him, which surprised him, only to announce that she was going to read a book. Was it just him or did women make absolutely no sense at all?
He'd gone into the library several times in the past couple of hours to check on her. Did she want a refill? Was she hungry, could he make her something? Each of his inquiry's was answered with an absentminded, "Hmm? Oh, no thank you." Like she wasn't even aware of him. He'd stood at the door to the library and just watched her for awhile. She wasn't even reading the book she held. Her eyes would travel over a line or two, then go back to the top of the page as if she'd forgotten what she'd read and needed to start over. Then she would turn and stare at something unseen in the empty room, her gaze focused and her body still. She never noticed he was there.
Now it was coming up on dinner time and he wasn't sure if he should try to convince her to eat or leave her to her own devices. Gibbs settled for making soup, the packaged kind that could be made on the stove with a pot of water. When it reached the boiling point he removed it from the burner and turned the stove off. Pouring most of the soup into two large mugs, as he'd never been one for daintily sipping soup off a spoon, he carried the makeshift dinner into the library and set one of the mugs on the table beside Jenny, making a little noise as he did so.
Jenny jumped at the sound and he was glad to see her startled, glad to really see any reaction from her at all. "Oh Jethro," she looked from him to the mug, "what time is it?"
"Time to eat Jen," he said pointedly, making himself comfortable in a chair opposite her.
Jenny's reaction didn't last long and she was soon back to being zoned out. But Gibbs felt some small measure of satisfaction when he saw her reach for the mug and slowly sip it throughout the next half hour. At least she was getting something into her stomach.
The rest of the night was a strange time for them. Jenny pretended to be interested in reading her book and even when she was staring off into space she didn't seem to notice him. Gibbs spent some time drinking his soup and watching his wife. After awhile he grew restless and stood up to peruse the shelves of what had been Jenny's father's library. Along one of the rows Gibbs discovered an old book that had been one of his favourite when he was a young man. Smiling, as it had been years since he'd even thought about the novel, he carried to back to the chair he'd appropriated and settled in for a good long read.
Gibbs caught himself yawning and twisted his wrist to check the time. A little past eight. Jenny appeared to be dozing on the couch, the book the had been in her hand now resting, open, on the floor beside the couch. Over the last couple of hours he had made decent headway into his novel. He wasn't used to this much reading time though and he was itching to be doing something else. He wished they were at his house tonight so he could go down to the basement and spend some quality time working on his boat. He just liked working with his hands.
Setting the book aside he picked up his mug and Jenny's and took them back to the kitchen. He spent a little time washing the few dishes in the sink and then he seriously considered heading for bed. When he came into the library again to get Jen for bed, he saw that she was stretched out on the couch and no longer dozing but now deeply asleep. So now he had two options. Option one - wake her up and hope she would be in a decent mood and be able to get back to sleep upstairs in their bed. Or option two - leave her on the couch to get a good night's sleep and hope that tomorrow they would be able to talk.
It didn't take much to decide. There was a blanket draped over the back of the couch and Gibbs unfolded it and pulled it up around Jenny's shoulders. He left one lamp on in the library and left the hall light on as well. If she woke up he didn't want her to freak out because it was too dark. He lightly brushed her forehead with his lips.
"Good night Jen," he whispered, backing away when she stirred. "I love you."
Wearily he climbed the stairs to the bedroom and went through the familiar process to ready himself for bed. He stood in the shadows and looked at the bed they normally shared. It just wouldn't be the same without Jen in it. He put on pyjamas, pulled back the covers and got in. The bed was empty and cold and the mattress was somehow different. It was much better when she was on the other side to balance it out.
Gibbs sighed, thinking of his wife downstairs. There had to be something else he could do to help her. He was fast figuring out that words were not going to be enough because half the time Jenny just wasn't hearing him. What else could he do to get through to her? He mulled it over in his mind, going back through moments from the years he'd known Jenny, looking for a clue, anything that would help him get through to her.
Suddenly it hit him. Flowers! Jenny's mom, Olivia Sheppard, had a deep love of flowers when she was alive. She had spent a great deal of time teaching her young daughter all about the different types of flowers and their meanings. "Flowers are more than just bright colours and beautiful blossoms," Olivia used to say. "They can be used to tell stories and pass messages. Once you learn the language of flowers, the possibilities are endless." Jenny was twelve when her mother died but she'd never forgotten those lessons and one time in Paris, she had told Gibbs all about her mom. So maybe if words could not penetrate the fog, the language of flowers could. Tomorrow he was going to get McGee to do some research for him, on flowers.
A/N: Hey all. I know the story is going a little bit slow right now but I promise there is a point! I never expected it to be this long when I started, but some stories just take on a life of their own and this is one such case. Please let me know what you think of the story so far! I love any and all reviews! Thanks!