Stillwater High

by madame.alexandra

In this very au story, Jenny is the girl Gibbs meets in high school - his first love, until some unexpected teenage mistakes change their lives, and the paths they take, forever. Jibbs, 1st part of a 4 part series.

5. Over When It's Over

a/n: and so here it is: the last chapter of the first part.

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Parris Island, South Carolina / Stillwater, Pennsylvania: 1987

Over When It's Over

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Once it was all said and done, recruiter talked to, physical tests passed, forms signed – after all the hurry-up-and-wait involved in the military enlistment process – Gibbs left for boot camp in January, four months after his mother's death, two months after Natalie's second birthday, and on the very first day of nineteen eighty-seven. The Marine Corps' east coast training depot was twelve hours from Stillwater, and in the three months he would be gone to be broken down and built back up, Jenny was only allowed to contact him in writing.

No phone calls, no care packages – just letters. She didn't mind writing – so she wrote, when she had time. When she didn't, she placed a quiet note from herself in the envelope, a reassurance that she loved him and missed him, and folded up whatever drawings Natalie had done that week to send along.

She hoped he liked that she was doing that, and it didn't embarrass him or anything – not that she'd ever imagine Gibbs to be embarrassed by Natalie. Despite his desperation to hightail it out of Stillwater, he'd been genuinely sorry he'd miss anything Natalie did – and she was sorry, too, though she tried not to let it be bitterness.

She didn't think he had it any easier at boot camp – she didn't want to be at boot camp herself – but the bottom line was that she was still here, working a job that barely let her save anything, enduring the looks that still hadn't faded – and they were coupled with pity now, because everyone quietly seemed to assume Gibbs had abandoned her – and dealing with the fact that she was in some kind of – limbo.

She was eighteen years old, nineteen in May, technically done with school – once she got her equivalency, since she'd missed out on her summer chance to solidify her diploma – mother of a two-year-old, and part of a long distance relationship that had an uncertain trajectory.

Back in January, most of Stillwater's youth had gone back to the various colleges they'd started at in August and September, and she watched them go, unable to shake the feeling that she should be there. It was especially hard to watch her best friend, Alison Flynn, go off to Rutgers University with a happy-go-lucky smile on her face.

Instead of classes and campus activities and internships, Jenny was working whenever she could, whenever she was needed; sometimes at the public library, but mostly at Deborah Henry's dress shop.

On this particular early March afternoon, she was steaming the wrinkles out of some sophomore's prom dress a few moments before five, keeping one eye on the machine and one eye on Natalie as she played with an etch-a-sketch in an arm chair.

"Mommy," Natalie said, turning the tablet around. "Turtle," she said, in babyish pronunciation.

The picture she showed Jenny looked absolutely nothing like a turtle, but Jenny smiled.

"Wow, Bug!" she exclaimed. "You're a regular Vincent Van Gogh!"

"Go-go," Natalie giggled smugly.

"Mmm-hmm," Jenny crooned.

"To Daddy," Natalie said.

"You'll have to draw it on paper when we get home," Jenny said. "Remember? We can only send Daddy paper things. Letters and drawings."

Natalie turned her toy back around and then shook it, laughing as the picture disappeared. Jenny smiled, and looked back at the dress – it seemed like all of the wrinkles were sorted, and she'd definitely done a fair job of repairing the rip that had magically appeared in it. The owner claimed a cat had gotten into the closet, but it looked to Jenny like someone had been playing in it in a little pre-Prom fashion show, and stepped on the hem, creating a rip near the waist.

Regardless, now Jenny was skilled enough to repair a simple thing such as that.

"Jennifer, you can go."

Walking in from the back with a basket full of things, Deborah Henry blithely dismissed the employee she'd been gently persuaded to hire by Chief Shepard – though she'd ended up liking Jenny very much.

"Here's your paycheck," Debora said. "Ah – and, Jessica told me you made some unsolicited suggestions for that Fielding girl's party dress, and she intended to put you down, but Melissa Fielding was very satisfied, and that woman can be trying – so I added a bonus onto your pay," she explained, handing Jenny an envelope. "It isn't much, but – "

"Thank you, Debbie," Jenny said, meeting her eyes with relief. "It means a lot. Thank you," she said again, all sincerity.

Deborah beamed, and shrugged, turning to her basket.

"Why isn't Melissa doing her niece's dress, though?" Jenny ventured. Melissa Fielding owned the other dress shop in Stillwater – her niece, Shannon, lived two towns over with parents who were about as oil rich as you could be in Pennsylvania, but she'd elected to go to Stillwater High for her last year due to something or other at her old high school.

"Joann Fielding – that's Melissa's sister – is very strict about family and business. She pays a fortune, though," Deborah laughed. She handed Jenny a folded up bunch of fabric. "This is left over from what the Harts ordered. I thought you might like to make Natalie some clothes."

Jenny held the fabric, caught off guard for a moment, and then smiled, clutching it tightly. She tilted her head at Deborah.

"You don't have to do this," she said quietly.

"Why would I waste it?" Deborah asked matter-of-factly. She considered Jenny a moment, and then lifted her basket onto her hip. "I had my doubts about hiring you, Jennifer, you know that. Especially when your father practically forced you on me, and you hadn't sewed a gosh darn stitch in your life. But you work hard and you're not entitled. Besides," she said, shooting an adoring look at Natalie, "I don't like seeing that precious baby in frayed dresses. Now go on home."

Deborah nodded firmly, and headed into the back to start closing up shop. Jenny held the fabric to her chest for a moment, and then turned with a grateful smile, tucking it into her backpack.

"You ready, Bug?" she asked. Natalie climbed out of her chair and toddled over, tucking her etch-a-sketch under her arm. She reached up and grasped at thin air, expecting to be carried. "Nooo," Jenny drawled. "Walking is good for you, and Mommy's hands are full."

"Stroll," Natalie growled, glaring.

"I didn't bring the stroller," Jenny responded. "I carried you to work. You were asleep."

Natalie pouted, but wound her hand into Jenny's free one and acquiesced to walking. It was a nice day, and Natalie didn't need to be carried everywhere anymore, anyway.

"That fabric is enough for three dresses, Natalie," Jenny said brightly, leading her slowly down the Stillwater sidewalks. "And so close to summer – maybe I'll learn to make a romper. I think there were some patterns for one in Grammy Ann's things," she said.

Her throat still tightened when she thought of Ann – Gibbs' mother had ensured that all of her feminine things – sewing patterns, costume jewelry, mementos – had gone to Natalie by way of Jenny, and for that Jenny was grateful. She'd never have imagined that one day she'd be perfectly capable of sewing children's clothing from old patterns, but her job had taught her a lot, and the needle scars on her fingers – now callouses – spoke to how much more feasible it was at the moment for her to make things for Natalie rather than buy them.

"And, since I won't have to buy you a dress, that means new shoes, and maybe a pretty little hat for Daddy's graduation, "Jenny went on. She looked down at Natalie with raised brows. "Would you like that?"

"Yeah," Natalie said, skipping along.

"Yeah," Jenny agreed confidently.

Gibbs had two more weeks of basic training, and then it was Family Day and graduation – and then he'd be back. She was especially glad for the unexpected bonus from Deborah, because it meant she didn't have to ask her mother for money to buy a ticket. She was planning on making the trek to South Carolina to see the big day, and her father – after a rather large argument – had refused to pay for the ticket unless she left Natalie with him.

It wasn't that he didn't want Jenny to go, or that he wanted to deprive Gibbs, he said, it was that Jenny had never travelled alone before in her life, at least not more than a three hour drive, and he was nervous about an eighteen-year-old on a twelve hour trip with a two-year-old. It frustrated her to no end – at what point was he going to completely start letting her take care of her daughter how she wanted to, like an adult? – but she'd resolved to ask her mother in spite of her father, and now she could do it on her own.

"You're lucky you make people love you, Natalie," Jenny sighed quietly, looking down at her daughter's head.

She had no doubt half of the reason Deborah Henry had warmed to her was because Debbie loved Natalie – just like the ladies at the library loved Natalie, and the teachers loved Natalie, and the Church biddies loved Natalie. They all wanted to cuddle her and take pity on her, even if most of them were still unfairly cold to Jenny – while calling Gibbs a young hero, for serving his country – and Jenny had decided that as long as they were respectful to Natalie, she'd put up with their attitudes. It was any moment that someone was hurtful towards her daughter that set Jenny off.

"You never did anything wrong," Jenny would tell her fiercely, if Natalie looked upset, or confused. "You were born, and I love you more than anything."

It could have been worse, she supposed – her father could have kicked her out, Gibbs could have left her, run away, shirked his responsibilities. She got angry sometimes, because he was gone, and he didn't have to worry about Natalie every single day, and do this alone, but she reminded herself that he was doing what he thought was best – he wasn't abandoning her.

She worked, and she studied for her high school equivalency – she studied hard – and she read Natalie books, and kept her entertained, and tried to take care of her, and she – survived, in this odd limbo, while Gibbs was gone; she kept Natalie's relationship with Jackson Gibbs intact, she wrote letters, she saved what she could, she tried to make plans – but she felt like she wasn't doing anything. She felt lost; sometimes she felt impossibly alone – she wasn't a kid, she wasn't a teenager, but she didn't feel grown.

With every passing day, she still didn't feel like she knew what she was doing; when she got used to having an infant, Natalie was one. When she got used to that, Natalie was walking and talking. She wondered what it would be like to have a preschooler, and then she almost burst into tears, so unsure of where she'd even be when Natalie was a preschooler.

She had the sinking feeling that if she was in Stillwater when Natalie started school, she'd end up trapped forever.

"Home," Natalie piped up, bouncing forward. She loosened her hand from Jenny's and darted towards the house at the end of the street.

"Chief!" she squealed, running up the lawn.

Her grandfather appeared, opening the screen door; he was in uniform, preparing to go in for a night shift, and he had the corded phone in his hand.

"Slow down, baby," Jasper yelled gently. "Natalie – " he called.

She fell – predictably – and Jenny rolled her eyes.

"Don't make a big deal about it, Dad," Jenny warned.

Looking torn, the Chief still held the phone on the porch.

"Come get this phone, I'll get her," he said.

"She can get up on her own – Natalie, did you scrape your knee? It's okay, honey, walk it off. We'll fix it up inside," she soothed. The little girl was already scrambling up. Jenny glanced to the porch as she stopped behind her daughter. "Who is it?"

"Your mom."

Jenny dropped her backpack.

"Finally," she muttered. She'd been playing phone tag all week, although now it was kind of a moot point.

She crouched down to double check that Natalie really was fine, and then left her backpack and jogged up to grab the phone. Her father wandered out, and she rolled her eyes when she saw him picking up Natalie, anyway.

"Hi, Mom," Jenny said, a little out of breath.

"Jennifer," Melanie Shepard trilled, her voice as carefree as ever. "I'm sorry, darling, life's been a bit wild lately – how are you?"

"I'm well," Jenny answered, holding the door open as her father brought Natalie, and Jenny's backpack, in the house. She shut the screen door and strolled back towards the kitchen, twisting the line around her finger.

Her father examined Natalie, and determined she didn't even need a Band-Aid. Jenny watched him play with her a moment, before letting her toddle around and getting his things together for work.

"I put a check in the mail for Princess Natalie," Melanie said warmly – Jenny could imagine her congratulating herself for what a generous and wonderful grandmother she was. "It might be late, but she won't know I missed her birthday."

Jenny laughed.

"Mom, her birthday is in November – and you did send her something," she snorted, shaking her head.

Jasper grunted, rolled his eyes in annoyance, and then gave Jenny a small wave and pointed, indicating he was heading out. He had little patience for his ex-wife's scattered brain.

"Well then," Melanie said brightly, "a little more money never hurt anyone! When are you coming to visit this summer, darling?"

Jenny hesitated.

"I know you're eighteen," Melanie said, "but I did miss you last year – Natalie too, I do love seeing her, and she must be much more interesting these days," Jenny's mother laughed. "Is that why you were calling? You know, I'm going to Honolulu for three weeks in June – but other than that – "

"Mom, slow down," Jenny murmured. She chewed on her lip. She hadn't seen her mother last year – she'd stayed in Stillwater while Ann was battling cancer, and she had sorely missed the carefree, less-stressful weeks in California. Part of her dearly wanted to go out there while Gibbs was gone, but she just – didn't think she could right now. "I don't think I'll make it," she said.

"Jennifer," Melanie sighed. "I can fly you out here – you tell your father to get over himself, it's not spoiling you if I want to see my own daughter –"

"No," Jenny agreed, "but I can't take off work – Jethro isn't working two jobs anymore, he's barely scraping his child support together with basic training pay," she said. "Me being eighteen is the issue – Dad doesn't have to support me, and he thinks I'm being frivolous, he'll cut me off so fast – "

"More than he already does?"

"Mom, he's gotten better," Jenny sighed. "He babysits now. He helps. I think he's a little pissed Jethro left me here," she added, laughing dryly.

"Oh, it won't be so bad when you marry him," Melanie laughed. "Traveling is fun – and I'm sure your man looks good in uniform."

Jenny smiled a little, and shrugged to herself.

"Anyway," she said. "He graduates basic in two weeks, and then – "

"Then you'll come visit me while he's at his next round."

Jenny's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Well, he'll have to be trained in his MOS," Melanie said logically. "I'll talk to your father, Jennifer. I'm very – "

"Mom, he hasn't said he's going anywhere after basic," she interrupted. "What are you talking about?"

"Your father had to go to specialized training after that."

"Jethro is a Marine, not a soldier."

"I don't see why it would be any different."

Jenny frowned.

"He said he was coming home," she mumbled uncertainly.

He had said – he said he was coming back with her to Stillwater, after graduation. She wasn't sure – well, to an extent that didn't make sense. She supposed he'd have to get assigned somewhere. She just hadn't thought about it – the one thing she wasn't thinking about, she should be. She chewed on her lip, and glanced around.

Natalie was gone.

"Shit – Mom, hold on."

Jenny dropped the phone, letting it dangle, and dashed from the kitchen.

"Natalie?" she called.

Dammit, if her father had been here – how could she forget to watch Natalie? It happened sometimes, she'd get so absorbed in something she suddenly was startled to remember she had a child. Naturally, it happened less and less and less these days, but it happened.

Natalie was in her room playing with blocks, and Jenny put a hand to her chest. The little girl looked wary, and Jenny reached out and picked her up, taking her back to the kitchen.

"Not your fault, Bug," she said tiredly, reaching for the phone. "Mommy's fault – you're a good girl, playing quietly while Mommy's on the phone."

"Daddy?" Natalie asked.

Jenny shook her head.

"Two more weeks," she whispered. "Mom?"

Melanie was laughing.

"Did she escape from you? The little darling," she drawled. "Jennifer, you figure out what you need to – you know, you and Jethro could make a trip to see me your honeymoon, and then I could meet him."

"Jesus, Mom," Jenny sighed. "I don't know if we're getting married – God."

"Wasn't that the plan?" Melanie asked, surprised. "If he marries you, you can go with him –"

"Yes, but I'm eighteen, I've never had a life, I've – " Jenny broke off, frustrated. These weren't the types of things she talked to Melanie about; Melanie was too carefree, too go-with-the-flow. "That's a big decision to make, and he's been gone for three months," she said, sighing. "Shouldn't you be telling me not to get married this young? I mean you – you and Dad got married young, and look at that."

"I loved being married to your father," Melanie said simply. "I love Jasper," she added blithely.

"But you got divorced," Jenny said, exasperated.

"That doesn't mean I think marrying him was a mistake," Melanie said.

Jenny frowned, and looked at Natalie, her mind going in a thousand different directions. That did seem to be the plan that was loosely in place; unspoken, never challenged – Gibbs was going to marry her, and she was going to be – a Marine wife, and go to college. It sounded so…simple, in theory. But it wasn't; she knew it wasn't. That kind of life was very different than being head over heels in puppy love in high school.

"Hello?" Natalie piped up, putting her mouth to the phone. She puckered her lips. "Heeeeellllloooo," she sang.

"Who is that?" Melanie asked playfully. "Is that my grandbaby? Oh my goodness, you sound like a little lady…"

"Mom," Jenny broke in quietly. "Can I ask you something?"

"That's what I'm here for," Melanie asked.

"If you love him so much, why did you leave him?"

"Ah," Melanie sighed. "It wasn't like that, darling," she said gently. "Your father wanted to settle back down in Stillwater, and I'd had about all I could take of that town when we visited to let you meet your grandparents – you were a baby, you don't remember," she explained. "We tried to compromise, but in the end … it was either stay together, and me be so miserable I made us all unhappy, or be apart, and be happy."

Jenny stood quietly for a moment.

"My only real regret is that I lost out on some time with you," Melanie said cheerfully, "but you – well, you like your father more – or you did, then."

"No, it wasn't that," Jenny murmured.

She'd been old enough to have a say, when they got divorced; she was a little girl whose father had always been deployed, because once Jenny had been born, Melanie elected to stay on U.S. bases when he went abroad – and Jenny was head over heels with the idea of seeing him all the time. Besides, Melanie had always treated Jenny more like a playmate and a sister than a daughter.

"I did agree that Stillwater was a better place for you," Melanie said. "Though, in retrospect – " she laughed. "Maybe if you'd had more to do, you wouldn't have gotten pregnant."

Again, Jenny was quiet.

"But is Dad happy?" she ventured. "He – he loved you. You drive him crazy, but I know he did – does. Wasn't that hard?"

Melanie sighed again.

"Yes," she said. "But Jennifer … you can't love someone right if you aren't happy. I figured that out after quite a long time being angry at him for not wanting to stay with me, even if it meant giving up Stillwater. And I like him to be happy. I like to think he wants me to happy, too."

Jenny swallowed thoughtfully, turning and looking at the clock – she hardly ever talked to her mother this long –

"Something on your mind, Jennifer?" Melanie asked.

- and never about stuff like this. Jenny started, and cleared her throat, shaking her head to herself.

"No," she said clearly. "No, I'm just distracted," she murmured. "Mom, I really don't think I can make it this summer," she said half-heartedly.

Melanie said something apologetically, and Jenny coaxed Natalie to speak more into the phone, to say hi to her grandmother – half of her wished she could have the luxury of beaches and sun and sand, and half of her wished it was Gibbs she was talking to, because she missed his voice, and his stoicism, and the way he always seemed to be so quietly sure that what he was doing was right.

---

As usual, in his down time, Gibbs was working on a carpentry project. He'd sketched it out first this time, so he was sitting on the edge of one of the platforms that led up to a rope obstacle course, his foot pressing on the edge of the piece of paper he was going off of. He concentrated, his Marine knife in one hand and his tongue pressed hard against his teeth. The sun was bearing down on his neck, but it wasn't that hot yet – even at Parris Island – and his skin was toughened to sunburn, these days.

He heard pounding footsteps, but he didn't look up; that girl had been running laps all day – her name was Matteson, and when everyone else was relaxing, she was always still working out. She never took a break, and now, as basic training drew to a close, the guys had stopped hounding her for trying to prove herself and started realizing she'd been working so hard to bypass them all.

Not Gibbs, though. Not yet.

He didn't look up at the sound – that is, until the sound got louder, and a shadow fell over him, and she was leaning over, hands on her knees, breathing hard. He lifted his head, and she wiped her forehead, squinting in the sun as she looked up.

"Hey," she said.

His arm relaxed, and he lowered his knife, looking at her for a minute.

"Hey," he answered neutrally.

He never talked to Matteson much. But, maybe because of that, he was the only friend she had in the barracks. He didn't bug her; he didn't rag on her, he didn't think she wasn't shit because she was a girl. He wasn't intimidated by her catching up to the men, either. He liked how she just took the bullshit from the other Marines and ignored it, and proved them wrong. It reminded him of Jen. Not in a romantic way, but in a nice way.

"Why aren't you out?" she asked.

Out – because they were allowed out today, as much as they could be; which meant most of the guys were out swaggering around, trying to use their boot camp cred to get laid with the local girls.

He shrugged.

"Why aren't you?" he retorted.

"You kind of seem like that type," Matteson said, smirking. She sat down lazily, slouching, and pushed up the tip of her cover. "Secretive."

"I'm not secretive," he said automatically.

She arched an eyebrow.

"Well, you're not like everyone else," she said pointedly. She shifted, and reached into her pocket. "Here," she said, handing something out to him. It had his name velcroed onto it, and it was small and compact. "You dropped this in mess hall, at breakfast."

He took it, recognizing his wallet and military I.D. He arched his brows, surprised – he hadn't even noticed it was missing.

"Damn," he muttered. "Thanks, Matteson."

She tilted her chin up.

"No problem," she said. She turned a little and looked up at the sky, taking some deep breaths as she cooled down. "Who's the little girl, in the photo?" she asked.

He glanced over at her, and went back to carving his project. He didn't say anything for a minute,

"You rob me?" he asked finally.

He had a picture of Natalie tucked behind his military I.D. It was a polaroid taken just before he left, and she was sitting by the river bank holding a flower up at the camera, smiling. He remembered the exact moment it had been taken, because Natalie had dropped the flower a second later, and started to cry.

Matteson laughed.

"The photo was falling out," she said. "The corner got bent," she added. "I tried to flatten it out. Figured she's important."

"She is," Gibbs allowed.

He wondered why Matteson was being so friendly suddenly, but he didn't ask – he didn't really mind, either. The moment she brought it up, he wanted to talk about Natalie. He missed her – he felt like he never had time to think about her. Every since he got here, they worked him hard and wore him down, until he was so exhausted he forgot to send her his prayers before he fell sleep – and then the horns woke him up and he had to stop thinking about her again, if he managed to dream about her.

"Is she your reason?" Matteson asked.

"Reason?" Gibbs grunted, pausing.

"For joining," Matteson went on. She chewed on her lip, and then shrugged. "Everybody's got a reason, y'know?"

"What's yours?" he shot back.

She looked at him a minute, and then shrugged.

"My old man's a Marine. World War two. Grandfather's a Marine, World War one. Great-Grandfather, Great-Great Grandfather," she listed, holding up her fingers. "Line of good, strong, Marines – men," she laughed. "Then they got me."

Gibbs smiled at her a little.

"So you tryin' to be a guy?" he snorted.

She shook her head.

"I'm tryin' to prove it doesn't matter," she said.

This time, he grinned.

"E-qual-ity," he drawled. "My girl's like you, back home," he said. He hoped she knew it was a compliment. He wasn't sure though, because she laughed, and kicked him, nudging his foot hard.

"I'm not after you, Gibbs," she snorted. "You don't got to bring up that you got a girl."

He shook his head seriously.

"Not my point," he assured her. He hadn't even been thinking of it that way – Matteson was just one of the guys, one of his fellow Marines; in a foxhole, she'd be no different than the next guy, and he'd always seen it that way. Wasn't his problem if the other guys didn't.

She looked at what he had in his hands, and she fell silent; she must have been waiting for him to elaborate on the picture, but he was thinking about what she'd said – was Natalie his reason? He'd always wanted to be a Marine. Natalie hadn't sparked it, and she hadn't changed it. Did that mean he didn't love Natalie enough? Should he have stayed? If his only reasons for joining the Marines had been because he liked the code, and to get away from his father – was he selfish?

"Gibbs?" Matteson said finally.

He looked up at her.

"Tell me to bug off, if you want," she said frankly. "I'll go back to beatin' your times."

"You haven't beat my times," he told her swiftly.

"Ah," she breathed. "So you've been checking."

He smiled at her confidence. He put his hand down again, and leaned back.

"She's my daughter," he told her. "The little girl."

He set aside his project and got the picture out, handing it to Matteson again.

"See? Same eyes."

Matteson stared, and then she gave him a disbelieving look, one eyebrow cocked.

"Gibbs," she said, shaking her head slightly. "C'mon – you can't be more than – how old are you?"

He blinked, and shrugged.

"Nineteen," he answered.

She gave him that typical wide-eyed, are-you-kidding me look. Then she looked back at the picture, and laughed a little.

"Well, how old's her Mama?"

"Eighteen."

"How the hell old is the kid?"

"Two."

Matteson whistled, long and low. She hadn't ever expected that – Gibbs, a father. She supposed it made sense – maybe that's why he was never a dick to her. Maybe he had that Dad complex, where he didn't want men treating his daughter like crap, and he'd realized every other girl had fathers, too.

"So," Matteson said, waving the picture lightly, "that's a bitch."

Gibbs grinned at the matter-of-fact assessment, and snorted.

"Yeah," he agreed – he wasn't going to pretend it was easy. He nodded at the picture, and took it when she handed it back, giving it a long look before he tucked it back into the wallet, snug behind his I.D. He paused. "She's worth it, though," he grunted.

"What's her name?"

"Natalie Winter."

Matteson smiled.

"That's neat," she complimented. "You makin' that for her?"

Gibbs nodded, picking it up.

"Is it a doll house?"

"Nah, bird house," he said, brushing some debris of the roof.

"Does she like birds?" Matteson asked.

Gibbs shrugged.

"She's baby, she likes everything," he said. He paused. "Last letter I got, her Mom said she tried to catch birds, in the backyard," he explained, "so I figured, she could look at 'em better, if she's got a birdhouse."

Matteson smiled at that, and nodded.

"The first present I remember my daddy gettin' me was a BB gun. I never had a chance." Matteson laughed at herself, and then gave Gibbs a narrow look. "You want a boy?" she asked.

He gave her an incredulous look.

"I didn't want a baby."

She burst out laughing.

"Right," she laughed, remembering. "Right, eighteen year old Mama, the kid's two – right," she kept laughing. She licked her lips and shook her head. "So, you miss her?"

"'Course," Gibbs said simply.

He missed her more, now that he was talking about her, thinking about her. He missed how she used to stand up in her crib in the morning and peek at him until he pretended he'd just noticed her – then she'd giggle, sit down, and screech for him to come let her out. He missed seeing his mother cook pancakes for her. He missed her smile, and the way she pouted just like Jenny.

"She and her mama comin' to Family Day?"

Gibbs frowned.

"Maybe," he grunted. "Money," he added, a self-explanatory remark. Matteson just nodded. She cracked her knuckles and rubbed the back of her neck.

"'M gonna marry her after infantry school," Gibbs said confidently. "Then I can make it up to her, get her to college."

"Infantry, huh? After I get all the stuff I need, I want to be an MSG."

Gibbs looked at her curiously.

"Marine Security Guard," she said. "One of them that protects the embassies. My Mom's from Lebanon, she was a local employee, when my Dad met her," Matteson explained. "Went back for a visit a few years ago," Matteson paused, and Gibbs tilted his head – he remembered this; the U.S. Embassy in Beirut had been bombed in eight-three. "Anyways," Matteson said. "Figure if I can guard an embassy, maybe some other mother can go home."

"Didn't know the Marines did that," was all he said.

He almost told her his mother was dead too, but that was too much. He didn't want to forge a connection over whom he'd lost. Instead, he told her what he wanted to do, after he got all the stuff he needed.

"'M gonna be a sniper."

Matteson considered him a minute, and then nodded.

"Yeah, I see that," she told him. She stood up, and then punched his shoulder in an affectionate way. "Wouldn't mind havin' you coverin' my back," she said succinctly.

He nodded at her, picking up his birdhouse. He took his knife in hand again, and she jogged back.

"Hey, Gibbs," she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Watch out for me, now," she warned. "I know you got a baby, but I got every Matteson Marine coming to Family Day, and I'm gonna be top of the class."

She ran off, starting to train again.

"Don't bet on it!" he yelled, and she raised her hand to accept the challenge.

He wouldn't let her win; some other guy might, just to feel like a hero, and to let her stick it to her old man – but Gibbs knew better. Matteson was the kind of girl who wanted to win on her merit, not because someone thought chivalry was the same thing as equality.

He grinned, and went back to the birdhouse – he was going to give it to Natalie on Family Day – he didn't have any paint, but he figured he could carve her initials into it, and then colour them in with a sharpie or a marker or something. Boot camp had taught him to improvise pretty well – and if he did as well in infantry school as he did here, then maybe he'd get a damn good assignment, something like California, or Hawaii or even Virginia or New York, and Jenny and Natalie could settle in somewhere really nice.

He hadn't decided if he was going to propose after boot camp, or after infantry school – mostly because he wanted to see how she felt, see if she hadn't started to hate him for being away. Her letters were short; she mostly sent Natalie's drawings, these days.

And – he couldn't decide if wanted to buy a ring, or use his mother's.

There was so much to figure out, and Matteson had made him realize that he wasn't necessarily any closer to that – he felt like he could breathe again, yes; he liked the barracks, he liked the Marines, and he liked being out of Stillwater, but he was still a father, and he still had a girl, and they still had to decide where their life was going to go.

He drew the length of his knife along an edge of the birdhouse and grit his teeth, imagining Natalie's smile – hoping she would smile – when he gave it to her. He wondered if she missed him, or if she'd forgotten him. He wondered what words she'd learned, and he wondered how Jen was doing.

He wished they could be here now, with him; when he let himself remember how they used to be there, every day, all day, he missed them so much it hurt – and he had to throw himself back into the Marines, into the routine and the disconnect – or he'd question everything, wash out, and let Stillwater drag him back.

---

He had approached Family Day with no expectations, doggedly assuming that something would prevent Jenny and Natalie from making it – so when they were there, in the crowd, the day Marines were called forward and dismissed for on-base liberty, it wasn't merely a pleasant moment that he'd planned for – it was a genuinely feel-good surprise.

When Jenny had seen him, she'd crouched down and said something to Natalie, pointing. Natalie had beamed and started towards him – Gibbs wasn't the only Marine with a child, but he did garner a few startled looks when he'd swept up Natalie and kissed her protectively. The thing was, here, the looks had been more surprised because they hadn't known he was a father, rather than because he was young.

He showed Jenny and Natalie to a burger joint, and there they settled in, Gibbs holding Natalie on his lap while she happily munched on French fries, over the moon that her mother was letting her have a soda, too.

"It's just a Sprite," Jenny said, laughing at Natalie. "People are going to think I won't let her drink."

Gibbs took the cup away from Natalie and set it aside, pointing her attention back to the food. She leaned back into him comfortably and looked up, holding up a French fry. He took it with his teeth, dramatically pretending to bite her little fingers. She shrieked at the feel of his teeth and giggled, yanking her hand back.

"No bite! No bite, Daddy!" she ordered.

"You tell him," Jenny said, nodding firmly. "You tell him, you got in trouble for biting Grandpa Jack, didn't you?"

Gibbs lowered his head.

"Good," he whispered conspiratorially.

Natalie rubbed at her ear. His voice tickled, and she laughed.

"No, Jethro," Jenny warned, rolling her eyes. "No biting."

"Why'd she bite him?" Gibbs demanded. "What'd he do?"

It was the first time he'd asked about his father, and the accusatory, angry tone in his voice was tiring – three months away, and he hadn't cooled down; not even a little.

"He didn't do anything, biting is just one of her terrible two traits," Jenny placated. Jackson had told Natalie she wasn't old enough for one of the sticky caramel treats he sold at the store, and offered her a banana instead – so she'd bit him, and Jenny had allowed him to put her in a quick but pointed time out.

Gibbs made a face and lowered his mouth to Natalie's ear again.

"You're not terrible, are you?" he asked. "Not my Bug," he growled gently. "You're being good, right? You're not making Mommy's life terrible?"

Natalie shook her head earnestly, and put two French fries in her mouth, chewing smugly. Jenny leaned forward; resting her elbows on her knees, and shook her head, her hair tumbling over her shoulders with the movement.

"Mommy's life isn't terrible," she agreed softly.

"Daddy," Natalie said conversationally. She started talking as if she were using sentences, but half of it was gibberish – he picked up a few words here and there – and she finished by patting his chest and offering him another fry. "Home?" she asked.

He took the food from her and ate it, giving her a nod of thanks. Then he glanced at Jenny, and arched his brows. She laughed at his expression.

"Oh yeah, she talks. I can understand her; I have to translate for Debbie a lot. Debbie lets me bring her to work, when there's no one to watch her – she's getting so vocal, and she's going to be smart. Nat, show Daddy –tell Daddy what you learned," Jenny encouraged.

Natalie looked at her a moment, and then swiveled to Gibbs.

"A's-B's-C's-D's-E's-F'S-G's," she recited matter-of-factly. She touched his nametag. "Name," she added brightly. "Mama show name."

"I taught her to write her name," Jenny said proudly. "All those pictures she sent recently, she signed her own name. She's going to be able to read early. She's smart, Jethro."

"'Course she's smart," he retorted, as if it was obvious. "You're smart."

Jenny flushed.

"She's ahead of her age group, though," she told him earnestly. "Her pediatrician told me – she has more words than usual. That's why she talks gibberish like that, because she's trying to talk like adults, to adults."

Gibbs smiled at Natalie, proud of her. He handed her the Sprite back a little smugly. Natalie snatched it.

"I saw duckies, Daddy," she said sweetly. "On bus. Then, cows. Mooo," she imitated the noise, and laughed at herself.

"Was it a long bus ride?" Gibbs asked.

"Long on bus," Natalie agreed, dramatically sighing. "I sleep. I wake up," she pointed at Jenny, "and Mommy sleep!"

"Did you let her sleep?"

Natalie nodded vigorously.

"I twist her hair," she told him.

Jenny arched a brow.

"That's a no on letting me sleep," she amended. "She tried to braid my hair, like I braided hers the other day. All she did was pull out a handful and knot the split ends."

"But pretty, Mama," Natalie insisted.

"Yes, Bug," Jenny told her warmly. "Very pretty."

"You're pretty," Gibbs said, touching Natalie gently on the nose. "Look at this new dress."

"I made it," Jenny said quickly. She brightened. "All by myself – all the stiches, without a sewing machine," she bragged. "Is it nice?"

"You made this, Jen?" Gibbs asked, taken aback. He held the fabric in his hands – it was simple, but pretty indeed, and there were opalescent buttons down the back, making it look elegant, but when he looked closer, he noticed the dress actually just fastened with Velcro. "Damn," he muttered.

"I learn fast," she told him. "It makes it easier on me to make them instead of buying them."

Gibbs glanced at her warily.

"You need me to send more money?" he asked.

"Oh – that's not what I mean, Jethro, I'm just saving what I can – "

"I can send more, Jen, I don't need much," he promised. "And I – look, we get married, my pay goes up for dependents, and I get basic housing allowance."

She shook her head. She didn't want to talk about money, but his last words did spur her to start a different conversation.

"Jethro," she began warily. "Are you … what's happening next? I thought you were coming home."

"I am," he said with a blink. "I bought a bus ticket. 'M going home with you," he said. "I can entertain Natalie the whole way," he added, squeezing her affectionately. She giggled, squirming away.

"No tickles, Daddy," she giggled.

He stopped tickling her, and she grabbed his hands.

"Tickles!" she demanded.

"Natalie," Jenny said quickly, tapping her daughter's knee, "don't say no unless you mean it. If you play games people will think you aren't serious."

Natalie gave Jenny a look, then puckered her lips and sipped on her soda. Jenny looked back at Gibbs. She considered him intently for a moment.

"I mean, do you have other training."

"Infantry school," he said. "Starts – beginning of April," he grunted.

She looked at him tiredly, and shook her head.

"You didn't tell me that," she said quietly.

"Jen, it's part of trainin'," he retorted. "I told you, all the training, before I get a post, then – "

"But you made it sound like this was training," she interrupted, feeling a little tense, frustrated. "I don't think you meant to, or maybe you were softening the blow," she hesitated, "but Jethro, you said you'd be home after this."

"Yeah, Jen, I got ten days leave – but Infantry School is part of training –"

"Okay, I understand that now," she said sharply. "The point is, that wasn't clear when you left."

He drew back a little, feeling sheepish. Maybe he hadn't been clear; but telling her he'd be back in three months had been easier than explaining that, save for a few days, it would really be more like five. A part of him had known she'd hate that, so he'd tried to make it sound … easier. He should have guessed it might come back to bite him.

"I get you for ten days, and then you're back to – all this, for how long?" she asked.

"'Bout two months," he answered honestly. "Then I get my assignment. I might deploy, might get assigned to a base. When I make Lance Corporal, I can apply for sniper school – "

"Slow down," she told him. "You're thinking too far ahead."

He gave her a curt look.

"You're always wantin' me to plan the future," he retorted edgily.

"I need to think about now," she said; it did feel like a role reversal. She paused, and shook her head, her shoulders slouching. "It's not money, Jethro, it's just … I miss you," she confessed. "There's no one else to relate to."

"It's not that much longer, Jen," he said earnestly, leaning forward. "Two months, flies by."

"Maybe for you," she said. "Maybe here. Not in Stillwater. It slugs by. Like I'm sitting around doing nothing, wasting my life – wasting Natalie's life."

The look of surprise, of minor hurt, on his face, made her cringe, and she wished she could take it back. She pushed her hair back heavily and tried to find a different way to phrase her words.

"I'm stagnant, Jethro. I'm not doing anything. You're – you're doing something. You're doing it without us."

"No," he said sharply, lifting his finger and pointing at her. "This is for you," he corrected. He gestured around, at the little Parris Island military city. "I got you and Natalie on my mind, Jen," he swore. "This is about getting you out."

"It's not just about that, though – and it shouldn't be," she said firmly. "This is what you wanted, and I don't want to stand in the way of that. But it's hard for me. I never wanted to stay in Stillwater any more than you, but I'm the one stuck."

"Not that much longer," he said again. His eyes seemed to plead with her. "I don't understand what you want, Jen," he said, lowering his voice, almost desperate.

She didn't, either. Logically speaking, he was making a sound decision; doing what he wanted, and being able to drag her along – the military would get them out of Stillwater. But she was afraid she'd get lost in that, too, like she was afraid she'd get stuck in small town America.

He, for one, didn't know what he was supposed to do; he didn't have the money to whisk her away and hang around and watch Natalie while she caught up to everything she'd had to put on hold. He would do that, if he could. But she frustrated him sometimes, because she seemed to be waiting for something that just wasn't going to happen.

Natalie offered him a sip of her Sprite, and he shook his head, gently pushing the straw away from his mouth.

"It's awkward with your father," she sighed. "It's … it's not that bad, not like it used to be, but it's so stale and – well, you know Stillwater," she mumbled. "I hate it. I don't want Natalie to grow up there."

"She won't," Gibbs promised tightly. "I'd marry you right now, Jen, but it won't matter until after infantry school," he said warily.

"I don't know if marrying me will change much at all anyway," she said, exasperated. "It's all dandy if you get stationed in Florida or New York or something, but what if you get deployed - ? Then I'm in Stillwater, and maybe you're dead, and then what? I get a pension and a fatherless baby? I don't want to lose you."

"Where're they gonna send me?" He scoffed. "We're not at war."

She gave him an incredulous look.

"The Persian Gulf," she pointed out. "Bosnia – Northern Africa," she listed.

He blinked.

"What's going on there?"

"Jethro!"

She pushed her hair back again. He blinked at her, obviously a little sheepish that he wasn't sure what she was talking about in regards to – well, world issues.

"Did you even think about dying when you joined up?" she demanded.

He gave her a narrow look. Why would he – that's not how anyone thought, not when they joined. They joined to serve, to belong, to find a code – they all had reasons, but no one joined hoping to bite it in some rich man's fight in a desert or a jungle. That was the job, not the philosophy.

Gibbs felt at a loss for what to say, so he pulled Natalie a little bit closer – it was a subconscious movement, as if he felt her slipping away. She reached for the last few French fries she had, and tilted her head against him, content.

"What're you saying, Jen?" he asked finally.

She licked her lips.

"Look, I just," she broke off, her eyes glittering. "I miss you being with me," she said in a small voice. "I want to be doing something."

He looked at her for a long time.

"We've got ten days, Jen, at least we got that," he said heavily. "We can figure it out."

"In ten days?" she asked, laughing a little hoarsely. Her eyes brimmed with disbelief. "Jethro, I don't know if we can get back on track in – in ten years."

He tilted his head.

"I was plannin' on it," he said hesitantly.

She understood why he thought marriage was a good idea; she herself saw the merit in the path he was trying to take. She just didn't know if she could do it.

Natalie lunged forward and accidentally dumped the remnants of her soda all over father.

"Puppy!" she screamed, at a very, intimidating German hepherd that was clearly not a puppy.

Gibbs didn't even flinch at the cold mess.

"It's a drug dog, Bug, you can't pet 'im," he apologized.

"Natalie, you don't have to act so spastic every time you see a dog," Jenny said, rolling her eyes. She leaned forward. "Look, now Daddy will be all sticky," she murmured, picking up the empty cup. She frowned. "At least it's not your dress blues," she said. She looked up, and met his eyes. "I wanted specifically to see you in those," she said softly.

He smiled at her, and leaned in to kiss her lips.

"Ceremony," he grunted, "tomorrow."

He nudged her cheek with his nose, and grinned, his grip on Natalie secure but loose.

"I can wear 'em at my wedding, too," he said smugly, "and I can cut the cake with my saber."

She smiled, and laid her head lightly on his shoulder for a moment, imagining that scenario – and with Natalie resplendent in flower girl regalia, she told herself – half-honestly—that it really wouldn't be a mistake. The other half of her kept wandering back to what her mother had said.

---

Between boot camp and infantry school, Gibbs was half convinced he'd voluntarily signed up for a tour of Hell and half sure he was in exactly the right place; there was a fine line between his love of the philosophy and brotherhood of the Marines and the annoyances of getting his ass kicked by PT every waking second of his life.

He lay on his bunk in the barracks, taking a breather before lights out. He had two envelopes resting on his abdomen, one he hadn't looked at yet, and one he couldn't stop looking at. The front of this one had some marks on it; it seemed to have gotten lost, and maybe that's why it had been so long since he heard from Jenny. It was her handwriting on the address and return, someone else's making notes of mistakes.

He tore open the envelope, and pulled out its contents: two things from Natalie. One was a colouring book page, decorated as neatly as possible, with her name written on it on the bottom. The other was a free hand drawing, nothing but a bunch of swirls and lines, really, which maybe resembled a flower; that one had her name on it, too.

He smiled; her handwriting was getting better. He thought she must be the only eighteen-month-old who could write her name. That ought to show some people what was what – Natalie Gibbs, child of teen parents, smarter than other babies. He kept staring at the drawings smugly, wallowing in his admiration of them to cover the fact that this was the second time there hadn't been a note from Jen.

The last time, she'd sent him a short paragraph detailing Natalie's new accomplishments, and then right after that, a small, neatly written request that he call her – she needed to hear his voice. She underlined needed – and what had he done? He'd gotten lost in drills and exercises and exhaustion and brotherhood – and here he lay, another night past phone hours, having forgotten to call.

He wondered if that was why she wasn't writing; she was angry with him. But – he didn't fault her too much; he didn't like writing, he wasn't good at it, and he never wrote her. He couldn't expect her to spend her days writing him novels. She was busy taking care of Natalie by herself, essentially.

He folded the drawings and tucked them into the pocket of his fatigue, mentally reminding himself to put them in a regulation storage space later. He kept all of Natalie's drawings and 'notes' in the same place, and he was going to hang them up wherever his work station was when he got his permanent duty orders.

That was the other thing he was concerned about – the other envelope; it had his permanent station orders in it, along with an answer on his leave request. Marines rarely got leave after Infantry school, almost never if they were stationed near the Infantry School they were at, and he needed to go home; he had to make good, marry Jen, and make it official. Then she'd be able to follow him to his post with all the benefits the corps offered.

The last time they'd spoken on the phone – weeks ago – he'd promised her he'd do it; he'd find a way to make it work as soon as possible. He'd only asked for a few days – hell, he fibbed, and told his commanding officer that the wedding plans were already set, and he couldn't waste time on getting his dependents health care.

He fingered the flap of the envelope, unsure if he wanted to read; he couldn't decide if he was more wary regarding the answer on leave, or his duty assignment. That would be interesting to find out – he could end up anywhere.

He wasted no more time; he tore open the orders and flipped them open, his eyes critically scanning the page for the important parts. Almost immediately, he spotted his first permanent duty station – Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. He was staying here; Camp Geiger School of Infantry was a satellite base of Lejeune. That didn't bode well for leave – usually, Marines being stationed immediately near their SOI weren't granted even a travel day's break. Just as his heart started to sink, however, he realized that the letter did make note of a grant of leave – he could have two days; he'd report to Camp Lejeune for active duty on the fourth of June.

Lejeune wasn't half bad; it had schools, beaches, nice real estate around the area. Once he was married, he could get Jen and Natalie onto base housing in no time, he was sure of it. And then – if he got to sniper school soon, he could move them to California or Virginia, where the Scout schools were – though he'd probably need to get a deployment under his belt first –

"Gibbs?"

He heard Matteson shouting from just outside the door – it was against regs for her to be in the male bunks, even during down time. He got up and hopped off the top bunk, strolling out to meet her. He leaned against the door frame, and she held her orders up.

"Language training," she said smugly. "The Presidio."

Gibbs arched an eyebrow.

"Which language?"

"Arabic," she answered, preening – it had been what she wanted; she'd definitely qualified enough for it on her ASVAB. "Jeffreys told me you were in here – you not happy with your assignment?"

He shrugged, then shook his head.

"Fine," he said. "I was readin' a letter from Natalie." He took it out of his pocket and showed her, with a small smug smile of his own.

"Sweet," Matteson said politely. "So, where are you going?"

"Here," Gibbs said simply. "Lejeune."

"Amphibious assault?"

"Military police," Gibbs said, cracking a grin.

Matteson started laughing.

"It figures – yeah, that's about right," she snorted. "I can see you bein' a cop."

"S'what I was gonna do at home," he ventured. "Jen didn't like that idea."

"Too dangerous?"

"Too much stayin' in Stillwater," he grunted. His brow furrowed with slight annoyance. "Didn't like this idea, either," he muttered tensely.

Matteson tilted her head thoughtfully.

"It's hard on family," she remarked cautiously. "Those that aren't, you know, adjusted to military life."

Gibbs didn't bother telling her that Jenny was an army brat; she'd done her fair share of moving and waiting. Thinking about that, maybe he figured that's why she was so wary of what he was doing – but it still bothered him sometimes. He still – couldn't figure out what she wanted. He felt guilty because he was doing what he'd always said he was going to do – be a Marine – and Natalie hadn't affected that, but Natalie had changed every single one of Jen's plans, right down to her ending up with a GED instead of a diploma.

He just shrugged.

"You haven't heard from her in a while?" Matteson ventured.

Gibbs held up the drawings.

"Yeah, you know what I mean," she said bluntly.

Gibbs shrugged again – he was supposed to call her, and now he had to get around to it, to tell her what the plan was.

"Don't sweat it too much, Gibbs," Matteson said carefully. "You guys are … young. It's pretty normal for stuff like this to not work out."

"It's not like that, Joan," he said, a little harshly. "We got a kid. It's not some dumb infatuation."

She held up her hands pointedly, but didn't break eye contact.

"I'm just saying," she said quietly. "It's hard. And, you know, I believe you when you say you want to send her to college but … if you guys get married, for now at least, that's a lot of waiting around for her. You won't get the GI bill until you're out. Maybe she wants more freedom than – "

"I haven't known what Jen's wanted for three years," Gibbs complained hollowly, interrupting. He appreciated Matteson's female advice, but he resented it, too, because it was too eye-opening. He grit his teeth. "She doesn't want to stay in Stillwater, she doesn't want me to join the Marines, doesn't want me to be a cop – how the hell does she want me to get her out?"

"Maybe she wants to do it herself," Matteson ventured quietly.

Gibbs lifted his shoulders.

"I don't got a problem with her doin' whatever she wants," he growled seriously. "I'm not that kinda guy."

Matteson smiled at him warmly.

"I know," she said simply. She chewed on her lip. "It's a hard time to be a girl, Gibbs," she said finally. "We're like … " she trailed off, frowning thoughtfully. "Like part of the first generation that was raised knowin' we didn't have to depend on the men, maybe. You think your girl might be scared that she ends up being a stereotype?"

Gibbs looked perplexed.

"She's not."

"Look, I don't know your relationship; I don't know how it was or is or – whatever. But she seemed fierce when I met her. Maybe you need to start tryin' to figure out why you two see things differently, even if you love each other."

Gibbs didn't answer that. Matteson had briefly met Natalie and Jenny at graduation, and that had been after he and Jen had the tense conversation about infantry school. Jenny hadn't been in the best mood – but it just frustrated Gibbs. He knew that once they got on their own, their relationship could go back to how it used to be – them, in their own little world, except now with Natalie, too. He saw no other way – and he couldn't fathom why she wouldn't see eye-to-eye with him.

"I got a couple days leave," he told Matteson hoarsely. He shrugged. "'M goin' back, to marry her."

Matteson smiled.

"You gonna let Natalie be a flower girl?"

Gibbs smiled, and nodded. Matteson winked.

"She'll love it," she encouraged, done chastising him, or offering her unsolicited advice.

One of Gibbs' bunkmates slipped past her, shot them a look, and scowled.

"Get a room," he grunted, shouldering past Gibbs – one of the guys who'd been more aggressively opposed to a female Marine, probably because she'd shot him down romantically.

"Sure, we'll leave you alone with your hand, Mendez," Matteson snapped back coolly.

Gibbs grinned at her, and she gave him a small salute, hopping backwards away from his barracks.

"Don't get distracted, Gibbs," she called. "I'm this close to beatin' your times."

"Fat chance," he retorted, watching her jog off back to her bunk assignment.

He turned and wandered back to his bunk, climbing up and looking down at his things – orders, Natalie's drawings, and envelopes. He had to remember to call Jen tomorrow – and the next day, and the next; he stared at the envelope Natalie's things had come in, and felt something heavy in his gut.

---

Jackson Gibbs rarely conversed with the Chief anymore – despite the granddaughter they shared – and so having the man in his kitchen was an interesting turn of events. They'd had a falling out immediately after Ann Gibbs' death – due to Jasper's decision to allow Gibbs to crash at his house rather than send him home.

Without Ann, the two men had no camaraderie, though both knew it put stress on Jenny to keep up Natalie's relationship with them both, particularly when Jethro disliked his father so much. Both older men were military, both had been disappointed in their children, and yet they were not much alike – and perhaps for absurdly similar reasons: Jasper didn't think Jackson was treating his son right, and Jackson thought Jasper was too hard on Jenny.

This meeting, however unexpected and brief, was poignant.

"I haven't heard from 'im," Jackson reiterated shortly. "All I know is anything Jennifer says – Infantry school was two months, started in April."

The Chief grit his teeth, standing up – he hadn't even been sitting for long enough to constitute a visit. Jackson leaned forward, his jaw set.

"I wasn't a part of this, Jasper," he assured him. "I didn't give her money, I didn't give her a blessing – "

"Did she say anything to you?"

"I kept Natalie in the store while she worked Thursday," Jackson said again, his words tight. "She picked her up, I asked her to stay for dinner – Jennifer refused."

"You should have called me, Jack – "

"I had no damn reason to think that girl was lying," snapped Jackson. "She said she was taking Natalie with her up to see that Flynn girl in New Jersey, and your Jenny's never been a liar."

"A toddler, staying in a goddamn college dorm?"

"So she wanted to have some fun," Jackson retorted. "She wouldn't do a damn thing to put that baby in danger," he asserted.

"She's still young enough to be blind to the nuances of some decisions," growled Jasper. "I told her if I was gonna trust her while I was in New York for the conference, she damn well better keep her ass in that house."

"She's got a right to take a damn break – "

"She knew you wouldn't question her," barked Jasper. "She took advantage of you."

"You think she's gone anywhere but down to North Carolina?" Jackson Gibbs snorted. "The Marines ain't gonna give him leave, she knows when his graduation date is –"

"You tell me how you'd react if your kid was up and gone," Jasper snapped. "I don't think shit, I know she's eighteen years old, out there god knows where with a baby –"

"Call the damn Flynn girl in Jersey – "

"Alison doesn't know what I'm talking about," Jenny's father said curtly. "She hadn't spoken to Jenny about a visit – and now she's scared."

Jackson rubbed his forehead, his jaw tight. The Chief had come back from a trip to New York, demanding to know where the hell Jenny was, and Jackson realized quickly she must have lied through her teeth about the trip to New Jersey.

"She's got to be with her mother," Jackson said.

Jasper tucked his cap under his arm, his brow darkening.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered harshly, turning on his heel and leaving without another word.

He stormed tensely up the streets of Stillwater to his home, his muscles tight and painful with rage and worry – the one time he'd trusted Jennifer, left her completely alone and in charge, and she ran off like this – her room was clean, Natalie's closet was empty – he couldn't fathom what was going on in that girl's head, but when he'd seen the bed made, and noticed that the line of string and clothespins that decorated her room with milestones of Natalie's life was gone, he'd almost immediately had a hunch about what had happened. It couldn't be a coincidence that Jenny had seemed restless, that she'd had more interest in her mother.

The phone in the Shepard house was ringing off the hook when he got in, and he grabbed it from its cradle, his heart pounding; grown man and army veteran that he was, the thought that it might be Gibbs calling made him feel cowardly enough to slam it right back down.

"Shepard," he snapped.

There was silence on the line, and then he heard his ex-wife's voice.

"Jasper. She's fine. She's here."

It wasn't a question; it was a calm greeting.

"I've been calling you for an hour," Melanie said – and it was because she sounded serious, and put together, and more mature than usual, that he knew.

"Put her on the goddamn phone, Mellie."

"You sound angry."

"If you're really telling me that in two days, my daughter ended up on the opposite side of the fucking country, you're damn right I'm angry."

"She's tired, she's not in a good place, Jasper, I just wanted to touch base with you –"

"Now, Melanie."

"I'll talk to him, Mom."

He heard his daughter's muffled tones in the background.

"It's fine, just – here, there are vanilla wafers in my bag; Natalie's hungry."

Her voice got louder as she took the phone, and then she was quiet for a moment. She cleared her throat.

"Daddy," she started.

He cut her off immediately.

"Are you coming back?" he asked bluntly – coldly.

She was silent long enough for him to know the answer.

"So help me God, Jennifer."

"Dad," she started desperately, trying to keep her voice steady. "I was suffocating."

"You had a decent job," he fired back. "You had someone to be there for, Jennifer Morgan. I didn't raise you to run."

"I am not running – I did not abandon Natalie," she said fiercely, misinterpreting him.

"You are running," he said succinctly. "I was referring to Leroy."

She swallowed hard.

"Jethro is an adult," she whispered. "Jethro – he couldn't even make time to call me, Dad," she lashed out. "The longer he was gone the more uncertain it felt, the more lost I felt – I just wanted him to call, and he couldn't even do that."

"The boy isn't off at a Casino, Jennifer, he's in the goddamn Marines!" barked Jasper. "You told me you agreed to this, you supported him!"

"I told him I wouldn't hold him back from what he really wanted, and needed, to do," she corrected. "I tried, and I – I like to think he would say the same for me."

Jasper put his hand to his jaw and rubbed, hard.

"Leroy didn't leave you," he growled, frustrated. "He made a damn good decision, even if he had selfish motives. You wanted him, you wanted to leave Stillwater – "

"I don't know what I want," Jenny interrupted desperately. "He has gone at lightning speed – Marines, and – marriage, Dad, he expected me to marry him, on the spot. We've been together since – freshman year, we've never had lives, we've – he's not like his father, but that doesn't mean his world view isn't somehow affected by how his father raised a family."

"Jennifer," the Chief said calmly, "you would never be Ann Gibbs," he told her. "I may have had my problems with Leroy, but he stepped up. He has the makings of a good man."

"But I've seen what happens if both people in a marriage aren't happy. It isn't fair to the kid, it isn't fair to anyone – "

"You've been talking to your mother."

Jenny sighed heavily.

Jasper didn't know what was in her head; he didn't know what to say to her.

"You just picked up and left, Jennifer. You just quit."

"I had to," she said shakily. "I had to, or I'd lose my nerve. I almost lost it when Natalie kissed Jackson goodbye. She asked me if we were going to see Daddy, and I – this wasn't easy; it wasn't a whim," she explained, her voice cracking. "Jethro and I are … so disconnected, we have been," she admitted, dejected, "for a while. It's not his fault. It just … happened. We're just too young."

She started crying, and Jasper leaned heavily against the counter, bracing his palm on the granite. He clenched his teeth.

"What are you going to do out there, Jennifer?" He asked coolly.

"Mom is going to help me."

Jasper nodded to himself stiffly – of course she was; Melanie had always been less inclined to have a firm hand with Jennifer, even after the teen pregnancy. He imagined the kind of leniency Jenny would enjoy in California, and he was angry all over again.

"And what about Leroy?" he asked frostily.

She made a soft, pitiful noise.

"I – I don't know, Dad," she said huskily. "I don't have everything figured out."

"You've got that right," Jasper snapped. "You took his child, Jennifer. You took his child away. He has no legal custody rights."

"Whose fault is that?" she burst out. "You're the one who made sure I was granted sole custody, that she's mine. I have to get back some feeling of control over my own life, I have to learn how to do this – and I was not going to leave my baby –"

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" snarled Jasper. "There are plenty of girls who never hear from the fathers of their babies again. There are men who just bail. He didn't do that to you, Jenny. And now," Jasper paused, "now I wonder if I didn't give him enough respect, if this is how you're going to treat him."

She was silent, and he knew she was distressed – that she hadn't thought this through, and her head was in the wrong place – and again, he didn't know how to deal with that. To him, it was another manifestation of how young she was, and he wanted to shake her, to smack that out of her, to try and force her to stop thinking like a teenager, still, and start realizing that she had to find a way to be happy while still making sacrifices.

Jasper cleared his throat.

"Are you going to let him see her?"

"Dad," Jenny said painfully. "I'm still figuring things out – I love Jethro, I swear I do, and he's – you're right; he's never given me … it's complicated, Daddy, it's complicated. I'd – of course he can see her! I think part of him thinks it's a relief to be in the Marines, he's not ready to be a full time parent. "

"And you think you are?" snapped Jasper. "You stole that baby away from the town and the family she's grown up around, because you're unhappy—"

"I can't raise a happy baby if I'm unhappy!" Jenny snapped, speaking over him. "Jethro is responsible, he's one-hundred percent duty and honor, but he's going to be away all the time and I just don't want that, I don't!" She took a deep breath. "It's like since we graduated, and we're not kids under house arrest anymore, and we're supposed to take all the reins, it's sinking in more than it did when we were sixteen with a baby – and that doesn't make sense but – "

"All I'm hearing is rationalizations for an action you took that was foolish and poorly thought out," Jasper interrupted harshly. He tried to remain level headed, but his attempts were failing – and he was struck by an overwhelming feeling of sadness that he'd never see his granddaughter again. "He's going to come home to nothing, and I have nothing of substance to tell him."

"I have a letter for him," Jenny said quietly. "I am putting it in the mail tomorrow. You can give him –"

"Absolutely not," Jasper barked. "I will not do your dirty work. If this is what you want, you will at the very least call him – a Dear John, Jennifer? That's the best you can do?"

She was a good writer, and she knew she could express herself well in that fashion. She had never expected her father to come down so firmly against her; anger and frustration with her actions she had anticipated, but never this, never him speaking as Gibbs' advocate.

"Daddy," she began, taking another deep, steadying breath. "You're never going to understand what I'm going through. You'll never experience it. I can barely get my head around my own state of mind, but I already – I already feel less trapped here, less – less like a small town tragedy that ended before it started."

Her father grunted derisively.

"Poetic," he snapped.

"Jethro needs to understand that this isn't … about me not liking him, or breaking up with him, it's just … me trying to do what I need to do, and what gives Natalie better opportunities. What happens next will …" she trailed off, and laughed. "Dad, I know him. He'll balk. He'll run, too. He won't sue for custody, or try to make it work, because he's out of the Stillwater bubble, and he's realized how hard this is, and how we're not ourselves anymore – even if we do love Natalie. I can't explain it to you because you don't know him like I do."

Jasper was quiet for a long time. He had no doubt that Jennifer knew Leroy Jethro Gibbs better than anyone, but he thought she was wrong; he hoped so. And he hoped this – whatever it was, this fervor to be alone, to spit in the face of what Gibbs was trying to give her and deliberately choose young single motherhood, would die out after a few days with Melanie.

"This is a mistake, Jennifer," he said finally, his voice heavy and resigned. "This is not right." He paused, and cleared his throat authoritatively. "You have the right to make your own decisions. I want you to think long and hard about this. Think about the damage you could do to your relationship. Think about the damage you could do to Natalie if she isn't able to see her father. I will give you a month and no longer to come to your senses." He swallowed hard. "After that, I will not allow you back into my house."

She started to say something, but he cut her off again.

"I was beginning to think you were going to make me proud despite getting pregnant at fifteen. I hope I wasn't wrong."

"You don't get to define what's right for me, and my life," she said weakly, her voice cracking. "Daddy," she began, pleading.

"There are bridges you should never burn," he told her bluntly, with finality. "You're jeopardizing more than one relationship here, Jenny," he said. "And so help me God, if Leroy does end up suing for custodial rights, I may just hire his damn lawyer."

He hung up the phone – he immediately felt guilty for hanging up on his flesh and blood, for neglecting even to speak with his ex-wife again – but his anger, and his sadness, was so great that he had couldn't listen to her anymore. He couldn't begin to believe that she'd done this, that she'd had the nerve – the gall – after he'd fed her and clothed her when he could have kicked her out, forced her to give that baby up – when he'd tried so hard lately to forgive her and look forward instead of judging her for one big mistake.

He felt blindsided; he'd thought he could see these kids making it, overcoming the typical broken-family statistic of people in their situation – but he must have missed something. Maybe his daughter was right; maybe Ann Gibbs had been the only thing holding the fragile framework together.

Jasper Shepard leaned heavily against the counter, bending at the waist and touching his head to the cold granite; he clenched his hands into fists, and tried to figure out if this was his fault, if there was some legal way he could drag her ass back here – but he was at a loss; there was nothing he could do to knock sense into her.

He tried to envision what it would be like for Leroy, when that boy came home and there was nothing left but the father he hated, and the proud old Chief of Police – when was the last time Gibbs had been able to see Natalie, hug her? And on that note – with dread, Jasper tried to remember the last time he'd seen his daughter and Gibbs hug, or kiss – do anything affectionate.

What had happened? Why had it seemed so harmonious – why were Jenny's actions starting to make sense almost immediately after he condemned her for them?

He clenched his fist tighter, and stood up straight, steeling himself to go curtly inform Jackson of the situation – and he sure as hell hoped Jennifer had the fortitude to tell Gibbs what she'd done, because the only thing in the world that would make it worse for Leroy would be if he heard it from Jackson.

---

He got off the bus with a mere thirty-eight hours to spare before he had to report; he had his mother's ring in one pocket and his orders in the other – and the first place he went was Deborah Henry's dress shop, where he assumed she'd be in the middle of a sweltering summer day. He hadn't had time to tell her he was coming home; he hadn't called her father, or his – in a way, he was bent on surprising her, with fanciful visions of a clichéd man-in-uniform reunion – her leaping up to wrap her arms around him – tumbling around in the back of his mind.

When he looked back on it, he didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse that this unassuming woman, whom he'd never known very well other than as a Church lady and one of the Stillwater matrons, was the one who told him – he went looking for Jenny in Debbie's Dresses, and all he found was Debbie, and yards and yards of colorful cloth.

The older woman was sitting at her desk with a young girl when he came in – the girl was looking over the finished touches of a dress – and Deborah looked up when her bell rang; she stood quicker than he expected, and said something quickly to her customer. The redhead turned, looked at him with blue eyes, and then turned back around sharply, and minded her own business.

"Is Jen here?" he asked, without preliminaries – his mother would roll in her grave to hear him be so rude, but he didn't have time.

Deborah put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him aside, an unexpected move; he gave her hand a wary look, and the woman put her body between Gibbs and the customer, lowering her voice.

"She's not," Mrs. Henry said carefully. "I don't know where she is, either," she said promptly, rubbing his shoulder a little.

Gibbs blinked, and then arched an eyebrow.

"She's not workin'?" he tried to clarify.

"Of course not, Leroy, she's – " Deborah Henry paused suddenly. "Haven't you been to your father's place?"

He blinked again, and shook his head.

"Chief Shepard, you haven't spoken to him?"

Again, Gibbs shook his head.

"I want to see her first," he insisted. "Figured this was my best bet."

"Oh," sighed Deborah, biting her lower lip hard. She looked nervous; her eyes darted. "My stars – Leroy, didn't she send you a letter, even?"

Gibbs stared at the woman, uncomprehending. He hadn't had a letter from Jenny in weeks – not since that one that had merely had drawings from Natalie in it. He didn't move a muscle, looking at the shop owner, knowing inherently that something was wrong – knowing, in the back of his mind, exactly what had happened, and yet stubbornly unable to confront it yet.

"You need to speak with Jasper Shepard," Mrs. Henry said warily. She hesitated, and then she pulled her hand back, and folded her hands. "None of us know anything, dear boy," she told him quietly. "Chief hasn't said a word."

None of them knew anything about what? Gibbs still stared at her – and he didn't believe her, because in Stillwater, everyone knew everything. It was an eerie kind of small town place, where somehow everyone knew Jenny Shepard got pregnant in old man Crenshaw's barn, and everyone knew that Gibbs and his father had a fight in a hospital hallway, even though that hospital had been an hour a way from Stillwater.

"Go on now, Leroy," Deborah said. "Go on – she isn't here."

Gibbs took a step back. He looked around the place; he waited a moment for her to come out of the back with a thimble between her teeth, something absurd like that – with a bolt of cloth draped over her shoulders, whistling for Natalie while her mouth was full.

Then he took another step back, and turned stiffly, his hand going to his pocket. He wrenched the door open, and he heard a voice burst out –

"Why did you do that? You liked telling him that – Mrs. Henry – you could have just told him to go to Chief Shepard – "

Gibbs didn't know the girl who stood up for him; he let the bell jingle as the door slammed behind him, and he flinched in the brightness of the sun, standing on the shop-lined little street, torn. Did he march himself up to Jasper Shepard's door to unravel this farce – did he demand information from his own father, much as he hated the idea of asking him for help? It took a moment of standing there, sweating, confused, for him to turn on his heel and start towards the General Store, because the longer he put off hearing it from Jenny's father, the longer it wasn't – it couldn't – be what he thought.

He was halfway there, when he almost bowled over a group of people – blind as he was in his march – and of course, of course, of course – it was the last person he wanted to see, and his band of thick cronies.

"Watch where you're going, Jarhead," growled Chuck coolly, flinging out his hand to shove Gibbs in the chest. "You stepped on my girl's foot."

He wasn't surprised to see Betsy Carmichael on Chuck's arm, but he was a little surprised to see the apologetic, slightly guilty look on her face. She grasped Chuck's sleeve.

"He didn't, Chuck, let it go."

"Hometown hero stridin' through here like he owns the place," Chuck growled, ignoring her. He turned up his nose and sneered. "Hey, Gibbs, how come we all got to kiss your ass for protectin' our freedom and all that crap when you was too dumb to pull it out?"

Gibbs looked at him, incredulous; it was unreal that Chuck was going to goad him in the streets, attack him right now – unprovoked, even. He'd never liked this guy, they'd always rubbed each other wrong – but Gibbs hadn't done a damn thing to deserve this, and he wasn't in a mood to put up with it. His fist clenched.

"Chuck, leave him alone," Betsy snapped, her voice going up an octave.

One of the guys with Chuck saw Gibbs' fist tighten, and snorted.

"Looky there, Chuck," he drawled. "Got 'im all worked up," he mocked. "Whose honor you got to defend, Gibbs?" the guy snorted.

"Three on one," the other guy said, elbowing Chuck, and cracking his own knuckles. He grinned. "You gonna knock all our teeth out for pointin' out that you couldn't even keep a slip of easy white trash like Jenny Shepard?"

They thought he was so soft, such a wuss, because he'd never run with them in high school; because he hadn't played football, and puffed himself up like some all-American God – because he hadn't wanted to push around the younger kids, or pick on the weaker guys, or scam bright-eyed, sweet-hearted freshmen.

They thought he wouldn't be a match, because they had the numbers – but in the split second that Chuck laughed at the slight to Jenny, Gibbs gave him a right-hook so practiced and American military certified that the bastard was laid out on his ass before his bullheaded friends knew what had hit him.

Betsy leaped back in a panic, and shrieked at a completely unnecessary decibel. Chuck swore, and one of his buddies got a stiff punch in to Gibbs' jaw – the brawl set off magnificently, and Gibbs, juiced on the kind of mad adrenaline that came with being provoked when he was reeling from the news that – at least, as far as knew – Jenny had bailed on him, was not an easy match.

He felt teeth crack against his knuckles, and then he doubled over, his fist finding someone's ribs while he tried to catch his breath from a blow to the back. Betsy kept screaming uselessly – he had the swift, strange thought that if it had been Jenny, she'd already have jumped in and started biting – and his world was a whirlwind of sharp hits and blunt force for a moment, before two things happened –

A shot rang out, the loud, startling sound of a gun blast breaking into the melee, and someone was standing in the middle of them, her back to Gibbs, with her arms stretched out, shouting.

"What do you think you're doing? Who do you think you are, attacking people on the streets?"

"He threw the first punch, Shannon!" Betsy shrieked shrilly, pointing at Gibbs.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Betsy Carmichael!" the intrepid defender snapped anyway. She started to turn, but Gibbs only got half a look at her blue eyes – it was the girl from the dress shop – before Jackson Gibbs himself was there, shotgun in hand.

"That's about enough, you bunch of goddamn punks – you'd think you were all raised by a pack of rabid hounds, and damned if I don't know all your Mamas – especially yours," Jackson growled, gripping Gibbs' shoulder in a vice-like clutch. "Fighting in the street like a common thug," he barked, pushing Gibbs back.

Gibbs grit his teeth hard and glared at his father – as if he needed this man barging in with his shotgun, all heated, defending him like this. He was Marine, and a damn good one at that – and Jackson Gibbs could stay out of this.

"Mr. Gibbs, I think they asked for it," the redhead piped up. She folded her arms defiantly, and Gibbs blinked – her long hair blew behind her – he didn't even know this little thing, and she'd jumped right in the middle of it all.

"Run on home, Shannon, you don't have business here," Jackson said, softening his tone. He gestured with his gun. "Go on, now," he said, sounding eerily like Mrs. Henry had moments ago.

The girl threw a nasty look at Chuck and his cohorts, and she turned tail and ran off, back into the Henry dress shop. With one angry look at Gibbs, and one wary look at the shotgun, Chuck beckoned his friends and took off – Betsy did at least do Gibbs the courtesy of giving him a sympathetic shake of the head before she ran after him.

Jackson rested the shotgun over his shoulder and gave his son a cool, calculating look.

"You ain't even home a day and you're getting' into trouble – "

"Where is she, Dad?" Gibbs interrupted bluntly, icy blue eyes boring into his father's. His voice was tight, his muscles tighter, and he wiped at his bloody mouth without wincing – without feeling that physical pain. His stomach was in knots, twisted like it had been when he heard the bad news about his mother's diagnosis, and he stared, shoulders back, waiting to hear it.

Jackson put his hand on Gibbs' shoulder.

"Come home," he said gruffly.

Gibbs yanked away.

"Jackson," he spat warily. "Where's Jen?"

"You come with me, boy," Jackson said coolly, ignoring the slight. He put his hand back on his son's shoulder – tighter this time – and gave him a tug.

Gibbs had almost no choice – he followed him, waiting only a moment more to wrench his arm from Jackson's grip again. He wiped at his face with his sleeve, glad he was in his ACUs and not his dress blues, and then closed one eye lightly for a moment, ignoring the throb in it, and his jaw.

His father marched him not into the house, but into the store; he yanked a chair out for him and pointed wordlessly, before going behind the counter. Gibbs sat, pressing his fingers against his jaw, listening to his father rummaging around, and then Jackson was back, handing out a slightly bent envelope.

"Came for you about a week ago," Jackson grunted. "Don't know why she didn't send it straight to you."

Gibbs took it, staring at the address – his name, her initials up in the corner, but no actual return address. He stared for a long moment, and thought – maybe he just wouldn't open it. But he did, because the temptation was too strong, and he was at a loss; he needed answers. Despite the mystery of Deborah Henry's words, he thought – she must be just at her father's; she must be.

Dear Jethro – it began – I don't know how to explain this to you, and I don't know what to say – Natalie is safe, and this doesn't have anything to do with something you did wrong …

The words she'd written faded together; melted and evolved into a jumble that barely justified anything, barely made sense; there was so much crammed into two pages of college ruled paper; tiny, elegant cursive writing reasoning out harsh, cold things – things like how suffocated she was in Stillwater, how much the idea of marriage scared her, how it was about her, and what she needed, and he hadn't done her wrong, but she had to go just like he had to –

Eventually, he quit re-reading the words, and he folded it up, just staring at the creases. He had a hollow feeling in his stomach that rose to his chest, made him feel empty and at fault, guilty and angry. He tried not to think about the other feeling that lingered in the dark corners of his mind, because he was better than that; he wasn't going to label that creeping sense of relief he felt; it shamed him, and he pushed it back; it didn't make sense. He loved her; he loved Natalie.

He finally opened his mouth.

"How long?"

Jackson took a deep breath.

"She's been gone three and a half weeks," he said bluntly. "Pulled the wool over my eyes."

Gibbs looked at him wearily; he didn't believe him. He stared at his father, and he had the irrational fear that Jackson had ushered her off to spite him, told her to run – or at least not tried to stop her. He didn't know if his father would do that or not; he didn't ask.

Three and a half weeks. That meant – the last batch of drawings he'd received from Natalie had come from – wherever Jenny was.

"Where is she?" he asked finally, his voice hoarse.

Jackson made a face.

"Jasper hasn't told me," he growled. "I reckon she's with that mother of hers," he added.

Gibbs nodded – that would be his best bet. Where else would Jenny go, with hardly any money, and a little girl to take care of? If she wanted to do this – what had she said? Make her own way, her own choices to leave Stillwater, so she wouldn't be miserable with regret, and resentful? If she wanted to do that, she had to at least have some place to start.

She'd always said it was better there. When she was pregnant, when she took Natalie for that first visit. Jenny had always said she felt at ease there; more comfortable, like she could breathe; less judged and looked down on.

"What'd that letter say?" Jackson asked abrasively.

Gibbs said nothing; he pulled it towards him pointedly, bending it towards his chest; it was personal, his to read, his to know.

"She give a good reason for takin' my granddaughter away?" Jackson pressed.

Gibbs looked at him sharply, his lips drawn tight.

"This isn't about you," he said in a hard, unforgiving voice. The door of the general store opened with the ring of a bell, as Gibbs' eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, fixated on his father. "How hard did you make it on her?" he snarled.

"Your old man had nothing to do with my daughter's choices."

Gibbs looked over; the opening door had been Chief Shepard. He noticed now that a police car was parked out front; the chief was in full uniform, and he stood looking tight-lipped and angry, his cap held under his arm.

"Mrs. Henry called me," Jasper Shepard said in a clipped voice, without being asked. "There was a fight?"

Gibbs stood slightly, leaning on the table. He didn't remark on the fight, he looked at Jenny's father square in the eye for a long moment.

"She's gone?" he asked deliberately, wanting to hear it from Jasper.

Shepard looked at him balefully, his shoulder stiff and heavy. He moved his head once, in a curt, sharp nod.

Gibbs' jaw twitched.

"She's gone for good," he stated, half question, half assertion. He studied his girlfriend's father, and though Jasper didn't nod, or say anything; the look on his face confirmed it, and after another long silence, Jasper cleared his throat.

"I told her not to come back," he said in a low voice. "She threw away my support."

Gibbs slammed his hand down on the table.

"You never gave her enough goddamn support," he shouted, desperate. He turned and shot a nasty look at his father. "You were just as bad – she felt, she felt," he stumbled over his words, because he could hardly put into words what Jen felt, he never seemed to quite grasp it, or understand. "You couldn't just get the fuck over it," he snapped dangerously.

"I won't be spoken to like that, son," Jasper said coolly, placing is police cap on his head.

Gibbs looked between them sourly.

"You just let her go," he snarled, eyes darting between both of them. He settled on Jasper. "You told her she can't come back?" he demanded. "What if she'd – changed her mind?"

The Chief gave him a hard look.

"I'm tired of trying to teach that girl she has to give up the life she thought she was going to have," he said in a hollow voice. "You want her back, you want to support her, forgive her, that's your right," he said. He shook his head slightly. "She's over eighteen now. She made her decision. She's on her own."

Gibbs grit his teeth. He tried to think that unfair, he tried to hate the Chief, but he couldn't; why should Jasper open his doors to Jenny again, why should he reward her, when aside from his continued disappointment and cool nature, he hadn't kicked her out, hadn't sent her away, hadn't been cruel?

He sat down heavily, with a loud thud, and he put his head in his hands, staring down at the bent letter she'd written – not a Dear John, a Dear Jethro, but still, the same sentiment was there. He looked up, at his father, at her father.

"She took Natalie," he said hoarsely. He rubbed at his jaw, ignoring the pain. "She's got all the custody, she's got all the legal rights," he went on rapidly, still scratching at his skin. He slammed his palm down, grit his teeth. "She can't take Natalie, she can't let her think I didn't want her!" He ran his hand down the back of his neck, grabbing at his collar.

"Where is she?" he demanded. He held up the letter, and shook it. "No return address – where is she, Chief?" he asked, looking up. "She with her mother?"

"Did she tell you what she wants to do in that letter?" the Chief asked stiffly, his eyes narrowing angrily at the sight. "I told that girl – to call you; to talk to you – "

"You raised yourself a goddamn coward, sir."

Jackson Gibbs shot his son a warning look – it didn't matter how pissed Jasper Shepard was at his daughter; it didn't matter what he said about cutting her loose, she was flesh and blood, and Gibbs didn't need to be insulting her to his face.

"That may be," Jasper said mechanically, "but I told her I washed my hands of it. I told her it's on her."

He turned stiffly, and walked squarely out, with Jackson giving him a mean look, and Gibbs looking back down at the letter. He stared for a moment, and then got up, shoving the table out from under him so fast it skidded back and toppled over; he ignored his father as he barreled out and caught up with Jasper, shoving his hand in between the car door and the roof to make sure it didn't close.

"You got to give me her mother's address," he demanded, eyes sharp.

Jasper sighed harshly.

"That's my ex-wife's private home you're talking about, Leroy," he said tensely. "I can't have you showin' up – "

"I can't just show up!" Gibbs interrupted angrily. "I got to report to active duty in one day – 'M not going to go harass your wife – I got to have some place to send my child support, don't I?" he asked sardonically.

Jasper was quiet a moment.

"You let her screw her head on, she'll call you," he said confidently. "She'll tell you how she wants to do it, lettin' you see your daughter."

Gibbs shook his head.

"You think she's going to do that, Chief?" he asked.

He bristled.

"Do I think she's going to keep you away if you fight for your rights?" he asked. "I sure as hell don't – are you gonna fight, boy?"

Or was he too angry, and too ashamedly relieved, to really go for the throat? And if he wanted to, would Jasper really follow through with his threat to hire a lawyer against his own child?

Gibbs pulled the door open, staring at him hard for a long time.

"I got to talk to her," he said, his voice breaking slightly – though his face showed almost no emotion, no emotion by practiced stone control. "I got to talk to her," he repeated forcefully. "I wait for her to come to me, what's that say about how much I care?"

"Maybe it's you disrespecting her wishes," Jasper countered sharply.

"Then with all due respect, screw her, sir," Gibbs fired back, raising his voice. "If not her, I got to talk to Natalie. My daughter is gonna hear my voice."

That gave the Chief pause, and Gibbs realized this man was just as taken aback, just as confused and angry as he himself was. He stood there waiting, and finally Jasper grabbed something from the glove compartment, and took a pen from a pocket on his uniform. He snapped it, and began to write.

He folded the paper, and handed it over stiffly.

"That's my ex wife's telephone number," he said, staring rigidly ahead. He swallowed hard, and then reached for the door, aiming to pull it shut. "Might be you ought to just let her go, Leroy," he ventured finally, his tone a little wistful, a little bitter. His lips turned up. "Natalie'll come looking for you some day, and she'll hate her mother for it. That's your payback."

Gibbs leaned down, his hands braced on the roof of the car.

"What kind of man you think I am, sir?" he asked harshly.

The Chief looked at him, his eyes unreadable.

"Don't think I ever figured that out," he answered, just as harsh.

He left Gibbs standing there in the sun, holding that small, torn piece of paper, and it took only a second for Gibbs to storm into his father's store and ignore the words that flew form Jackson's mouth; he made a beeline for the sleek black phone sitting behind the counter, picked it up, shoved his finger in the old dial, turned it to the first number –

- and hung it up with an abrupt slam, his heart clenching in his throat, paralyzed; because he couldn't do it, right now – he couldn't move, he couldn't think, he couldn't bring himself to hear her, or Natalie, right now – he couldn't do it.

---

Twenty hours later, and he was stagnant; he hadn't called, he still couldn't touch a phone, and he was at a crossroads.

He sat on a smooth wooden bench at the lone bus depot, a vintage black velvet box in his hands. He wore his dress blues, ready to board the bus, ready to report to Camp Lejeune, and with soft pops he opened and closed, opened and closed, his mother's engagement ring; every time the glitter caught the sun it stung his eyes, and when he closed them, he wondered what it would have looked like on Jenny's finger.

That was his first mistake, maybe; thinking he should use his dead mother's ring.

He stared at the gem, wondering why he couldn't pick up a phone.

There were footsteps behind him, and someone sat down; a wary glance over his shoulder told him it was only a teenage girl, sitting there with a suitcase at her side. He ignored her, simply glad it wasn't his father, come to harangue him one last time.

Jackson had berated him, cajoled him – asked him over and over if he was going to go after the girl, step up, be a man – but what kind of man was he, if he couldn't even give her confidence in him in the first place? If he didn't report to Lejeune on time, he'd be labeled a deserter, and then two things could happen – he'd make Jenny come to her senses, and it would be moot, because he'd be in prison – or she'd stick to her guns, and he'd be in prison; he doubt Jenny would bring Natalie to see an incarcerated father, and he wouldn't want his baby in a jail, so it seemed – his only option was to call her.

But he couldn't; he didn't know what to say, how to plead, what to demand.

Jasper had made the curt comment, when Gibbs had brought up child support again, that Jenny forfeited that when she ran off, but Gibbs didn't want to risk depriving her of that if it meant she'd keep Natalie away – but how could he see Natalie when he'd never have leave, not when he was so freshly a Marine – and what where the chances he'd work out some plan with Jenny like her own parents had worked out? She hadn't even considered leaving Natalie with him when she went to visit her mother.

He felt a flare of anger, and despair – it was simultaneously like he hadn't known Jenny at all, and like he'd expected this, and under all that, he kept trying to fight that ugly relief that tickled at him – he'd loved Jen – no matter how conflicted his anger made him now – and he loved Natalie unconditionally, but then why did he feel like she'd taken a burden off of his shoulders?

If he'd always been the one telling Jenny she had to get over it, why was he suddenly – despite how he felt about his daughter, fighting this sinister, quiet whisper that if he chose a certain path, he'd be off the hook for a little while?

Was it because his mother wasn't here to inspire him, was it because he'd never been a teenager at all, once Jenny had gotten pregnant?

He felt cool and despicable, and that made him angrier with her, for bringing this out in him.

He snapped the jewelry box shut with a loud, final pop, and sat back, and his back straight. He pushed up the cap on his head and stared straight ahead at the empty streets, waiting. The bus ride ahead of him would be long; too long and quiet for him. He didn't want to think; he didn't want to face himself anymore – not right now.

The wind blew, and he turned his face away from dust, catching sight of a glint of red. He lifted his eyes cautiously, looking at the other person waiting. It was that girl again, the one Betsy had shrieked out. He looked a blink longer than he should have – not for lascivious reasons, but because he remembered that she'd spoken angrily at the dress shop when Deborah Henry had broken the news.

In that long blink, she turned her head, and caught him staring. He turned back around slowly, sorry to have garnered her attention. She shifted, and put her arm on the bench, turning towards him. She tilted her head.

"You're the guy with the baby," she remarked – as if she was finally meeting some infamous outlaw. He thought it was an odd thing to say – she had clearly seemed to know who he was, before.

He turned his head and looked at her, silent while he considered her cautiously.

"Lotsa guys have babies," he said finally. He didn't know where she was going with this, and he didn't want to talk about Natalie with some curious gossip – not ever, and especially not now.

She smiled and nodded, her brow going up a little – amused, no doubt, because while plenty of guys did indeed have babies, he'd be the only one for miles who had a three year old at nineteen. Or – almost three, as it were.

"What exactly were you and those guys fighting about?" she asked, switching gears boldly.

Gibbs blinked warily; she sounded gossip-y, but not in the way he was used to. There was no wicked glitter in her eyes, like she couldn't wait to hear something so she could pass it on to anyone who would listen. She just seemed – interested, fascinated, maybe, in a small town way, but harmless. He didn't feel like she was just trying to entertain herself.

She gave him a quiet look while he considered her, and reached over and touched his shoulder, lightly and softly.

"You should stop," she advised. "Fighting."

He didn't say anything for a long time, and then he cleared his throat.

"They insulted Natalie's mother," he said finally.

That was the simple truth of it, after all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was habit, or maybe it was that Chuck's words had reminded him of just how unforgiving this town had been to Jenny, and he'd thought every single word, look, and thought like that had culminated in Jenny running away.

He started to turn back around, but something she said stopped him.

"I don't know why. My mother and my aunt used to say mean things, too," the girl said calmly, her tone unassuming. She laughed. "That's why I never told them I thought she was brave."

Gibbs looked at her sharply.

"Brave?" he repeated, before he could stop himself. He hadn't meant to sound skeptical, but that's how she took it.

"What else would you call it?" she asked brazenly. "If I were her, I'd have given up."

Gibbs blinked. He shook his head.

"Don't think you would," he said dryly.

"You don't know me at all," she pointed out.

He arched an eyebrow.

"You jumped in front of Chuck's fists," he said warily.

She lifted her shoulders.

"Even Chuck was raised not to hit a girl," she said abruptly. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "He calls girls sluts, you know," she said, "but only after he gets them in bed with him."

Gibbs didn't feel he really needed that bit of information, but he didn't doubt it. And after all the things that prick had said about Jenny, who'd only ever been with one man, because she loved him. He lowered his eyes, and scowled. This girl reached forward, and touched his shoulder again.

"I'm Shannon," she said.

He nodded; that rang a bell.

"Melissa Fielding's niece," he remembered gruffly.

She nodded.

"My family doesn't mix business with pleasure," she said. "I spend a lot of time at Mrs. Henry's." She paused for a long time, hesitant. "There's a dress Natalie wore," she began, "pale blue, with green ribbons – "

Gibbs nodded; he didn't want to hear about Natalie. But he knew the dress – Jenny had made it.

"It's made from leftover fabric from one of my cotillion sundresses," Shannon said quietly, and a little bashfully. "The colour suited her better."

Gibbs blinked. It was almost – from the way Shannon talked, it was almost like she'd admired Jenny, and Gibbs had never met anyone in this town who gave Jenny any credit. He cleared his throat, but he didn't have anything to say.

He went out on a limb.

"She seem that unhappy?" he asked. He didn't mean Natalie, and that was clear.

Shannon licked her lips.

"I didn't know her that well," she hesitated.

"It's Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he muttered – he figured she knew, but she had a knack for affecting a polite innocence about other people's business, even if she'd heard it through the grapevine.

"Gibbs," she said demurely, and then leaned over a little more. "I don't know what happened. But I don't think it was you."

He snorted derisively.

She turned away for a moment, and then looked back.

"Do you need company?" she ventured bravely. "It's a long ride."

He glanced over her uncertainly.

"Where are you going?" he asked her cautiously. His destination was a long ride, but this little debutante couldn't be going further than Philadelphia; there must be some ball for her to get to.

She lifted her shoulders.

"I'm just going," she said smoothly. She grinned. "I graduated three days ago," she told him. "I've saved every penny I've gotten since I was ten, and people give little spoiled rich girls plenty of money," she quipped.

He looked at her with an unreadable expression, and she pursed her lips.

"I'm exploring," she said simply. "I'm going to see some of the world. Then settle down."

"Settle down?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"Have kids," she said thoughtfully. "I don't know, fall in love. Not like my parents, though," she sighed. "They'll disown me, for making my own choices."

He stared at her, for how brightly she admitted that. She just lifted her shoulders again. She smiled.

He clenched his fist, the jewelry box still in his hand, and he looked down – he felt conflicted, because he'd enjoyed this conversation; it had distracted him. But in the silence that fell, he was back to dwelling almost instantly, back to thinking about what he was going to do – what he was going to say, when he had a phone to his ear, and it was ringing on Jenny's side of the world.

Maybe he'd bypass her, and ask only to speak to Natalie, and whisper promises he might not be able to keep; maybe he'd berate Jenny, and she'd cut him off for good – maybe he'd screw it up more than he apparently already had.

He raised his head, and turned to look at Shannon, and he nodded – answering her earlier questions.

"I don't want to talk about her," he warned.

She rested her arms on the edge of the bench, and her chin on her arms; her eyes warm and calm, her expression friendly and unthreatening.

"You can talk about anything you want," she said easily. She smiled a little sympathetically. "Or you can sulk, and I can talk about nothing."

He felt relieved; he thought he liked that second idea, even if he didn't like being told he was sulking – mourning maybe, or quietly raging.

He fell into silence while she tilted her head and said something generic, started to talk, and he wondered where she'd decided to stop along the way – he had to get off in North Carolina, but the bus stopped in Philadelphia, Washington D.C., Baltimore, East Tennessee, and little cities all over Virginia – before it reached Lejeune.

He stood when the ominous bus cam,e and she stood, her vintage suitcase clasped in her hand. He paused before the door, and turned to her.

"Why?" he asked hoarsely – why did she care, why did she want to help, why was she interested at all? It couldn't be attraction; she was young, maybe just recently eighteen, if that – a year behind Jenny, and anyway, girls weren't interested in men who'd already made a mess of their lives before they'd even left their teens.

Shannon Fielding blinked in the sun, and looked like she didn't know herself. She parted her lips, and took a thoughtful breath.

"I think you need a friend, Gibbs," she said softly – as simple as that.

He stared at her, and she slipped past him to take a seat on the bus.

He slipped the jewelry box in his pocket, and followed warily, slowly – the doors shut behind him, and somehow, he knew he was really leaving this town in the dust for good this time – and he sat down next to this girl, and decided to let her distract him for the next ten hours – and when he got to base, he told himself, that's when he'd figure out what he was going to do; where he was going to go from here, this small dusty town that had given and taken the most unexpected thing in his life.

---

"Ain't no 'Maybe we can make it if we just play the right cards'
Now it's over when it's over
Ain't it, baby, ain't it?"
Erich Church; Over When It's Over

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To be continued in Part Two.

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now, are all y'all ready to lynch me?
you had to know i'd work that classic dear john letter in there somehow, right?
let me know your thoughts (unless you want to kill me, keep that to yourself please)

-alexandra