Jarhead

by madame.alexandra

In this very au continuation, 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-oriented; Shannon friendly. 3rd part in a 4 part series. This part focuses on Gibbs and what he's up to, running concurrently with 'Shepard Girls.'

3. Read My Mind

a/n: a routinely happy chapter and, as a parallel to chapter 3 of 'Shepard Girls' - the final break, from Gibbs' point of view, between him and Jen.

---

Honolulu, Hawaii; Camp Pendleton, California; Frankfurt, Germany; Baghdad, Iraq: 1992-1994

Read My Mind

---

The Hawaiian weather was perpetually beautiful – constant, all year round, and reliable, unless a hurricane struck. It was a perfect climate, a relaxing climate – and an extremely coveted duty station, as far as Marine bases went. It was, essentially, the quintessential place to be after a grueling, frustrating recovery from a near-fatal deployment, and it was only made better by the fact that when he'd gotten his orders, and – with no desire to leave her long distance if he didn't have to – popped the question to Shannon, he'd been able to tell her, when she agreed to marry him, that they were going to Hawaii.

She'd decided she wanted to have the wedding there, something small and quick and outstandingly intimate – her mother had apparently thrown a royal fit about it, but Shannon appeased her by going home to Stillwater to allow a Bridal Tea before flying to meet Gibbs at Kaneohe Base.

She finished her undergraduate degree at the University of Hawaii, and she married him two weeks after graduation, just the two of them on the Poipu Beach in Kauai.

Now, settled in for a precious few carefree nights at the resort, Shannon came in from the balcony, where she had the doors thrown wide open, and crawled back in to bed with him, her hand running possessively over his chest.

"You know," she murmured contently. "I only married you because you got orders to Hawaii."

"Ha," he snorted gruffly giving her a look. "Hm, that's why I told you my orders after I asked," he growled, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed the modest engagement ring he'd given her, and slipped his arm around her. "'M sorry we don't get more of a honeymoon," he mumbled, turning his lips towards her shoulder.

She laughed.

"Jethro," she sighed. "We're in Hawaii – when we leave this resort, we're still in Hawaii, living here – I got married in Hawaii," she murmured. "Who needs a longer honeymoon?"

He smiled, kissing her throat lightly. She rolled away from him comfortably and stretched out on her side, gathering the light sheets about her – the late afternoon breeze was enchanting, and she wasn't sure she actually cared to get up and get dressed for their dinner reservation later.

She slid her foot over towards him, and nudged his ankle with hers, catching her tongue between her teeth – it made him breathe easier, to see her so happy.

He'd been worried it was too stressful for her – dealing with transferring schools, talking her angry mother off of a cliff, moving to a Pacific Island – and all alone, on her own dime, because he didn't get paid for her until they had a legal document – he'd said he was fine with her finishing at the University of Virginia, joining him later, but she said she was tired of living apart from him.

It hadn't even been that bad, after he was officially released from Portsmouth. They'd put him on medical R&R at Norfolk, and then when he'd been cleared for more duty, they put him at Quantico for a while, berating new recruits into shape, and performing as a liaison with the NCIS field office. Neither of those places were too far from her university – if there was no traffic – but she'd just said she didn't want to wait until she graduated.

So – she'd gotten herself into dorms in Honolulu, and kept close until he got the legal document from a court, got them into base housing, and then married her in a less official ceremony a month later.

It wasn't just – moving, and preparing to start their lives, either; he knew he'd been difficult for the past year or so – the effects of such a brutal combat had hit him full-force halfway through his physical recovery, sometime around when they'd made him stand up at a Purple Heart ceremony, and then a Silver Star ceremony, and he stood there staring into unfamiliar faces, thinking of the people who had died, who weren't there, whose ultimate sacrifice was getting a silly ribbon pinned to his dress blues.

Feeling the weight of that had crushed the fuzzy walls in his mind that were holding at bay the whole mess of Jenny and Natalie, and as it all started to become clearer – he was better now, he was in control, he was healing – but after focusing for so long on getting better, on getting healthy, and wondering, he couldn't go back to the way it had been.

If anything, rather than anger, these days he just felt guilt, when he thought of it, because he didn't call, he didn't send things he – he couldn't bring himself to pick back up. She didn't seem to care what had happened to him in Kuwait, and he was – so different, from who he was before his deployment, before his coma, that he didn't know what to say.

Shannon's hand slipped into his, then crept across the bed to his abdomen.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked curiously.

He turned his head on the pillow.

"What 'm always thinkin' about, when it gets too quiet," he said hoarsely.

There was no point in hiding anything with Shannon – that was one of the beautiful things about her; she knew Stillwater, she knew his past – there was no difficult conversation to have, ever.

She turned onto her stomach and moved close, lifting herself up on her arms lazily. She nodded, her long, thick hair tumbling messily over her shoulders.

"We're settled now; we're stable," she began slowly. She looked at him. "We could – we can reach out." He raised his brows a little. "You can reach out," she corrected lightly. "I know you don't want me stirring the pot."

"It's not you," he retorted warily. "It's her. She thinks I'm too confusing," he quoted, his eyes moving derisively, "her damn father – she'd get a restraining order on you," he said, hollow.

"She can't begrudge you moving on," Shannon said logically. "Who's to say she hasn't?"

Gibbs snorted a little. He doubted it – again, if Jenny reacted negatively to Gibbs being a confusing or uncertain presents in his own daughter's life, he highly doubted she allowed any non-blood related male that close. That, he had to admit, he took a petty pleasure in – he half-hoped her punishment for throwing what they had away was loneliness.

Shannon sighed. She slung her arm over his chest, and rested her chin there, blinking up at him through thick, dark lashes.

"You know I'm fine with whatever you want to do," she reminded him soothingly. She hesitated briefly. "You know I think you could – push her harder."

Gibbs shook his head a little.

She paused another moment, and went on.

"It wouldn't be uncalled for to take her to court – "

"Shannon," he growled, a little sharply.

"Jethro, it's not spiting her, it's not vengeful," she insisted, because that's always what he seemed to think – he was – well, they were both – raised in a world where suing and courts weren't really the answer, talking it out and homegrown bartering was how you resolved issues. "I know how much this bothers you."

He shook his head again, stubborn.

"Might hurt Natalie," he said.

"I think that child probably occasionally wonders why her mother is so shady about you," Shannon said, slightly nettled.

"'M not – I'm not gonna show up and have her first experience with seein' me again be takin' Jen to court," he growled warningly. "She'd probably hate me for it, if it upset Jen – you know how pissed I used to get if anyone looked funny at my Ma?"

Shannon nodded, understanding. She massaged her hand over his abdomen affectionately.

"Hell, if she even remembers me," he muttered, dejected.

"I'm sure she does," Shannon answered automatically. "How old was she, the last time you saw her?"

"Four," he said. "Or – five," he added, wincing. He didn't quite remember. He did know that – she was seven now; she'd be eight in November. Sometimes, it floored him, it absolutely floored him, that he had a seven-year-old child out there in the world – seven, when he was only twenty-four, and Shannon was twenty-two, and it was all so backwards and confused.

He closed his eyes lightly, running his arm up and down Shannon's back.

He wondered what Natalie was doing, right at this moment – he didn't care what Jenny was doing.

"You could send her a letter," Shannon said quietly. "The way you used to – include your phone number, again – leave it up to her."

Gibbs shrugged – again, she was seven; she probably didn't think about complex things like this, and he didn't want to disrupt her carefree childhood and make her – and he sincerely doubted Jenny would be on board. Although – he knew, without question, that he'd fight Jenny on it if Natalie made it clear she wanted him in her life. But part of him now – sometimes wanted to stay uninvolved, so the whole thing would blow up in Jen's face and she'd have to face it, like she deserved to.

"There couldn't be a Natalie in my life without Jen," he said, a little unpleasantly. "She'd – " he faltered. "I dunno, Shannon, she threw me off, doin' what she did – I don't think she'd treat you right."

"Well, I wouldn't expect any mother to let her child around a stepmother without vigilance and investigation," Shannon said calmly. "And frankly – you're right, we couldn't have Natalie without Jenny, but in a larger sense, Natalie's existence in general is thanks to Jenny," she licked her lips. "And you," she added softly.

"We?" he said to her, skeptical.

She nodded simply, and shrugged.

"I know your past Gibbs, I know your baggage," she murmured. "I married you knowing that, knowing you have a child. If you can, I want you to have a relationship with that child," she explained. "I…would gladly love Natalie with you, and make her comfortable here. I don't feel threatened by her at all," she paused. "I definitely don't feel threatened by any other woman," she added, her voice firm and dry.

He turned towards her, sliding his other arm around her.

"Good," he growled, pressing his lips to her throat. "You shouldn't," he murmured possessively.

Her hand rested against his neck.

"I do think you're making excuses," she said. "I know…it's been hard – but I'm bringing it up now – "

"Shannon," he groaned.

"Jethro, I've been here, I've watched you struggle, I know how much you love Natalie – and I think, you – you're in a good place now, and you can stabilize everything, you can jump through some hoops if you – "

"I don't want to keep fightin' her, Jesus," he swore tensely.

It killed him every time – he remembered that now, clearly; he felt it heavily, how much it hurt to be around Natalie, or to talk to her, knowing how limited his options were, and how hard it was for him to keep it as constant as possible – and even when his full memory of the whole fiasco had come back, he'd known he was somewhat at peace with just being totally out of contact – because the longer he went that way, the duller the pain got.

"I just don't want you to regret this, Jethro," Shannon whispered.

He took her hand, squeezing hard.

"Shannon," he said hoarsely. "I don't want to talk about this," he said, his voice raw.

This was his wedding night – her wedding night – and here they were, laying in bed, in various states of bliss and disarray, talking about his ex-girlfriend, and her tyrannical rule over the well-being of their illegitimate child – tyrannical, because he thought she took it too far, though he'd never demonize Jenny for protecting Natalie, because to date, every time he'd seen or spoken to Natalie, she'd seemed extremely well-taken care of, happy, and content.

"I love you," she murmured.

She rose up a little, shifting her weight onto his chest some, her hair falling onto his shoulders. She looked at him, and he ran his hands over her back – the room still felt breezy, sunny, and he let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding – she cleared his head.

She really had been there for song long, through everything; he felt no shame around Shannon, only his own guilt – and she tried to assuage that, she tried to help him work through it – sometimes, looking at Shannon, loving Shannon, he had the creeping realization that he hadn't been mature enough for this kind of love and commitment when he was nineteen.

He didn't want to think Jenny had been right, but things had been so impossibly difficult, when he'd been struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder and his recovery – he'd pushed Shannon, she'd pushed back, and they'd been trying to figure themselves out – he hated that he might have a small amount of understanding for Jenny's fear of what would have happened to them, if they'd gotten married.

She kissed his lips, and sprawled onto her back.

"Hawaii," she murmured. "Do we – we really get to live here, for a year?" she asked, half in a daze – it felt too good to be true; Hawaii, with the man of her dreams – and she was sure she was going to get a Kindergarten teaching job at a local private school, she was so sure she would get it, and Gibbs was so much better – his knee hardly bothered him anymore.

He nodded. He turned his head.

"'M gonna put in for a promotion, next round," he said.

She turned her head, one eyebrow up lazily.

"Early, isn't it?"

He nodded slowly.

"Think I can swing it – 'm aimin' to get into the Marine Security Guard school," he told her.

Shannon rested her hand lazily on her stomach, her brow furrowing slightly.

"A – new MOS?" she asked, lips pursing gently. "I thought you loved being a sniper. It's what you wanted."

He thought of Matteson, dying in his arms – he thought of how brutal the whole deployment had been; he didn't want another combat deployment – yes, he felt ashamed of it, sometimes, he felt like a coward, but he didn't want to watch his Marines die again, he didn't want to be rewarded for being a killer – in theory, his job was cool, slick; in practice, it was cold, hollowing – but of course, he would do what he was ordered to for his country – ah, but he thought of Matteson, and boot camp, and everything she'd never get to do.

He shrugged.

"MSGs guard the embassies," he said. "I can't qualify for MSG school with a dependent, unless I'm a gunnery sergeant," he went on gruffly. "I'd need the promotion. It'd be at Quantico."

Shannon nodded, her fingers still dancing on her stomach, and her ribs.

"You know how I love Virginia," she sighed. She grinned beautifully. "Babe, you'll never beat Hawaii, though," she said sweetly.

"S'a long shot," Gibbs said, shrugging. "It's a tough course, too – you think you'd be okay, with livin' overseas, at some embassy?"

Shannon laughed.

"Would I be okay – hmm," she feigned indecision. "Do we get to pick the embassy? If it's any place other than Rome, I will demand a divorce."

He rolled towards her, snatching her close to him, his fingers digging gently into her ribs, tickling her. He shook his head, giving her a very stern look.

"You think I'd let you get away?"

"What are you doing to do – lock me in a tower? Rapunzel is a German story; I suppose I could content myself there," she drawled. She laughed, squirming away from him, biting her lower lip. She sat up and leaned over him, cocking her head. "I can live anywhere, with you," she said.

He made a face; she scrunched her nose, and swept down to kiss him.

He held her close, hardly believing he'd gotten this lucky – he didn't feel like he deserved it; he felt like he'd missed his chance at this, in nineteen eighty-seven; he'd never thought he'd be with anyone but Jenny, and even after that had ended, he'd never thought he'd find someone he felt comfortable with – he was a closed person, a hard nut to crack.

He only wished – he wished his mother could know Shannon; his mother would love her – of course, his mother had loved Jenny, and Natalie; she'd always been calm, logical, and understanding of all, even those who treated her poorly, and maybe Gibbs saw some of that in Shannon – that saint-like willingness to forgive, and dissect, and understand.

He rolled her over, holding his body over hers just enough that he wasn't too heavy, and pushing his forehead against hers. She opened her eyes and ran her hands over his chest, ultimately wrapping her arms around him and pulling her tightly close to him.

"Aloha, Mrs. Gibbs," he growled gallantly, smirking charmingly.

"Aloha," she said back, bursting into a bright smile.

He grinned, and lowered his lips to hers, tilting her head up – and he thought, with some relief, and with a fading amount of pain, that maybe this year at Kaneohe Bay would be therapeutic in someway, would be healing – maybe it would be the first time since he came back from infantry school to a letter left in Stillwater that he felt like his life was – going to be okay.

---

The time came for PCS before the decision was made on his promotion, thus with both the promotion and his application for Marine Security Guard training hanging in a sort of administrative limbo, in nineteen ninety-three Gibbs was ordered to good old Camp Pendleton – for the third time, he was at this base that sat perilously close to where his past had run off to, and damned if it wasn't the universe constantly trying to get under his skin.

Shannon herself seemed to think it was a sign.

Tying back her hair in a soft purple bandana – a kerchief that made her look like a radiant, redheaded Cinderella, she popped open another box, slicing through tape with her teeth and then spitting it aside and clearing her throat.

"Pendleton is a damn sight better than Missouri," she said, poking around to explore what was in the box. "It's a good transition from Hawaii, I suppose," she sighed dramatically, smiling. "Hell, I would have taken Missouri over – where did they almost send you, Kosovo? Jethro – this is kitchen stuff, why did you label it bedroom?"

He shrugged lamely, eyeing the box.

"Still might send me to Kosovo," he muttered. He had a feeling that he'd been kept statewide just in case things turned out with his promotion and whatnot, though that was strangely accommodating for the Corps.

"Hmm," Shannon made a quiet sniffing noise. "Well, at least I could go with you to Missouri," she murmured, haphazardly pushing the box aside.

They'd been assigned their place at Pendleton about a week after arriving, and both of them had been lazy on moving in and getting settled – Shannon was uncertain she wanted to stay on base; she was itching to try and buy property somewhere, so they'd have a place when he left the Marines.

"Jethro," she growled, glaring at another box. "These are tools, but they're labeled kitchen – were you drunk when you packed? Why are all these wrong?" she asked, raising her eyes good-naturedly to the heavens.

"'Cause I'm useless," Gibbs answered, deadpan.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured coolly. She leaned on the box, and shot him a look. "I'm opening a bottle of wine," she said abruptly.

She sashayed out of the living room and into the kitchen, where at least the fridge was up, running, and organized. He watched her go, and then sat down on the very simple couch they'd brought with them from Oahu. She returned moments later, handing him a longneck beer, and sitting on the floor at his feet.

"We're never going to get unpacked," she said dramatically.

"Not if you keep drinkin' before 5 o'clock," he snorted.

"Hey," she quipped, checking her watch – the watch he'd gotten her for Christmas, some fancy brand she had admired, but never expected him to get for her. "It's five o'clock in – New York."

"Cheers," Gibbs said seriously, knocking his bottle lightly against her glass.

She slipped her arm around his leg and held onto him loosely, leaning back lazily against the sofa – it was a nice little place; base housing on Pendleton was nothing to complain about – but the thing with military housing was, you never quite felt like it was your own. She'd noticed already that, over by the stairs, there were faint measurement marks – the occupants before them had been diligently measuring the heights of Susie, Betty, and Kyle.

She tilted her head back and looked at him passively.

"You know what you should do once we're settled in," she began – and it wasn't a question at all; it was an open-ended statement.

She popped her eyebrows up pointedly, and he glared at her sharply a moment.

"Shannon," he started.

She shrugged.

"It's not even two hours away, Jethro; you can't tell me it's impossible – you can't tell me it's not killing you to be this close."

"I still work weekends half the time," he muttered.

"I would be more than happy to keep Natalie if that ever happens on a day we establish – "

"There is no way in hell Jen would – "

"To hell with Jen," Shannon said sharply. Gibbs gave her a startled look – Shannon was never hostile about Jenny. She gave him a sharp shrug, and a brazen look. "I am not some casual fling you're running around town with; I'm your wife. We've been married over a year. And," she said primly, "hate to break it to you, bud, but I plan on being your wife forever."

Gibbs gave her look of feigned horror.

"Forever?"

"Until fire consumes the earth."

"Guess I shoulda read the fine print."

She rolled her eyes, and pinched his knee hard, and then immediately pulled away, her face falling. He yanked his leg to the side and, reflexively, darted his hand out to smack her hand away from the old injury – the scar tissue was perpetually tender – the muscle had never gone back to normal; pressure irritated it.

She reached out for his leg, her hand alighting gently on the sore spot, leaning close hesitantly.

"I'm so sorry, Jethro," she said quickly. "I – "

He shook his head, leaning back. The tenseness that had shot through him when she'd pinched him evaporated, and he leaned back again, giving her a nod – he was okay; he knew she hadn't meant to. He gestured at her with his beer warily.

"If you're gonna start abusing me – "

"Oh, shut up."

"The Corps takes spousal abuse very seriously," he recited stiffly.

"I guess I'll have to beat you into silence, then."

He leaned forward and pushed his hand through her hair, throwing it over her face messily, knotting it up and grinning.

"Gonna cuff me first?"

She squirmed away from him, swatting at his hands, careful not to spill her wine. She burst into laughter and turned, facing him, one leg pulled up to her chest.

"Charming," she crooned softly, cocking one eyebrow. "Back to the point."

"Damn," he groused, giving her another glare – she shrugged; she was not an easily distracted woman, and she was aware of his attempts to deflect the conversation – he always deflected the conversation now.

There was some kind of shift in the way he'd been before his coma and after; he was so skittish of the Natalie subject now, that he even let it start brief arguments between them, due to his refusal to start trying to make contact, or pick the ball back up – she knew he was protecting himself, and she didn't blame him, but she still thought it was a better strategy for him to do nothing that could give Jenny anything to critique, and unfortunately abandoning attempts to be involved did just that.

"I want you to think about it, Jethro – "

"I think about it," he growled.

"No, I want you to think about it harder," she said firmly. "There is nothing about you that is threatening, or untrustworthy, or bad for a child to be around – I have never thought any of this was your fault, but I don't want you to regret giving up – "

"I haven't given up!" he snapped.

"Yes, you have," she said calmly. "We've been here three weeks, and you haven't even tried to call."

He rubbed his forehead, and he learned forward, holding his beer in two hands. He looked down at it narrowly, swallowed, and looked at his wife.

"I have thought about it, Shannon," he said huskily. He shrugged. "She's – eight, she hasn't seen me since she was – practically a toddler," he listed, frustrated. He lifted his palm and rubbed his forehead, wrinkling his brow. "What if I show up and it just…upsets her, or – "

"Jen – "

"'M not talkin' about Jen; I don't give a damn about Jenny," he said harshly. "Natalie. It might – freak her out, stress her out, and I can't explain to 'er where the hell I've been – "

"You're afraid of rejection," Shannon said softly.

He bristled uncomfortably, but said nothing. She sighed, reaching out and rubbing his thigh.

"She's young, she's still at a resilient age," Shannon ventured. "I don't think it would be as bad as you think, even if it was strange for a while – "

"I don't even know how long we'll be at Pendleton," he growled.

"Excuses."

"Christ, Shannon, don't you think it's just better to leave it? Jen's probably got 'er brainwashed – "

"Yes," Shannon said, her eyes boring into his. She got up, setting her glass of wine aside, and she sat down next to him, close, taking his chin firmly. "But, when the day comes that Natalie comes looking for you, don't you want to tell her you did everything you could?"

She let go of him, and let that sink in. He stared down at the beer in his hands again and grit his teeth – of course he wanted that – he still thought about Natalie every day; he wondered what she was doing, what she was like – what she thought about him, if she did.

He swallowed hard.

"I miss her," he admitted quietly.

Shannon leaned back against the couch, rubbing his shoulder gently.

"I know, honey," she murmured. "Look, if the word custody, or visitation is too ominous, just – feel out the situation, maybe," she suggested thoughtfully. "I'll stay in the background for as long as I need to, if that's less threatening."

He nodded – when he'd gotten these orders, back to Pendleton, it had brought a lot of this back up, simmering just below the surface, because he knew it was his responsibility to start making definitive decision about it again, to really start thinking about it, and facing it – the peace and bliss of Hawaii was gone, he hadn't quite gotten the orders he put in for – and it might just be because fate was trying to tell him something.

"I'm still going to send holiday cards," Shannon said stubbornly. "At the very least, I will make sure the door is open for her." She paused. "And Jenny's not stupid. She knows you're not sending cards."

Gibbs smiled a little. He clenched his teeth and nodded to himself.

"I'll call 'er," he said.

Shannon smiled, relieved. She really did think it would be good for him – she knew he always felt guilty about Natalie, that he always had some shadows in his heart and mind about her, and what had happened years ago.

"Natalie, or Jenny?" she clarified.

He sighed, more a groan than anything else. He took a long drink.

"Jen," he said dryly. "Got to call her first."

As much as he didn't want to talk to her – she always reminded him that he'd felt like such a failure back then – he wouldn't dare try to get to Natalie without discussing it with Jen, and he didn't really think it would be outrageous if he did try that, and she got angry. He wasn't about to do anything that might make Natalie some sort of pawn in a power play.

Shannon laid her head on his shoulder, and then slid her hand down his chest, shooting a shifty look at the boxes.

"We could always leave this until tomorrow…"

"What did you have in mind, instead?" he asked seriously.

"Staff Sergeant, you home?"

Gibbs bolted upright, a reaction to being shouted at by an officer – even at home and out of uniform, he couldn't help but act like he'd just been thrown into a vat of hot water when a higher rank showed up – and this one was standing at the door, bellowing through the flimsy screen.

"Jethro," griped Shannon lightly. "You spilled that beer on me."

She brushed at the front of her blouse, rolled her eyes, and got up, putting her hands on her hips.

"You can come on in, Matt," she said breezily.

The perks of being the wife – she didn't have to twitch like a little girl when a higher rank barged in unannounced.

Gibbs stood up, half at-ease, caught off guard – there wasn't any reason he could think of as to why a warrant officer was dropping by casually on a Saturday afternoon. He nodded quickly, setting aside his drink.

"Sir," he greeted.

He gave a small, respectful salute – Matt Watkins was in uniform, even if Gibbs wasn't.

The other Marine looked around the house with interest, smirking a little. He stepped closer to Gibbs, adjusting his collar, and then reached into the front of his uniform, pulling out a thick envelope and extending his hand. Gibbs stepped forward, and extended his hesitantly, reaching for the envelope; Watkins instead shook his head firmly, squeezing with admirable force, and then relaxed the handshake and placed the envelope in Gibbs' hand.

"I got documents on an approved appointment to MSG school for you about a month ago," he said gruffly. "I sent 'em back, told 'em you're married and your rank doesn't qualify for havin' a dependent with you – promotion came down the chain of command three days ago." Watkins nodded sharply. "Guess they got their signals crossed."

Gibbs looked at the thick envelope, unsure what to think – he'd just been ordered to Pendleton, he'd been here working, taking care of things, this didn't meant -?

"I know the guy runnin' the MSG course up there in Stafford," Watkins snorted. "He'll hand your ass to you on a silver platter, kid, but I reckon a Silver Star recipient can take what he dishes – reckon that star's the only reason you got bumped up, too, at your age," he growled, an edge to his voice.

He nodded his head.

"Good luck, Gunnery Sergeant. Have to admit, I'm sorry I won't be workin' with you."

He turned sharply on his heel, stopping a moment to respectfully incline his head to Shannon.

"Mrs. Gibbs, ma'am," he greeted.

She gave him a small, amused wave, and watched him leave, still until he was out the door – then she darted over to Gibbs, taking his arm and watching him as he gingerly examined, and then opened, the unexpected envelope. She watched him read, his eyes moving, and she waited patiently – she wasn't sure what it meant, what had just happened.

He sat down on the couch heavily, rubbing his jaw, the papers fluttering. He gave a snort, somewhat exasperated.

"What's wrong?" Shannon asked perceptively. "You wanted – you put in for the promotion, for MSG school – "

"Yeah," he said – and it was what he wanted; the near assurance that at least for a while, he wouldn't be sent anywhere that might get him killed, or might force him to leave Shannon – it was just an extremely chaotic change of orders to get. "It's PCS, Shannon, MSG school's at Quantico."

Her lips parted – she knew that, though; they'd spent the last few months in Hawaii, with orders to Pendleton, waiting to see if this would come up. She moved closer, her arms folded. He looked up at her warily.

"I've got to be there in two weeks," he said, glancing around at their boxes – well it was a damn good thing they'd been so sluggish moving in.

She sat down, and put her hands on his knees.

"That's – okay, so we'll move; they can put us up at Quantico, can't they?"

He nodded, waving his hand – yes; luckily, housing wasn't an issue.

"Jethro – this could work well; I wanted to go to Quantico, anyway, I want – we can buy a house there, invest in property – "

"You know after MSG school, I got to go to embassies – "

"Yes," she agreed, "but someday, we'll settle down. I can look at places in Virginia, find a home," she smiled at him slowly. "I can call you Gunny now," she added proudly.

He turned his head and gave her a small smile, but there was uncertainty in his eyes, a resurgence of guilt, and her smile faded a little. She clicked her tongue, and her shoulders fell a little – but she gave him a determined look.

"What about Natalie?" he said, turning and looking back at the orders – the whole goddamn thing was never going to stop haunting him, hounding him.

Shannon slipped her hand into his.

"You're going to see her before we leave," she said firmly; confidently.

Gibbs gave her a small smile, tightening his grip on her hand, and he folded up the orders, letting her words simmer – he tried to believe that, but something told him she was wrong; he'd barely opened his mind to the idea of pushing for contact with her while at Pendleton, and they wanted him on the east coast in fourteen days – he didn't want to put himself through it; he thought to himself, no matter what Shannon said, that maybe it was just better, after all, not to stir things up.

---

He had been staring pointedly at his left hand, ring finger, for what felt like an eternity; the tan line was obvious, glowing – but he'd chosen not to wear his ring; he'd decided to come to this beach – the same beach he'd seen Natalie on four years ago – with his guard up, his emotions firmly locked in some unreachable vault, and no clues about his life – he felt it was all he could do, the best he could do, to preserve his dignity around – her; Jen.

He'd given the ring to Shannon for safe-keeping, and he wasn't sure if it bothered her that he'd taken it off. The thing was, he wasn't trying to hide her from Jenny; he wasn't sorry for her, or ashamed of her; he just didn't want Jenny to know anything about his life. She had chosen to leave him; she lost her right to information.

He hadn't wanted to do this; he had just wanted to let it drop, especially since he was being sent to Quantico – but Shannon was right; he couldn't be here, so close, and not reach out. The worst that could happen was the same thing that always happened, and then he'd at least be able to blame Jenny – as usual.

She had seemed cautious on the phone, even reluctant – he sensed today was somehow inconvenient for her, but he was leaving for Virginia in four days, and he'd been insistent. He hadn't slept last night – he couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to see Natalie after all these years, and he almost wished he'd asked Shannon to come with him and wait in the car – but Shannon had a medical evaluation today; the military had to clear her for overseas living, and that needed to be done before he got so deep into MSG school that it would be a nightmare to pull him out.

He wondered what Natalie thought of him – he wondered what she'd look like, he wondered –

"Jethro."

He sat up slowly, turning his head sharply at the familiar, raspy sound of her hesitant voice. He met her eyes briefly, and looked away, taking her in quickly enough so that it didn't look like he was paying her any attention – she was dressed in strangely formal attire – and then he turned his head subtly to several sides, looking, searching – but it wasn't just that he didn't recognize her; there was simply no one with Jenny at all.

She'd come alone.

He swallowed hard.

"Where's Natalie?" he asked roughly.

He didn't bother greeting her, didn't bother with polite pleasantries.

"I didn't bring her," Jenny answered – it was a painfully honest answer, and he hated for it; it was clear she hadn't brought her – he could see that; and, he should have known.

He looked down at his interlocked fingers again, eyeing the tan line on his ring finger for strength, and he smiled bitterly. He leaned back and shrugged his shoulders sharply, as if he was shaking it off – all that time last night, worrying, ordering himself not to get his hopes up, and he still had, he realized – and she'd never even explicitly said she'd bring Natalie, she'd just told him where she'd meet him, and he'd said he wanted to see her.

On some level, he knew even on the phone that she wasn't going to bring their daughter.

"Figured," he said coolly, with as much of an air of unconcern as he could manage.

To his surprise, she sat down on the bench next to him, pressing her legs together tightly, turning almost earnestly towards him.

"What did you expect, Jethro? It's been years since she's seen you."

He kept looking at his hands. He didn't need her to remind him of that, but this time, he had a hard time being aggressive; he had a hard time throwing it in her face and being the person in the right – because he had, for all intents and purposes, turned his back after that deployment; he'd even stopped sending letters and packages.

"You said call, anytime," he said, remembering her false words from so many years ago. "And I'd see her."

She was quick to get defensive, to retort:

"That was before you dropped off the planet! You haven't even called, like you used to – I know it would have been hard at first, to get leave, but now – "

He turned towards her sharply, his jaw hardening.

"You made it pretty clear, last time I saw her," he growled in a low voice, "that me doin' that would just confuse her," he spat. "I got the idea you didn't want me around, Jen," he said critically.

And it was the truth – he remembered that day on this beach, playing with Natalie, how displeased Jen had been; how she didn't want him buying her presents, how she felt undermined, how she tried not to let Natalie get attached – he'd felt ostracized, out of place; not truly welcome – something, he now realized, he should have pushed back against harder – after all, Jenny's parents weren't together, and Jenny herself had never been deprived of one of them.

"Jethro, I didn't mean – " she started to say, and broke off, her eyes wide. She changed gears. "It was the kind of worry all mothers have. I didn't mean take yourself out of her life completely."

"You wouldn't let me talk to her before Kuwait," he lashed out coldly – it was only half true; she had let him, but he'd had to fight even then.

"That was – you wanted to tell her you were off to fight bullets!" she sputtered. "That kind of stress – "

"You made your point more than once, Jen," he said over her, decisively, "when you tried to pretend you didn't run off with her."

Jenny turned away from him, her eyes on the ocean. He looked at her profile, searching for a crack in the mask, for a sign of her being worn down – maybe he could get her to take him back with her to see Natalie; maybe he could get through to her.

"Why are you here, Jethro?" she asked warily.

He tensed, swallowing with difficulty – this was going to be the part that killed him, because he knew what her reaction was going to be; he knew he was screwed, and he barely had any footing, but at Shannon's behest, and deep down in his own soul, he couldn't leave without trying.

"I've got orders to Quantico," he revealed stiffly. "Got a new MOS, with a promotion." He started to explain more, and then – he said nothing, and he glanced over, catching her eye hesitantly, intently studying her. "I wanted to see her, Jen. More. Talk to her."

"Quantico?" she blurted, almost before he finished. "Where - ?"

"Virginia. Outside of D.C.," he said grudgingly.

That did it; her reaction was instantaneous – he saw the immediate denial on her face before she even spoke.

"You want – how, Jethro?" she demanded, an edge of hysteria to her voice. "You want me to send her across the country every other weekend? For summers? You've been in Pendleton for years and now – "

"I haven't been at Pendleton this whole time," he corrected curtly.

Something sharp flickered in her eyes for a moment, and he silently dared her to ask – eh didn't even know what he'd tell her, if she asked what he'd been doing. Instead, the flicker died, and she gave him a hard, steely look.

"How do you think this is going to work?" she demanded.

He grit his teeth – that was the kicker, wasn't it? He'd had – privately, even before Shannon started provoking him – he'd had a plan; he was going to settle in at Pendleton, then start calling, then he was going to ask for a couple of hours on Saturday, and once Jenny got used to it, he was going to make a call to her father, explain his side, and take it to court – work his way to, at the very least, every other weekend – and then he'd re-evaluate when he PCS'd.

But – that had all been disrupted when he got his sudden PCS to Quantico, and now he didn't have a plan; just the old sore confusion, and desperation, and guilt – and dull anger.

He felt he was put on the spot – and he'd hardly had a chance to discuss it with Shannon, but she'd said she could accommodate what he needed to do; he knew she'd be okay with him flying to see Natalie once in a while, so he went out on a limb –

"I'd take leave to see her," he said gruffly. "I'd call, she'd call." He grit his teeth, and looked at Jen shortly, the lines in his face stiff. "I'm tryin', here," he said, though he thought he sounded weak and unconvincing.

She was already shaking her head.

"No," she said, her hair flying. "No - she hasn't seen you, she barely knows you – Jethro, this is out of left field! When I said – when I said you could see her or talk to her anytime, back then, that was when I thought you'd establish a pattern, that you'd make more of a concentrated effort while she was little, so she'd grow up with a clear understanding – you can't just barge back in when she's cognitive of the more complex issues – "

"Cognitive of the more complex issue?" he snapped, provoked by her fancy terminology – God, she was the same Jen – older, and more reserved, perhaps, but the same Jen he'd loved as a teenager, except right now her smarts and her ability to rationalize her points irritated the hell out of him. "We aren't in a courtroom, Jenny, Christ," he swore.

"This is a very real issue, Jethro. She's not this resilient little toddler anymore. She's smart, she's sensitive, she gets things - "

"How would I know that, Jen?" he asked coldly. "I don't know a damn thing about her."

"You know how old your daughter is," she retorted, just as icy. "Think about how it might affect her if someone suddenly wanted to be her Daddy out of nowhere."

That little comment – the fact that she dared act like he was the one who had initially failed, like he was the one who had screwed up, or been careless – he was actually shaken by how much hatred he felt for her at that moment, he was overwhelmed by the urge to physically lash out – an urge which he, of course, fought down and controlled with impeccable skill.

He caught her green eyes, nothing but sinister to him in this moment, no longer beautiful, or captivating, just pools that reflected his resentment, how wronged he was.

"I always wanted to be her Daddy," he barked harshly – he wanted no mistake made there. He was so angry his eyes were stinging, dry with rage; he remembered distinctly the first time Natalie called him Daddy, in her high-pitched, adoring little voice – he remembered that.

He grit his teeth, and dug deeper.

"You made it this hard, Jenny. You took her out of Stillwater, and so help me God, you never made this easy. You ever think I kept my distance so she wouldn't have to sense how much her father resented her mother?"

Jenny drew back some, her face paling slightly – and he felt no regret over his words; she would understand that – maybe she genuinely even feared that. It wasn't the whole truth – but on some level, he knew personally that it was awful for children to be around parents who couldn't get along; they always ended up picking a side, or hating themselves, or someone – just like he couldn't stand his own father, for every single time he'd done his mother wrong.

Jenny looked defeated, hollow; she took a deep breath.

"I can't confuse her," she said stiffly. "I can't disrupt her life. I don't know what you've been doing, who you associate with – and she's content; she's doing well. This would be – upheaval," she broke off.

She twisted her hands nervously in her lap, and she looked on the verge of bursting into tears, or of demanding he tell her more what this was about – she looked wary, she looked like she didn't understand him, or trust him – and in a wild moment he almost felt he should tell her it was the coma that had screwed up him, thrown him off, that he couldn't bear to call his daughter and hear her talk when every other night he'd been waking up in cold sweats and blind fevers, haunted by Matteson, haunted by dead Iraqi little girls, trying to remember why his life was the way it was, trying to control himself.

But he couldn't say it; she hadn't been there, she wouldn't understand – she might even think he was dangerous.

She was still – talking; stoic, self-righteous.

"You're about to move across the country," Jenny said, quiet, defeated. "This came – out of nowhere, Jethro," she went on tiredly. "I'm – she's in a good place. I'm not going to do this to her."

She talked like he was an affliction, a curse she'd be saddling Natalie with – and he felt so gutted, so defeated – God, he'd told Shannon he didn't want to do this; he never wanted to do this again. He was only able to give a faint, bitter smile.

He swallowed, grasping at one last Hail Mary.

"I've got rights, Jen," he said dully. "I know I've got 'em."

She reacted immediately, a mother backed into a corner, and her teeth veritable bared.

"You take me to court," she said softly, almost a challenge. "You drag her through that. You – what would you do, Jethro? Take her on specific dates, so you could poison her against me, tell her what an unrepentant bitch I am, depriving her so cruelly of you? She's – you'd be a monster to – "

The last thing he was here to do was be called a monster. He ignored the guard he'd had around his speech for this conversation, he opened his mouth and let whatever was on the tip of his tongue fly out:

"Nah," he said hoarsely. "Think I'll wait until she's old enough to figure that out herself, Jen."

She blanched, and he tightened his fist on his knee, wishing he had his ring on, suddenly, resisting the urge to ask her if she was happy – to demand to know if she'd really found a better life, if she'd found someone to love her like he'd love her. He wanted to tell her what she'd lost, and throw in her face how much Shannon meant to him, now.

She shuddered slightly, and turned away; he figured she was fighting tears – deep down, that bothered him, touched him a little; the surreal thing was, when she looked at him, when he met her eyes, he still saw the same girl who'd stared at him on the banks of the creek in Stillwater, scared, hoping he'd stay with her, and take care of her; he didn't know what she saw in his eyes, but to his ultimate confusion and dismay, he saw very clearly that this woman still olved him, and that – he couldn't be around that; he didn't understand it – and he didn't want it.

He got up, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"This it, Jen?" he asked abruptly.

It didn't matter what Shannon asked, said, or thought when he got home – he was not doing this again. He was never going to present himself to Jenny again, just to be weighed, measured, and found inexplicably wanting; he was not going to offer himself up as an absurd sacrifice to her maddening way of thinking, and then be thrown into confusion because he didn't know how she could be like this, act like this, and still look at him like they were sixteen in the back of his truck, counting on forever.

He scuffed his foot in the sand.

"'M not doin' this again, with you; I can't," he said hollowly. He felt defeated; he felt a certain amount of guilt, for what he was deciding, because it invariably affected Natalie, but he'd have to come to terms with that, and if the day ever came when she wanted answers from him, he'd do his best – and he would be there to make Jen come clean.

He took a deep breath.

"If she ever wants me, I'll answer," he said. "I'll show up. I won't turn her down because you screwed up."

If it meant flying back from Korea, Japan, Australia, the moon – it didn't matter where, if that child called him and wanted to see him, talk to him, know his story; he'd be on a plane; he decided, then and there, that this time, he'd find a way. He hoped she heard the unspoken threat in her voice; he silently vowed to step back completely, now, to acquiesce to her cutting him off, but it meant that when Natalie reached out, his gloves were off.

She tucked her hair back, took a breath, and then got up and turned quickly – lightening quick. He was struck suddenly by how – absurdly she was dressed, like she'd just walked out of a World War Two film. She said nothing, but she brought out a photo, and handed it to him – and when she touched is hand, he thought for an absurd moment that she was going to kiss him – and if she had, he'd – he'd have –

He didn't know what he would have done.

His eyes fell on the photo; Jenny and Natalie – Natalie, dressed in some sort of doctor's lab coat, smiling beautifully – she looked, he noticed, very much like his mother and, to his delight, very much like him. He wanted to ask what the picture was from, but he was done talking to Jenny – and he resented her, kneeling there next to Natalie.

In a decisive, cold movement, he tore the photo in half, and handed the part with her in it back.

His jaw moved slightly; he thought about saying something – he tried to think of some epic fatal words, something that would ring in her ears – but he had nothing. He was exhausted; he was tired of this – he missed his daughter, he was sorry all this had happened, and he couldn't go on fighting a losing battle. Instead of saying anything, he simply turned on his heel, and he left her standing there – and he didn't look back.

In fact, all the way to his truck, he kept his eyes on this picture of Natalie, memorizing it – her hair was so long, auburn, soft, dark like his, rather than redder like Jenny's; she had blue eyes, still, his nose, Ann's saintly, bright smile – and he had missed so much, and he was going to miss so much.

He tucked the photo in his pocket for the drive home, and he tried to steel himself to face Shannon – he tried not to feel relief, and he tried to ignore the guilt he felt for having to ignore the relief – but Christ, as hard as it was to walk away, to feel like this was the last chance, there was some horrible weight lifted in knowing that maybe this wouldn't constantly flare up again – now.

He got home, and Shannon was cooking in the kitchen, using what little stuff they had left out, hadn't already shipped to Quantico. He knew she heard him come in, but she let him come to her – and come to her he did, pressing his lips to the back of her read gently, and then leaning into a corner in the kitchen, his face unreadable.

He finally took out the photo, and handed it to her, while she said nothing – waiting, giving him patience.

Shannon held the photo, and smiled, her eyes crinkling fondly.

"God, she's gorgeous, Jethro, look at her!" her fingers moved over the photo. "Was this a Halloween costume, a party…?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"Didn't ask," he said.

Shannon looked up at him, pursing her lips, and he, in an effort not to fall apart completely, tried to give a glib, knowing smirk.

"Jen didn't bring her," he said.

His voice was hoarse, though, full of no bravado, and it cracked, ever so subtly, at the end.

She set the picture aside and came forward, placing her hands on his shoulders. She stood there a moment, then gave him a good, long huge, and stepped back, sighing.

"I try to keep an open mind. I try to understand," she murmured. She sighed, ribbing his arm. "I don't understand her."

She said it with no malice; Shannon, having not actually been involved in any of it, had no real feelings of hatred or anger towards Jenny, just a quiet mystification, and some disgruntled curiosity. She had admired Jenny Shepard, when she was young, and now she was just at a loss to rationalize the other woman's actions – but she, with a sense of practicality – refused to bear ill will towards someone she didn't truly know.

She had just – hoped today would go better, for Jethro. She hadn't expected how her day was going to go, and her state of mind for the next few days – kind of hinged on him.

Gibbs put his hands behind him and gripped the counter, the muscles in his arms standing out tensely. He shrugged, clearly trying to shrug it off; he stared at the ceiling for a while, then tightened his jaw and looked at her stubbornly, decisively.

"That was it, Shannon," he said hoarsely, the same thing he'd told Jenny. "I'm not doing that again. I can't go through that again."

She simply nodded, without saying anything.

"Okay," she said gently, her hand still resting on his arm. "Okay." She swallowed lightly. "I'm still going to send them Holiday cards," she confessed firmly.

He shrugged. He didn't care – she could do that; she always sent them to his father, too, and when she called her parents, she called his father – and Gibbs, occasionally, spoke some cordial words to Jackson – until last time, Jackson had asked what he was doing about Natalie, and Gibbs hung up the phone and refused to speak to him anymore.

He reached up and rubbed his forehead, thinking about getting a beer. He sighed harshly.

"How'd your thing go?" he asked, trying to force himself to act like this was any normal day. "You get a medical clearance?"

He thought for a hysterical moment of how ridiculous it would be if she didn't, and they were told to stay at Pendleton, and suddenly he was close enough for his initial plan again –

Shannon bit her lip thoughtfully, and nodded slowly. She opened her mouth, hesitant – she fervently wished his day had gone better, that he was in a better mood, because she really didn't know how this was going to strike him. She could wait – theoretically, it was very early – but now, she wanted to tell him; she took a deep breath.

"I…don't know if this is going to make you feel better or…worse," she began frankly, though respectfully, "or if you'll be…happy – "

"What's wrong?" he asked warily, eyeing her intently.

He didn't like his wife acting nervous when she'd just had a medical evaluation; it made him think about his mother.

She lifted her shoulders a little, spreading out her hands.

"I'm pregnant," she said softly.

He genuinely looked startled. His pupils dilated slightly, and then his mouth fell open, and he looked at her, wide-eyed – almost as if he needed her to explain to him how the hell she'd gotten pregnant. She bit her lip slightly, and crossed her arms.

"I know, we only discussed it briefly, that one time, and I know I'm the one who said it might be better to see what happened with Natalie, but we also knew I was out of birth control, and we still…" she trailed off, and after a hesitant moment, she frowned. "Jethro, can you say something?"

He vividly, starkly remembered the last time he'd heard someone tell him she was pregnant, and he was acutely aware of how overwhelmingly different this moment was. He remembered – in Stillwater, feeling like Jen had ripped his insides out and obliterated the world they knew, but right now, he looked at Shannon, and all he felt was –

Happy.

He reached out and pulled her close, resting his hands on her neck. He looked at her intently, his eyes searching, going up.

"You are?" he asked.

She nodded a few times, smiling a little cautiously.

"When…?"

"Um," she said, taking a deep, steadying breath. She cocked her head. "Late March, early April – it's so early, Jethro, they only know because they did so many comprehensive tests, just a drug store test wouldn't have told us, yet – " she broke off, biting down on her lip. "Are you okay?" she asked earnestly. "Are you okay with this?"

He looked at her like she was crazy, and smiled. He put his arms around her in a hug, and pressed his lips to her ear.

"'Course I'm okay with this," he told her huskily.

He hugged her tightly – but not too tightly. She hugged him back, her muscles relaxing in relief. She closed her eyes, smiling into his chest; thank God, it's not like there's anything she'd be able to do about it – which she'd be willing to do – if he was unhappy.

"I'm so nervous," she murmured, shivering slightly. "You – I can't – you must have been so scared, when you were sixteen."

He nodded, resting his chin lightly on top of her head – the strange thing was, he felt that now; he felt anxious, he felt scared – he had a child, but he hadn't really raised her – though he could confidently say he'd been able to help get an infant to at least two and a half without accidentally killing her. He was – he was twenty-five, now, almost twenty-six; this was when people were supposed to start having kids, start building families – and he still wasn't sure he'd know what he was doing.

It struck him how young he was, really – the way he'd grown up back then was odd, unnaturally; premature – and acknowledging that made him wonder if maybe – all this was a matter of he and Jen still just needing to grow up; there were things they weren't seeing about each other because they didn't know each other anymore.

That was her fault, undoubtedly, but standing here, holding Shannon, with the prospect of another baby on the horizon he just felt – a little better. He ran his hand over her back, kissing the top of her head, and then she pulled back, looking at him brightly.

He felt a little off, feeling so content when there was a considerable amount of discontent, of unresolved tension and issue, in his past – and that wasn't going to go away – but things were much less desolate than he'd thought they would be, when he first found himself alone – and he felt validated, in all he'd done; this is what he'd told Jenny he was going to do: join the Marines, provide, make sure she want to college – and he made good on that. He had been right. It just happened to be a different woman who had taken him up on the offer.

---

The intensive course that trained Marines to guard U.S. overseas embassies lasted weeks on end – it was demanding, and it was grueling, but in the end it was just training, and after deployment, no mere training was going to break a Marine. Gibbs was up at the crack of dawn and home late, tired and tense – always worried about Shannon, because despite a glowing start, pregnancy did not agree with her for a while there, and she was sick when he left, and often still when he got home.

Still, somehow, she managed to find her dream house, and two weeks before he graduated the course, they bought it – it was in Alexandra, which was more than a stone's throw away from Quantico, but she'd taken one look and fallen in love – and they'd gotten a good deal, buying from a retiring Marine who was taking his family back to Arizona.

She was content to leave making the house a home for when they eventually returned and settled permanently – after Gibbs' tenure as a detachment commander over the next several years, he'd have more choice in where he could go and he promised he'd put in for Quantico, Pax River, or some Marine detachment in the D.C. area bases.

He was glad she was adaptable to the moves, because immediately upon completion of the course, they was transferred to the MSG united headquarters in Frankfurt, Germany, while he awaited his official orders to an embassy.

They had both been busy trying not to get too comfortable in Germany – although, compared to military housing, State Department housing was out of this world – because Gibbs had put his name in the hat for the embassies in Poland, Portugal, and Greece. He'd wanted somewhere that would be relatively safe for his wife and baby, when it came along, but he knew he wouldn't get any of the coveted big ones like Paris or London.

As I were, he'd been in the office to pick up his official orders today, and what he got was the complete opposite of anything he'd asked for:

Detachment Commander, U.S. Embassy: Baghdad, Iraq.

After everything he'd done to try to avoid being thrust into that kind of desert nightmare again, and they were sending him exactly there.

He was lingering on base, unsure how to tell Shannon. She had been so…resilient about all the insane, quick changes – and she'd even handled doctors appointments and whatnot alone – he just didn't want to do this to her, he didn't want to see her face when he told her he had to go to a volatile embassy where she wasn't allowed to go; he didn't want to tell her that…he'd be gone when the baby was born.

Though, the only slightly bright side about being sent to hazard hotspots was that the assignment lasted only a year, and he'd have greater pull in requesting his next location.

He still didn't want to go home and tell her. He'd been pretty sure he was going to get Krakow.

He kept the orders in his back pocket, tucked away tightly, and adjusted his cover on his head as he strolled through a more rural part of the base. He stopped outside a pen filled with an obstacle course, where two female army officers and one airman were standing as they watched dogs run around.

The airman turned, and lifted his arm.

"Where they throw you, Gunny?" he asked.

Gibbs recognized him as his and Shannon's next-door neighbor, and he jogged over. He patted his pocket.

"Got to tell the wife first," he said, shaking the man's hand.

"Fair enough – good, bad?" he asked, feeling the atmosphere.

Gibbs set his jaw, and shrugged. The airman nodded.

"Gunny, Lieutenants Jardine and Olson," he introduced. "I just watched 'em run these dogs through an obstacle course."

Gibbs stepped into the pen when he was allowed, and looked down at the dogs – German Shepherd puppies, he thought – by the look of them.

"Future drug dogs – 'cept these three, they're future Marines," spoke up Jardine. She put her hands proudly behind her back. "First time we got almost a whole litter to pass – that little girl, though; she's out of the runnin' – failed again today."

Gibbs looked over to where she was pointing, and spotted a smaller dog, wagging its tail happily. It let another one tug on it's tailed, and then rolled over, kicking its feet in the air. He grinned, and crouched down, letting it come over to him.

"Couldn't hack it, huh?" he asked.

"Before you make any jokes," Olson said dryly, "this litter has five females, and four made it – only two of the males cut it."

Gibbs shared a look with the airman, and then looked at her.

"I don't doubt it," he said. "Which are the Marines?"

The lieutenants pointed them out.

"That one was slated for Marine training," Olson said, nodding at the one Gibbs was petting. "But she's – well, she's a little too friendly. She's sweet," she said, laughing. "We're gonna send the unit a Belgian Malinois instead."

Gibbs gave the small dog another gently scratch, and then got up. He started to say his goodbyes, and felt that dog dash at heels, and nip him.

"Bug!"

The trainer shouted sharply, and Gibbs turned to see her picking the dog up and taking her backwards, making her sit. She swatted her nose, but Gibbs looked at her intently, tilting his head.

"What did you call that dog?" he asked gruffly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Olson looked up, brushing blonde bangs out of her eyes. She squinted in the sun.

"Bug," she repeated simply.

Gibbs stared at her, and looked back at the wannabe Marine drug puppy, wagging its tail contently.

"Bug," he repeated.

"Short for Bugsy Malone," the trainer explained. "This whole litter, we named after gangsters. Bugsy, Capone, Dillinger, Cagney, Lacey," she listed. She scratched the dog's ears. "Bugsy didn't pass her tests, though," she said.

Gibbs stepped forward, and crouched down again, taking one hand out of his pocket and holding it out. The German shepherd licked his knuckles and whined. He considered her for a minute. She looked at him pleasantly, and then lunged forward and nipped at his knuckles playfully. She barked. He hesitated, and then asked:

"What happens to the dogs who don't pass?"

The lieutenant smiled.

"They don't get enlisted," she joked, rubbing Bugsy's back. "She won't be a Marine. She'll be adopted out."

Gibbs considered that. The dog was young – not a baby puppy, but a year or so old, clearly trainable, and the lieutenants said the disposition was too sweet.

"Hey, Bug," Gibbs said quietly, the nickname strange and guilty on his tongue. He swallowed, and looked to the trainer, tilting up his cover. He hardly thought about it before he asked.

"Think I can take 'er?" he asked gruffly.

Olson smiled at him, and shrugged good-naturedly; Gibbs rubbed the dog's snout gently, and managed to feel a little wary – he hoped Shannon wouldn't be too pissed at him, when he showed up with a dog – he just felt … well, maybe it would ease the Baghdad blow he had to hit her with, and he just – he'd heard the nickname, and it just seemed fate that he take the dog home with him.

He felt a little – obligated – to. Who knew where she'd end up if he didn't?

He let the airman's jokes about Shannon's wrath bounce off of him, and spent about an hour and a half longer than he had meant to at the center of base, filling out paperwork – then he accepted the leash they gave him for Bugsy – who now had an ownership birth certificate that christened her Bugsy Malone Gibbs – and carried the dog home with as much confidence as possible, considering his pregnant wife might actually murder him for bringing home what was technically a kind of baby.

Even though he was fully prepared to be confident about the whole thing, he still stood on the front doorstep like a chicken for about twenty minutes – and just when he'd about decided to go in and charmingly surprise Shannon with the dog, she opened the door, jumped back in surprise, and screamed.

He almost dropped the dog. The dog barked at her excitedly.

"Shannon, what the hell are you screamin' for?" he asked, amused.

"You – I didn't know you were there, you scared me!" she answered, her eyes fixed on the dog. "Get – come in, what are you doing out here?"

He strolled in, and she shut the door behind him, shaking her head. She followed him as he ducked into their living area and sat down, letting the puppy down on the floor. It threw itself onto its back and started rolling around madly, tongue lolling out. She barked again, and Gibbs steeled himself before turning around and looking at Shannon with what he hoped was a devilishly handsome face.

She stood in the doorway, her arms folded lightly over the very subtle curve of her abdomen. She arched an eyebrow, and then sighed, prowling into the room. She sat down on the edge of the couch, and held her hands out.

"Look at you," she crooned at the dog gently. "Hi, baby," she said, petting her as she put her paws on Shannon's knees. Shannon scratched her affectionately around the neck. "Oh, my, my – if Daddy can't resist literal puppy dog eyes, what are we going to do about baby puppy eyes?" she asked, shooting him a slightly chastising glance.

He managed to look appropriately sheepish. He sat back against an armchair, hanging his arms lazily over his knees, and watching still love on the puppy – at least she seemed pleased with it. She smiled again, and looked up, sighing softly.

"You said you might stop and get Chinese food," she told him, arching a brow. "This is very different from Chinese food."

Gibbs gave her a serious look.

"Well, I heard some Asian cultures eat – "

"Are you joking, Jethro?"

He smirked a little, and then he shrugged.

"She failed Marine dog boot camp," he said, begging for sympathy.

"I was craving kung pow chicken," Shannon reminded him. She let the dog scamper back over to Gibbs, where I wagged his tail and started chewing on the cover he'd taken off and laid on the floor next to him.

"Thought you might crave a puppy, when you saw it," he said seriously.

Shannon laughed good-naturedly.

"She's very cute."

She watched him tug on his cover a little, letting the dog chew on it if she wished, and then she caught his eye intently.

"Did you do something wrong?" she asked wryly. "I only got flowers when you spoiled the ending of Planet of the Apes."

"Shannon, that movie came out twenty years ago, you ever gonna shut up about that?"

She shook her head, biting her teeth, and he feigned annoyance for a moment before sighing, reaching into his back pocket, and throwing the orders on the floor in front of him. He stared at them a moment, and she flicked her eyes down, and then she frowned slightly, her lips turning down just a little.

"I'm sensing we aren't going to be laid back on a beach in Thessaloniki," she said dryly.

"Oh, I'll be gettin' a sunburn," he said shortly. He rubbed his jaw, and reached out to grab the dog before she could scamper into a room where they couldn't watch her. "Thought the dog could keep you company," he confessed.

She rubbed her hands lightly up and down her arms, chewing the inside of her lip gently – that wasn't – good. She appreciated the thought, but if she needed to be kept company, then –

"Where did you get assigned?"

He gave her a grim, resigned look.

"Embassy Baghdad," he said dully.

Shannon's face fell; she looked dismayed – he knew it must really disappoint her, because Shannon was very careful about never showing when she found his career to be strenuous or inconvenient. There were private moments, when he listened to her sleep at night, or saw her for the first time in three days after grueling work hours, that he remembered how Jenny had insisted it was much harder than he thought to marry a Marine, and he grudgingly had to admit that – it wouldn't have been easy for them.

"That's unaccompanied?" she asked – there was an edge of hope to her voice, but she was only asking for confirmation – she was pretty sure no dependents would be allowed in a zone like that.

He nodded.

She hugged herself a little.

"I – so, I, uh, have to go back to the States?" she asked uncertainly.

She didn't like the idea of being in that house in Virginia all alone – both because she was going to be a brand new mother soon, and because she'd probably have her mother come up and help her – and alone in that undecorated place or with Joanne Fielding, she'd go crazy.

Gibbs shook his head firmly.

"No, you can live here," he said. "In fact – you get the housing allowance if you stay here; you lose it if you go back Stateside."

It didn't make sense to him, but that was how it worked; since he was based out of Frankfurt, technically, she had the option to live there while he was at an unaccompanied post. If he'd been based out of the U.S., she'd have had to stay there to get her his housing allowance.

"I like it here," Shannon said. "I – this is an insanely stupid question, but I want to make sure – the baby, if it's born, here, it's a citizen of … America?"

Gibbs nodded.

"Yeah, just get him or her a document from the embassy," he said gruffly. He tilted his head. "You ask that doctor what it's gonna be?" he asked, needling her.

"I don't want to know," she retorted, for the thousandth time.

"I want to know," he growled.

"That takes the fun out of it – people didn't used to be able to know – "

"Jenny knew!" he blurted. He put his hand to his forehead, and rolled his eyes, lifting his shoulders in a quiet apology. He rarely ever talked about her, and when he did, he always felt like he was somehow comparing Shannon to her, especially now – but Shannon never took it that way.

She gave him a look, and shrugged.

"Well, I don't know," she said simply. She clasped her hands together. "How long will you have to be in Baghdad?"

He gave her a stronger look, at that.

"Just at a year," he said earnestly. "I'll get R&R every eight weeks, so I can visit – and I'll get preference at a good post next round."

She lifted her chin, eyeing him seriously.

"You don't have to justify this to me, Jethro," she said softly. "I tell you all the time – how many times do I have to tell you? I know I married a Marine. I chose that."

He smiled at her faintly. The dog scrambled out of his arms and darted to Shannon, rolling over at her feet. She smiled and bent to rub her stomach, shooting Gibbs a look through her lashes.

"So, the little sweetie is to keep me company – dashing thought, Jethro, but you've saddled me with a puppy when I'm going to be alone with a baby!"

She tried to sound stern, but she could only feel a little sad – she didn't want to be alone when she had the baby, and she'd really be alone. She didn't know anyone here yet, and she hadn't gotten a job yet – hopefully she would – but she'd been so sure Gibbs was going to be right by her side.

The puppy, though – she thought it was a strangely out of character thing, Gibbs wasn't usually one to drag home strays or do things on a whim – but she thought it adorable, and it would be nice to have something warm and protective in bed with her while Gibbs was gone, even if Frankfurt was safe, and she was surrounded by the U.S. military.

"What are we going to name you, hmm?" Shannon asked the puppy.

Gibbs hesitated, and then cleared his throat. He scratched the back of his head.

"Uh, she, uh – she has a name," he said gruffly. "It's…Bugsy Malone. Bug. Bugsy."

Shannon picked up the dog, holding it close like a baby, and she looked surreptitiously at Gibbs. She looked down at the puppy and raised her eyebrows at it.

"He's a big, gooey softy," she confided, in a loud whisper. "Bugsy," she said pointedly. She glanced back at Gibbs, and he lifted his shoulders, a little abashed.

"They named all the dogs after gangsters," he started, but when she looked at him a little longer, he gave in, and shrugged. "Couldn't let anyone else take 'er, once I heard the name," he confessed quietly.

"I understand," Shannon said, cuddling the puppy. "I can practice on you, can't I, Bugsy?" she asked, touching her nose to the puppy's snout. She sighed affectionately, and looked at Gibbs fondly. "Softens the blow a little," she sad gently, taking the words right out of his mouth.

He got up and came over to the couch, sitting down next to her. He leaned back, and she leaned back with him, firmly keeping the puppy in hand – it squirmed and nipped at her at first, but she was able to tame her – and Bugsy finally let her tongue hang out, and contently lay lazily in the cradle.

"You know if you're in Baghdad when I have the baby, I get to pick the name," she said primly.

Gibbs laughed under his breath.

"Yeah, Shannon," he said smoothly. "I trust you on that one."

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Well, today I was thinking, if it's a boy, his middle name could be Fielding," she suggested. "I don't know about the first name though…something timeless. What do you think about William? And call him Liam. It's Irish. Like Shannon, and my dad is McKenzie," she trailed off.

She looked at him unsurely, her eyes wide.

He nodded simply.

"Or, we could use your mother's maiden name, if you like that," she began.

"Nah, Shannon," he said quickly. "Use yours, keep it close," he said simply. "Besides, Ma's maiden name was Dancey. 'M not namin' my son Dancey."

Shannon snorted.

"If you don't like Liam, I also like James? And I also thought about naming him, Leroy James, and we'd call him James, but then his initials match yours."

Gibbs shrugged, and rubbed her shoulder.

"I like your maiden name," he offered up cautiously – even when Jenny had been pregnant, he'd just thought naming the babies was the woman's thing; he didn't care too much, as long as the kid didn't get saddled with something sissy or ridiculous.

Shannon nodded – she did, too.

"And then, for girls," she began hesitantly. "First – do you have any ideas?"

He shook his head without a word, shrugging lightly.

"They're harder, there's a lot of names I like," she sighed. She rocked the puppy a little – it was dozing off, calmed by the sound of her heartbeat – just like a baby, really.

"See?" Gibbs grunted. "It'd be easier if you knew which one it was."

"Shut-up," she said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly and crinkling her nose. She chewed on her lip a moment. "I like old-fashioned boy names, but I like trendier girl ones. Like Leia."

Gibbs didn't react for a moment, and then his brow furrowed. Shannon gave him a deadpan look.

"Or Zira."

Gibbs looked at her, leaning back.

"The monkey from the Planet of the Apes movie?" he asked. "Or that chick from Star Wars?"

"Ha!" she asserted, nudging him with her shoulder. "I knew I could get you to care!" she gloated. She smirked. "Or maybe a nice, traditional German name, like Ursula, or Greta, or Heidi – hey, Heidi is kind of cute," Shannon said. She licked her lips. "I was teasing – but I do like Leia, actually."

Gibbs tilted his head back and forth, and shrugged cautiously. He didn't hate it. He just didn't know how he felt about people thinking his kid was named after some movie character or something. Natalie had such a nice, clean, straightforward name.

"I thought Autumn was kind of pretty, but I'd feel weird naming her Autumn if she's born in spring – "

Gibbs cringed, and shook his head.

"Don't – don't name 'er after a season," he said gruffly. He gave her a look. Shannon pursed her lips curiously, and then realization dawned on her, and she nodded simply. She poked his ankle with her bare toes and gave him a meaningful look.

"Suggest something," she ordered.

He turned and looked at her, his eyes drifting to her abdomen. He'd never given a second thought to names when Jenny had been pregnant – she'd just come back from California and decided the baby's name was Natalie, and that was fine. He'd kind of felt off the hook about that whole thing – and Shannon was putting a lot of pressure on him.

She seemed to sense that, and she laughed, shaking her head.

"Men," she murmured. "No complaints when I name her – Rapunzel, or – or Mabel or something," she joked. She leaned over on him comfortably. "If it's a girl, I want you to pick her middle name," she told him contently.

He swallowed hard, still running his hand up and down her arm lightly. It was the same damn thing Jenny had told him, and considering how last time he'd stuck his daughter with a moniker like Winter, he still felt some pressure this time around. If the baby was born in April, he was half-tempted to tell Shannon his choice was April, not only because it was easy but because – well, it even seemed like an homage to Natalie.

"So," Shannon ventured. "You'll get to come home every eight weeks?"

He nodded.

"State has a policy," he said gruffly. "You got to leave a hazard post every once in a while to keep your mind clear." He snorted. "Wonder if anyone ever suggested that to the Corps."

"That's good," Shannon said earnestly. "It's dangerous, and tense, in those places, and you already went through that – I don't want you triggered," she said worriedly. "How are things in Iraq, these days?"

Gibbs shrugged – he wasn't much of a politico in that department; wasn't aware. The war with Kuwait was over, but Saddam Hussein was in charge, so there was no real stability in the region – at least, not peaceful stability, more of a reign of absolute terror. He figured he had to go guard an embassy there because the U.S. was currently committed to supporting the status quo.

"I'll be okay," he promised her. He shrugged it off casually. "Can't be worse than Kuwait was."

She nodded – he was probably right about that. Despite how vulnerable embassies seemed to be in the eighties, deaths of American personnel at them were still fairly rare. And he wasn't being sent to war, technically just a – a less than harmonious zone.

"When do you leave?" she asked.

"Ten days," he answered gruffly.

She thought about it, calculating roughly eight weeks out, and then another eight weeks out, and then she gave up – there was a slim chance one break might fall near her due date, and maybe if all the stars aligned he'd be here, but she doubted it. At least it wouldn't be a straight, unbroken year without seeing him; at least he'd get to meet the baby before it was…five or so months old.

"You're going to be gone when the baby's born," she said – she wasn't saying it to make him feel but, she just wanted to say it out loud so she could start to accept it.

She told herself she'd be okay though – she was ready, she was old enough for this; he'd had a baby when he was seventeen, if he could do it then, she could do it now. And Jenny, she had done it at sixteen, and alone since then – Shannon firmly told herself she'd be okay, but still, the idea of being mostly alone with a new baby for so long was very intimidating.

He turned his head, and touched his nose to her temple, pressing his lips to the side of her head.

"'M sorry, Shannon," he said sincerely.

Hell, he wanted to be there – he hadn't been there when Natalie was born, not really. He'd been in science class – or maybe it was math – and Jasper Shepard hadn't even called him. It was an absurd thing to remember, that – yeah, he'd been making a paper airplane. He still had that paper airplane, in a box somewhere.

It didn't seem like a great way to start, being somewhere else when his baby was born. It hadn't turned out well with Jenny – he hoped Shannon wasn't too disappointed, or that this wasn't – too much for her. He wasn't so much worried about being in Iraq as he was worried about – leaving her behind. He loved the Marines, but this was also making him – unexpectedly wary; perhaps because he remembered the last time he'd gone off to do his job and left a woman behind with this child – and that had only been a rough total of six months.

He leaned back a little, and she tilted her head up to him. She reached over and took his hand, holding it for a moment. She pulled it towards her, rested it on her abdomen a moment, and then turned and dropped the puppy into his lap, watching it roll over and leap up, sniffing around him. She smiled, and titled her head.

"Why don't you sign Natalie's birthday card this year, before you go?" she asked. "I always feel strange writing 'Daddy' so I just put Gibbs…" she trailed off; he was shaking his head, so she didn't go any further – she always asked, and he was always, now, at a point where he wanted nothing to do with it.

She wondered if he was getting too absorbed in their life, in the new baby, and using to compensate for the past he never wanted to face – but then, she looked at him now, and he was looking at her with a striking amount of fear and apprehension in his eyes, and she realized – she realized what he was thinking.

She leaned over and took his face in her hands, her thumb running along his jawline.

"Jethro," she said firmly, her eyes on his intently. "I'll be here when you get back," she promised, holding his gaze steady.

He was very still, very unreadable, scratching Bugsy's ears and looking back at her critically; then his jaw relaxed a little, and he nodded, turning his head to give some attention to the dog. She watched him let the German Shepherd nip at his knuckles, and she smiled – it had been so long since he mentioned Natalie, or talked about the situation, that she'd feared he was moving into a realm of unhealthy disassociation, but his urge to bring home a puppy because it shared his daughter's affectionate nickname reassured her that at least a small part of him hadn't yet given up.

---

Even on quiet days in Baghdad, Gibbs had to be in full military gear – hard helmet, vest, rifle and all – and as winter faded – not that winter was particularly icy – the sun only got more unforgiving, and every moment he baked in it he thought about Kuwait.

Today wasn't just a quiet day, though; it was a boring day. He sat in the courtyard of the compound with one of the Ambassador's main security officers, watching the guy smoke a cigarette.

"So I told my wife," the agent was saying – his name was Tobias Fornell, and he always said wife like it was a swear word. "I told her – you don't go on vacation in goddamn Baghdad – but is she listenin'? No, woman's got it in her head that I can get her a tour of the goddamn palace Hussein's livin' in," he swore.

Gibbs snorted.

"Why's she want to come here?"

"'Cause she's got to one-up every stuffy broad in her book club, that's why," he said, rolling his eyes. "Snort enough for her to have lived in Helsinki and Cartagena and Vladivostok, no, she's got to be able to tell her girls she saw Saddam Hussein's toilet or some shit."

"She stateside?"

"Yeah, yeah," Fornell said roughly. "When my kid started school, she started staying in the States – doesn't want her educated anywhere else."

Gibbs nodded.

"How old's your kid?" he asked.

"Emily? She's – I don't know," Fornell said blankly.

Gibbs stared at him. He gave a dry, sheepish shrug, and snorted.

"She was born while I was at FLET-C," he growled. "Uh, then I kept gettin' moved – her birthday's in June – ah, she's seven."

Gibbs nodded.

"She your only kid?"

Fornell laughed.

"Yeah, I keep getting myself conveniently deployed whenever Diane wants another one," he drawled, nudging Gibbs sharply. "You got one on the way, don't you? Any day now?"

"Any day," Gibbs muttered in agreement – it was past Shannon's official due date, which had been March twenty-ninth. April first had passed with nothing, so had April second – he supposed no news was good news, but he was starting to wonder if it was bad that nothing had happened yet – or maybe he just hadn't gotten a call.

"First?" Fornell asked. "Don't tell my wife this, but I'm glad I got out of all the hard stuff, bein' stationed elsewhere all the time," he said dryly. "She's the mean one, she takes all the crap." He spread his arms out. "I'm just fun Daddy."

Gibbs looked around the deserted area for a moment, and then he shook his head.

"Not my first," he said gruffly – he felt uncomfortable denying Natalie, even though he never saw her, and he tried to leave it in the past – he couldn't sit here and have a conversation about kids and pretend she didn't exist. "My wife's first," he allowed.

"You been divorced?"

"Never got married," Gibbs corrected.

"Ah," Fornell put out his cigarette, and drew another. He shrugged. "I got two ex-wives," he said. "First one married me for my Air Force uniform, when I was in. Couldn't hack it. Second one cheated on me while I was deployed. Diane seems nice," he said – he said nice the same way he said wife, but Gibbs still got the impression Tobias was satisfied this time. "How old's your other kid?"

Gibbs, unlike Fornell, didn't hesitate.

"Nine. Ten in November," he said.

Natalie's age felt absurd on his tongue. Ten – had it really been ten years?

Fornell looked at him, taken aback, his cigarette frozen between two fingers.

"Thought you were younger than that," he said bluntly.

Gibbs shrugged a little.

"I'm twenty-six," he admitted gruffly.

Fornell gave a long, low whistle, and then laughed, lighting up.

"You fucked up," he snorted, chuckling. "Bet that Marine paycheck went one-hundred percent to payin' for that for a while there."

Gibbs didn't answer – other than right at first, none of his paycheck had ended up going to Jenny – not specifically. He'd stopped sending her money, and he'd put an end to Jasper's involvement with his finances, but there was a very private bank account back in the States where, even after he'd cut off contact with Natalie completely, he still deposited the amount he' been ordered to pay in the original court proceedings.

He didn't know why he did it, he just felt like he might need it someday – or she might.

"Your wife in the states?" Fornell ventured.

"Nah, Germany," Gibbs answered.

He'd seen Shannon three weeks ago – they'd both cautiously hoped she'd have the baby then, but no lucky; he'd gone back, and now it was certain that he'd be gone when it happened. He was just playing the waiting game, day by day.

Fornell got up, dusting off his suit pants.

"I've got to go do this paperwork for these idiot NCIS agents," he said. "Undercover pricks decided to track a lead – some Hamas suspect in the murder of one of their Petty Officers – by hikin' through the Iranian border – I swear to god, no one cares if you're a hiker or a little old lady, you go to Iran illegally, you're gettin' into some shit."

He shook his head and killed the cigarette under his shoe.

"They're lucky the Chief of Mission is former NCIS," he growled, "or he probably wouldn't have gotten them sent back to us so we could chuck 'em to Egypt."

Gibbs snorted, standing up respectfully to see Fornell out – he needed to make a round of the compound, anyway, and he had no desire to sit in on those discussion again – Iraq had plenty of its own radical problems without lesser-loved federal agencies luring Iran and Hamas into the mix.

Gibbs fell in behind Fornell, just as one of his MSGs ran up, his cover crooked on his head. He straightened it, stood at attention, and gave Gibbs a formal, disciplined salute.

"Speak, Grant," Gibbs ordered simply.

"Sir," the younger Marine said. "Command has Frankfurt on the phone. Your wife tried calling you at home. Sir, I was told to tell you they have her on standby, if you can take a call."

Gibbs kept his emotions in check.

"You and Jacobs patrol the perimeter, check in with everyone," he said. "I'll take that call," he agreed.

Fornell slapped him on the back as he went, grinning.

"I'll scrounge up a cigar for you, Gunny," he said smugly. "Good luck!"

Taking Gibbs place, Grant fell in with Fornell, and Gibbs marched in a way that was both quick and dignified into the building, taking the familiar path to the secure command communication center. He wasn't sure what to expect – Shannon said she'd call, but he didn't know if she would call when it was starting, or when it was over – and of course he tried to quell any fears that something hadn't gone right –

"Mornin', Gunny," one of the operators said as he walked in. He pulled a headset from his neck and thrust it at Gibbs. "We're gonna let you have about fifteen minutes to yourself," he said. He walked past Gibbs, giving a signal to another IT guy and starting out.

"Think its good news, Gibbs," the other guy said, holding his thumbs up in congratulations, both of them exiting the room.

Gibbs slipped the headset on and leaned over the rudimentary console – it was just a fancy way to talk on the phone, really, and often it was scratchy and unreliable – but it was secure, and he was grateful they were letting him use it, since he wouldn't get to go back to his sparse quarters until the Iraqi work day was over.

He hit the blinking button, unfamiliar with the system. The machine crackled, and he heard some sounds.

"Embassy Baghdad," he said gruffly, warily – he wasn't exactly sure it was Shannon personally who had called.

"Gibbs, is that you?" he heard.

Her voice was fuzzy at first, but then it seemed to settle.

"Jethro?" she went on.

"'M here, Shannon," he assured her, always glad to hear her voice. "Everything good?"

"Can't you hear?" she asked eagerly. "Oh – well, no, she's stopped, she was crying so loudly while we were trying to get you on the line – she's oaky now," Shannon trailed off, and he heard extremely loud shuffling. "I'm sorry – I'm adjusting; they just brought her back to me," she said breathlessly.

He smiled, sitting down slowly, pressing the headset close to his ear.

"You had the baby?" he asked, moving on quickly – obviously, she had. "It's a girl?"

"It's a girl," Shannon confirmed happily, her voice shaking – shaking in a good way, he could tell; she sounded delighted and exhausted and content all at once. "It wasn't too bad, it was only six hours," she told him earnestly.

Gibbs looked at his watch – Germany was one hour behind Baghdad; it was April fourth.

"Is she healthy?" he asked.

"Yes she's – she's perfect," Shannon said lightly. "She's eight pounds – she's not that long, though, she's a little chubby," she said, laughing softly. "Her eyes are blue. She's so small, Jethro, it's terrifying."

"I know," he said hoarsely – he remembered; he remembered the first time he'd held Natalie, thinking it was so intimidating that something that little and that helpless needed him to be there all the time. He rubbed his jaw, leaning all his weight on one arm, staring at the console – maybe if he stared hard enough, he'd be able to see them. "Does she have a name yet?"

The call crackled a bit, and then Shannon spoke up.

"Yes, unless you absolutely hate it – I spent – they wanted me to be on bed rest for the past week, since I was overdue, so I watched all these old movies…I want to call her Kelly, after Grace Kelly."

Gibbs nodded to himself.

"Why not Grace?" he asked.

"It's too pious – unless, you like Grace – better?"

"No," he said, thinking about it. "No, Kelly…Kelly is good." It wasn't one he heard very often, but it was also extremely low key and normal. And he was sure any little girl would like to be named after a Princess, and one less troubled than Princess Diana.

Shannon cleared her throat.

"Your turn," she reminded him. "Pick something that goes with it gracefully," she quipped.

He hesitated- - he almost did pick April; he thought Kelly April sounded nice – but then, he briefly considered Grace, because it would make the Princess theme complete – or even Diana, but then he thought of Agent Fornell bitching about his wife...before he could suggest either, though, he thought of his mother, and then he didn't have to think much at all.

"Ann," he said. He paused. "It's boring, I guess, but – "

"It's your mother's name." she said, matter-of-factly. "Of course we'll make it Ann. Kelly Ann," she tried. "Kelly Ann Gibbs," she continued proudly. "She's awake. Jethro, I'm going to hold the phone to her ear."

He heard shifting again, and faintly, he heard Shannon telling an infant who was on the phone. He tried to envision what she looked like – what they looked like together – but nothing he could construct with his imagination would compare to the real thing. He leaned his head against his knuckles, smiling a little.

"Hi, Kelly," he greeted, letting the name get familiar. Kelly. Kelly Ann Gibbs – miles away, in an American hospital in Germany, he had another baby, one who would grow up knowing him, and loving him, and probably running to the door to greet him.

"I know, it's hard to talk to her," Shannon said, back on the phone. "It's – well, you'll meet her, really, in five or so weeks," she said huskily.

"I hope Bug doesn't get jealous," he teased, without thinking. He paused – he paused when he heard her pause, and then she said.

"Are you…you mean the dog?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I meant Bugsy," he said – and he had, but it was a strangely relevant thing to say; he did wonder, for a split second, what Jenny would think about this – how Natalie would feel, if he ever connected with her, and told her she had a little sister – but hell, who knew; maybe Jen was married; maybe Jen had two boys or something.

Somehow, he doubted it; Jenny had been traumatized enough by one baby – but then, he never knew.

"Bugsy knows we still love her," Shannon answered – though it sounded like she had a double meaning to it, and he didn't want to go there; he didn't want to deflate his happiness over Shannon having a healthy baby, or start thinking about – Natalie.

She sighed; he listened to shuffling.

"I miss you," she told him sincerely.

"I miss you," he retorted gruffly. "You have to stay in the hospital long?"

"No, I can go home tomorrow evening," she said softly. "I'm – it will be strange," she admitted quietly, her voice shaky. "I – I want to run something by you," she said. "We can talk about it more in person, but I've been thinking – "

"What?" he asked worriedly.

"When I get comfortable with Kelly, and I get more confidence and she's – a couple months old, you know, able to travel, has more of an immune system - I want to take her to Pennsylvania for a few weeks, to visit my parents," she explained. "To meet your dad."

Gibbs hesitated – that sounded daunting, traveling like that alone with a baby.

"I just – I want to do it before you get back, because I know you don't want to go to Stillwater, and I don't want to leave with Kelly when you've just come back to us, so I thought – that would be a good thing to do."

When he still didn't say anything, she cleared her throat anxiously.

"She has to – my parents have to meet my baby, Jethro, and they don't have passports yet."

"'Course," he said gruffly, nodding – that made sense to him, it just scared him. "I'll go, Shannon, I'll – deal with it, if you don't want to travel alone."

He didn't want to go back to Stillwater, she had that damn right; he really didn't want to sit and talk to his father, not when all he'd get would be the third degree about Jenny and Natalie, and right now all he wanted was to enjoy how his life had turned out, and try to stave off the guilt of feeling so happy when he'd all but abandoned his daughter.

"I don't know – I don't like how my parents treat you, Jethro, and I don't want it to turn into a battle with everyone – just keep it in mind, okay? We can discuss it more when you come for your visit next month."

He nodded, rubbing his jaw.

"I can't wait for you to see her," Shannon said warmly. "She has your nose."

He bowed his head slightly – that seemed to be the dominant trait, didn't it? Natalie had his nose, or so everyone said. He held the headset to his ear, trying to see if he could hear Kelly – but she was so quiet, and Shannon was breathing very slow and light, like she was struggling to stay awake.

"You tired, Shannon?" he asked, smirking.

"Oh, you know," she said, stifling a yawn. "Eh."

"You need to rest," he said huskily. "S'okay – get some sleep, take it easy," he told her. "I'll be thinkin' about you guys, every day," he promised.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured. "Jethro?" she asked. "Try not to beat yourself up," she said softly. "I know you're going to start – feeling that guilt, and just – try not to."

He nodded, silently promising her he'd do his best.

"I love you," She said.

"I love you, too," he said gruffly.

He waited until he heard a click, and then he took off the headset, and leaned back, tilting his head up. He had a few more minutes to himself before the command gremlins would want their lair back, and he took them, reveling for a moment in the relief that everything was oaky, that Shannon was healthy – that Kelly, that his new baby, was healthy.

He felt sharp twinges of guilt; he felt some conflict – but mostly, he still felt that dull acceptance – here, now, there was nothing he could do about Natalie. He was worlds away from her, her mother had all but denied contact and he – he was resigned to it, even if every once in a while now he got the urge to call, or to lash out and do something rash – the older Natalie god, the older her got, the more he thought there was a chance he'd miss a crucial moment, and truly never see her again.

Sometimes, though, he thought his refusal to act because on a personal level, he knew himself, and he knew there was bound to be a lot of him in Natalie, and he knew that she'd come looking, and he – had resolved himself to waiting for that, because he'd be ready; he wouldn't be the one on trial then Jenny would.

He couldn't wait to get back to Germany and hold Kelly; he couldn't wait to be part of her life, and to try his absolute best to be better, to do everything right this time – as a real father, not a stumbling idiot who'd half-screwed everything up, and at this moment, while he basked in the happiness Shannon brought him, the only bit of conflict he felt was a small, understandable fear of how he'd react emotionally when he had to compare and contrast his two experience with fatherhood – and he wondered if it would start to disrupt the equilibrium he'd developed in his conflict about Natalie since Pendleton back in nineteen-ninety three.

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"I got the green light,
I got a little fight,
I'm gonna turn this thing around."
The Killers; Read My Mind

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*Please note that a lot of the military stuff is not realistic/I take extreme liberty with it ... an example being that there's like very little chance anyone would be a Gunnery Sergeant at Gibbs' age...this is fiction, so suspend reality.

-alexandra