A/N: I want to start off by apologizing that this exists because I ended up making myself so sad writing this. But the idea stuck and it had to come out somehow. It was a little cathartic in giving myself some form of delusional closure with Jenny's death that we never got on the show. Especially in regards to her relationship with Gibbs.
This goes through the relationships that Gibbs encounters after Jenny's death and, in my mind, his thought process on them. I tend to operate from the assumption that he and Jenny have this whole tragic love story and that she was the only person he truly loved after Shannon. So I hope you enjoy!
Jenny is dead.
The words grip him, cycling through his head all the time like a terrible curse. She died to protect him. He doesn't know how to cope with this loss again. Shannon and Kelly's were terrible, they still haunt him most nights as he enters his house and swears he hears echoes of a little girl's laughter. But he learned to live again.
And he had met Jenny.
But Jenny is gone and he knows there's never going to be someone like her again. It is that very thought that has him rubbing his face viciously because he can't cry, he's a marine, he has to be strong.
Jenny wouldn't want him to anyway.
The days, or maybe weeks, after her death, he just goes through the motions. Half of him is glad his team is gone because they all just remind him of her. The other half desperately wants those memories because he doesn't have anything else left.
Her house is gone, along with most of her things. He salvaged some stuff, put it in the box with the first letter she wrote him. It is as he places the second, with only two words in her elegant script floating on the page that he is gripped by anger again. Not at her, but at him, at all the times he should have appreciated her when she was alive. Should've realized everything that struck him now.
He never learned. That had to be his curse.
Years float by and he tries to move on, he really does. But it's pointless, he knows that. There's never going to be a moment where he stops looking for her in everyone he meets.
Hollis was first.
It strikes him that he should've known then, back when she was still around, that he was never going to be able to let go of her.
He wanted to make her jealous, that's how the whole thing started. He had come back to her distance and secrecy. He hated that and DiNozzo of all people had replaced him as Jenny's closest work confidant.
He knows that it's because he left and if anyone understands the pain it causes, it's him.
So he turned to Hollis. He knows he succeeded, saw the jealousy coat her face for a second before hurt flashed over and then her mask was back on. Those moments follow him around now that she's gone and he hates himself even more for wasting his time doing that instead of just telling her how he felt.
How he feels, he corrects.
Hollis didn't last long, she kept pushing, something Jenny never did. She respected his boundaries and was content with what she had. He knows that she doubted his true feelings for her, after all, that was why she left. But he hopes that she came to realize that he did love her, back in Paris and when she came back. He always would.
Hollis leaves and he feels nothing.
Next is M. Allison Hart.
He doesn't quite understand why he puts up with her around at first, hates how annoying she is, always getting in the way of his investigation. It isn't until later that he names how easily she gets under his skin and his mind instantly goes to Jenny.
It's refreshing, familiar, to have that feeling again. So he pretends to growl in annoyance whenever she pops up. But really, he doesn't mind. It's the fights that are strangely reminiscent of another woman, the one he can't seem to forget.
Things deepen quickly, but they come crashing to a halt sooner than he expected. The secret that he's buried, back with his wife and daughter is dredged up again. Abby puts the pieces together and he doesn't tell her she's wrong, or what to do.
He can't help but think he'd deserve whatever punishment he should meet. Not that he'll ever regret what he did.
But things get put into motion, the paper moves along the channels until it reaches Allison. She stops it. Protects him too. It's something Jenny would've done if she was still director.
She comes by his house to gain some resolution, he thinks. It's bittersweet as he stares at her sleek suit and can't help but think that it's a very good thing she's not a redhead. She already reminds him too much of her.
He's still not sure what she really wanted, whether it was appreciation, an apology, or something more. Something that he'd never be able to give her. But she points out that some of his rules are stupid and rule 12 instantly flashes through his mind.
It only existed as a reminder for him. Of what happened when you blurred those lines and the hearts that got hurt. But on days like this, he wishes he had gotten rid of it the minute Jenny came back. It was always his mental excuse for not saying anything.
As he sits in the bedroom, staring at his new rule, he thinks that if he had learned this lesson a little sooner, things might've been a lot different.
He meets Dr. Samantha Ryan and it's disconcerting, all of their interactions. She seems to think she knows what he's thinking. He feels affronted, both at how mentally invasive it feels because he's just met the woman, but also because she is stepping on territory that she shouldn't.
Jenny was the only one who could read him like that. Although, he acknowledges, there is always something that Sam doesn't pick up on. She might be deserving of her accolades, but when it comes to him, she'll never be at his former-partner's level.
Sam seems to take pride in how easily, she thinks, she analyzes him. Almost as if he's just a prize to be added to her collection. On some level, he doesn't mind, letting her do it for the brief tug down memory lane he gets.
But there are things about him that aren't in his records, things like Jenny, that will always be for him and him alone. He doesn't want to open up to Sam, not about his first wife and daughter, and never about Jenny.
They get closer and she still presses his buttons and he figures it's probably the closest he'll come to finding someone like her. But the hair isn't red, and the eyes are all wrong, and no one could ever be Jenny anyway.
He knows it'll end long before it actually does. He's not sure he has it in him to give her more, sure it'll mean telling her about things he doesn't want to share.
But as he watches her scramble to protect her son against Dearing, he knows that they're not right for each other anyway. She doesn't trust him, has always held back work-related information, always kept secrets, and doesn't even trust him to protect her and her son.
Not like Jenny, who knew that he'd always have her back, just like she always had his. They may have stopped working together like they used to, but they would always be partners. He briefly wonders if anything will ever work out for him when all he does is compare them to her.
Because Sam leaves too, but out of fear, and that was never something Jenny would've done.
He has to close his eyes and ground himself when Hollis returns for a case.
Too often, he finds himself looking at the former blonde colonel and then looking up at the catwalk, always expecting to see red hair and always feeling a stab in his chest when he doesn't.
The entire thing reminds him too much of Jenny. He's only ever known Hollis with Jenny around, and now he is working with Hollis and there is no Jenny.
Hollis is different though, anxious to speak to him about something. He doesn't know what she wants, she never owed him anything. But she keeps talking and he clenches his jaw and tilts his head up and makes sure that tears don't fall.
Because it's been six years since he's seen Hollis.
It punches him in the gut when she says it, instantly recalling another former-lover that he reunited with after six years, and because he has the opportunity to clear the air between him and Hollis now. But not with Jenny. Never with Jenny.
Jenny is dead.
And as Hollis appears in his basement, intent on talking, all he can think about is how similar this was to Jenny. But they never talked. He honestly thought they didn't need to, and he knows that she thought the same thing.
They were both wrong.
Somewhere along the line, they needed to have told each other about the love that was there. There were so many moments where they each knew what the other was feeling, knew that they still cared, knew that it was love.
But if you don't name it, it doesn't exist.
So he lets Hollis talk, hoping in some way it makes up for his silence with Jenny, and knows that it won't ever make up for it. She left for the same reason, he wasn't ready to open up, but Hollis knew about Shannon and Kelly. Jenny didn't.
He remembers that she had brought it up once. He had even asked if it would have made a difference. Even then he knew that her words of "I guess we'll never know" meant "yes".
Their work ends and the case is closed. He sees her here and there on an occasional coffee trip. It isn't until one particular coffee trip that has them sit down and catch up for a bit. Mainly so they can exchange information on a terrorist group, but they do get around to talking about their lives, jobs, and history.
As they talk about one of their past cases, he knows that her abrupt silence halfway through a sentence meant she was about to mention Jenny. He hates the sorrow and sadness that fill her gaze as she looks at him.
I'm sorry, she says. When she heard about the fire, her immediate thought was of him. The only thing he manages to do is give her a brief nod. She has a knowing glint in her eyes as she continues. She knows that Director Shepard and him had a history and knows that such a needless death like that, in a fire, must've been hard.
He doesn't respond. Won't ever tell her about the diner, a firefight, and last stands. He knows that she's made guesses as to what the whole history between him and Jenny was. Knows that she probably hasn't even come close to what it really was.
Hollis thinks that his true love will ever and only be Shannon.
He knows otherwise.
Diane returns a couple of times, always with another man in her life. He doesn't care, but he'd admit that it's nice to have a fiery red-head around who has a history with him. They argue, something they've always done well and after the case is closed, he gets drunk in his basement in the hopes of stopping the flashbacks that always seem to appear.
One time, before he's able to reach for the bottle and glass, Diane makes her way down the stairs. It's those damn heels that has him swallowing heavily before turning to see what she wants this time.
It's not to argue, he thinks as she presses his grandfather's watch in his hand. She's here to apologize and it's with the words that she leaves him with that has him reaching for the bottle, but for a different reason.
If he was her Shannon, he wishes he told her that there were Jennys too. But it's too late now, just as it always is with him.
He watches her die and is grateful that he never had to see a different redhead's body. Not when the one of his ex-wife haunts him enough as it is.
How many more people are going to die because of him?
Last is Jack.
It catches him off guard most times when he looks up to see her crossing the catwalk, or when she hands him her glasses. The actions take him back to when it was a flash of red catching his eye or a pair of red sparkly glasses that found their way on his face.
He's not sure how he feels when a memory jolts him as he sits at his desk or beside Jack. But he's careful to make sure there are differences too. After all, he doesn't let her touch his coffee. That will always and only be reserved for one person. Yet he can't stop the similarities that arise as he finds himself carrying dinner up to her office, watching as she sinks down on the couch and slides off her heels.
Especially when she can read him too. But in a different way than Jenny. Jack always comments when he needs to talk about something, pushing him to open up. He knows that it's the right thing to do, but there are some things that you just can't talk about. And Jenny always understood that.
But he likes Sloane, enjoys her company and finds a little bit of light again. It's not the same, but after losing Jenny, he's accepted that there's always going to be a piece of him missing.
They get together, it's one of those unspoken things, not a relationship but it's not not a relationship either. He thinks he can live with it, not sure if he can find it in himself to give over all the parts. He wonders if Jack will be able to accept that.
Maybe it's an unfair test because technically Jenny hadn't passed it either, but he knows that if she had known about Shannon and Kelly back in Paris- well, things would've been different.
He's not sure how much Jack knows about his history with the previous NCIS director, but it's not enough he finds out. She knows about Shannon and Kelly, that's not much of a secret at this point, but he's not certain that she realizes there's another woman in that kind of loss.
Not until a couple weeks after the 11th year anniversary of Jenny's death, after Emily Fornell's overdose and the memory of Diane that comes with it, and Ziva's return does she get him to open up.
She wants him to talk about Ziva in her office, and he does. But she stops by later that night to continue their discussion and when she leaves, he knows she got more than she asked for.
He talks about his regrets with Ziva, and she dismisses them, everyone makes mistakes, she says. It's his reply that gets her curiosity going. But I'm the one who never learns from them. She sensed that he's not just talking about Ziva.
It is with a sigh that he pulls out his box and pushes it toward her, not even bothering to say anything because he knows what's in the box will explain it all. There's a couple pictures of their time in Paris on top and her brows furrow as she studies them.
She moves on to the letter next, it's short, but when she sets it back down, he knows it's with a bit more understanding. The rest are mementos, her glasses, some pictures that Abby took, among other things.
And then, the second letter.
She asks him about it, what it means. But all he says is that he doesn't know either, that Jen never got the chance to write more.
He swallowed heavily, knowing that he needs to talk about the ending of their story, perhaps the most important part of it. So he tells her about a diner and a group of men and how she was a director but she died as an agent.
Her last stand was to protect him.
Jack blinks rapidly, a tear escaping and sliding down her cheek. She doesn't say anything though and for that, he's thankful. Not for her knowledge to just give him a short hug and leave him to his memories– there's nothing that she could say to make his pain better.
Yes, Shannon had been the love of his life, but Jenny had been his second.
And he had lost her too.
But Jack allowed him to tell her that story, one that very few people know. After all, no one but McGee is still around from then and he was never that close with Jenny. Ducky pops in occasionally and his old friend might be the only one who truly understands the impact Jenny's death had on him.
Ziva would be a close second. It is her reappearance that causes him to reflect once again on his former partner because she's another person that knew her, one that he thought was dead but isn't.
Jenny is dead though, and it hurts to realize that she's not going to walk back into his life like Ziva did.
A couple years pass before he finds himself in a sandy desert. He's not sure who technically leaves this time. But Jack stays in Afghanistan and he goes back to the States. The action is way too familiar, down to the break in his heart, although it isn't as noticeable.
And it isn't Paris.
Part of him doesn't want to go back to NCIS either, to the building full of memories of the people he's lost when he's adding one more to that collection.
As he sits at his desk for the first time with the knowledge that Jack isn't in the building and probably won't ever be again, he reflects on her departure. He knows how hard it must've been for her to stay there, and to say goodbye to him.
And he wonders what it says about Jenny because she never could.
He stands, a heaviness in his chest as he stares at her name carved into marble. It isn't his first time in front of her grave and he knows it's far from his last. There's a lot of things that he wishes he had done differently when it came to her.
The only comforting thought he has, is that somehow, Jenny knows how much he loved her. That she knew him well enough that, somewhere along the line, she did know that she held his heart.
It's always a tragedy, no matter where he starts in their story, because they had so many chances that they never took, and they had so much time until they didn't have any at all.
And the love had always been there.
She was his best friend, his partner, and his second chance at love. He's known her for a long time. But he has to remember her for longer and he doesn't think he'll ever come to terms with that.