NCIS Headquarters, Washington D.C. 2005
Jenny slipped her coat on and gave her new office a final look, feeling the warmth in her chest as she took in the physical representation of what she accomplished. She was here, Director on the door. She picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder, flicking the light off in her office. As she emerged onto the catwalk, she couldn't stop the way her eyes instantly glanced down at the bullpen, nor the way she smiled as she saw his desk light on.
She placed a hand on the rail, walking down the stairs, musing on the last couple days. He confused her. When she got the offer as Director, there had been celebrating, she wouldn't deny that. It was everything she hoped for since joining the agency.
But the technicalities sprung up, the fact that her path would cross with her old partner, her former lover, the man she had left in Paris, left with nothing more than words on a piece of paper. For all her confidence when it came to him, to speaking "Gibbs" – she faltered, declining to imagine possible situations because at the time, she feared she wouldn't do it justice.
But he hadn't been angry. Or resentful, not even bitter. Instead, he smiled and said he missed her and allowed them to slip back into their old banter. I missed you, Jen.
Even now, she didn't know what to make of it. She didn't believe it, more of a precaution than an outright denial of his self-claimed feelings – after all, she wasn't him – it was a lasting defense because the last time she opened up, let him in, all the way down to where her heart was – he had done damage.
And yet- she couldn't help but recognize that, at the very least, there was the possibility of her misreading something back in Paris. If she believed him, if he had missed her- but that wasn't something she'd entertain, not now, not when it would lead her to get her hopes up.
She pushed the thought from her mind as she took the last few steps down and walked over to where he was sitting. He looked up at her approach, and it could've been the lightning, but she swore his eyes brightened.
She adjusted her purse on her arm. "How did Sergeant Roberts take it?"
"He's on his way back to Iraq." Gibbs looked down and scribbled something.
Jenny's eyebrow lifted. "You think that's wise? Sending a Marine who just lost his wife back into combat?"
"Wise? No. But it's what I'd do."
She watched him turn his computer off. "You heading out?"
"Yeah."
"Good. I'll walk you to your car." She nearly smiled as he looked up, slightly surprised, but from the way he straightened, she could tell that he was pleased. He pushed his chair back, and she watched his arms flex as he slid his coat on. Walking out from behind his desk, he turned his light off and placed his hand on the back of her arm. Tingles shot up her arm and she could feel the warmth of his hand through her coat. He led her to the elevator and hit the button.
"What are your plans for the evening?" she asked as they waited.
"Boat, bourbon."
"Good to see some things never change." She offered him a smile. The corner of his mouth tugged upward as the doors slid open.
"You?"
"I still have some case files to go through." She thought about the pile of manila folders in her father's study. Her study, she corrected. It hadn't been her father's for many years.
"Jen, you work too much."
She turned toward him, an eyebrow arched. "I'm sorry, who has three ex-wives?"
He shrugged off the comment. "You should come to my place."
This time her eyebrows really did lift and she shoved her hands in her coat pocket so he couldn't see the way they shook. Did she get something wrong in Paris? It was one thing to be friendly, to permit civility in the workplace, but to invite her over?
"To watch you work on your boat and drink bourbon out of a dusty mason jar?" she asked quickly, realizing she had been staring at him for a second too long.
"It's good bourbon."
She laughed as the elevator stopped, doors sliding open. Gibbs' hand guided her forward, out toward the parking lot. "Call your security, tell them I'll drive you."
"You're serious?"
He glanced over at her. "Well, yeah, Jen, you're not DiNozzo. I actually like spending time with you."
She couldn't help the blush that warmed her cheeks as she pulled out her phone and quickly updated her detail. They approached his car and he opened the door for her.
"I'm glad chivalry isn't dead."
He merely smirked as he got on the other side. She buckled her seat belt as he looked over his shoulder, pulling out sharply and driving out.
"At least this time, you didn't call me out of my comfortable bed in the middle of the night to be your backup."
"Ah, Jen, you loved it."
She shook her head in exasperation, and pointedly didn't tell him that she had enjoyed feeling like his partner again, even if it was for one night.
〜*〜
The drive to his house was silent, save for an odd comment here and there. Jenny played with the strap of her purse, unsure why she thought it was a good idea to take him up on his offer. She scoffed quietly - she knew why. It was because six years had erased nothing. She knew she still loved him – that she always would.
And if there's a chance that she had been wrong in Paris–
No. There was no point fantasizing that he had felt something deeper than what he let on. He made it crystal clear that he believed her love to be nothing but false, an emotion that he believed could never exist. So she couldn't help but keep him at arm's length – and yet, she was here, in the car with him.
He was a damn magnet, pulling her toward him – it was physics in its purest sense; the gravity; the cruel thing called love; but for him– for him, she wasn't sure what it was.
Gibbs pulled into his driveway. He turned off the engine, and tucked the keys in his pocket. He was out of the car and over to her side before she unbuckled her seatbelt, opening the door for her.
"Such a gentleman," she commented, following him to the door. Once they were inside, she shrugged off her coat and hung it on the banister, gently putting her purse overtop. Gibbs was already halfway to the basement.
She kept a hand on the rails regardless of how easily she could walk down in heels, it was a way of distracting herself, keeping her focus on the stairs instead of the fact that she was at his house. Again. Gibbs was over at the counter, cleaning out two mason jars before pouring bourbon into them.
"Thank you." She took the offered glass. A memory flashed through her mind. "Remember the first time I tried it?"
He smirked. "Told ya you'd learn how to handle it."
"I was determined to stick it to you," she said amused, taking another sip.
He snorted. "Sounds 'bout right."
Gibbs downed the rest of his bourbon and picked up his sander. He gently tugged her wrist and she set down her glass to allow him to guide her over to where his skeleton of a boat stood. He positioned the sander in her hands, letting his fingers linger on her skin.
"You invited me over for free labor?"
He didn't answer, instead moved behind her, placing his hands overtop of hers, guiding her into the relaxing rhythm of sanding. She was acutely aware of the familiar scent of sawdust and bourbon that engulfed her. She swallowed, half-focused on sanding, the other half relishing in the way his body was pressed against her.
What the hell was she doing? She wasn't sure she could even begin to answer that. She occupied herself with the feel of the sander, the slight push she placed on the tool, exercising muscle as she dragged it along, smoothing out the wood.
His hands were warm, the callouses on them pressed comfortingly against her skin. His breath tickled the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. He was so close to her and she couldn't help the memories that resurfaced, ones of a more intimate touch-
"How long have you worked with Agent DiNozzo?" she asked hastily, needing something to distract her.
"Too long," he grunted.
She snickered. "He's that bad?"
"Kate once described him as a X-rated Peter Pan," he said softly, giving a minute shrug. "It's accurate."
Her hand stilled on the sander at the mention of the dead agent, and she was filled with a sudden soberness. But she couldn't help her curiosity about the female agent she hadn't gotten the chance to know. "And Agent Todd?" she asked hesitantly.
"Two years."
Jenny loosened a breath. It was too short. For anyone, but definitely for the agent she suspected Agent Todd to have been. She felt a rush of cold air and realized Gibbs had retreated, pouring himself another glass of bourbon.
She set the sander down and joined him. He held out the bourbon, silently asking if she wanted him to add more. She pushed her glass toward him and took the opportunity to study him. His jaw was locked, as if that would ward off any visible emotion that threatened to appear, and the corner of his eyes creased, a signal that he was more affected than he wanted to lead on.
She supposed that he refused to talk about Agent Todd. She could only imagine how guilty he felt at the fact that she was dead because of him. Ari is a chauvinist, he had corrected her. He's taking out the women I work with before me.
It had been Agent Todd. He had been worried that she could've been next. She lifted her glass, working up the nerve to ask more about the young female agent. He had to talk about her, she knew that it would give him some semblance of closure, but also knew that he would potentially refuse to do so.
She took a breath, wishing herself luck. "She was a probie?"
"Nah, she was Secret Service before."
Jenny raised an impressed brow, wondering why she decided to give up something like that to work for NCIS of all places.
"Resigned," he supplied. "Broke Rule 12."
"Not yours, I suppose."
"Protecting the president." He shrugged. "Necessary precaution. Can't have ties like that in-house." For a moment, his face lightened, turning more playful as the blue in his eyes danced. "Ya know, she asked me if I was going to lecture her on sleeping with people you work with."
Jenny nearly choked on her bourbon. "What did you say to that?" she asked faintly.
"No." He grinned.
"You truly don't have a leg to stand on in that department," she observed lightly, but couldn't stop herself from wondering why he had chosen to mention that, a reminder of the true depth of their relationship. It was one more thing to add to her mental list, she supposed.
"What was she like? As an agent?"
"Damn good. Didn't bat an eye. Gave it right back to ya." He cast her a sideway glance. "Reminded me of you."
She felt the compliment and gave him a soft smile. The angles of his face seemed softer as he met her gaze.
"You would've liked her, Jen."
"I'm sure I would've." She took another sip before nudging him, intent on relieving the heaviness that had descended on them. "Us women have to stick together."
"You got Ziva."
She assumed it was his roundabout way of switching the conversation over to her, and off Agent Todd.
"I do." She took another sip of her bourbon. "Your Agent DiNozzo is going to have to watch himself around her. I'd hate to have to file an incident report."
"Nothing he wouldn't deserve."
She felt his eyes on her, the question that was implicit in how he shifted, turning himself toward her.
"I met her right after 9/11, almost immediately after I was transferred to the Middle East. She taught me a lot. Had my back when I needed it."
"Cairo."
She swallowed harshly, closing her eyes and willing the memories to stay buried. "Jethro," she started, opening her eyes, and paused. She couldn't talk about it. Not now, not this moment.
His hand covered hers and it was only then that she realized it had been shaking. He removed the glass from her hand, placing it on the counter. Concerned blue eyes met hers.
"You don't have to say anything, Jen." He rubbed his thumb over her skin.
She nodded. "Not-" she swallowed thickly, "here, now. I can't-"
"You're fine." He drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her. She pressed her face into his chest, needing the momentary comfort, the assurance that she was here with him. Not in a hot, sticky desert room where she truly thought she'd die. "You're fine," he repeated.
She gave herself a minute in his embrace before pushing herself up. She picked up her glass again, using the action to compose herself.
He was still watching her, worried. She scratched at a fleck of paint on the side of the mason jar. Really, would it kill him to get actual glasses down here? The silence that fell between them stretched far, filled with a kind of tension that they never had to deal with before. The kind that came with the unknowing. There had been six years in between, and in some ways, they had both changed. For two people that prided themselves on their intimacy, their knowledge of the other, it was unsettling – an unwelcome reminder.
Jenny wracked her brain for something to say, to change the topic and give them something else to talk about.
"You remember Leon Vance?"
Gibbs's face flashed in annoyance. Back when they were partners, they had a couple run-ins with the stiff, rule-abiding agent. Neither of them particularly liked the man, and she knew the feeling was mutual.
"Why?" he growled.
"I had a meeting with SECNAV and some of the other higher-ups today regarding some propositional goals for the agency, including one of my own. Quite a few of them had some backhanded comments about the choice for new director."
"What did Vance have to say?"
"Oh, he was just bitter that he was passed over. It was quite amusing actually."
Gibbs smirked at that, and she thought she saw a glint of pride when he looked at her. He lifted his glass to his mouth, and when he brought it down again, the smirk was gone, replaced by an apprehensive look.
"And the others?"
"Your typical snide comment here and there. My personal favorite was the assumption that I had gotten the job because I was a pretty face," she said mildly. "Of course, he said it a bit more creatively, especially when SECNAV wasn't around, but-"
Gibbs cut her off, placing his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Don't listen to them, Jen. You're damn good at your job. Never doubt that," he said seriously.
A weak smile fluttered across her face. "Thank you, Jethro." In that moment, she was grateful for the history they shared, the way he knew that despite her cold retorts to bastards like that, it did hurt – the insinuation that she slept her way to the top, and that would follow her around her whole career – she had known that when she took the offer. Still, it didn't make anything easier.
"Just say the word, Jen." He held her gaze.
She smiled. "I can take care of myself." She squeezed his hand. "But it's good to know you have my back."
The look in his eyes seemed to promise that he always would. It caught her off guard in a way, the sentiment; and sure, it was the chauvinist side of him taking affront, but she couldn't help but recognize that it was something deeper.
His words that first day came circling back, echoing in her mind. I missed you, Jen. And as she glanced up at him, at the soft cobalt of his eyes, the color she associated with tenderness, she couldn't help but believe it. And for a brief moment, she felt her stomach turn, because if she did believe that he meant the words, then it led her back to Paris, and how she might have misread everything. It would mean she'd have to come to terms with the fact that she had damaged what they had.
But, she supplied, it also meant that he had opened the door she closed six years ago. That the mistakes they made, that she had made, didn't have to define their relationship now. People claimed the idea of the right person, wrong time – and she could see them reflected in that – so maybe, just maybe, the timing was now.
A/N: Some dialogue in this chapter is taken from season 3 - I hope you guys are enjoying it so far! Thank you to everyone who's followed, favorited, and left a comment :)