Crimson Lead Bar, Washington D.C. 2006
It was Thursday.
Jenny sat at the bar, holding an envelope in her hand. A thin envelope really, after all it only contained a picture. It was yellow; an insignificant color.
Diane slid in next to her. "What's with the impromptu call? Not that I'm complaining. It's already been a week." She signaled to the bartender. "What's that?"
Jenny turned the envelope over in her hand again. She hesitated for a moment before peeling the flap back and sliding the photo out. Somehow, she knew what she was doing, letting Diane see it; talking about it with her.
She slid it over. Diane picked it up, a half-smile on her face as she studied it.
"I suppose there's more to this than a really nice picture of you."
"Jethro was back for a case. Helping Ziva out."
Diane blinked. A smirk worked its way across her face. "I told you he'd be back. He's married to that job."
"He didn't stay. He's back in Mexico."
And he hadn't said goodbye. Again. But-
She turned the envelope over in her hand.
"And the picture?"
"Jethro left it," she managed, her gaze still fixed resolutely to the envelope.
"Well-" Diane set the picture down. "Now that's something."
She let the whole interaction spill out of her. The way he had come in; the compliment. I really missed that view. Harbor isn't bad either. How his hair was long; it reminded her of Serbia. He hadn't remembered. It hurt.
Then he left; again. This time without stopping by to see her. She only had this photo. Of her in Serbia. She didn't know what was throwing her off the most about it all. The fact that he kept the photo or the fact that he had given it to her. She didn't know what it meant.
"So why did you call me?"
"I don't know what-" she stopped, trying to pinpoint the issue; what she was wrestling with.
"Yes, you do. You know exactly what this means, why you called me. You have answers, you need someone to tell you that they're the right ones. Why?"
She didn't trust herself.
The bartender slipped their drinks in front of them. They were regulars by now, he knew their order. Jenny took a distracted sip.
"We're different," she mustered, taking the picture back. She gazed at the woman in the photo; almost looking at a stranger.
"That's crap." Diane set down her glass. "You haven't changed that much. rIf anything, now that you know about Shannon and Kelly, I don't know why you'd be second guessing yourself."
"I can't afford not to."
Diane turned. "Yes. You can. You're just scared." She licked her lips. "Look, I know that when it comes to Leroy, opening yourself up to him, of all people, is hard. But this–" she tapped the picture. "It changes things."
It meant he remembered. Serbia was one of the places where they had been the happiest; content and carefree. It was a break amidst all the operations, danger, and high stakes. A moment that existed for just them.
And to him, it had meant something. There was nothing attached to the picture. She had never demanded such a thing from him. Instead, it was something he offered up willingly. A keepsake; a memory; a feeling.
While she knew how they had felt in Serbia – her earlier words still rang true. A lifetime ago, Ziva.
Diane was wrong in that. They had changed. She was not a junior agent anymore, instead seasoned, and director. He was still the steel-eyed, abrasive, lead agent, but he faced more loss since she last knew him.
And they weren't partners anymore.
But the memory; the picture; the way it said that he remembered what they had been. She might even go so far as to say he accepted it. And giving her the photo–
It was as if he wanted her to know about his own recollection. He meant to say something in leaving the envelope for her. He meant well; he didn't know that she had been questioning herself when it came to him ever since she looked up his file and found out about his first wife and daughter.
You're just scared.
She was; she had been. But as she gazed at the picture, at herself, she felt the way she used to be come floating through her body; a tingle of confidence. It may not have been love, but it had been something. She knew that much.
She didn't think she had just been a replacement, meaning she was something that his ex-wives weren't. That realization was leading her down a path she had only tread once, returning now with more caution, half of her always poised to turn the other way and run.
And yet she walked, the part of her that had always longed for a clear-cut answer driving her forward. The feeble confidence she clasped against her chest was growing. Love. She may not be able to say it as a fact – but as a possibility – she could at least commit to that.
〜*〜
Jenny adjusted the bag on her arm as she descended the stairs down to Gibbs's basement. He was sitting in the corner, a few boxes surrounding him.
"I just came by to tell you that Derrick Paulson has been cleared of all charges." She set her bag down. "You saved that boy's life."
"He did most of the work." A typical response.
"Don't sell yourself short," she said, studying him. A wry expression fell over her face. "Or is it too late for that?"
He met her gaze. "This supposed to be some sort of pep talk to get me to stay, Jen?"
A weak smile slipped on her face as she pulled her arms closer to her. It had only been a statement reminiscent of the agent he had once been, the agent that had shown itself today. Whatever he had meant by the picture and her little bit of confidence hadn't changed the fact that she didn't want him back. Something Gibbs seemed to have caught on to.
"You don't want me back," he stated, sounding almost taken aback.
"No, I don't."
"Worried you won't be able to handle me, director?" he retorted arrogantly.
"No, Jethro," she said softly. "I'm afraid you won't be able to handle yourself," she corrected. "You have already been in two comas. You might not come out of a third." She took a deep breath as she voiced the concern that had rooted itself in her; allowing a slight moment of vulnerability; trusting him with it.
She went on. "The fact is you're good. The best. When you're as good at something as you are, when you can make a difference like you can, you just don't quit."
He didn't respond, but tilted his head ever so slightly; considering.
Part of her feared that she said too much.
She took her bag and hurried out of the basement. Away from Gibbs.
Somehow, she didn't think that it would be the last time. He'd be back. The case had highlighted something for him, and she had brought it into perspective – he was good, and he had quit.
Resigned, she let herself out the front door, heading to her car. She would have to suck up her fear, focus on having his back. They might not be partners anymore, but she would always think of him as hers.
〜*〜
Jenny walked into the bar, already feeling her hands shaking and the faint voice of Diane saying I told you so echo around in her head. Gibbs was back.
Because of her.
It was a blessing and a curse. She had called it that night; she had been right. His presence went deeper, burrowing under the multitude of layers that always seemed to hang around them. It spoke to the very thing she always questioned.
"You're late," Diane greeted, holding out a glass of bourbon.
"Funnily enough, I was working up the nerve to come in." Jenny took the glass.
"I'm glad I made such an impression."
Jenny snorted. "More than you know." She took a sip. "You were right."
"I always am." Diane brushed her hair off her shoulder. "How so this time?
"Gibbs is back," she admitted, following the statement with a healthy gulp of bourbon.
"I told you so," Diane said victoriously.
Jenny indulged her in her moment of celebration, toasting her. She adjusted herself on the stool, knowing the way this conversation was going to go and wished that the bourbon had already settled in her system.
"So what finally made him come to his senses?"
Jenny inhaled, pushed the breath out, then took a sip. "Me."
Diane raised a manicured brow and set her wine glass down on the counter, pivoting so she fully faced Jenny.
"What did you say?"
"That I didn't want him back," she said wryly.
A half-hearted grin emerged on Diane's face. "Sounds like him," she said faintly. Jenny nodded and looked down, tapping out a mindless pattern on the side of her glass. Her respect for the redhead seemed to grow with every conversation they had. She wasn't stupid. Diane still had feelings for Gibbs, and still, she sat here with Jenny.
With Jenny – the woman that Gibbs had managed to find feelings for – she could admit that now. He had remembered her in the hospital; he had left her the picture; he had come back.
He had come back.
Diane sucked in a breath, lifting her wine to her lips and draining it. "So-" she said, pressing her lips together. "What are you going to do?"
Jenny stared blankly at her.
"Oh, so help me God," Diane bemoaned, raising her gaze to the ceiling. "You are going to do something? Leroy Jethro Gibbs, perhaps the most stubborn man to ever have existed, came back because of you."
Jenny hesitated.
Truthfully, she hadn't thought that far ahead. It had taken her so long to recognize the place she had in his life, let alone think about what to do now that she had that knowledge.
"You're so stupid," Diane moaned, gesturing animatedly for the bartender to fill up her wine. Once he had done so, she drank most of it in one gulp. "You all but have him. And you were going to throw it away."
"I hadn't thought about it," she protested gently.
"Hadn't thought about it," Diane mocked. "I can't believe this." She shut her eyes for a minute. "Please, please, tell me you will do something."
Jenny pushed the glass back and forth between her hands. "I don't know," she finally offered. "Things are complicated. I didn't exactly leave things neat and tidy."
She had left things with a letter. It was cold – and she knew now, undeserving. There were still a lot of personal issues they'd have to work through. Not to mention the fact that she was his boss; while there was nothing – apart from his own rules – against that, it still complicated things even more.
"You're scared," Diane summarized.
"Yes."
"You still need to do something. You convinced him to stay. That means something. Probably a lot more than you think. Don't waste it."
Jenny was silent, mulling over the possibilities, attempting to tame her fear. It rested on the tip of her tongue.
"What if-" she began. She cleared her throat. "What if, despite everything, he doesn't want me back?" It seemed foolish of her to say, but Diane didn't know the extent of the knots they had woven back in Europe. Time hadn't cleared them; not the ones that mattered – he could still love her and not want her back; she loved him and didn't want him back.
She was scared.
Being vulnerable around him was a risk she had taken once and it cost her dearly. Her walls were fortified after that. Love was something she had labeled as dangerous, held at a distance; and knew that it would only ever be associated with one person.
Diane seemed to gather that this was not a mere deflecting statement, but a deep, underlying fear.
"It's a risk," she acknowledged. "One you have to decide is worth taking. You could be hurt, or you could be happy."
Jenny tilted her head.
"What would you do?" she asked softly. It felt like a cruel question, pinning Diane into a situation she probably dreamed of being in.
Diane brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face. "I'd let him know what he did to me. Why I left. But I would try again." She paused, her eyes looking rather shiny. "If I could."
Jenny reached out to grasp her friend's hand, knowing that she offered little solace, but figured the gesture would be appreciated anyway. The squeeze of her hand told her she was right.