Director of NCIS office, Washington D.C. 2006
Jenny clicked a few buttons, pulling up her email and groaning at the count. She reached for her coffee and took a sip, grimacing as cold liquid slid down her throat.
She hated cold coffee. She tossed the cup in the trash and resigned herself to the task that lay before her. Jenny pulled the keyboard closer to her and clicked on the first email. It was from Kofi Annan. She read it and then closed her eyes in frustration, she hadn't retained any of it.
Suddenly she regretted throwing her coffee away. Even cold coffee would do the trick. Gritting her teeth, she plucked the glasses off her desk and put them on. She reread the email a few more times before gathering enough to supply him with a satisfactory response.
She placed her hand over the keys, and paused, struggling to figure out how to start it off. She bit her lip and tried a sentence. She scrunched her nose and erased it, stating it in a slightly different way. It seemed to do the trick, for she was typing away deliberately, her thoughts and words merging for once.
The door flew open.
She didn't look up, not wanting to lose her flow; and anyway, she knew who it was. "Give me a second. I just have to finish this email to Kofi Annan."
"Kofi can wait."
She let out a small huff of annoyance. "What is it, Jethro?"
"The Finn case."
"Yes?" She took her glasses off and looked up at him, catching the small shake of his head. A smirk worked its way across her face. "You're lost on this one?" She didn't hide the smugness.
"Puzzled," he confirmed. "They barely knew Finn, yet they let him move in. Loaned him money."
It was the area he always seemed to be clueless in. Relationships.
"They trusted a man who took advantage of them. If you're in a relationship and the other person is keeping secrets, how would you know?"
"You'd know."
"I didn't," she countered immediately, needing him to understand this. It didn't relate to the case, but it related to them; and in that moment, she saw the opening she needed to explain herself. Explain why what he did hurt and why she responded the way she did.
"Who lied to you?"
She stared at him dumbstruck for a moment. Was he really that daft? "You did!" she said pointedly. "Not exactly lied, but you didn't tell me the whole truth either."
"You're comparing me to Finn?" He sounded a little hurt.
She clarified. "I'm just saying that you can be involved with someone without fully knowing them. How could you not tell me about your family?"
That, above everything, was the thing that hurt the most because it's the thing she needed to know the most. It explained a lot, and now – that she had time and distance – and could look at things rationally, thanks to Diane, she was able to realize that she had been right in Europe. And if the door was still open-
There were conversations they needed to have. Information that they, somehow – because they were never good at verbalizing it – needed to share.
"Finish your email." He turned around and she closed her eyes, hating how stubborn he was, but understanding why he didn't want to talk about it. Not with her. Not ever.
He had the door open.
"You wanted my advice." She stated, willingly bringing the conversation back to the reason he sought her out in the first place. "Just don't be too hard on the fiancés. Finn duped them. And I shouldn't have brought up the past. I know you had your reasons for not wanting to talk about it."
He closed the door. "We're talking about it now."
It gave her pause. She had given him an out, but he hadn't taken it.
"Now is not Paris." It wasn't when she needed to know – that's what she was hinting at.
"Your priorities were clear in Paris."
"I had a job to do in Europe," she defended. Of course he'd bring up the letter. She had a reason for writing it. When it came down to it, her job was a future she could rely on. He wasn't, and that was a risk she couldn't afford to take at the time.
"If I had told you about my first wife, would it have made a difference?"
"We'll never know, will we?" she said, it was barely a question, because they couldn't know. That hadn't happened.
It was a cop-out answer, they both knew it. But she didn't think if she said 'yes', that he would believe her. It was part of her that was still damaged by him; the wall that was still up to save her from getting too hurt.
The door opened; it shut.
Jenny stared at the place where Gibbs had stood moments before. She had tried, hadn't she? She was hurt that he never told her. It would've saved her the pain. If he told her – she wondered if that would've meant he was ready to truly commit to her. That he hadn't meant that the timing was off, and truthfully, it had been for her too.
Now, things might be different; they might have a chance as long as they didn't dive in only to come up with it all slipping through their fingers, too damaged to make it work.
It was still her fear.
〜*〜
She nodded her thanks to Melvin as she headed inside the bar. At the very least, her earlier conversation with Gibbs would give her and Diane something to talk about. She hated to bring him up around her friend, especially now that they were talking about her getting involved with him again – it was an open wound for both of them, and Jenny knew how much it would hurt if the roles were reversed.
Diane was already at the bar, two glasses sitting in front of her.
"Hey," she greeted. "How's your week been?"
"The number of tax frauds that people think they're clever enough to get away with would surprise you," Diane muttered. "It's been busy and the next murder NCIS investigates might be of my coworker."
"That bad?" Jenny asked sympathetically. It was a boy-club at the IRS as well.
"I'd say worse, but I think your idea of 'bad' is what I mean."
Jenny inclined her head, taking a sip of bourbon. "How are they undermining you this time?"
"By acting like I'm stupid. I'm the reason half those cases get solved! But being a woman makes my success some kind of huge threat, so they diminish my intelligence to make their fragile little egos feel better."
"I guess it's like that everywhere." Jenny sighed. "It's a fine line of knowing when to grit your teeth and take it and when to confront them. I had more of that luxury as an agent, being a director means forcing a smile and taking it."
"I told them to shove it today," Diane growled. "Said that if they kept that up, I'd work all the cases myself and put that in the report, and not to worry, I'm sure they could still find some type of job in the IRS, probably a janitor."
Jenny nodded in approval. "Good for you."
"What about you?" Diane took a sip of her wine. "What's the latest in the director world?"
"Too many emails," Jenny groaned. "Ones that demand an appropriate response and that's difficult to do when you also deal with an agent that waltzes in whenever he feels like it."
"Tell him to shove it."
Jenny laughed. "He wouldn't listen. Plus, he wanted my advice today and I will never turn down the ego rush I get."
"Even the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs can admit that women are smarter than men sometimes."
Jenny toasted to that. "Especially when it comes to relationships. The case involved a," she paused, searching for the best phrase, "complicated one."
"Aren't they all?" Diane snorted. "Well, go figure, that's never been his strong suit."
"My thoughts exactly." Jenny was quiet for a moment. "I took your advice."
"Talk about getting an ego." Diane grinned. As she studied Jenny, it seemed to freeze on her face before vanishing.
"If you don't want to hear it…" Jenny offered.
Diane shook her head. "It's fine. You'd butcher things without me." She paused, then added, in a slightly softer tone, "I would like to see you happy."
Jenny looked over at her friend, gratitude swelling inside of her. Diane seemed to notice what her words meant to Jenny.
"He's just a guy," she said quickly, trying to lighten the mood, but her eyes shimmered faintly. "Girlfriends over anything." Diane nudged her shoulder.
"Right back at you." Jenny finished off her bourbon. "The case gave me an in. I don't think I would've brought it up regardless. Sometimes people are in a relationship where the other person isn't telling the whole truth. It's not a clean parallel, he didn't do it with the intention to hurt me." She drew in a long, heavy breath. "But he knows, or suspects, that things would've been different had he told me."
"Does he know that it hurt you?"
Jenny lifted a shoulder. "He knows me. I have to assume he does on some level. A lot of it depends on what he's ready to admit to himself."
"You didn't say it."
"I'm not that blunt." Jenny attempted a smile. "Vulnerability is never something I've learned well. Not even with Jethro. Not now."
"Some level of it is required."
"I know." Jenny pressed her lips together, circling the rim of her glass with her finger. "We're very good at saying everything in what we don't say."
Diane picked up her glass. "If it works for you," she said, bringing her wine the remainder of the way and taking a sip.
"To be upfront about it-" Jenny shook her head slowly. "I think I'd need time."
"Probably several glasses of bourbon too."
They grinned at each other and Jenny signaled to the bartender to fill up her glass.
"You know me so well."
Diane was about to respond when a familiar voice spoke, outraged.
"What the hell is this?"
The women shared a look before spinning around to face a certain blue-eyed man. Gibbs stood, his back straight, his face creased in both shock, fear, and anger. He met her gaze and it was like she viciously betrayed him with the expression on his face. She couldn't suppress a snicker at how ridiculous the thought was.
Diane lifted a brow. "A conversation, Leroy."
Jenny couldn't help but chime in. "It's when two people open their mouths and talk to each other. How prodigious of us, really!"
His eyes squinted at her, as if he didn't know what the word prodigious meant. She really would have too much fun with this. Diane had been right, again, when she said that being friends would be worth it, if only for the look on Gibbs's face.
"How do you-" He stabbed the air in front of Jenny. "Know her?" he growled, pointing at Diane.
Jenny, then, copied Diane with the slight arch of her brow at how petulant he was being. Still, it was entertaining. She shared a look with her friend, the unspoken question of who wanted to tell the story being asked.
"Well, as soon as I heard, I invited her to join the club," Diane began mildly.
"What club?" Gibbs glared at her.
"Oh, come on, Gibbs, you really didn't think that we wouldn't band together? We've got the same badge of honor-"
"Having survived you," Diane finished.
"Rebecca and Stephanie should be arriving soon," Jenny said wickedly. Gibbs's face blanched at the prospect of facing all of them. He glanced over his shoulder warily and Diane and Jenny burst out laughing.
He snapped back around, his face darkening. "Not funny."
"Oh, but it was," Diane managed between her laughter. "You should see your face."
"How do you guys know each other?" he snapped, apparently done with the fun they were having at his expense.
Diane composed herself. "It's your own fault, really. Next time, don't bring a girlfriend to the same bar you brought your ex-wife to."
Gibbs stared at her. Then at Jenny. Then back at Diane. "Over seven years?" he asked hoarsely.
"Oh, we met around then." Diane waved a hand.
"We didn't truly become friends until earlier this year," Jenny clarified. Their eyes locked and she knew that he had pinpointed when this friendship had happened. She didn't know how she would've made it through the explosion and his departure without Diane's support. She didn't think she'd want to meet that version of herself.
"Why are you here, anyway?" Diane asked.
"Looking for you." Gibbs hadn't looked away from her. She could practically sense Diane beside her and could imagine the woman telling her that this was more proof and not to be an idiot.
"At a bar?" Jenny questioned.
"Went by your house first."
Jenny opened her mouth, then it clicked and she closed it again. "My driver told you where I was."
Gibbs nodded.
"Are you stalking her now, or something?" Diane asked wryly. Jenny glanced at her as she turned around to grab her now-filled glass of bourbon. She had her suspicion as to why Gibbs hadn't just given up when he realized she wasn't at home. Why he called her driver instead, and why he was here instead of having got his answer and gone home. She barely had to take a look at him to affirm her theory.
"He's not," Jenny said softly. Diane glanced between them slowly, probably wondering how Jenny reached that conclusion with such confidence. She clarified, "May."
Diane stared at her, confused. It took her a few seconds before it clicked. "Oh, that."
Now Gibbs seemed bewildered. "You told her about that?"
"Well, Leroy," Diane started sarcastically, "Getting kidnapped and nearly killed isn't something that normally happens."
Jenny was sure she was the only one who noticed the slight movement; his flinch at the words. She bit her lip, thoughtful.
"Is it the Finn case again?" she asked, pushing her personal dilemma aside.
"No, wrapped that up. Case files should be on your desk tomorrow. Waiting on-"
"DiNozzo," she supplied with a knowing curve of her lips. "So, you're here because…?"
"Need to discuss something."
Diane polished off her wine. "And that's my cue." She checked her watch. "I have to be home soon anyway. Tobias is dropping Emily off." She set the glass down and rummaged through her bag, slapping some bills on the table.
"How is she?" Gibbs asked.
A soft look flitted over her face. "She's good. Sassy, but that's directed toward Tobias, so I can't complain."
Gibbs's mouth quirked up.
Jenny stood and gave her friend a hug. "Thank you."
"Don't be an idiot," Diane whispered in her ear. Jenny smiled as they pulled back. "Take care, Leroy."
"You too." He turned to watch her go. Jenny stared at his back, feeling the nerves in her stomach, uncertain what he had sought her out about. As soon as Diane's figure disappeared from sight, he spun around.
"Diane, really?" He sat down beside her.
Jenny caught the bartender's attention. "He'll have a bourbon." She glanced down at her own drink, giving herself a minute before she answered. "She's a good friend."
Gibbs snorted. "Whadda even talk about?"
"How bad you are in bed," Jenny said dryly.
Gibbs snorted again. "That's not true."
"I don't know, we've come to quite a consensus between the two of us, Rebecca and Stephanie too," she added slyly.
He shot her his patented glare. The bartender slid the bourbon over to him and he took a healthy sip. Jenny copied him, lifting her own glass up and enjoying the sensation of the liquid trickle down her throat. She lowered her drink slowly, setting it down and staring at it for a moment.
"You were looking for me?"
He grunted.
"Why?" She chanced a glance at him. He swallowed, focused on the still surface of his glass. She looked away, toying with the strap of her purse instead.
"Would it have made a difference?" The question was barely audible and it took Jenny a minute to truly register what he had said. Her body chilled and her hands shook as she took a much-needed gulp of bourbon.
The idea seemed to have stuck with him. She didn't know if she was supposed to be happy about that; she wasn't; she didn't know how she felt.
"We'll never know," she repeated, and sensing the glare he was about to throw her way, added even softer, "I don't know."
He snorted skeptically. "Course you do. That's why ya brought it up."
"Jethro, I wasn't trying to back you into a corner," she explained, slightly on edge. She touched the side of her glass with the tips of her fingers, then drew them back to push through her hair. Her hand dropped to her side; defeated. "I thought I knew you." She sucked in her cheeks, tipping her head back and willing the prickle of tears not to fall.
"Ah, Jen," he said feebly, as if he understood now.
"I get it, I really do." She managed to blink away her tears and faced him once more. "I get it," she repeated, staring at him, thinking about her father and the way his death and the circumstances around it had destroyed her. She wasn't the same person. She knew the deep cut of loss, and while it wasn't as searing as losing a wife and child, she still understood.
He blinked slowly, getting what she wasn't saying. She lifted her bourbon up again, needing something to occupy her, to give her an excuse to look away from him.
When she set her glass down again, she felt something brush against her hand. Gibbs folded his fingers over hers, squeezing gently before pulling away. Offering an apology. She figured that was his acceptance of the fact, and her way of understanding that he was putting the pieces together, affirming, if he thought otherwise, that the reason she left him in Paris had nothing to do with any lack of love, rather a lack of trust. In him, in his feelings for her, in the future he had seemed to promise.
"In Mexico," he began gruffly, "Took me a bit, 'fore I started remembering more. Talked with Mike a lot."
Jenny lifted her head, mentally settling that piece down into the puzzle they had always been; seeing how it fit. She thought she understood what he meant in telling her that.
"What you said, in my basement–" he broke off, letting out a sound of frustration. He was silent and she eyed him, imagining he was trying to figure out how to say whatever it was. "Made me realize what I had left."
She stilled, swallowing harshly, not daring to do anything but stare at the counter where their glasses stood. He didn't just mean the job.
He meant her.
The idea seemed to lodge itself in her body, causing the emotion that had been rising to halt, building pressure as it tried to escape. She knew it to be true; he meant her.
Exhaling slowly, she forced the courage into her body; knew what it meant for her to reach out. And grab his hand; holding it gently from where it rested by his glass. She didn't look at him and she knew he wasn't looking at her either. But he squeezed.
They sat there. Sipping their bourbon. Lost in their own thoughts on what all of this meant and what they wanted it to mean. It was a breakthrough and a standstill all at once. It could be an open door they walked through, or one they stood outside and never opened; she could see either as a possibility.
Jenny drained the last of her bourbon, and when she set her glass down, she noticed that Gibbs's was empty.
He broke the silence. "I'll drive you home."
Jenny gave him a soft smile and shook her head. "Melvin can." She needed to mull things over some more, when he wasn't right next to her. When she couldn't feel the warmth of his skin or be able to inhale the sawdust and bourbon scent she had grown to love.
He didn't reply, but stood and shuffled his feet awkwardly. She slid her purse up onto her shoulder, looking at him resigned.
"You told him he could go home, didn't you?"
He shrugged, not apologetic at all.
"What is the point," she mused, "of having my own driver if he doesn't obey orders."
"He obeys orders." Gibbs shot her a charismatic smirk. "Just not yours."
She rolled her eyes as she followed him out of the bar and around the corner to the parking lot.
He opened the car door for her and she slipped inside, buckling her seatbelt and placing her purse on her lap. Gibbs got in and started the engine, pulling off down the road. A comfortable silence fell between them and Jenny contented herself with gazing out the dark window as the street lights blurred and neon lights added the occasional flash of color.
This evening had taken a rapid turn in a direction she had never entertained, and now, she could see the road clearly down, where they were heading was somewhere familiar. She wasn't going to deny that she was terrified. The last time they had been down this road, a lot had gotten broken — broken in the way she believed the damage to be irrevocable — and maybe it was, they just learned to live — love — despite it.
It was terrifying, but it was the very thing she wanted. She felt that things were different this time; they were older; the skeletons in the closet weren't plotting against them. She had to tell him about her father at some point, when they, in their own way, talked about Paris.
The street lamps were glowing brightly and Gibbs pulled down his street. She glanced over, amused, even more so at the pleased look that rested on his face. He pulled into the driveway.
"Did you forget where I lived?" she asked wryly, not at all surprised that he had driven them back to his house. She had expected it.
"Nope."
Giving him an exasperated glance, she got out of the car and trailed behind him as he walked up the driveway to the front door. His house was musty, but warm; familiar. It felt different, somehow, than the last time she had been in here a mere couple of weeks ago.
"You're not getting free labor out of me this time."
He turned on the light to the basement and headed down the stairs. "Wouldn't dream of it."
She snorted. "Why don't I believe that?"
"Ya know me too well, Jen." He turned, smirking at her.
"I do, don't I."
His smirk morphed into a rare smile. She set her purse down on the counter, running her hands over the tools that lay haphazardly across the surface. Gibbs took a step closer, putting his hand over hers, bringing it away from his tools. He intertwined their hands, causing Jenny to look at him. In that moment, she realized just how close they were.
Her breath hitched; sawdust, coffee, and bourbon surrounded her, enveloping her warmly; welcoming her back into a home she had long since vacated. Gibbs drew a hand down her cheek, sliding it back and drawing her close.
His lips covered hers and she relaxed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling the comfort, familiarity, and love that he radiated.
She tilted her head and he took the opportunity she offered to deepen the kiss. Nothing — nothing ever felt so right. Warmth rushed through her body, embedding itself, sending a kind of life through her she hadn't felt in seven years. She knew it to be true; she knew it to be love.
She broke away gently, a smile that she only reserved for him on her face as she let her forehead rest against his.
He didn't say it, but she knew.
And it was the one thing she knew he could never bring himself to say; and it was the one thing she would never again fault him for.
Now that she had the full picture, she understood why he had reacted that way; why he seemingly brushed off her only true moment of vulnerability back in Paris, the one that really mattered.
She knew. It was love that brimmed between them; it always had been, regardless of the state or stage of their relationship. It was love. She didn't fault him for not saying it. She had once – and she knew she never would again; it was a vulnerability she wouldn't subject herself to, not even with him.
It seemed almost insulting if, now, she were to say it. After all, her touch did, her eyes did – they found other ways to express it; ways that mattered more because people lied all the time. This was something they couldn't lie in. And it had taken her too long to realize that Gibbs had said everything in what he hadn't.
〜*〜
Jenny closed out her email and began to slide papers and case reports into their retrospective files and place them in her drawer. It was part of her routine, clearing off her desk for the next day, and as she put the last file into the drawer instead of her bag, a small smile worked its way onto her face.
So much was different, and yet nothing was. She and Gibbs still needed to talk about what this relationship meant, both for them personally and professionally; but she didn't doubt their ability to figure it out.
Her door opened and Gibbs stood there, his jacket on.
"I suppose you've replaced my driver again. Should I reassign you? DiNozzo was a pretty effective team leader. He'd be more than capable to take over again."
Her teasing remarks were met with a look, one that didn't quite conceal his amusement. Jenny grinned as she pulled on her coat and picked up her purse. Gibbs offered her his arm and she took it, leaning her head on his shoulder for a moment, her affection for him overwhelming her.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before pulling the door open and leading her out and down the stairs.
"Did you wrap up your case today?"
"Open and shut," he replied. "DiNozzo actually got his report done. I'll put it on your desk tomorrow."
"Hmm, sounds like he's showing team leader quality," she said lightly.
"Nah, just his ability to actually do his job for once."
She laughed, and when it faded, she looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, I'm considering him for the opening in Rota, Spain for team leader."
Gibbs paused. He reached out slowly to press the elevator door button.
"He deserves it. He did a phenomenal job when you were away. Brought the team together."
"Wouldn't have left if I thought he couldn't," he answered gruffly. The elevator doors opened.
"I know. I told him as much. He took the brunt of a lot of things." Jenny glanced at him. Gibbs stood stiffly, there seemed to be an air of distance and guilt that surrounded him. "I don't think he'd take it, if I offered."
Gibbs turned, his brow lifted as if asking how she could be so sure.
"He's not like me," she replied. She bit her lip, feeling the slight swell of emotions she usually kept buried. "There are times where I wish I had taken things a little slower," she admitted.
Gibbs's hand found hers. "We're here now."
She squeezed his hand tightly, trying to convey how much his words meant – how much it mattered to her that he stood next to her.
They walked to his car, now in a routine of buckling their seat belts, starting the car and driving to his house. They chatted lightly about their day, about the case and how McGee had quite cleverly solved it, about the encounter Jenny had with Vance and how she put him in his place. It was a gentle moment, full of an intimacy that only existed between people who truly knew each other.
"Got a new bottle of bourbon," Gibbs stated as he pulled into the driveway.
"You spoil me."
Gibbs snorted. "Suppose to be the best out there," he indulged.
"I don't know, the bourbon at Crimson Lead is up there," Jenny countered. "I drink it every week."
"Cause of me," he boasted, walking around to open her door.
"Or the company," she added slyly.
"Diane, really?"
She just laughed and slipped her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked up to his house. The current that ran between them was something natural; as intense and electric as lighting – something believed to flash only once and then never again in a moment between the same two people.
That wasn't true of them. There was a current; intense; electric and full of light and power. It was called love. It was theirs.
A/N: Thank you to anyone who has read this story, and a special one to those who have liked, followed, or commented - your support means everything! I hope you guys enjoyed this; I do have more Jibbs stories up my sleeve, but I think I'm going to try and work on my own book for a bit unless the plot bunnies attack me again (along with the Jibbs feels) - so stay tuned if you'd like :)
Thank you, again.