Seems like it was yesterday when I saw your face
You told me how proud you were but I walked away
If only I knew what I know today
I would hold you in my arms
I would take the pain away
Thank you for all you've done
Forgive all your mistakes
There's nothing I wouldn't do
To hear your voice again
Sometimes I want to call you but I know you won't be there
He hadn’t read the will, he wasn’t ready to yet. Reading the will meant that he was admitting she wouldn’t come back, that he wouldn’t see those bright green eyes glaring at him or smiling on him gently depending on her mood. But she’d made him the executer and he hadn’t been over to her house in a long time so he wanted to look around again. He wanted to prove to himself that he deserved the honour she’d given him by trusting him with this job, wanted to prove that he still knew her and what she would want even after all these years. But more than anything else, he wanted to surround himself with things of hers, things that looked, smelled, sounded, and felt like her, that would bring her back to him, even for a little while. He needed to feel like she would walk in the door and ask him what the hell he was doing in her house. It made him laugh to picture the soft, fiery red-head glaring up at him and doing her best to look intimidating. She didn’t scare him, per say, but she definitely scared a lot of other people and he’d always liked annoying her just for how damned sexy she’d looked when she was pissed off. He would poke at her for a few days, just little things meant to irritate her, and she would give him this ‘I know what you’re doing, you bastard’ look, then, later, he would make it up to her the only way he knew how. He had always been good at romance, it was his strong suit as long as he wanted to do it, and after days of driving her crazy he would set up the perfect date and she would forgive him. They’d been lovers on and off for a long time, the one girlfriend that he would always come back to, that had been the unspoken understanding between them. She knew he was a player, that he moved from woman to woman whenever he started getting too close, but he always came back to her, to Jenny. Beautiful Jenny Sheppard. His rock, his lover, his partner, and then his boss. He’d been furious when she became Director, not because he didn’t think she was up to it, because he’d never met an agent more capable of running the agency. But if she was the new Director, she was his boss, and he couldn’t go back to her anymore, not without risking both their careers. And that’s exactly what they’d done. He loved her, he’d always told her that, and she’d only gotten more beautiful since their last relationship seven years earlier, he’d told her that too. It had been shortly before his retirement to Mexico that she’d come to see him, ask his advice. He’d been a little drunk that night, and she had stayed, just to look after him. When he woke up in the morning and heard the shower running, smelled her perfume in his house, he’d panicked...and he’d felt whole again for the first time in a long time. He’d been worried at first, shuffled into the kitchen and had a hard time talking to the gorgeous red-head that was cooking breakfast in one of his T-shirts, but she’d quickly reassured him, and they’d picked up from there. It had only taken a couple cups of coffee and some flirty comments and they’d wound up back in bed. Later, with her lithe, slender body wrapped around him, she’d punched his arm, not very hard, but enough to make him glance over at her in amusement. ‘I should kill you for this.’ She’d teased. She’d understood though, when he needed to leave, and she’d still been there when he came back, waiting for him with a cup of coffee and a warm bed as soon as he had come back from Mexico. His heart had stopped for a moment when he’d realized that it was her that Ducky was protecting, that she was dying and she hadn’t told him. And then that horrible phone call. The one that said she’d died to protect him, taking down the people who were after them even though it cost her life. There was only one thing he regretted. The little box that sat in the drawer by his bed. It had been there for weeks and he hadn’t gotten the courage to put a ring on her finger like she deserved, hadn’t gotten to give her that final ‘I love you’ like he’d wanted to. He’d lost her before he could and now he knew that he’d never love anyone else the way he’d loved Jenny, he knew that he’d never try either. He’d tried to move on after Shannon, and it had never gone well. He wouldn’t ruin the last tastes of his love by searching for a replacement, not his time. There was no replacement.
The sky had simply opened up a few hours ago, letting out it’s grief at Jenny’s passing, and he stood on her doorstep, drenched and not particularly interested in moving. He’d been there for a long time now, reliving memories and battling with the two halves of himself. One half wanted to curl up on her bed, surround himself in her world, and sleep away the rest of his life, and the other wanted to turn away from the huge house and never breach the privacy of his lover. Finally, he pulled a key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock. He paused for a moment, then forced himself to twist the key and push the door open. He stepped inside and took off his coat, hanging it up by the door and attempting to dry of his shoes on the mat. Her house was pristine, as always; gleaming wood structures, Victorian architecture, and brass finishes. It suited her exactly, polished and elegant and even a little old-fashioned on the outside, but inside was beauty and renovation and the ability to withstand anything, even time itself. He moved through the rooms, reorienting himself with the house. He’d never spent much time here, even during their relationships, and the time he had spent had been with her, never alone in the Victorian mansion she’d inherited from her father. Suddenly, a soft noise reached his ears and he drew his Sig Saur quietly, following the sound. It wasn’t until he reached the library, a huge warm room that looked like it belonged in a nobleman’s castle, that he discovered the source. There was a window seat, pillow-lined and secluded, and in the dark room, he only had the light of an occasional lightning flash to illuminate the silhouette. A girl, no more than sixteen, sat on the silk-clad bench, her knees drawn up to her chin with her arms wrapped around her legs and her head turned away from him as she gazed out into the storm. Another jagged bolt of lightning tore across the sky and he caught a glimpse of milky white skin, a gleaming sheet of bronze hair with an auburn shimmer to it, and a chocolate-coloured V-neck sweater over dark jeans. He reached for the light switch and flipped it, the standing lamps throwing a rosy light over the whole room. “Who are you?” he asked carefully, holstering his weapon but keeping a hand on the handle.
“I called the police.” She replied, not looking away from the rain-pelted bay window. “They’ll be here any minute, so you’d better go.” He missed the small hand that slipped under one of the silk pillows.
“I am the police.” He said, striding across the room and pulling out his badge and ID. “Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS.”
Finally, she turned to look at him and he was floored by the electric blue eyes that raked over him. “So you are.” She observed carelessly, going back to the window. “You should have been there.”
“Excuse me?” he stared at her incredulously. Had he really just been appraised, insulted, and dismissed by a kid?
“You heard me.” She replied, unfolding herself from the bench and walking over to the cabinet across the room. It was only then that he spotted the gun in her hand, a seven-shot revolver hanging loosely by her side, her finger on the trigger.
He pulled his gun back out as well, watching her warily, but she didn’t seem to be aggressive, and he realized that he seemed like a strange adult man to her, why would she trust him? “Could you put that away please?” he asked, tipping his head towards the weapon.
She glanced down at it, surprised, as if she’d forgotten she was holding it, and set it on the cabinet, pulling the door open. “Sure.” She pulled out two crystal glasses and a fluted bottle.
“You old enough to drink that?” he asked dryly.
“It’s my house.” She shrugged, pouring some of the blood-red liquid into one of the glasses “But it’s only sparkling cider, she keeps some around for me. I like the pomegranate ones. You like scotch, right?” she asked, pulling out another bottle, and he nodded. She poured a tumbler and handed it to him.
“Your house, huh?” he asked, accepting the drink and taking a sip. “Funny, I thought this was Jennifer Sheppard’s house.”
“She’s gone.” Said the girl quietly. “So it’s my house now. I don’t suppose NCIS has figured out where she is yet.”
“Have you?” he tilted his head curiously. She was a puzzle, this girl. She was very matter-of-fact about what she said, but she didn’t seem to know much, nor was she particularly interested in finding out it seemed.
She shook her head, tossing back some of her drink. “She said she was going to L.A. and not to expect her back.” Suddenly, there were tears in the girl’s eyes and she set her glass down, glaring enviously at the alcohol in his hand. She wiped at her eyes hastily with the back of her arm, avoiding his eyes. “Said she wanted to go down fighting, not wasting away in some hospital.” She muttered, her voice thick with tears. “Did you find her?” she looked up at him now, her expression desperate and helpless, and a few stray teardrops rolled down her cheeks.
Gibbs watched the girl for a moment before answering, doing his best to be gentle. “Yeah.” He nodded. “A couple of days ago.” The girl let out a strangled sob and turned away, hugging herself tightly, her shoulders shaking as she cried. He watched helplessly. He’d never been very good with crying women, and crying teenagers were much worse somehow. After a minute, he touched her shoulder gently. “What’s your relationship with Director Sheppard?” he asked.
The girl looked up at him, red-eyed and grieving. “I’m her daughter.”
Story Notes:
In case you haven't noticed, I've got this thing about Jenny having a daughter. I know my last story with a mini-Sheppard didn't sit so well with everyone, so here's a far more conventional (and more realistic) option for those of you who thought I was being just a little too bizarre.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Gibbs remembers his former/current lover and gets a big surprise.
Chapter End Notes:
Please email me with any comments, I love having my work criticed (not sarcasm, I really do) and if you've read my stuff before, you know that I change things constantly, so if you have something you really like, or a suggestion, please tell me. Don't use comments though, 'cause I still don't know how to access them without leaving one, and that just looks stupid. I promise not to reply to any emails unless asked to.