NCIS Fic: Paris to Serbia (Ch 4)
Series: Paris to Serbia
Chapter 4: Conversations in the Dark
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Jethro/Jenny
Timeframe: Pre Series; References to Shalom
Rating: Adult
A/N: I’ve always had a problem with the idea that Jenny rose to her position in NCIS so quickly. So this series gives some history not only to Gibbs and Shepard, but also to Jenny’s past and where her skills lie.
Disclaimer: I keep falling in love with beautiful characters already written by other people. If CBS is looking for a young, up and coming writer who will devote herself wholeheartedly to the process, I’m the right girl. Otherwise, I make no money from this. NCIS, Jenny, Gibbs, and the team belong to other people. I’m just walking with them for a while.
Summary: So what, now he’d come? Now? What was she? Just an old memory meant to be dragged up when he felt like thinking about a past he pretended to forget?
Go easy now
Go easy now
Later on the road I’m gonna
Lay my body down.
We’ll meet along the way
I know.
~Hem: We'll Meet Along the Way
Washington DC, 2006
The very idea that she was going to lose him put her into a panic even though she’d been the one to push him away. She’d been the one to draw the lines. But when faced with the reality that he might not wake up, she’d been reduced to a virgin field agent, flighty and nervous. Her hands and legs shook. Her heart raced. Now, she knew, he was fine. He was fine, but he was leaving. Leaving her.
Her rational self knew that it wasn’t fair to say he was leaving her. He was leaving NCIS. Leaving DC. He had offered himself to her with no questions asked, been willing to navigate the absolute impossibilities of being director and field agent and she’d pushed him away. She’d said no. She’d weighed the reality of her decisions against what she really wanted in life years ago when she’d left him in Paris, when he’d married Stephanie, when he abided by her rules at the office and now, as he was leaving.
Accepting the realities didn’t stop it from hurting whenever he stepped out with a beautiful redhead. It didn’t stop the ache when he told her that his return wasn’t final, that he was there for Ziva. But when he looked into her eyes and lied about Serbia, she broke. As he stormed out of her office, she put her head down on her desk and cried like she had when she’d closed the door behind him in Paris and not looked back as she headed to her new life. Then, he’d called after her, waited in the door he’d opened, but she had kept going, tears streaming down her face. With the roles reversed, with him leaving her, she didn’t go after him.
He did remember Serbia. She knew he remembered. He remembered the leaking roof she’d helped him fix and the garden they’d planted. He remembered the cold nights huddled by the fire talking about everything from the op to dreams forgotten. He remembered the panic when Salvo’s crew had abducted her and how he had refused to let her go for days after her rescue. He remembered the confessions of love. He remembered all of it and he lied to her to protect both of their hearts.
Then, he’d given her the picture. Her posing in front of that barn the day he told her he loved her. And she’d run out of the squad room, not caring what she revealed about their relationship by doing it, hunting in the parking lot for his silver hair and swagger and found nothing.
But now he stood on her doorstep, his long hair taking her back to when they were two completely different people, when they had time to just be them even while hunting down terrorist cells and tracing back gun runners. He’d let it grow on the cruise to England and by the time they reached Serbia it was long and shaggy and she loved to run her fingers through and hold on to while he held her captive with his mouth.
The moustache, however, would have to go.
She wanted it to be a romantic moment. She wanted to kiss him softly, with tears running down her face. She wanted him to sweep her close and lift her up so their noses met. She wanted him to stroke her back as they walked back into her bedroom. She wanted music to swell while she apologized for being an absolute idiot and if he still wanted her, she still wanted him.
Instead she stepped back into her foyer to let him out of the rain, crossed her arms, fought back tears and glared at him. “What do you want?” Maybe she really was an ex wife because she certainly wanted to kill him. She just didn’t have the divorce papers or the alimony payments.
“I’m not sure.” He was staring at her and she cursed the blue eyes that knew her better than she knew herself. Tucking deeper into her sweater she crossed her arms as she led him back into the kitchen where Noemi was still cleaning up the remnants of the day.
“Senor Gibbs!” She offered him her cute smile and Jenny almost fired her on the spot. But her rational mind reminded her that she wasn’t angry at the girl but the asshole who leaned in the doorway, thumbs crooked into the belt loops of his jeans.
“Hi, Noemi.”
Jenny sighed and put a pot of water for tea on the stove. “Thank you, Noemi. I think you can go if you want.”
“Gracias.” She smiled and slipped out before Jenny could change her mind.
Jenny stared at the stove and the small gas flame that leapt toward the tea kettle. She wasn’t sure she could look back at him and stay angry. Not that she wanted to be angry. But he’d left without saying a word. He’d gone to drink away his troubles, or build them away, whatever he’d done, and he’d come back not for her but for Ziva. Now he was selling his home. He was moving to Mexico. She was going to be filing his retirement package when he didn’t come back before the unused leave was used up. The instinct that made her such a damned good agent told her he was coming back. The man in her kitchen kept her from trusting herself.
So what, now he’d come? Now? What was she? Just an old memory meant to be dragged up when he felt like thinking about a past he pretended to forget?
“No, Jenny.”
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until his breath blew the words across the back of her neck. His hands were on her hips, holding tightly, and suddenly she felt like an anchor in his storm. He was as confused as she was. Leaning back into his body, she inhaled that Gibbs smell - bourbon and sawdust and now a hint of sand and salt. He wasn’t reinstated. They could do this, could do anything, and it would be two people who still loved each other doing something they were damned good at together.
But if she turned around and kissed him, if she took it where she wanted it to go, they wouldn’t talk and she wasn’t sure she could watch him walk away without saying everything she needed to say.
Maybe it was too late to say anything.
“Stop.” Again, his breath on her neck.
“Stop what?”
“Thinking what you’re thinking. It’s just me right now. We don’t have to be agent and director.”
“And what happens when you get bored in Mexico and want to come back, Jethro?”
“Stop thinking.” He kissed her neck, reached past her, and turned off the stove. “Please, Jenny.”
She turned and kissed him. He put his hand on her back and pulled her close. She wrapped her arm around his neck as he pushed them back toward the nearest sturdy surface. Seven years of frustration took them into a chair with her on his lap and their mouths made love to each other. It felt so good to lose herself in his kisses again.
Groaning, she pulled back and ran a finger down his nose to his lips. “Come upstairs, Jethro.”
He chuckled, lifted her off his lap, and followed her up the stairs to her bedroom.
Somewhere in the mid-Atlantic, 1997
It had become their spot. Somehow, they found a place where Decker wasn’t hounding them and Salvo wasn’t tracking them. They could talk freely - the wind effetely obstructing anything that could get picked up by a bug, and so they sat, leaning against each other, existing.
They sat together at the very edge of the boat, tucked into a tiny edge of the deck behind their stateroom. There was just enough space for them to sit almost on top of each other, their legs hanging over the deck. From their vantage point, they could see only ocean beneath them.
Jenny had never been happier.
“Tell me about you.”
He’d pulled her hair loose from its ponytail and was running his fingers through it. She stared down at her freshly painted toes and then looked past the railings out to where the moon reflected on the dark water. They were going into a meet tonight and she needed to focus, but her headspace was getting to be a dangerous thing and she needed some space. Since the club in New York, Salvo had taken a liking to her and playing along was making her nervous.
She wanted to just be Jenny for a while and Jethro was more than happy to help with that.
“Well,” she grinned, “people keep telling me I should love Jane Austen, but I don’t. I open the book and I’m instantly asleep. I keep trying and trying to like her but I don’t.”
“Why do you keep trying?”
She chuckled. “There are times when I do want to actually be like people around me.”
“That’s overrated.” He grinned playfully. “I like you just like you are.” When she blushed, he kissed her. “Who do you like to read?”
“Depends. I like that whole era of post-Victorian era authors who were coming of age into writing during the First World War. I think they have a lot to tell us about who we are now, if we’re willing to listen.” She smiled. “And I love reading Chekov and Tolstoy - in the original Russian, of course. I have yet to read a translation that is suitable.”
Jethro chuckled. It was low and vibrated through her and she flashed back to that morning in the hotel, when they were in character but she’d still felt what it meant to be with this man. She was hooked and she wanted to make love to him, not just fuck him like her persona had done more than once. Maybe she was taking advantage of being Kitty, but he as Matt was not complaining.
She liked her headspace less and less.
They were silent again and she searched for something to say. “My favorite is Melville, though.”
“The white whale!” Jethro grinned. “That makes sense.”
“How so?”
“You seem to like following those impossible ideas.”
She chuckled. “Oh really.”
“Really.” His hand wandered up under her shirt and he toyed with her bra strap. She grinned when he didn’t undo it but instead smoothed his hand down her back. “I see it in your eyes, Jenny. You’re even willing to give up everything to make this op go smoothly.”
“What do you mean by everything?”
“Salvo and his goons are interested in more than Kitty’s money.”
“Yes.” She looked at him. “I know. I’m not a wilting flower, Jethro. I can handle this. Whatever it means. You know his profile. You know what I will have to do to get close.”
“I know. I also don’t like it. You don’t have the field experience that’s necessary to handle this.”
She couldn’t answer because she couldn’t argue so they were silent for a while, staring into the dark waters. Jenny watched the wake of the boat, wondering what they were churning up as they passed through. It was a strangely fitting metaphor. She knew these people needed to be taken down. She knew that if it was her gun that put bullets into Salvo, or any of his crew, that even Geneva would look the other way. But what if taking down one person led to a domino effect they could never predict? Who would rise up to take his place?
Jethro’s hand kept moving up and down her back. She closed her eyes, relishing the simple touch but she was still worried. “What’s happening here, Jethro?”
“We’re tracking mob money and terrorist cells.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He was silent for a long moment. “I’m not sure what’s happening.”
“If this is more than the op, and I’m okay if it’s not ... but if it is, I don’t want to just be some rebound while you’re getting over Diane. If it is, I don’t know if I can handle any more nights like this.” She felt shy, a teenager again.
“I got over Diane a long time ago, Jenny.” His hand stilled and he scooted closer to her. “As for you, I don’t know what this is. I really don’t. But I do know I’d like to kiss you. Just you. Not Kitty.”
She turned and obliged him.
It was slow and sweet, just like the first night back at his home, when she’d reached forward in an impulsive kiss. Lips played against each other, teasing lightly, until he slipped his hand up into her hair and tugged, taking control of the moment. The rough edge sent a shock through her and she moaned, opening her mouth as his tongue demanded entrance. He kept one hand tangled in her hair even while the other moved up her back and around to stroke the side of her breast through the lace bra. She whimpered, wanting more, and his calloused fingers moved inside the cup, tweaking her nipple while his mouth continued to plunder hers. It was so different kissing Jethro than kissing Matt. His headspace was colder; possessive more than protective. But here with him, there was tenderness to his roughness. He wanted her to enjoy it as much as he did.
Finally breaking for air, she realized she had moved to sit on his lap, her back against the railing. There was just enough room for him to lie back and he took her with him, situating them so she was straddling his hips, her hands braced on the floor behind his head. Her thin, low cut shirt gave him view down her shirt.
“God I want you,” he whispered, pushing his hips up into her center.
She responded by bending low and capturing his lips again. His hands stayed inside her shirt, stroking across her stomach and toying with the waist of her low riding shorts. He tugged on the button, freeing it, and slowly slid the zipper down, giving himself access. Jenny whimpered again, adjusting her hips to let him go further. He knew her sensitive places now, even if he’d been making love to her as Matt, he knew how to touch her, and his fingers danced along the edges of her panties, seeking those spots.
It was perfect. The boat rocking them, Jethro’s lips on hers, their bodies moving closer together. But she couldn’t relax. There was too much at stake tonight. Groaning, she pulled back. Balancing on one hand, she ran her knuckles along Jethro’s jaw line, cursing NCIS for bringing them together like this.
“What’s the plan for tonight?”
“Cancelling the meet with Salvo, taking you back to our stateroom, and making you scream my name over and over?” He pressed a finger to her center and she groaned.
“I’d like nothing more.”
“I don’t want his fingers anywhere near you,” Jethro kept his hand where it was. “I don’t want to sit in a chair and sip a drink while he pulls you onto his lap and fondles you. I don’t want to make plans to destroy the world.”
“If I pull back right now,” she pressed against his erection and hated herself for what she was about to say, “you’ll be sexually frustrated enough to want to destroy the world.”
His laughter made up for the disappointment they both felt. He pulled his hand free and sat up a bit on his elbows. “This is true.” They stared at each other for a long time. Jenny’s mind was full of questions. Everything from how he liked his steak to how many sexual positions he preferred to use. They had time to get to know each other and they had to stay focused.
Reluctantly, she rolled off his lap and stood. He took her offered hand and kissed her one more time, pressing her back into the railing. She lost herself in his mouth, in his hands on her body, and for a brief second pictured herself as his lover, not just his partner. But she was his partner and they had a job to do. The stateroom wasn’t far and as she walked, she swung her hips even as she fixed her loosened shorts. Jethro followed behind, but the tone in his laughter was much more Matthew than Jethro. He too was slipping into his headspace.
Inside the stateroom she stripped easily, teasing him, and he came up behind her, wrapping his still clothed body around her naked one. His fingers slid down between her legs, teasing her, and she arched back while he fondled her to climax, leaving her winded and flushed. His harlot. Matt’s harlot.
She glanced in the mirror, her hair windblown, her face revealing her freshly-fucked status, her eyes dangerously seductive. While he lounged back on the bed to watch, she took out one of her shortest dresses and slipped it over her body. The plunging neckline did not allow for a bra, the short hem and tight bodice made wearing panties impossible. She was hot and dripping and knew this was exactly what Salvo would want and she would tease him and he would take it.
Salvo would seduce her. She would give up the money. Matthew would seal the deal. They’d get the information on the drop and raid the exchange. They’d find a patsy for his organization to blame.
Swallowing nervously, Jenny kept herself in her headspace, slipping into her sultriest shoes, leaving her hair windblown. Makeup was the hard part but while he put on a clean pair of jeans and a crisp blue shirt, she added layers of eye shadow and mascara. Her lips were painted as red as her hair.
Suddenly, Jethro was around her again and she turned to face him. “Don’t let him do anything you are uncomfortable with.” His voice was soft, low enough to evade any listening devices.
She stroked his cheek, seeing that her partner had also figured out where tonight would lead. “Don’t lose me, okay?”
“I won’t.” He kissed her, all Jethro again, and she lost herself in him. This couldn’t go on. They had to get out of this quickly.
She took his hand and led him down to the club. They slipped past the bouncers and made their way to the corner where Salvo seemed to have set up camp. Two girls hardly old enough to vote were sitting on either side of him but it was Jenny he leered at.
“Kitty! Matthew! Have a seat.” He gestured to the one free chair and as Jethro took a seat, Salvo gripped her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. Jenny swallowed past the gag reflex and leaned flirtatiously against the gun runner. His hand was already wandering up the inside of her leg. “Your woman,” he nodded to Jethro, “runs hot.”
“It’s why I keep her.” He ordered two bourbons from a passing waitress and took the cigar Salvo offered.
Salvo had discovered her lack of underwear and smirked at her. Jenny opened her legs on the pretense of settling herself better in his lap and leaned in close. “Do your groupies have to sit so near? I hate discussing business with bimbos around.”
His laugh sent chills up Jenny’s spine, but the girls were waved away. In return, Salvo made no pretense about where his hand was and what he was doing. She was glad Jethro had taken her like he had right before she dressed. The lingering moisture kept her lubricated while her disgust dried her up. Jethro took a long sip of the bourbon, watching Salvo carefully. Jenny could see the way his jaw clenched; he was having trouble separating himself from Matthew.
“So, you want Kitty and her money, apparently. What’s left for me in this deal?”
“You will have the access. You will run guns for our friends in Serbia. They will make you rich. Richer than you already are. We just need to seal this one deal. We need to provide these weapons.” He smirked and pushed a finger clear inside her. Jenny whimpered at the sudden pain; Salvo took it for pleasure. She glanced at Jethro, realizing she wasn’t able to handle what this could entail, and he sprung to action, reaching for her hand and pulling her back onto his lap. Salvo sat back, smirking.
“You get her after we see more of a deal.” Jethro was growling. His hand on her stomach was calming. Behind them, Decker appeared, two more bourbons to replace things.
“Are you all right, Miss?” He handed her the drink and Jenny nodded. She needed to be okay. The success of the op relied on her ability to be okay.
“I’m fine.” She leaned in and kissed Jethro’s neck. “Thank you.” Once Decker had departed, she turned to Salvo. “Alright. Let’s talk.” She slipped off of Jethro’s lap and took a place in her chair. Her long legs were crossed tightly in front of her and she went from being a harlot to a gun dealer. “Where are your connections?”
“Not so quickly, my dear.” Salvo grinned at her and even in the dim light of the club Jenny could see the yellowing, cracked teeth. His breath smelled of decay. His hands of stale smoke. Sitting across from him, watching him watch her, she knew where this was going to lead. He believed the cover, that she was the money and Matt was the one with the connections and even though he needed her money to make the deal happen, he wouldn’t let anything go down without having his way.
“Salvo,” she ran her hand up Jethro’s leg, hoping that her signal that she was taking the lead would be interpreted correctly, “shall we dance?”
“Of course.” He smirked at Jethro. “Matthew, my friend, do you mind if I borrow your woman for a while? A long while?”
Jethro looked at her and despite his complete adaptation to character she could see the fear in his eyes. “Take her,” he said, even while he searched her eyes for answers. Jenny could only nod imperceptibly. They weren’t going to get this done unless she did what her profile was expected to do. They needed to know the location of the drop and they needed to make it look like one of Salvo’s men was the leak in his organization. Salvo’s profile told them that his weakness was women and that he didn’t trust any woman to be smarter than him. Jenny needed to get into his inner sanctum and this was how it was going to happen. She’d prepared for it, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach as Salvo grabbed her hand and led her not to the dance floor but a dark corner where he pushed her up against the wall, hiked her dress up to her waist, and plunged his hand between her legs. She was meat to him, his ticket to Matthew, and she had to behave as such.
As she closed her eyes and thought of Jethro, she wondered for the millionth time just how smart an idea it was to have taken the job with NCIS.
Washington DC, 2006
They lay in bed, sweaty and spent. Jethro’s hand moved up and down her back, making trails across her skin. He wasn’t one to paint metaphorical images; everything he did had a reason, a purpose. Lying there, feeling the touch she’d felt before, she panicked. He would be back. This couldn’t happen again. Not as much as they wanted - needed- for it to.
Rolling over, she let the sheet fall away and reveled in his instant gravitation to her breasts. Sensitive and drained, she still pushed his head into her chest and held him there while he suckled her close to a new climax. His hand strayed down her stomach, toying lightly with her curls before sliding between her labia and tweaking her over sensitized clit. She screamed his name as stars exploded behind her eyelids.
How on earth could the sex between them be better now that they were older? She wasn’t as slender, he wasn’t as muscular, but it was better. It was full of memory and passion and lust and anger and knowing that they still loved each other, even if they couldn’t be together.
Jenny floated, her entire body trembling and tingling. He stroked her gently, bringing her down with touch. Aftershocks wracked her until he moved his hand, lifted his head, and brought his hand to her lips. She kissed his fingers, tasting herself on him, and even though he didn’t speak in metaphor, it was in fact just that. It was a bonding for them, a reminder that they were linked, that they had marked each other long ago.
He groaned and she could feel him, half hard, against her hip. For a guy his age, still recovering from a coma, she had to give him points. Already he’d rammed her hard enough to stop a train but in the time they’d been recovering, his body was getting ready for seconds.
“God, Jethro,” she moaned, finally catching her breath.
He grinned playfully. “I’ve missed you too.”
“I’d apologize …” she sighed, “But I don’t know if I’m sorry or not.”
“For saying no to me when you first took the job?”
“Yeah.” She ran her hand down his arm.
“I know why you did, Jen. I get it. It doesn’t make it any easier.” He collapsed on his back next to her, tucking one arm under his head. “It isn’t easy working so close to you and not being able to touch you.”
“I feel the same way, you know.”
“So … why …”
“You said you understood. Do you? Really?” She tried not to let her frustration show. “It’s different for me. The people I answer to all the way down to the kid in the mailroom seem to know our history. To have you in my bed … they’d know that too and I’d last ten minutes as director. I can do good things at NCIS.” She pushed the thought of catching Rene Benoit out of her mind. “But I can’t if all of my decisions are being second guessed because people think I’m bedding an agent.”
His sigh filled the room. “I know. I get it. But it doesn’t mean I like it. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”
She leaned over and kissed him, pressing her body down against his. She couldn’t respond because she missed him too and she knew that he would be back at his desk soon so they had to savor this.
He hardened as she settled on top of him. It wouldn’t last long and she was past her own pleasure by this point, but right now wasn’t about her. He groaned and lifted her hips, guiding her onto his erection. She moved slowly, dragging out as much as she could, but he bucked, his body reacting to her. In a fluid motion, they were flipped and he was pushing into her as instinct took over and he thrust into her over and over. It didn’t last long but he called her name as he emptied into her and then collapsed down, barely catching himself on his arms. Jenny absorbed his weight until he was ready to roll away.
In the breath of the moment, she could have sworn he whispered “I love you” but it was so soft that she spared his pride and didn’t ask him to repeat it. It just wasn’t fair, not to either of them. But her skin retained the memory of his words and as they both drifted to sleep, she was grateful for the dark that hid her tears.
TBC …
Chapter 4: Conversations in the Dark
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Jethro/Jenny
Timeframe: Pre Series; References to Shalom
Rating: Adult
A/N: I’ve always had a problem with the idea that Jenny rose to her position in NCIS so quickly. So this series gives some history not only to Gibbs and Shepard, but also to Jenny’s past and where her skills lie.
Disclaimer: I keep falling in love with beautiful characters already written by other people. If CBS is looking for a young, up and coming writer who will devote herself wholeheartedly to the process, I’m the right girl. Otherwise, I make no money from this. NCIS, Jenny, Gibbs, and the team belong to other people. I’m just walking with them for a while.
Summary: So what, now he’d come? Now? What was she? Just an old memory meant to be dragged up when he felt like thinking about a past he pretended to forget?
Go easy now
Go easy now
Later on the road I’m gonna
Lay my body down.
We’ll meet along the way
I know.
~Hem: We'll Meet Along the Way
Washington DC, 2006
The very idea that she was going to lose him put her into a panic even though she’d been the one to push him away. She’d been the one to draw the lines. But when faced with the reality that he might not wake up, she’d been reduced to a virgin field agent, flighty and nervous. Her hands and legs shook. Her heart raced. Now, she knew, he was fine. He was fine, but he was leaving. Leaving her.
Her rational self knew that it wasn’t fair to say he was leaving her. He was leaving NCIS. Leaving DC. He had offered himself to her with no questions asked, been willing to navigate the absolute impossibilities of being director and field agent and she’d pushed him away. She’d said no. She’d weighed the reality of her decisions against what she really wanted in life years ago when she’d left him in Paris, when he’d married Stephanie, when he abided by her rules at the office and now, as he was leaving.
Accepting the realities didn’t stop it from hurting whenever he stepped out with a beautiful redhead. It didn’t stop the ache when he told her that his return wasn’t final, that he was there for Ziva. But when he looked into her eyes and lied about Serbia, she broke. As he stormed out of her office, she put her head down on her desk and cried like she had when she’d closed the door behind him in Paris and not looked back as she headed to her new life. Then, he’d called after her, waited in the door he’d opened, but she had kept going, tears streaming down her face. With the roles reversed, with him leaving her, she didn’t go after him.
He did remember Serbia. She knew he remembered. He remembered the leaking roof she’d helped him fix and the garden they’d planted. He remembered the cold nights huddled by the fire talking about everything from the op to dreams forgotten. He remembered the panic when Salvo’s crew had abducted her and how he had refused to let her go for days after her rescue. He remembered the confessions of love. He remembered all of it and he lied to her to protect both of their hearts.
Then, he’d given her the picture. Her posing in front of that barn the day he told her he loved her. And she’d run out of the squad room, not caring what she revealed about their relationship by doing it, hunting in the parking lot for his silver hair and swagger and found nothing.
But now he stood on her doorstep, his long hair taking her back to when they were two completely different people, when they had time to just be them even while hunting down terrorist cells and tracing back gun runners. He’d let it grow on the cruise to England and by the time they reached Serbia it was long and shaggy and she loved to run her fingers through and hold on to while he held her captive with his mouth.
The moustache, however, would have to go.
She wanted it to be a romantic moment. She wanted to kiss him softly, with tears running down her face. She wanted him to sweep her close and lift her up so their noses met. She wanted him to stroke her back as they walked back into her bedroom. She wanted music to swell while she apologized for being an absolute idiot and if he still wanted her, she still wanted him.
Instead she stepped back into her foyer to let him out of the rain, crossed her arms, fought back tears and glared at him. “What do you want?” Maybe she really was an ex wife because she certainly wanted to kill him. She just didn’t have the divorce papers or the alimony payments.
“I’m not sure.” He was staring at her and she cursed the blue eyes that knew her better than she knew herself. Tucking deeper into her sweater she crossed her arms as she led him back into the kitchen where Noemi was still cleaning up the remnants of the day.
“Senor Gibbs!” She offered him her cute smile and Jenny almost fired her on the spot. But her rational mind reminded her that she wasn’t angry at the girl but the asshole who leaned in the doorway, thumbs crooked into the belt loops of his jeans.
“Hi, Noemi.”
Jenny sighed and put a pot of water for tea on the stove. “Thank you, Noemi. I think you can go if you want.”
“Gracias.” She smiled and slipped out before Jenny could change her mind.
Jenny stared at the stove and the small gas flame that leapt toward the tea kettle. She wasn’t sure she could look back at him and stay angry. Not that she wanted to be angry. But he’d left without saying a word. He’d gone to drink away his troubles, or build them away, whatever he’d done, and he’d come back not for her but for Ziva. Now he was selling his home. He was moving to Mexico. She was going to be filing his retirement package when he didn’t come back before the unused leave was used up. The instinct that made her such a damned good agent told her he was coming back. The man in her kitchen kept her from trusting herself.
So what, now he’d come? Now? What was she? Just an old memory meant to be dragged up when he felt like thinking about a past he pretended to forget?
“No, Jenny.”
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until his breath blew the words across the back of her neck. His hands were on her hips, holding tightly, and suddenly she felt like an anchor in his storm. He was as confused as she was. Leaning back into his body, she inhaled that Gibbs smell - bourbon and sawdust and now a hint of sand and salt. He wasn’t reinstated. They could do this, could do anything, and it would be two people who still loved each other doing something they were damned good at together.
But if she turned around and kissed him, if she took it where she wanted it to go, they wouldn’t talk and she wasn’t sure she could watch him walk away without saying everything she needed to say.
Maybe it was too late to say anything.
“Stop.” Again, his breath on her neck.
“Stop what?”
“Thinking what you’re thinking. It’s just me right now. We don’t have to be agent and director.”
“And what happens when you get bored in Mexico and want to come back, Jethro?”
“Stop thinking.” He kissed her neck, reached past her, and turned off the stove. “Please, Jenny.”
She turned and kissed him. He put his hand on her back and pulled her close. She wrapped her arm around his neck as he pushed them back toward the nearest sturdy surface. Seven years of frustration took them into a chair with her on his lap and their mouths made love to each other. It felt so good to lose herself in his kisses again.
Groaning, she pulled back and ran a finger down his nose to his lips. “Come upstairs, Jethro.”
He chuckled, lifted her off his lap, and followed her up the stairs to her bedroom.
Somewhere in the mid-Atlantic, 1997
It had become their spot. Somehow, they found a place where Decker wasn’t hounding them and Salvo wasn’t tracking them. They could talk freely - the wind effetely obstructing anything that could get picked up by a bug, and so they sat, leaning against each other, existing.
They sat together at the very edge of the boat, tucked into a tiny edge of the deck behind their stateroom. There was just enough space for them to sit almost on top of each other, their legs hanging over the deck. From their vantage point, they could see only ocean beneath them.
Jenny had never been happier.
“Tell me about you.”
He’d pulled her hair loose from its ponytail and was running his fingers through it. She stared down at her freshly painted toes and then looked past the railings out to where the moon reflected on the dark water. They were going into a meet tonight and she needed to focus, but her headspace was getting to be a dangerous thing and she needed some space. Since the club in New York, Salvo had taken a liking to her and playing along was making her nervous.
She wanted to just be Jenny for a while and Jethro was more than happy to help with that.
“Well,” she grinned, “people keep telling me I should love Jane Austen, but I don’t. I open the book and I’m instantly asleep. I keep trying and trying to like her but I don’t.”
“Why do you keep trying?”
She chuckled. “There are times when I do want to actually be like people around me.”
“That’s overrated.” He grinned playfully. “I like you just like you are.” When she blushed, he kissed her. “Who do you like to read?”
“Depends. I like that whole era of post-Victorian era authors who were coming of age into writing during the First World War. I think they have a lot to tell us about who we are now, if we’re willing to listen.” She smiled. “And I love reading Chekov and Tolstoy - in the original Russian, of course. I have yet to read a translation that is suitable.”
Jethro chuckled. It was low and vibrated through her and she flashed back to that morning in the hotel, when they were in character but she’d still felt what it meant to be with this man. She was hooked and she wanted to make love to him, not just fuck him like her persona had done more than once. Maybe she was taking advantage of being Kitty, but he as Matt was not complaining.
She liked her headspace less and less.
They were silent again and she searched for something to say. “My favorite is Melville, though.”
“The white whale!” Jethro grinned. “That makes sense.”
“How so?”
“You seem to like following those impossible ideas.”
She chuckled. “Oh really.”
“Really.” His hand wandered up under her shirt and he toyed with her bra strap. She grinned when he didn’t undo it but instead smoothed his hand down her back. “I see it in your eyes, Jenny. You’re even willing to give up everything to make this op go smoothly.”
“What do you mean by everything?”
“Salvo and his goons are interested in more than Kitty’s money.”
“Yes.” She looked at him. “I know. I’m not a wilting flower, Jethro. I can handle this. Whatever it means. You know his profile. You know what I will have to do to get close.”
“I know. I also don’t like it. You don’t have the field experience that’s necessary to handle this.”
She couldn’t answer because she couldn’t argue so they were silent for a while, staring into the dark waters. Jenny watched the wake of the boat, wondering what they were churning up as they passed through. It was a strangely fitting metaphor. She knew these people needed to be taken down. She knew that if it was her gun that put bullets into Salvo, or any of his crew, that even Geneva would look the other way. But what if taking down one person led to a domino effect they could never predict? Who would rise up to take his place?
Jethro’s hand kept moving up and down her back. She closed her eyes, relishing the simple touch but she was still worried. “What’s happening here, Jethro?”
“We’re tracking mob money and terrorist cells.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He was silent for a long moment. “I’m not sure what’s happening.”
“If this is more than the op, and I’m okay if it’s not ... but if it is, I don’t want to just be some rebound while you’re getting over Diane. If it is, I don’t know if I can handle any more nights like this.” She felt shy, a teenager again.
“I got over Diane a long time ago, Jenny.” His hand stilled and he scooted closer to her. “As for you, I don’t know what this is. I really don’t. But I do know I’d like to kiss you. Just you. Not Kitty.”
She turned and obliged him.
It was slow and sweet, just like the first night back at his home, when she’d reached forward in an impulsive kiss. Lips played against each other, teasing lightly, until he slipped his hand up into her hair and tugged, taking control of the moment. The rough edge sent a shock through her and she moaned, opening her mouth as his tongue demanded entrance. He kept one hand tangled in her hair even while the other moved up her back and around to stroke the side of her breast through the lace bra. She whimpered, wanting more, and his calloused fingers moved inside the cup, tweaking her nipple while his mouth continued to plunder hers. It was so different kissing Jethro than kissing Matt. His headspace was colder; possessive more than protective. But here with him, there was tenderness to his roughness. He wanted her to enjoy it as much as he did.
Finally breaking for air, she realized she had moved to sit on his lap, her back against the railing. There was just enough room for him to lie back and he took her with him, situating them so she was straddling his hips, her hands braced on the floor behind his head. Her thin, low cut shirt gave him view down her shirt.
“God I want you,” he whispered, pushing his hips up into her center.
She responded by bending low and capturing his lips again. His hands stayed inside her shirt, stroking across her stomach and toying with the waist of her low riding shorts. He tugged on the button, freeing it, and slowly slid the zipper down, giving himself access. Jenny whimpered again, adjusting her hips to let him go further. He knew her sensitive places now, even if he’d been making love to her as Matt, he knew how to touch her, and his fingers danced along the edges of her panties, seeking those spots.
It was perfect. The boat rocking them, Jethro’s lips on hers, their bodies moving closer together. But she couldn’t relax. There was too much at stake tonight. Groaning, she pulled back. Balancing on one hand, she ran her knuckles along Jethro’s jaw line, cursing NCIS for bringing them together like this.
“What’s the plan for tonight?”
“Cancelling the meet with Salvo, taking you back to our stateroom, and making you scream my name over and over?” He pressed a finger to her center and she groaned.
“I’d like nothing more.”
“I don’t want his fingers anywhere near you,” Jethro kept his hand where it was. “I don’t want to sit in a chair and sip a drink while he pulls you onto his lap and fondles you. I don’t want to make plans to destroy the world.”
“If I pull back right now,” she pressed against his erection and hated herself for what she was about to say, “you’ll be sexually frustrated enough to want to destroy the world.”
His laughter made up for the disappointment they both felt. He pulled his hand free and sat up a bit on his elbows. “This is true.” They stared at each other for a long time. Jenny’s mind was full of questions. Everything from how he liked his steak to how many sexual positions he preferred to use. They had time to get to know each other and they had to stay focused.
Reluctantly, she rolled off his lap and stood. He took her offered hand and kissed her one more time, pressing her back into the railing. She lost herself in his mouth, in his hands on her body, and for a brief second pictured herself as his lover, not just his partner. But she was his partner and they had a job to do. The stateroom wasn’t far and as she walked, she swung her hips even as she fixed her loosened shorts. Jethro followed behind, but the tone in his laughter was much more Matthew than Jethro. He too was slipping into his headspace.
Inside the stateroom she stripped easily, teasing him, and he came up behind her, wrapping his still clothed body around her naked one. His fingers slid down between her legs, teasing her, and she arched back while he fondled her to climax, leaving her winded and flushed. His harlot. Matt’s harlot.
She glanced in the mirror, her hair windblown, her face revealing her freshly-fucked status, her eyes dangerously seductive. While he lounged back on the bed to watch, she took out one of her shortest dresses and slipped it over her body. The plunging neckline did not allow for a bra, the short hem and tight bodice made wearing panties impossible. She was hot and dripping and knew this was exactly what Salvo would want and she would tease him and he would take it.
Salvo would seduce her. She would give up the money. Matthew would seal the deal. They’d get the information on the drop and raid the exchange. They’d find a patsy for his organization to blame.
Swallowing nervously, Jenny kept herself in her headspace, slipping into her sultriest shoes, leaving her hair windblown. Makeup was the hard part but while he put on a clean pair of jeans and a crisp blue shirt, she added layers of eye shadow and mascara. Her lips were painted as red as her hair.
Suddenly, Jethro was around her again and she turned to face him. “Don’t let him do anything you are uncomfortable with.” His voice was soft, low enough to evade any listening devices.
She stroked his cheek, seeing that her partner had also figured out where tonight would lead. “Don’t lose me, okay?”
“I won’t.” He kissed her, all Jethro again, and she lost herself in him. This couldn’t go on. They had to get out of this quickly.
She took his hand and led him down to the club. They slipped past the bouncers and made their way to the corner where Salvo seemed to have set up camp. Two girls hardly old enough to vote were sitting on either side of him but it was Jenny he leered at.
“Kitty! Matthew! Have a seat.” He gestured to the one free chair and as Jethro took a seat, Salvo gripped her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. Jenny swallowed past the gag reflex and leaned flirtatiously against the gun runner. His hand was already wandering up the inside of her leg. “Your woman,” he nodded to Jethro, “runs hot.”
“It’s why I keep her.” He ordered two bourbons from a passing waitress and took the cigar Salvo offered.
Salvo had discovered her lack of underwear and smirked at her. Jenny opened her legs on the pretense of settling herself better in his lap and leaned in close. “Do your groupies have to sit so near? I hate discussing business with bimbos around.”
His laugh sent chills up Jenny’s spine, but the girls were waved away. In return, Salvo made no pretense about where his hand was and what he was doing. She was glad Jethro had taken her like he had right before she dressed. The lingering moisture kept her lubricated while her disgust dried her up. Jethro took a long sip of the bourbon, watching Salvo carefully. Jenny could see the way his jaw clenched; he was having trouble separating himself from Matthew.
“So, you want Kitty and her money, apparently. What’s left for me in this deal?”
“You will have the access. You will run guns for our friends in Serbia. They will make you rich. Richer than you already are. We just need to seal this one deal. We need to provide these weapons.” He smirked and pushed a finger clear inside her. Jenny whimpered at the sudden pain; Salvo took it for pleasure. She glanced at Jethro, realizing she wasn’t able to handle what this could entail, and he sprung to action, reaching for her hand and pulling her back onto his lap. Salvo sat back, smirking.
“You get her after we see more of a deal.” Jethro was growling. His hand on her stomach was calming. Behind them, Decker appeared, two more bourbons to replace things.
“Are you all right, Miss?” He handed her the drink and Jenny nodded. She needed to be okay. The success of the op relied on her ability to be okay.
“I’m fine.” She leaned in and kissed Jethro’s neck. “Thank you.” Once Decker had departed, she turned to Salvo. “Alright. Let’s talk.” She slipped off of Jethro’s lap and took a place in her chair. Her long legs were crossed tightly in front of her and she went from being a harlot to a gun dealer. “Where are your connections?”
“Not so quickly, my dear.” Salvo grinned at her and even in the dim light of the club Jenny could see the yellowing, cracked teeth. His breath smelled of decay. His hands of stale smoke. Sitting across from him, watching him watch her, she knew where this was going to lead. He believed the cover, that she was the money and Matt was the one with the connections and even though he needed her money to make the deal happen, he wouldn’t let anything go down without having his way.
“Salvo,” she ran her hand up Jethro’s leg, hoping that her signal that she was taking the lead would be interpreted correctly, “shall we dance?”
“Of course.” He smirked at Jethro. “Matthew, my friend, do you mind if I borrow your woman for a while? A long while?”
Jethro looked at her and despite his complete adaptation to character she could see the fear in his eyes. “Take her,” he said, even while he searched her eyes for answers. Jenny could only nod imperceptibly. They weren’t going to get this done unless she did what her profile was expected to do. They needed to know the location of the drop and they needed to make it look like one of Salvo’s men was the leak in his organization. Salvo’s profile told them that his weakness was women and that he didn’t trust any woman to be smarter than him. Jenny needed to get into his inner sanctum and this was how it was going to happen. She’d prepared for it, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach as Salvo grabbed her hand and led her not to the dance floor but a dark corner where he pushed her up against the wall, hiked her dress up to her waist, and plunged his hand between her legs. She was meat to him, his ticket to Matthew, and she had to behave as such.
As she closed her eyes and thought of Jethro, she wondered for the millionth time just how smart an idea it was to have taken the job with NCIS.
Washington DC, 2006
They lay in bed, sweaty and spent. Jethro’s hand moved up and down her back, making trails across her skin. He wasn’t one to paint metaphorical images; everything he did had a reason, a purpose. Lying there, feeling the touch she’d felt before, she panicked. He would be back. This couldn’t happen again. Not as much as they wanted - needed- for it to.
Rolling over, she let the sheet fall away and reveled in his instant gravitation to her breasts. Sensitive and drained, she still pushed his head into her chest and held him there while he suckled her close to a new climax. His hand strayed down her stomach, toying lightly with her curls before sliding between her labia and tweaking her over sensitized clit. She screamed his name as stars exploded behind her eyelids.
How on earth could the sex between them be better now that they were older? She wasn’t as slender, he wasn’t as muscular, but it was better. It was full of memory and passion and lust and anger and knowing that they still loved each other, even if they couldn’t be together.
Jenny floated, her entire body trembling and tingling. He stroked her gently, bringing her down with touch. Aftershocks wracked her until he moved his hand, lifted his head, and brought his hand to her lips. She kissed his fingers, tasting herself on him, and even though he didn’t speak in metaphor, it was in fact just that. It was a bonding for them, a reminder that they were linked, that they had marked each other long ago.
He groaned and she could feel him, half hard, against her hip. For a guy his age, still recovering from a coma, she had to give him points. Already he’d rammed her hard enough to stop a train but in the time they’d been recovering, his body was getting ready for seconds.
“God, Jethro,” she moaned, finally catching her breath.
He grinned playfully. “I’ve missed you too.”
“I’d apologize …” she sighed, “But I don’t know if I’m sorry or not.”
“For saying no to me when you first took the job?”
“Yeah.” She ran her hand down his arm.
“I know why you did, Jen. I get it. It doesn’t make it any easier.” He collapsed on his back next to her, tucking one arm under his head. “It isn’t easy working so close to you and not being able to touch you.”
“I feel the same way, you know.”
“So … why …”
“You said you understood. Do you? Really?” She tried not to let her frustration show. “It’s different for me. The people I answer to all the way down to the kid in the mailroom seem to know our history. To have you in my bed … they’d know that too and I’d last ten minutes as director. I can do good things at NCIS.” She pushed the thought of catching Rene Benoit out of her mind. “But I can’t if all of my decisions are being second guessed because people think I’m bedding an agent.”
His sigh filled the room. “I know. I get it. But it doesn’t mean I like it. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”
She leaned over and kissed him, pressing her body down against his. She couldn’t respond because she missed him too and she knew that he would be back at his desk soon so they had to savor this.
He hardened as she settled on top of him. It wouldn’t last long and she was past her own pleasure by this point, but right now wasn’t about her. He groaned and lifted her hips, guiding her onto his erection. She moved slowly, dragging out as much as she could, but he bucked, his body reacting to her. In a fluid motion, they were flipped and he was pushing into her as instinct took over and he thrust into her over and over. It didn’t last long but he called her name as he emptied into her and then collapsed down, barely catching himself on his arms. Jenny absorbed his weight until he was ready to roll away.
In the breath of the moment, she could have sworn he whispered “I love you” but it was so soft that she spared his pride and didn’t ask him to repeat it. It just wasn’t fair, not to either of them. But her skin retained the memory of his words and as they both drifted to sleep, she was grateful for the dark that hid her tears.
TBC …