Chapter Text
Gibbs hammered a nail into a shingle he was reattaching to Mike’s roof, the sharp staccato of the hammer meeting its target drifting off on the sea breeze. He’d been down here less than a day and already he couldn’t stand to be idle. He reached for another and nail and lined it up, only to pick it up again and palm it when yet another flashback assaulted his senses. They were frequent and had been since what Mike had taken to calling his ‘near death experience’.
It was her again: His boss, the director. Jenny, Jen, whoever the hell she was.
The ‘what’ was becoming clearer, he was starting to get a sense of when, and the how still a mystery, but what struck him the most strength of emotion that accompanied the memories. His heart felt swollen and raw when he thought of her, like he might reach out to touch her only to find her gone. It was different to the debilitating, world shattering blow of losing Shannon. While that had faded into the background like the dull ache of a crippled limb, Jenny remained fresh in his mind. It was a lesser wound, but one that bled often, never quite scabbing over. In its own way it made sense.
She was still here, she was alive, and part of him was angry at her in a faded kind of way. It probably had something to do with why they were no longer an item, but he couldn’t be certain. He couldn’t be certain about anything anymore.
He changed tack and tried for a moment to remember his wives, but even less was forthcoming. He remembered a couple of names, maybe their faces. “Diane, Stephanie and…?” There was at least one in the middle there he couldn’t even remember. “How many times had Jenny said he’d been married? Three.” Which meant he’d forgotten one, but it didn’t bother him, though he absently noted that it probably should.
The shock and horror of his awakening at the hospital was a blur. He remembered the pain, he remembered the anguish and wanting to die from the sheer brutality it of it, but the only other thing he could recall was the look on Jenny’s face as he'd grabbed her by the lapels and demanded his family’s return. She'd been devastated, and a maybe little bit afraid at his sudden physical confrontation. Not just because he’d completely dismissed her, but because she couldn't produce what he so desperately wanted. She was hurting more for him than herself.
He’d replayed it in his mind as much as he could stand to, and sifted through the few fragments he had, and the only conclusion he could reach was that though they were over somehow, business was unfinished.
The voice of Mike Franks punctuated his thoughts. “You okay up there, Probie? You haven’t hit a nail in five minutes.”
Gibbs leaned over and peered down at him but said nothing.
Mike smirked at him. “Oh, I know that look, you’re thinking about a woman. Wouldn’t happen to be that lady boss of yours now, would it?”
Gibbs shrugged noncommittally.
“I thought so.”
Gibbs stared at him with the inscrutable look of a man not all there and Mike sighed. “C’mon, Probie, it’s about time we had some lunch.”
The local cantina was buzzing with life, the commotion of people going about their business down here was less like the hum of an American crowd and more like a cacophony of colourful birds. Mike took a long hard look at Gibbs sitting unseeingly at the bar before beckoning the place’s owner, Camila, over to them. “Bring us a couple of beers, will you? And maybe some of whatever tasty morsel you’ve got going today, other than yourself, of course.”
Camila swatted him on the arm before casting her gaze over Gibbs. “Is he okay?” she asked, nodding towards the other man, who had his elbows resting on the bar and was still gazing off into nothing.
“Ah, he’ll be fine.” Mike said, brushing her off, but truthfully, he had his own concerns. He’d known Gibbs for a long time, they’d shared a lot of silences, but for those he’d normally at least been mentally present. The man had barely even blinked when Camila had spoken to him, and his chivalry alone would normally have demanded he reply. Gibbs was deep in something, that was for sure; deep in whatever that bomb had shook loose in his brain.
The commotion around Gibbs barely touched him as it drifted around him like a dull haze. He was only vaguely aware that Mike had spoken either to him or someone else, and it’d washed over him like tepid water. He was lost again, his focus turned inwards as he tried to scrabble together the elusive fragments of his scrambled brain.
He’d remembered a few things: more about his team, the echo of his house as he walked through it alone, the satisfaction he felt as he tended to the boat in his basement, and the self-loathing he felt whenever he thought of the wives he’d left in his wake, but once again his mind turned to Jenny. These particular fragments were almost care worn from turning them over again and again. He needed to know more. She wasn’t Shannon and she wasn’t a wife, and but was significant and she was still here. Though he was starting to wonder if maybe she had actually left him, but he couldn’t quite place why.
The first thing he'd remembered about her had been them making love in a bed in a hotel room in a foreign country, and the memory had hit with the same force as everything that he’d remembered in hospital. The initial shock it had hit with had dulled, but the intensity of the memory itself stayed as strong as ever.
The next time he remembered her he’d been sitting in the airport waiting for the plane to Mexico when suddenly, vividly he remembered walking with her. It was dark, nighttime, and they were on what looked like a bridge across the Seine that was all lit up in the night, the yellowish light making their faces glow in the darkness. Her hair, much longer then, was set in gentle curls that fell about her shoulders, and he’d wanted to reach out and touch it. They were holding hands, and Jenny was laughing; a throaty, genuine sound, as she bumped shoulders with him affectionately. She’d been teasing him. He was smiling too, he knew it, and for a moment he’d felt happy and free.
At the hospital she’d said she was his partner, and as far as he could tell she’d meant work partner, but so far, the only piece he had that might fit with that was what had come back the night before. He’d been in bed when it had struck, but sleep had refused to claim him, and suddenly, he’d been down in the morgue with Ducky, and their conversation echoed around the insides of his skull.
“Jethro, where on earth is Jennifer?” He’d asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
“I don’t know.” Gibbs had answered, though it was only a half truth. He knew he’d known more than he was letting on, and was in Israel? Cairo? Still in Europe? Somewhere.
“Well wasn’t she with you on the plane?” Ducky had asked, probing further.
“Nope.”
There had been a beat’s pause as the man had scrutinised him in a futile attempt to glean more, and when he’d spoken next his tone was accusatory.
“What have you done, Jethro?”
And the truth was he didn’t know, but nonetheless was hit with a fresh wave of betrayal and hurt
He was as confused as ever. He rubbed his face and his hands stopped to rest over his eyes. She’d gone, but then she’d come back, though they weren’t together now, but there were still feelings. He didn’t know whether she’d left him, or the job had torn them apart.
Mike’s voice brought him back to the present. “You remember something else, Probie? His gruff tone was neutral, but his concern was obvious.
“Yup.”
“Who’s it about this time?” Mike asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion. He’d expected a most of Gibbs’s breakthroughs to be about his first wife and daughter, but so far that didn’t seem to be the case.
“Jenny.” Gibbs stated simply, seeing no point in hiding it. “I'm trying to remember who she is.”
“She’s your boss.”
“Yeah, but who is she to me?”
“I’ve got no idea. You told at the hospital you only remembered her as Jenny. What went on between you two anyway?”
“Well I dunno, Mike, would I be asking if I knew?” Gibbs demanded, unimpressed with the question. “She said she was my partner, but I don’t remember.”
“But you remember something.”
“I remember being with her in Paris; walking, laughing... other things.”
“Ha, other things. You mean like the naked tango?”
“Yeah,” Gibbs answered, smirking a little.
“I knew it!” Mike declared triumphantly, taking a sip of his beer. “You know she called here not too long after you arrived; wanted to make sure you were alright, didn’t want me to tell you. The girl cares about you, Jethro - hell, she was the one who called me up there to you in the beginning. Though I don’t know how she found me, ‘cause I didn't leave no address. Last thing I wanted was for NCIS to come looking for me, there was a reason I retired.”
Gibbs smirked at this. She always was a good investigator, though he still couldn’t tell how he knew. He also knew she was deliberately staying out of his way, though he couldn’t tell whether it was because he’d barely given her so much as a goodbye, or if it was because she knew him well enough to do so. Her expression had been grave as he’d told her he was done, and her eyes sad, but he couldn’t know anything until he knew more.