The Op Continues ...
Somehow, he's hungover in the morning. A night sanding down corners of the bed and then checking the internet only to find Jenny drunk and kidnapping dogs ... even Heather's starting to worry about her sister's sanity again. There's a part of him that misses this playful side of Jenny, the side that stayed up and drank any man under the table, and did crazy things in the process. but this feels empty. She's reacting rather than playing.
Heather let him to his devices, seeing his face the moment he walked in the door. Not even James could ease his worries and for the first couple of hours, only made them worse. Someone involved in the dark side of this op knows he has a son, knows he's lost a child, and dared to make a comment about how many little bastards he had running around. Worse, he'd had to chuckle about it and make light of the most important things in his life. Then Jenny's angry text about how many brats he had out there had set him off completely. Heather had almost reached through the phone to throttle her sister.
James wanted to play and he'd needed time. Thank God for Heather. Heather understood him. She let him sit and sand his problems into oblivion until he was able to let James climb on the bed frame and coax him back to laughter. Heather had come in with her camera and taken pictures and for a few minutes, before the battle of bedtime, things were peaceful.
And then he'd turned on the fucking computer to check files and Vance's email about how glad he was that first contact had been made was enough to set him off again. Heather had been waiting when he finally made it to bed, having fended off a drunk and sadly funny Jenny, and at least he found comfort holding her as she drifted to sleep. He worried, endlessly, about her safety. All it took was a move in the wrong direction and all the progress she'd made would end in a re-fractured rib. But she doesn't let him worry. She kisses him and snuggles in and they hold each other in perfect silence until they fall asleep.
But in the morning, he is somehow hungover and has to deal with reality all over again. Vance is almost strutting. Jenny is cold as ever. And his team which does show glimpses of promise only stumbles all over themselves again.
A long sip of his coffee and he regroups.
"Update?"
They all stumble over themselves to give him that update. Mariott had been the one on the wire yesterday and had heard him laugh about the "brats and whores" in his life and he knew the damned idiots he led still thought him capable of beating the crap out of his girlfriend.
Fuck. That reminded him he had to go in Thursday for the damned DNA test for James (and Daniel too.) And somehow, Charles' lawyer had found a way to make him and Heather pay for it. At least the "disobedient spouse" clause had been dropped from the paperwork; he had a feeling that Charles' lawyer was actually a little scared of Heather.
"Update?!" He demanded again.
Marriott jumped to his feet and started to relay what he'd picked up on before being traded out by ... the other guy. Gibbs had stopped caring about names a while ago.
"It's a group that crosses border lines, Sir. We've discovered the bulk of their trade is actually done in meth - easy to smuggle over lines, looking like ibuprofen. They sell the drugs and launder the money back through to buy weapons and fund their anti-government operations on this side of the border."
For just a moment, Gibbs had to chuckle at the way Marriott said "anti-government." One of these days he'd let the kid know that democracy itself was "anti-government." But he wasn't a fan of terrorists, and so he did this work, believing in it. Children were at stake.
Well, not in this case. In this case, ego and ambition were at stake. That much had been made clear last night, when Jen, in her drunken inhibitions, had told him to drop "the crap" in California. She hadn't just been referring to the case, he knew. And it pissed him off. It was all selfishness and ambition from her right now. Yet, he'd still go to the ends of the earth if she ordered him.
Somehow, Marriott was still talking. What was next, a Mexican threat assessment?
"Is anything relevant?"
"Yeah," Marriott turned and faced him with a stare that let Gibbs know the kid would someday grow up to be a very good agent. "They need confirmation that you're as dirty as you want them to believe. It means digging around even more. Maybe that almost warrant OPD wanted to file will look good on you. You're tight with the director, you're beating her sister ..."
The entire squad room froze. Gibbs grabbed the file and stormed off. Marriott wasn't completely wrong, but Gibbs wasn't about to put his family in danger. Heather and James and Daniel were too damned important to him. Jenny was too important to him.
He kicked the soda machine and sighed. He had to go back in this afternoon. He had to provide the traceable bills and continue to prove he was running both sides. It meant letting the rats make light of the important things in life.
The problem was, the longer he worked on the op, the more he wanted it to go down. He wanted to take the cell down. Every terrorist out there hurt innocent people and these people made the border unstable and were the reason idiots wanted to waste his tax dollars to build a fence between the countries. When in Oceanside, he locked his front door and he now checked on James twice before going to sleep himself.
Controlled, he walked back out to the squad room and nodded at Marriott. "Continue," he said, his voice tight. Had Jenny put her own operative in place yet? As far as they knew, there were no new faces in the cell. So if she had, that meant she'd turned an informant. He didn't trust informants.
His gut churned.
Heather let him to his devices, seeing his face the moment he walked in the door. Not even James could ease his worries and for the first couple of hours, only made them worse. Someone involved in the dark side of this op knows he has a son, knows he's lost a child, and dared to make a comment about how many little bastards he had running around. Worse, he'd had to chuckle about it and make light of the most important things in his life. Then Jenny's angry text about how many brats he had out there had set him off completely. Heather had almost reached through the phone to throttle her sister.
James wanted to play and he'd needed time. Thank God for Heather. Heather understood him. She let him sit and sand his problems into oblivion until he was able to let James climb on the bed frame and coax him back to laughter. Heather had come in with her camera and taken pictures and for a few minutes, before the battle of bedtime, things were peaceful.
And then he'd turned on the fucking computer to check files and Vance's email about how glad he was that first contact had been made was enough to set him off again. Heather had been waiting when he finally made it to bed, having fended off a drunk and sadly funny Jenny, and at least he found comfort holding her as she drifted to sleep. He worried, endlessly, about her safety. All it took was a move in the wrong direction and all the progress she'd made would end in a re-fractured rib. But she doesn't let him worry. She kisses him and snuggles in and they hold each other in perfect silence until they fall asleep.
But in the morning, he is somehow hungover and has to deal with reality all over again. Vance is almost strutting. Jenny is cold as ever. And his team which does show glimpses of promise only stumbles all over themselves again.
A long sip of his coffee and he regroups.
"Update?"
They all stumble over themselves to give him that update. Mariott had been the one on the wire yesterday and had heard him laugh about the "brats and whores" in his life and he knew the damned idiots he led still thought him capable of beating the crap out of his girlfriend.
Fuck. That reminded him he had to go in Thursday for the damned DNA test for James (and Daniel too.) And somehow, Charles' lawyer had found a way to make him and Heather pay for it. At least the "disobedient spouse" clause had been dropped from the paperwork; he had a feeling that Charles' lawyer was actually a little scared of Heather.
"Update?!" He demanded again.
Marriott jumped to his feet and started to relay what he'd picked up on before being traded out by ... the other guy. Gibbs had stopped caring about names a while ago.
"It's a group that crosses border lines, Sir. We've discovered the bulk of their trade is actually done in meth - easy to smuggle over lines, looking like ibuprofen. They sell the drugs and launder the money back through to buy weapons and fund their anti-government operations on this side of the border."
For just a moment, Gibbs had to chuckle at the way Marriott said "anti-government." One of these days he'd let the kid know that democracy itself was "anti-government." But he wasn't a fan of terrorists, and so he did this work, believing in it. Children were at stake.
Well, not in this case. In this case, ego and ambition were at stake. That much had been made clear last night, when Jen, in her drunken inhibitions, had told him to drop "the crap" in California. She hadn't just been referring to the case, he knew. And it pissed him off. It was all selfishness and ambition from her right now. Yet, he'd still go to the ends of the earth if she ordered him.
Somehow, Marriott was still talking. What was next, a Mexican threat assessment?
"Is anything relevant?"
"Yeah," Marriott turned and faced him with a stare that let Gibbs know the kid would someday grow up to be a very good agent. "They need confirmation that you're as dirty as you want them to believe. It means digging around even more. Maybe that almost warrant OPD wanted to file will look good on you. You're tight with the director, you're beating her sister ..."
The entire squad room froze. Gibbs grabbed the file and stormed off. Marriott wasn't completely wrong, but Gibbs wasn't about to put his family in danger. Heather and James and Daniel were too damned important to him. Jenny was too important to him.
He kicked the soda machine and sighed. He had to go back in this afternoon. He had to provide the traceable bills and continue to prove he was running both sides. It meant letting the rats make light of the important things in life.
The problem was, the longer he worked on the op, the more he wanted it to go down. He wanted to take the cell down. Every terrorist out there hurt innocent people and these people made the border unstable and were the reason idiots wanted to waste his tax dollars to build a fence between the countries. When in Oceanside, he locked his front door and he now checked on James twice before going to sleep himself.
Controlled, he walked back out to the squad room and nodded at Marriott. "Continue," he said, his voice tight. Had Jenny put her own operative in place yet? As far as they knew, there were no new faces in the cell. So if she had, that meant she'd turned an informant. He didn't trust informants.
His gut churned.