Confession
[Borrowed greeneyedspy. I will eventually give him back.]
No matter which ocean it is or what part of the world it's in, an empty beach and a vast ocean has a way of making someone feel so alone in the world. Jen sits by herself in the dark, in the sand, watching the waves inch ever closer. The tide has started coming in and the water threatens to lick her feet with every breaking wave. She wishes for one of those mythical rogue waves that swallow boats whole, leaving no trace. She's wishing for the ocean to just take her away in a grasp of white foam. Plunged into the sand beside her is a mostly empty bottle of rum. It wasn't her first choice or even her second, but it was the easiest to find on the island and she wasn't going to go searching for something different.
She and Alex have had a few really good days and they've made some really good memories together. There may have even been a few genuine smiles from Jenny over the last couple of days. Technically, if she wants to be, she's Jennifer Krycek, which doesn't sound all that bad. But as she sits in the sand, it's clear how precarious all of that happiness really still is. A few hours spent entertaining herself on the internet before bed changed it all and cast a shadow over their wonderful weekend. It's amazing how one song could be so accurate about someone else's life.
Jen hears him in the sand behind her and she wonders how long he waited, lying awake, before deciding to come out here. "Hey," he calls to her over the crashing waves. She turns around but doesn't say anything. He at least deserves to know she's still alive. He's had two too many close calls over the last couple months. And she doesn't want to do it to him again. That counts for something. Despite what she's read in his file and heard from three-letter colleagues, he's earned her trust and a place in her heart. Her files probably doesn't read a whole lot better than his.
Alex sits beside her and, reaching around her, pulls the rum bottle from the sand. He's not going to lecture her or chastise her. He knows she knows. Instead, he just dumps what's left into the sand and tosses the bottle over his shoulder. He doesn't get a chance to ask her what happened before she just starts talking, so he sits a little closer and listens.
"Ten years ago, before I left Gibbs in Paris," she says, her words running together slightly, "I found out I was pregnant." She needs to tell him this, even if she's so tired of telling this story. It never gets any easier. As she continues, the tears start flowing freely and her words run together more as she sobs around them, "I wanted to keep the baby, but I couldn't carry the pregnancy to term. It was my fault she was born at only 21 weeks. She lived for an hour." Jen buries her face in his chest, clutching fistfuls of his t-shirt, sucking in deep breaths between aching sobs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the part that's still rational and alert, she's realizing she's moved from crying over what she and Gibbs lost to crying over her daughter. The distinction is that Gibbs doesn't have a place in her grief. Just a mother and her child.
She pulls her face out of the soaked fabric of Alex's t-shirt and adds, "When I told Davis I'd never chosen a name, she asked me what had been sitting in the back of my mind. I surprised myself when I told her Lucie." For a moment, Jen wonders if Alex even cares about this. Empathy isn't his strong suit and this has nothing to do with him. And the thought makes her want to retreat into herself, but words can't be unsaid. This is the most terrifying thing she's said to him and she's afraid he won't be her safe place anymore.
She doesn't tell him about wanting to be pulled so deep into the abyss her lungs explode. She doesn't say anything else. Alex wraps his one arm around her. Jen again buries her face in his t-shirt, wringing the material in her fists, sobbing "I'm sorry, Lucie" over and over.
Words: 729
No matter which ocean it is or what part of the world it's in, an empty beach and a vast ocean has a way of making someone feel so alone in the world. Jen sits by herself in the dark, in the sand, watching the waves inch ever closer. The tide has started coming in and the water threatens to lick her feet with every breaking wave. She wishes for one of those mythical rogue waves that swallow boats whole, leaving no trace. She's wishing for the ocean to just take her away in a grasp of white foam. Plunged into the sand beside her is a mostly empty bottle of rum. It wasn't her first choice or even her second, but it was the easiest to find on the island and she wasn't going to go searching for something different.
She and Alex have had a few really good days and they've made some really good memories together. There may have even been a few genuine smiles from Jenny over the last couple of days. Technically, if she wants to be, she's Jennifer Krycek, which doesn't sound all that bad. But as she sits in the sand, it's clear how precarious all of that happiness really still is. A few hours spent entertaining herself on the internet before bed changed it all and cast a shadow over their wonderful weekend. It's amazing how one song could be so accurate about someone else's life.
Jen hears him in the sand behind her and she wonders how long he waited, lying awake, before deciding to come out here. "Hey," he calls to her over the crashing waves. She turns around but doesn't say anything. He at least deserves to know she's still alive. He's had two too many close calls over the last couple months. And she doesn't want to do it to him again. That counts for something. Despite what she's read in his file and heard from three-letter colleagues, he's earned her trust and a place in her heart. Her files probably doesn't read a whole lot better than his.
Alex sits beside her and, reaching around her, pulls the rum bottle from the sand. He's not going to lecture her or chastise her. He knows she knows. Instead, he just dumps what's left into the sand and tosses the bottle over his shoulder. He doesn't get a chance to ask her what happened before she just starts talking, so he sits a little closer and listens.
"Ten years ago, before I left Gibbs in Paris," she says, her words running together slightly, "I found out I was pregnant." She needs to tell him this, even if she's so tired of telling this story. It never gets any easier. As she continues, the tears start flowing freely and her words run together more as she sobs around them, "I wanted to keep the baby, but I couldn't carry the pregnancy to term. It was my fault she was born at only 21 weeks. She lived for an hour." Jen buries her face in his chest, clutching fistfuls of his t-shirt, sucking in deep breaths between aching sobs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the part that's still rational and alert, she's realizing she's moved from crying over what she and Gibbs lost to crying over her daughter. The distinction is that Gibbs doesn't have a place in her grief. Just a mother and her child.
She pulls her face out of the soaked fabric of Alex's t-shirt and adds, "When I told Davis I'd never chosen a name, she asked me what had been sitting in the back of my mind. I surprised myself when I told her Lucie." For a moment, Jen wonders if Alex even cares about this. Empathy isn't his strong suit and this has nothing to do with him. And the thought makes her want to retreat into herself, but words can't be unsaid. This is the most terrifying thing she's said to him and she's afraid he won't be her safe place anymore.
She doesn't tell him about wanting to be pulled so deep into the abyss her lungs explode. She doesn't say anything else. Alex wraps his one arm around her. Jen again buries her face in his t-shirt, wringing the material in her fists, sobbing "I'm sorry, Lucie" over and over.
Words: 729