NCIS Fic: Paris to Serbia (Ch 7)
Series: Paris to Serbia
Chapter 7: Marseille Interlude
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Jenny/Gibbs
Timeframe: Pre-Series
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: If Matt and kitty lingered, they stayed in the hallway, giving Jenny and Jethro privacy.
No roadmaps, no signposts
No north star, no lifeboats
No cavalry coming in sight
But we're all right
Mary Chapin Carpenter: We’re All Right
Really, the pain wasn’t that bad. She’d survived the night in London with only a lightly sprained ankle and a couple of stitches on the bottom of her foot. Ice, rest, and some fabulous French Cabernet made everything better.
Jenny moved slowly, the limp hardly noticeable at a slower pace. The safe house was a dream - near the water, windows meant to be left open for air to flow through, secluded enough that the closest neighbor was kilometers away. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen even a novice chef could get excited about, a sitting room with furniture her mother would have wanted in her house, and a wraparound porch where she spent most of her time reading classic French literature. She was in the middle of Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, trying desperately to not relate Salvo to Quasimodo. But both were evil, ugly thugs that belonged up in a tower away from real society. That was why people like her had jobs.
A soft breeze blew across the porch, tinkling the small bells that hung above her and tickling across her bare legs, toying with the cotton of her short sleeping shorts and tight tank top. Her hair, up in a ponytail, begged to be taken down so she did and scraped a freshly French tipped nail through the tresses.
This was how her mother had told her she deserved to live and although Jenny knew she’d eventually die of boredom, she was grateful for the peace of the Villa. Her toe twitched a bit and she stretched against the impending cramp.
She could get used to missions like this.
Movement in the kitchen. The smell of coffee and toast drifted out onto the porch and she smiled. Jethro was awake.
Three days since London. She’d woken in a cramped room, jolted awake by the gentle touch of the mission doctor, Donald Mallard, as he stitched her foot back together and wrapped her ankle. Sleep claimed her as they crossed the border into France and she’d slept almost twenty-four hours, mostly thanks to the drugs they’d poured into her system. Somehow, her dreams were free of nightmares and when she’d woken, her body hummed with need.
But, she and Jethro still had yet to really talk. He was quiet, brooding, which was how she suspected he always was. She was nervous. The “what if he didn’t want her now” question plaguing her. So they sat in surprisingly comfortable silence. They read. They sipped coffee and ate perfect French meals she prepared. But they did not speak. Not yet. Nor had they looked at the mission briefing, which sat sealed on the coffee table in the sitting room. They had time and by unspoken agreement, they wanted to take it.
“How are you feeling?”
The voice startled her and she looked up at him. He was dressed - jeans and a white t-shirt. His muscles shapely under his shirt, his jeans low on his hips. He was barefoot. Somehow, that was the sexiest part of the whole package. Jenny shifted her legs a bit, showing off an expanse of thigh that he followed with his eyes.
“Better,” she answered honestly. The book she was reading went onto the table and he handed her a cup of coffee and a plate with a piece of toast and a touch of neutella. The coffee was strong. Just like she liked it. While she settled into her morning ritual of a sip of coffee, a bite of bread, he took a seat on the lounge chair next to her, his eyes on her elevated ankle. “Thank you,” she said after the caffeine was racing through her system. So, he had decided it was time for them to talk. What did she get to decide?
“For the coffee? It’s no biggie.”
“No, for saving my ass in London.”
He shrugged, still staring at her ankle. “We’re partners, Jen.” He dragged his eyes from her legs to her face and there was a flash of terror in his eyes. He had been worried he’d lose her, she realized.
Quickly, the toast and coffee went onto the table beside her. She reached out her hand and he took it, linking their fingers. “I promise I’ll be more careful,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “You were super woman on that cruise and there in London. I don’t … I don’t ever want you to have to put yourself in that situation again.”
“I’d rather not myself. But if it gets us the information …”
He sighed, his eyes tortured. “No, Jenny.”
“Is that an order?”
Again, a sigh. Still tortured. “I wish I could make it one. But you’ve made quite an impression on the boys back home and I think they’ve changed the mission ideas.” He glanced back inside the house, through walls to the mission files.
“Good to know a girl can get ahead somehow.” Again, suddenly, she felt dirty, used not just by Salvo’s buddies but her own damned government. She stared out at the view rather than be tortured by the look in Gibbs’ eyes. It took a long minute to realize their fingers were still linked.
“Jenny …”
She liked how he said her name. It wasn’t that he sent shivers through her, though he did, it was the inherent respect he put into each syllable. Decker rolled his eyes at her. Ducky treated her like glass. Jethro respected her. Tired, she glanced over at him. “I wish I’d met you in a different way.” She didn’t know what hurt more, that he was her partner and what was building between them wasn’t supposed to happen or that he was still, legally, married and she didn’t want to be the other woman in any context.
He shrugged. “We still have this case. We have Europe. Possibly even Russia.” Under the blasé response she heard his meaning. He wanted to be partnered with her for a long time. He wanted her and when he leaned over, his bright blue eyes meeting hers, she smiled, letting herself forget about the still legal wife. “When you kissed me back at my place, what were you hoping for?” His voice was low, tempting.
“I think you know.” They were so close. How the morning had gone from the first conversation in days to this in a heartbeat surprised her, but this was the speed at which her life now operated.
“What’s stopping us now?” His hand went to her cheek, stroking lightly. Jenny let out a slow breath.
“Two weeks of being Kitty to your Matt.”
“That isn’t going away any time soon, Jen.”
“I wish it would. Why couldn’t we take down Salvo that night? We know he killed that girl. We have the intel on how the money is smuggled …”
“Because we want more than Salvo.” He paused. “Sometimes, it’s about a bigger picture than just one mark, Jenny.”
Rene Benoit’s face flashed before her eyes. Sometimes, it was about just one mark. Sometimes, it was about cutting off the head or slashing out the eyes because then the monster would die. “But if we cut off Salvo -“
“It isn’t going to happen that way. You might be right, but it isn’t going to happen that way.” Another pause. “As much as I want to take him out myself.” He was rubbing her thumb with his.
Jethro Gibbs, she’d realized, was a talker only when he wanted to be. He revealed himself through the questions he asked, not the answers he gave. There was more to be said in how he brewed a cup of coffee than how he started a conversation. Instantly, she wanted to hit Diane, to make her pay for whatever hurt she’d inflicted on him. But his self isolation went deeper than a bitchy ex wife. Maybe it was a lifetime of operations like these, of staying solo on a mountaintop, waiting for a mark. Maybe there came a point where trust just wasn’t an option. His rubbing her cheek with his thumb was what kept him grounded to her, reminded him that she wasn’t Kitty but Jenny, the girl he’d made out with on his couch before the op ever even started.
How could they go back there, to that place, a place that never should have existed for them. She could hear her FLETC instructor drilling it into her that when in deep cover, you never fell for your team or for the mark you were chasing. They could decide to send her in to Salvo’s snake pit. There was a chance she could go for days or weeks without seeing Jethro. She had to find a way to keep herself sane.
It was stupid. She was an accomplished woman with multiple degrees and the respect of her colleagues and superiors. But all she wanted was to erase the last two weeks and make love to him back when she was still pissed at NCIS for even pairing her up with him.
They weren’t even a real couple and she had regrets about their relationship.
The realization made her giggle. Jethro looked at her and she shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m just …” she shrugged, “Being a girl.”
“I’d hope you were one. Otherwise you’ve been covering well.”
Courage grabbed her and she rolled her eyes at his dumb joke and stood up, cautious on her still healing feet. “You coming?” Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded toward her bedroom and then started walking. She could hear Jethro laughing as he followed.
Nervous, she paused in the doorway, waiting for the romantic gesture she suddenly needed. It came as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, carrying her to the bed. “It doesn’t matter what you did with them, Jenny. You gotta let it go.” His voice was soft as he set her down on the comforter.
“It’s stupid …” she whispered, her hand moving down to the edge of his shirt and then back up against bare skin. “But I feel like you wouldn’t want me after what I did.”
“We’re adults and we’re agents, Jenny. I understand. You gotta let it go. It won’t be the last time you sleep with someone to get information.” He leaned over her to kiss her, taking the lead. His tongue demanded entrance, his arms moved tighter around her. “It’s just us,” he whispered as he broke the kiss, “and I’ve been wanting this for weeks.”
If Matt and kitty lingered, they stayed in the hallway, giving Jenny and Jethro privacy. His hands made quick work of her camisole; she tugged his shirt up and over his head, laughing when his arms tangled for a minute. He was between her legs, hot even through his jeans and her shorts. She arched against him, seeking satisfaction and he chuckled playfully. “Not too much of a foreplay girl, hmm?”
“We’ve had weeks of foreplay. Next time you can seduce me.”
His tongue invaded her mouth, his arms went down her sides, fingers sliding under the waistband of her shorts, pulling. She arched again, this time giving him access, and he backed off only long enough to tug her clothes out of the way and shuck out of his own jeans. He tripped on the leg and went sprawling on top of her.
Jenny laughed. “Don’t hurt yourself, rushing, Jethro.”
Any further smartass comment was cut off by his quick repositioning of their bodies and his sliding into her without any hesitation. She whimpered, trying to catch her breath, glad for a moment that sex turned him from gallant knight to normal male as he focused on himself. She had no doubt he’d bring her off before they were through, but his hormones were taking over and she was there, willing, as he thrust into her.
His hands were never still, one holding her hip ever closer to his. The other playing with her breast, rolling and tweaking the nipple until it was as hard as he was. She ached for release as his mouth came down on the sensitive nub, his tongue and teeth biting. Her body writhed even as he moved, splitting her open.
It was rough. Almost dangerous. And as he went flying over the cliff, she clung to her own reality, tingling, sensitive, so close she ached. With his eyes closed, he reached between them and stroked her once before pinching her clit between his fingers. The pressure sent her screaming into oblivion.
“GOD!” She dug into his shoulders, sure she was drawing blood, but he just held her while she trembled. Only after her body relaxed did he pull out and get up, coming back with a washcloth and towel. She chuckled at the gesture. “It’s okay. Thanks.” But she did lift her hips and let him set the towel in the wet spot. He crawled back over her and collapsed down next to her on the bed.
“Hi,” he teased lightly, “I’m Jethro Gibbs. Nice to meet you.”
Jenny cracked up and snuggled into him. Her hand trembled slightly and she curled the fingers tight, calming the tremor. They were rare, moments when her fingers twitched on their own, when her head seemed so much bigger than it really was. She took a breath and pressed back into him, secure in the weight of his arm around her waist and the feel of his breath against her neck. “Jenny Shepard,” she whispered softly, “and I don’t think I ever want to let you go.”
His response was only to tighten his grip and place a gentle kiss on her neck. Jenny drifted to sleep on the feel of his breathing in and out and wrapped in the musk of their bodies and the faint scent of coffee.
TBC …
Chapter 7: Marseille Interlude
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Jenny/Gibbs
Timeframe: Pre-Series
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: If Matt and kitty lingered, they stayed in the hallway, giving Jenny and Jethro privacy.
No roadmaps, no signposts
No north star, no lifeboats
No cavalry coming in sight
But we're all right
Mary Chapin Carpenter: We’re All Right
Really, the pain wasn’t that bad. She’d survived the night in London with only a lightly sprained ankle and a couple of stitches on the bottom of her foot. Ice, rest, and some fabulous French Cabernet made everything better.
Jenny moved slowly, the limp hardly noticeable at a slower pace. The safe house was a dream - near the water, windows meant to be left open for air to flow through, secluded enough that the closest neighbor was kilometers away. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen even a novice chef could get excited about, a sitting room with furniture her mother would have wanted in her house, and a wraparound porch where she spent most of her time reading classic French literature. She was in the middle of Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, trying desperately to not relate Salvo to Quasimodo. But both were evil, ugly thugs that belonged up in a tower away from real society. That was why people like her had jobs.
A soft breeze blew across the porch, tinkling the small bells that hung above her and tickling across her bare legs, toying with the cotton of her short sleeping shorts and tight tank top. Her hair, up in a ponytail, begged to be taken down so she did and scraped a freshly French tipped nail through the tresses.
This was how her mother had told her she deserved to live and although Jenny knew she’d eventually die of boredom, she was grateful for the peace of the Villa. Her toe twitched a bit and she stretched against the impending cramp.
She could get used to missions like this.
Movement in the kitchen. The smell of coffee and toast drifted out onto the porch and she smiled. Jethro was awake.
Three days since London. She’d woken in a cramped room, jolted awake by the gentle touch of the mission doctor, Donald Mallard, as he stitched her foot back together and wrapped her ankle. Sleep claimed her as they crossed the border into France and she’d slept almost twenty-four hours, mostly thanks to the drugs they’d poured into her system. Somehow, her dreams were free of nightmares and when she’d woken, her body hummed with need.
But, she and Jethro still had yet to really talk. He was quiet, brooding, which was how she suspected he always was. She was nervous. The “what if he didn’t want her now” question plaguing her. So they sat in surprisingly comfortable silence. They read. They sipped coffee and ate perfect French meals she prepared. But they did not speak. Not yet. Nor had they looked at the mission briefing, which sat sealed on the coffee table in the sitting room. They had time and by unspoken agreement, they wanted to take it.
“How are you feeling?”
The voice startled her and she looked up at him. He was dressed - jeans and a white t-shirt. His muscles shapely under his shirt, his jeans low on his hips. He was barefoot. Somehow, that was the sexiest part of the whole package. Jenny shifted her legs a bit, showing off an expanse of thigh that he followed with his eyes.
“Better,” she answered honestly. The book she was reading went onto the table and he handed her a cup of coffee and a plate with a piece of toast and a touch of neutella. The coffee was strong. Just like she liked it. While she settled into her morning ritual of a sip of coffee, a bite of bread, he took a seat on the lounge chair next to her, his eyes on her elevated ankle. “Thank you,” she said after the caffeine was racing through her system. So, he had decided it was time for them to talk. What did she get to decide?
“For the coffee? It’s no biggie.”
“No, for saving my ass in London.”
He shrugged, still staring at her ankle. “We’re partners, Jen.” He dragged his eyes from her legs to her face and there was a flash of terror in his eyes. He had been worried he’d lose her, she realized.
Quickly, the toast and coffee went onto the table beside her. She reached out her hand and he took it, linking their fingers. “I promise I’ll be more careful,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “You were super woman on that cruise and there in London. I don’t … I don’t ever want you to have to put yourself in that situation again.”
“I’d rather not myself. But if it gets us the information …”
He sighed, his eyes tortured. “No, Jenny.”
“Is that an order?”
Again, a sigh. Still tortured. “I wish I could make it one. But you’ve made quite an impression on the boys back home and I think they’ve changed the mission ideas.” He glanced back inside the house, through walls to the mission files.
“Good to know a girl can get ahead somehow.” Again, suddenly, she felt dirty, used not just by Salvo’s buddies but her own damned government. She stared out at the view rather than be tortured by the look in Gibbs’ eyes. It took a long minute to realize their fingers were still linked.
“Jenny …”
She liked how he said her name. It wasn’t that he sent shivers through her, though he did, it was the inherent respect he put into each syllable. Decker rolled his eyes at her. Ducky treated her like glass. Jethro respected her. Tired, she glanced over at him. “I wish I’d met you in a different way.” She didn’t know what hurt more, that he was her partner and what was building between them wasn’t supposed to happen or that he was still, legally, married and she didn’t want to be the other woman in any context.
He shrugged. “We still have this case. We have Europe. Possibly even Russia.” Under the blasé response she heard his meaning. He wanted to be partnered with her for a long time. He wanted her and when he leaned over, his bright blue eyes meeting hers, she smiled, letting herself forget about the still legal wife. “When you kissed me back at my place, what were you hoping for?” His voice was low, tempting.
“I think you know.” They were so close. How the morning had gone from the first conversation in days to this in a heartbeat surprised her, but this was the speed at which her life now operated.
“What’s stopping us now?” His hand went to her cheek, stroking lightly. Jenny let out a slow breath.
“Two weeks of being Kitty to your Matt.”
“That isn’t going away any time soon, Jen.”
“I wish it would. Why couldn’t we take down Salvo that night? We know he killed that girl. We have the intel on how the money is smuggled …”
“Because we want more than Salvo.” He paused. “Sometimes, it’s about a bigger picture than just one mark, Jenny.”
Rene Benoit’s face flashed before her eyes. Sometimes, it was about just one mark. Sometimes, it was about cutting off the head or slashing out the eyes because then the monster would die. “But if we cut off Salvo -“
“It isn’t going to happen that way. You might be right, but it isn’t going to happen that way.” Another pause. “As much as I want to take him out myself.” He was rubbing her thumb with his.
Jethro Gibbs, she’d realized, was a talker only when he wanted to be. He revealed himself through the questions he asked, not the answers he gave. There was more to be said in how he brewed a cup of coffee than how he started a conversation. Instantly, she wanted to hit Diane, to make her pay for whatever hurt she’d inflicted on him. But his self isolation went deeper than a bitchy ex wife. Maybe it was a lifetime of operations like these, of staying solo on a mountaintop, waiting for a mark. Maybe there came a point where trust just wasn’t an option. His rubbing her cheek with his thumb was what kept him grounded to her, reminded him that she wasn’t Kitty but Jenny, the girl he’d made out with on his couch before the op ever even started.
How could they go back there, to that place, a place that never should have existed for them. She could hear her FLETC instructor drilling it into her that when in deep cover, you never fell for your team or for the mark you were chasing. They could decide to send her in to Salvo’s snake pit. There was a chance she could go for days or weeks without seeing Jethro. She had to find a way to keep herself sane.
It was stupid. She was an accomplished woman with multiple degrees and the respect of her colleagues and superiors. But all she wanted was to erase the last two weeks and make love to him back when she was still pissed at NCIS for even pairing her up with him.
They weren’t even a real couple and she had regrets about their relationship.
The realization made her giggle. Jethro looked at her and she shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m just …” she shrugged, “Being a girl.”
“I’d hope you were one. Otherwise you’ve been covering well.”
Courage grabbed her and she rolled her eyes at his dumb joke and stood up, cautious on her still healing feet. “You coming?” Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded toward her bedroom and then started walking. She could hear Jethro laughing as he followed.
Nervous, she paused in the doorway, waiting for the romantic gesture she suddenly needed. It came as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, carrying her to the bed. “It doesn’t matter what you did with them, Jenny. You gotta let it go.” His voice was soft as he set her down on the comforter.
“It’s stupid …” she whispered, her hand moving down to the edge of his shirt and then back up against bare skin. “But I feel like you wouldn’t want me after what I did.”
“We’re adults and we’re agents, Jenny. I understand. You gotta let it go. It won’t be the last time you sleep with someone to get information.” He leaned over her to kiss her, taking the lead. His tongue demanded entrance, his arms moved tighter around her. “It’s just us,” he whispered as he broke the kiss, “and I’ve been wanting this for weeks.”
If Matt and kitty lingered, they stayed in the hallway, giving Jenny and Jethro privacy. His hands made quick work of her camisole; she tugged his shirt up and over his head, laughing when his arms tangled for a minute. He was between her legs, hot even through his jeans and her shorts. She arched against him, seeking satisfaction and he chuckled playfully. “Not too much of a foreplay girl, hmm?”
“We’ve had weeks of foreplay. Next time you can seduce me.”
His tongue invaded her mouth, his arms went down her sides, fingers sliding under the waistband of her shorts, pulling. She arched again, this time giving him access, and he backed off only long enough to tug her clothes out of the way and shuck out of his own jeans. He tripped on the leg and went sprawling on top of her.
Jenny laughed. “Don’t hurt yourself, rushing, Jethro.”
Any further smartass comment was cut off by his quick repositioning of their bodies and his sliding into her without any hesitation. She whimpered, trying to catch her breath, glad for a moment that sex turned him from gallant knight to normal male as he focused on himself. She had no doubt he’d bring her off before they were through, but his hormones were taking over and she was there, willing, as he thrust into her.
His hands were never still, one holding her hip ever closer to his. The other playing with her breast, rolling and tweaking the nipple until it was as hard as he was. She ached for release as his mouth came down on the sensitive nub, his tongue and teeth biting. Her body writhed even as he moved, splitting her open.
It was rough. Almost dangerous. And as he went flying over the cliff, she clung to her own reality, tingling, sensitive, so close she ached. With his eyes closed, he reached between them and stroked her once before pinching her clit between his fingers. The pressure sent her screaming into oblivion.
“GOD!” She dug into his shoulders, sure she was drawing blood, but he just held her while she trembled. Only after her body relaxed did he pull out and get up, coming back with a washcloth and towel. She chuckled at the gesture. “It’s okay. Thanks.” But she did lift her hips and let him set the towel in the wet spot. He crawled back over her and collapsed down next to her on the bed.
“Hi,” he teased lightly, “I’m Jethro Gibbs. Nice to meet you.”
Jenny cracked up and snuggled into him. Her hand trembled slightly and she curled the fingers tight, calming the tremor. They were rare, moments when her fingers twitched on their own, when her head seemed so much bigger than it really was. She took a breath and pressed back into him, secure in the weight of his arm around her waist and the feel of his breath against her neck. “Jenny Shepard,” she whispered softly, “and I don’t think I ever want to let you go.”
His response was only to tighten his grip and place a gentle kiss on her neck. Jenny drifted to sleep on the feel of his breathing in and out and wrapped in the musk of their bodies and the faint scent of coffee.
TBC …