[rp for dc_knight]

[on_jennys_terms]

She doesn't bother with her car service.  She doesn't care that much.  Instead, it's a taxi and the only words spoken to the driver are Gibbs' address.  The driver jokes, asking her if she wouldn't rather go to a bar since she's clearly been "pregaming".  She never answers

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[dc_knight]

He is in fact not at his desk but instead at the kitchen table at home, still working. He needed a change of scenery and an actual home cooked meal, and with the spring cold James brought home he felt it was best to be there and help as best he could. So he's there, putting finishing touches on folders to be handed over to IA investigators. Heather knows the whole story, he's been talking it through with her, as much as national security interests will allow anyway.

At one AM he gives in, his body reminding him that he still has to wake early enough to pack and catch his flight. So he heads upstairs to check on James, who is sleeping the sleep of a sick child. He re-tucks him in and trundles into the bedroom; Heather is half awake and murmurs incoherencies to him as he undresses and falls into bed next to her.

[on_jennys_terms]

As the night drags on, Jen works her way slowly through his bottle of bourbon, waiting for Gibbs to come down the stairs. She misses him. She wants him to make her feel better. She wants to curl up in his arms and have him take the pain away. He never comes. She doesn't finish the bottle. Eventually, when the tears have dried up and her eyes start to droop, she lays down on the cold cement floor. She can't feel the dull ache in her chest from laying on her side. In seconds, she's passed out.

[dc_knight]

It's an ass early flight out of San Diego and he's landing in DC by noon. Sunday traffic is easy to navigate and the taxi has him home in relatively short order. When he steps through the door and sets down his suitcase, he can tell he's not alone. A quick trip through the main floor makes him a liar and the upstairs is untouched. Down into the basement he goes, where he stops short.

He wants to kill her. She's lying on the cold, concrete floor, his bottle of bourbon not far from her hand. She looks sick and even in sleep she's upset, and the part of her that loves her dearly wants to protect her. The part of her that wants her to grow up wins out. Angrily, he grabs the bottle and the mason jar and slams them down onto the work bench. When she doesn't stir, he grabs the blanket he keeps down here for when he does fall asleep and throws it at her. Then he sits down to wait.

What the hell is she thinking?

[on_jennys_terms]

She starts stirring a few minutes later. Maybe it was the slam, maybe it was the blanket. Or maybe it's the cold that wakes her up. Slowly she starts opening her eyes. The room is spinning and she's still drunk from the night before. Where the hell is she and why is she cold? Her chest hurts and she feels sick. As she pulls herself to sitting, she remembers going over to Gibbs' place. Then she sees him across from her. This isn't what she wanted or how she'd seen this going, though she's not entirely sure what she'd imagined. She knows he won't let her leave without saying something so she doesn't even bother to stand. And some part of her doesn't really want to leave anyway.