Fic Post: NCIS - And the Memories So Close
Title: And the Memories So Close
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Jenny/OFC
Rating: PG-16
A/N: (1) The prevailing theory is that the “Heather” seen in Jenny’s phone in Judgement Day is her sister. But what if it was someone else? (2) siapom requested a NCIS fic. I hadn’t planned on doing this for that rec, but it also fits all her requirements.
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
~Howie Day, Collide
She had naturally curly hair. The kind that spiraled and frizzed in all kinds of weather, that poofed in ponytails and cut in corkscrews down to the shin when let loose. Somehow, the sandy color matched her skin tone perfectly, making her green eyes stand out no matter what color of shirt she wore. Athletic with a side of girly, they used to sit on the brick wall by the edge of campus, ignoring the syllabus that screamed homework and study group outlines and instead talked about changing the world.
Twenty years later the world was very much the same. The Soviet threat replaced by gun running, IED exploding terrorists in the Middle East. There were more women at high levels of government. But the struggle for power remained. So did bureaucracy and lawyers being involved at every level of the game. Jenny wasn’t sure why she was surprised when Heather walked in the door, but she was. There was a part of her that had hoped time had added a few wrinkle lines, had straightened the woman’s hair, dulled the green of her eyes. Instead, she’d grown into herself and her eyes still stood out, no matter the color of her shirt.
Just inside the door to her office, Jenny paused. Suddenly, she felt frumpy, her long hair up in a tired bun, her sweater and blouse casual compared to Heather’s sharp suit. The only girl she’d ever let herself love sat too comfortably in a chair at the table, one long leg crossed over the other. She was twirling a black pen in her hands and her nails, once always dirty, were French-tipped. Where were Armani and Manolo when Jenny needed them?
In the time it took to cross the space from her office door to the table, a myriad of questions crossed Jen’s mind. Was Heather married now? To a man or a woman? Was she still the best basketball player from Dayton? Had she ever allowed for the possibility of something more between them? And what the hell was she doing here?
Rather than voice any of them, Jenny simply held out her hand, always the picture of professionalism. “Heather Liston. It’s been twenty years.”
“Twenty-one, but who is counting?”
No wedding ring. No ring line. No correction on the last name. No strange, awkward moment where they sized each other up. Part of Jenny wanted to lean over and kiss her hello, but those days were done. Weren’t they?
“What can I do for you?” And how were you let into my office without my being here? But she let the second question slide.
Without standing on any kind of etiquette, Heather sat down again and opened the file that Jenny had missed upon first glance. It was red. Flagged. Stamped with the NCIS insignia. One of her agents was in trouble. “We need to talk.”
“About?”
“Agent Simon Davis. He’s a linguist with your Middle East desk.”
She only nodded. There were thousands of NCIS agents. She didn’t know the names of every single one. Anyway, Heather’s voice had only smoothed out over time and just like when Jethro talked, she only wanted to listen. But, Heather was there to be all business. She forced herself to listen.
The US Attorney’s office wanted to talk to her agent. The charges weren’t against him but the US Attorney’s office was investigating something he was loosely connected to. It was surprisingly easy for Jenny to multi-task - one ear on the conversation about any wrong-doing their agency might have noticed, the other on Heather’s voice. The easy lilt. The professional cadence.
One eye scanned the documents in front of her, the other took in the blonde highlights, the black rimmed glasses, the silver tear drop earrings, the silver heart on a chain around her neck. Twenty years had added age lines, of course, and a scar just below her ear.
She signed off on permission for the Justice Department to search the desk of her agent and realized then that they hadn’t needed to extend this much professional courtesy. Letting her know they were coming was usually enough. So she leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, and tilted her head at her old friend. “It’s good to see you too, Heather.”
A slight blush crept across the other woman’s face. “I guess being Director hasn’t dulled your detective skills.”
A chuckle and a shrug. “I hope not.”
“Congratulations, by the way, Jenny.”
“Thank you.” A long silence passed between them and Jenny could see the past reflected in Heather’s eyes. She stood up, put the file she’d been carrying on her desk, and grabbed her purse. “Buy me dinner?”
Heather smiled. “I’d love to.”
* * *
There was no hesitation, no question. They’d fallen into Heather’s bed, fingers tugging at clothes, stroking along bare skin, undoing bra clasps and easing pants down long legs. It was a fast and furious, a mess of twenty years of sexual tension, long buried memories of long suppressed emotion rising again to the surface. The first time came with them still half dressed, hands inside satin lingerie, tweaking sensitive clits. They gasped together before laughter gripped them and Heather sat up a bit, helping to ease the rest of Jenny’s clothes from her body before shedding her own and curling up under the blanket.
A long look passed between them and Jenny reached up, stroking the woman’s cheek. “You wouldn’t sleep with me in college.”
“I was an idiot in college.” Heather closed her eyes at the touch before lowering her head to Jenny’s collarbone. “And I’ll be an idiot after we get out of bed.”
Silence and then Jenny reached up and tangled her fingers in Heather’s hair. Heather was right. Just the hint of what transpired here could taint both of their careers. All it took was one stray comment from one nosy onlooker. It didn’t help that even lying here, Jenny’s mind was split between this moment with Heather and the last fight with Jethro. The tension between her and her agent was so thick, so ready to snap, and it was probably less scandalous for her to sleep with him than this woman with whom she realized she could again fall in love. The doors were already open, all she needed to do was step through, hand in hand with this lawyer whose tongue was as talented in bed as she was sure it was in the courtroom. “We don’t have to be idiots, you know.” Had those words just come out of her mouth?
Heather raised her head and their eyes met in the dim room. “Yes, we do. This could be used against you.”
“I don’t care.” And in that breath, all thoughts of Jethro vanished from her mind. “I want to get to know you again, Heather. It’s been twenty years and I’ve never forgotten you.”
“That’s just because you have the memory of an elephant. You always have.” Heather adjusted herself, stretching long legs to twine with Jenny’s. “I haven’t forgotten you either.”
“Clearly.” Jenny laughed and Heather flashed a grin. “So what now, then?”
“Now? I’m going to kiss you again. Tomorrow we’ll meet up for dinner.”
“I like that,” Jenny said. She leaned up to kiss Heather and they forgot about all the other rules - spoken and not - that surrounded their lives. For right now, in a dim room, a twenty year dream was finally realized.
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Jenny/OFC
Rating: PG-16
A/N: (1) The prevailing theory is that the “Heather” seen in Jenny’s phone in Judgement Day is her sister. But what if it was someone else? (2) siapom requested a NCIS fic. I hadn’t planned on doing this for that rec, but it also fits all her requirements.
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
~Howie Day, Collide
She had naturally curly hair. The kind that spiraled and frizzed in all kinds of weather, that poofed in ponytails and cut in corkscrews down to the shin when let loose. Somehow, the sandy color matched her skin tone perfectly, making her green eyes stand out no matter what color of shirt she wore. Athletic with a side of girly, they used to sit on the brick wall by the edge of campus, ignoring the syllabus that screamed homework and study group outlines and instead talked about changing the world.
Twenty years later the world was very much the same. The Soviet threat replaced by gun running, IED exploding terrorists in the Middle East. There were more women at high levels of government. But the struggle for power remained. So did bureaucracy and lawyers being involved at every level of the game. Jenny wasn’t sure why she was surprised when Heather walked in the door, but she was. There was a part of her that had hoped time had added a few wrinkle lines, had straightened the woman’s hair, dulled the green of her eyes. Instead, she’d grown into herself and her eyes still stood out, no matter the color of her shirt.
Just inside the door to her office, Jenny paused. Suddenly, she felt frumpy, her long hair up in a tired bun, her sweater and blouse casual compared to Heather’s sharp suit. The only girl she’d ever let herself love sat too comfortably in a chair at the table, one long leg crossed over the other. She was twirling a black pen in her hands and her nails, once always dirty, were French-tipped. Where were Armani and Manolo when Jenny needed them?
In the time it took to cross the space from her office door to the table, a myriad of questions crossed Jen’s mind. Was Heather married now? To a man or a woman? Was she still the best basketball player from Dayton? Had she ever allowed for the possibility of something more between them? And what the hell was she doing here?
Rather than voice any of them, Jenny simply held out her hand, always the picture of professionalism. “Heather Liston. It’s been twenty years.”
“Twenty-one, but who is counting?”
No wedding ring. No ring line. No correction on the last name. No strange, awkward moment where they sized each other up. Part of Jenny wanted to lean over and kiss her hello, but those days were done. Weren’t they?
“What can I do for you?” And how were you let into my office without my being here? But she let the second question slide.
Without standing on any kind of etiquette, Heather sat down again and opened the file that Jenny had missed upon first glance. It was red. Flagged. Stamped with the NCIS insignia. One of her agents was in trouble. “We need to talk.”
“About?”
“Agent Simon Davis. He’s a linguist with your Middle East desk.”
She only nodded. There were thousands of NCIS agents. She didn’t know the names of every single one. Anyway, Heather’s voice had only smoothed out over time and just like when Jethro talked, she only wanted to listen. But, Heather was there to be all business. She forced herself to listen.
The US Attorney’s office wanted to talk to her agent. The charges weren’t against him but the US Attorney’s office was investigating something he was loosely connected to. It was surprisingly easy for Jenny to multi-task - one ear on the conversation about any wrong-doing their agency might have noticed, the other on Heather’s voice. The easy lilt. The professional cadence.
One eye scanned the documents in front of her, the other took in the blonde highlights, the black rimmed glasses, the silver tear drop earrings, the silver heart on a chain around her neck. Twenty years had added age lines, of course, and a scar just below her ear.
She signed off on permission for the Justice Department to search the desk of her agent and realized then that they hadn’t needed to extend this much professional courtesy. Letting her know they were coming was usually enough. So she leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, and tilted her head at her old friend. “It’s good to see you too, Heather.”
A slight blush crept across the other woman’s face. “I guess being Director hasn’t dulled your detective skills.”
A chuckle and a shrug. “I hope not.”
“Congratulations, by the way, Jenny.”
“Thank you.” A long silence passed between them and Jenny could see the past reflected in Heather’s eyes. She stood up, put the file she’d been carrying on her desk, and grabbed her purse. “Buy me dinner?”
Heather smiled. “I’d love to.”
* * *
There was no hesitation, no question. They’d fallen into Heather’s bed, fingers tugging at clothes, stroking along bare skin, undoing bra clasps and easing pants down long legs. It was a fast and furious, a mess of twenty years of sexual tension, long buried memories of long suppressed emotion rising again to the surface. The first time came with them still half dressed, hands inside satin lingerie, tweaking sensitive clits. They gasped together before laughter gripped them and Heather sat up a bit, helping to ease the rest of Jenny’s clothes from her body before shedding her own and curling up under the blanket.
A long look passed between them and Jenny reached up, stroking the woman’s cheek. “You wouldn’t sleep with me in college.”
“I was an idiot in college.” Heather closed her eyes at the touch before lowering her head to Jenny’s collarbone. “And I’ll be an idiot after we get out of bed.”
Silence and then Jenny reached up and tangled her fingers in Heather’s hair. Heather was right. Just the hint of what transpired here could taint both of their careers. All it took was one stray comment from one nosy onlooker. It didn’t help that even lying here, Jenny’s mind was split between this moment with Heather and the last fight with Jethro. The tension between her and her agent was so thick, so ready to snap, and it was probably less scandalous for her to sleep with him than this woman with whom she realized she could again fall in love. The doors were already open, all she needed to do was step through, hand in hand with this lawyer whose tongue was as talented in bed as she was sure it was in the courtroom. “We don’t have to be idiots, you know.” Had those words just come out of her mouth?
Heather raised her head and their eyes met in the dim room. “Yes, we do. This could be used against you.”
“I don’t care.” And in that breath, all thoughts of Jethro vanished from her mind. “I want to get to know you again, Heather. It’s been twenty years and I’ve never forgotten you.”
“That’s just because you have the memory of an elephant. You always have.” Heather adjusted herself, stretching long legs to twine with Jenny’s. “I haven’t forgotten you either.”
“Clearly.” Jenny laughed and Heather flashed a grin. “So what now, then?”
“Now? I’m going to kiss you again. Tomorrow we’ll meet up for dinner.”
“I like that,” Jenny said. She leaned up to kiss Heather and they forgot about all the other rules - spoken and not - that surrounded their lives. For right now, in a dim room, a twenty year dream was finally realized.