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Sleet batters his bedroom window, lightning breaking on the still dark horizon.
The storm rages against glass, but she doesn’t flinch, warm and safe in his bed, sheets wrapped around her shoulders and face buried in his pillow.
Even in her sleep, she’s smiling, a soft curl to swollen lips. He watches them twitch wider; no doubt triggered by the hot coffee steaming in his hands.
Rounding the bed, he places their cups on his bedside table, gently shifting her over and chuckling at her disgruntled whine. He sits in the small space she surrenders, back against the wall and lap quickly stolen by a mess of burrowing blonde.
“Hi,” she mutters, curved around his thigh.
“Morning.” His hand drops to her head, gently combing out the sleep mussed tangles.
“Is it?”
Gibbs hums, huffing a laugh at her disdain for the hour.
“Happy New Year, Jack,” he whispers, receiving a mumbled response from the blankets, a happy sigh at his affection.
It’s still early and they have plenty of time before the realities of the day begin to dawn.
“Sleep well?”
Warm amber peers up at him, a slow hand reaching across his waist and entwining their fingers.
“Better than I have in a long time.”
He takes a moment just to look at her, revelling in her open gaze, before pulling their arms up to kiss her knuckles, taking the admission for what it is and rewarding it in kind.
“Me too.” Her smile is radiant, all trace of sleep wiped from shining eyes.
He watches her shift to sit next to him, snug against his side, disentangling their hands to reach for her coffee.
Remembering where they’d been yesterday afternoon, he finds the quiet serenity of this moment hard to believe. Not when it had all gone so wrong only three days ago.
+++
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, not really, but her office door was open and by the time he realised she was talking to Leon he was close enough to hear what they were saying.
“Have you told him?”
Wafting through the cracked door is the smell of fresh, sweet coffee even though he knows she had one only an hour ago. She’d whisked it through the bullpen, smiling tightly at him on her way up the stairs. That’s why he’s here now, that smile nagging at his attention, hearing the same strain in her voice when she replies.
“Leon-“
“Jack.”
A moment of silence is filled with the same emphasis placed on her name. Gibbs debates retreating, but he’d have never got far in his line of work, missing conversations like these. Especially when he suspected they were about him.
“No. Not yet.” Another pause, the rhythmic click of her pen proceeding a less-than-stable breath. “I don’t know how.”
Gibbs hears a sigh, pictures Leon’s pinched brows as he coaxes his old friend.
“I thought, over Christmas…”
“I tried.”
She sounds defeated, as though the two days they spent, sipping bourbon and dining with family hadn’t been the highlight of his year.
“Tell me.”
“I didn’t want to hurt him.”
He leans closer.
“You don’t think it’ll hurt more, when he comes in and finds your office packed up?”
“And instead, what? I just go up to him and say, ‘hey, Gibbs, by the way I'm defecting to CID, leaving everything you care about?!’ I'm sure that’ll go down just great.”
He can’t breathe.
Chairs start to creak, the Director beginning to stand, murmuring some platitude Gibbs doesn’t quite catch, before pausing by the door for a final verdict.
“You have to tell him, Jack. You don’t have any more time-“
“I know.”
He leaves before Leon can catch him hyperventilating in the hallway.
The rest of the day is strained, to say the least, although his team don’t pick up on half of it, assuming he’s just frustrated about the case. And he should be, the lazy gap before the New Year is consumed with the murder of a young navy officer, but he can barely focus past the words circling his brain, every thought always coming back to ‘leaving’. His need to run every time she enters the same room doesn’t help. He can’t, obviously, so he just snaps his way out of any conversation, shrugging off her worried glances and ignoring the ache in his chest.
Dismissing everyone at just past midnight gives him time to breathe, only to find that he still can’t. He sleeps at his desk. The next day is worse, and by the third his team are at breaking point, pushing through in hopes of being home in time for the New Year. But then they’ve found their guy, a quick interrogation later and home is in sight. The relief is so palpable no one notices the tension lingering in the air, or the way he does everything possible to avoid her attention.
It’s just as well, because Gibbs is about to boil over.
Instead, he sends his kids home early to the celebrations, promising the paperwork can wait a couple days, before settling in to do most of it anyway.
That lasts almost two hours, until the office is clear and Jack has had enough.
“Alright, cowboy, out with it.”
She’s standing in front of his desk, hands on hips, hair swaying as she leans towards him.
“Out with what?” He huffs, gaze fixed on the computer.
“Oh, that’s how we’re going to play, huh?” She teases, hip meeting his desk and body twisting to face him.
“Not playing, Jack.” His voice is flat and from the corner of his eye he can see her smile begin to fall, until it matches tight eyes. He hates himself for it. Even now, when she’s the one who crashed into his life, carved out a place in his heart only to tear herself free again.
Maybe it’s that fact which brings his next words, maybe it’s the long week, and the longer ones still to come. Either way he regrets them as soon as they leave his mouth, but its too late to retreat so he just keeps going.
“You know what, Jack, you're right. I'm done.” Her mouth drops open slightly, wide eyed and taken aback as he stands and plants his fists on the desk. “If you want to leave, you leave.” There’s a hint of understanding in her lips, a move to speak, to interrupt, but it fades at his next damning words. “It’s not like there’s anything keeping you here.”
He leaves before she can pick her jaw up, striding past her to the elevator. She doesn’t stop him. The last thing he hears before the doors close is a choked sob of his name.
He hits the emergency switch, taking deep breaths under the blue glow, trying not to picture her fallen face or the tears that shone. For a fight that lasted all of two minutes, it felt like their longest so far. And, likely their last.
But now here he is, warm and safe, with the woman he loves by his side, just the same. Jack reaches a hand to his temple, gentle fingers combing through short hair, forehead creasing in a silent question. Tucking an arm behind her, he shakes his head, turning their attention to the window as the sun peeks through the storm, the days first light appearing.
He breathes deep, relishing the fresh mint from the hair under his chin, stilled by the urge to have it there always, and the fact that she might just let him.
A few hours after he left the office, he was bent over a boat, bitter and cold in his basement, dreading the approach of midnight, with a tumbler of bourbon and utterly devoid of any hope that she’d grace his stairs again.
Then his phone rang, buzzing in a jar.
“I need to see you,” she starts, voice quiet over a crackling line. “Please. Let me explain.”
He’s not sure why he goes, only that the thought of not going makes his chest clench. And, maybe, he wanted to hear what she has to say, now the fear is a little less potent and a lot more permanent. She’s leaving and, damn it, he doesn’t want them to end like this, he owes her more than the lashing out of a wounded and scared animal. It doesn’t matter that she seems fated to become the latest woman to break his heart. This time he’ll make sure she’s the last.
+++
When they meet in the park, it’s freezing. Silver hair glints under a streetlight, his head bowed as he approaches. Night has long since fallen, snow on the ground and a thin dusting of white coating the trees that shelter their path. Rowdy crowds echo on the streets, joy suffusing the city, celebrations well under way.
She hopes he’ll smile when he finally sees her. He doesn’t.
Instead, they fall into step, walking close and slow, arms brushing through thick coats, frost crunching underfoot.
“You’re not wearing glove,” she notices, eyes lowered to avoid searching blue, but catching the hint of smile that appears at her concern. His skin is red already, crooked fingers flexing under his cuffs.
“Forgot,” he huffs, like the icy weather doesn’t factor into his day.
Knowing his normal disregard for his own wellbeing, she wouldn’t be surprised.
He couldn’t bring himself say, he was in such a rush to see her, he barely remembered a jacket. Instead, he turns away, focusing on the way ahead.
“Why’d you call, Jack?”
It’s not harsh, not anymore. Curt, maybe. Tired.
It’s the evening after a week of too much coffee and not enough answers, of snapping at progressively irritable agents who just want a night with family and she wouldn’t expect any better, even if they hadn’t fought. If you could call it a fight.
It felt like it had come out of nowhere, but she knows that’s not true. The tension between them had simply boiled over, sick of having nowhere to go, of being ignored in favour of easy friendship and urgent cases. The result had been… god, it had been a disaster.
Assuming his ire was directed at the teams’ slow progress, she’d missed the warning signs, hadn’t even considered that his problem was with her. Figured, instead, he was avoiding her because he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, and she’d been happy for the reprieve.
For so long now, she’d been trying to talk to him about leaving, about what came next, and failing miserably, always bailing out as soon as they were alone. She enjoyed having the time to think, to figure out how she was going to tell him. And, maybe, she relished a chance to hide from eyes that saw straight through her.
Realising he already knew was a shock, but also a blessing, forcing her into confronting the problem. She suspected now that he’d overheard her conversation with Leon a few days ago. He was the only one she’d told, so far, and she knew her friend wouldn’t have said anything. After his outburst earlier, it was all too easy to trace Gibbs’ bad mood back to that day.
Now she had to explain, to tell him everything she’d been hiding for months. And she would have, if given a chance.
Instead… it had hurt, hearing him dismiss everything they were to each other. Even later, when her mind calmed down and rationalised that he was just lashing out, that his anger meant he was scared, of change, of loss, of taking another blow to his already fractured heart, her own still needed to heal. Calling him was inevitable, but she never thought he’d answer, had instead spent hours trying to patch the hole, trying to ignore that only he could mend the rest. She’s not sure he’s up to the task.
But he’s here. That’s what matters now.
“I needed to see you. To explain,” she dives in, aware his patience won't allow much more today, even as guilty eyes scan her face, remorse written in the tired lines. Their pace slows further, careful on the icy ground.
“You don’t have to-“
“No. But I want to.”
He hesitates and she finally raises her eyes to meet steely blue, both searching as she waits for him to withdraw, to run from their elephant as he has done time and time again. He doesn’t. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find, because he keeps his gaze fixed on hers, stopping and turning fully, waiting patiently for her to begin.
She doesn’t know where to start.
Getting this far had been unexpected to say the least, and now that she’s faced with her last chance to make this right? The cats run off with her tongue. Typical.
A gentle touch brings her out of it, a hand nudging hers, reluctant concern shading his eyes grey. He looks like he cares, despite yesterday’s words to the contrary. He looks like he’s ready to listen, to be patient while she mangles an explanation, she needs him to hear. So, she tries.
“Just because I’m – leaving – doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean this has to change.” She looked at him with slightly pleading eyes, begging him to understand what she wants, what she’s always wanted, but his eyes drop.
“Jack…”
“No. I- I mean it, Gibbs, this doesn’t have to change anything. I’ll still be here, in DC, I’ll still-“
“You will?” It’s sharp, gaze snapping to hers and holding it, crease between his brows, and she realises in a horrible second that he thought she was leaving him. Not just NCIS, not the cases and the victims, not the team he’d fought to build that had embraced her with open and clumsy arms, but him. As if she wanted nothing to do with him.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
“Yes,” she said, lost in the steam of her breath, nodding so frantically hair falls over her face. “Yes, god, of course I will, I’m not moving, I’m just-“
“Defecting?”
So, he had heard.
“Yes.”
His frown deepens and she tries to explain.
“Yes. To CID. They're building a team who specialises in developing counter measures against enemy insurgents on the battlefield. They want someone with my skills, my experience. The fact that I also understand exactly what it’s like when our methods fail… well, that’s just the icing,” she grins.
He looks at her, waiting, expecting the rest. So, she tells him everything, confiding in him, unreservedly, as she has for the last three years.
“I need to feel like everything I went through… like I can use it, somehow. To make things better. It will never be good, but… better. I’ll be working with other vets, people who have gone through similar experiences. And it’s like Grace always says, ‘the best way to help yourself is to put your arm around someone who needs it more than you do’. And I really need to help myself right now, Gibbs,” she whispers, and waits.
Gibbs tilts his head, a quirk to his lips of gentle understanding, relief brightening his eyes, before concern dims them again. A hand comes up to tuck an errant lock over her ear, and she gasps at the brush of ice from his skin.
“You’re freezing,” she says, smile growing.
He hums in agreement.
They're standing so close, tucked under the shelter of a white oak, and she’s filled with the sudden, certain knowledge that the elephant is about to be evicted. That this man, this wonderful, terrible man, is finally about to do something they’ve both waited for since that fateful Christmas eve.
“What is it, Cowboy?”
He carries on staring at her, smirking as his eyes flick to her lips.
“You were wrong, Jack. The job, it’s not everything I care about.”
It only took him two years.
+++
The frost is nipping at his fingers, so he buries them in blonde hair, warming his lips on her mouth, his lungs shivering, filling with her heat as she gasps and moves into him.
The wind bites at his ears, so she curls her hands around his head, fisting his cropped cut in a desperate grip, stretching against his front to tug him tighter. His, in turn, slide down and around her waist, burrowing under her coat and catching her close, pressed from thigh to chest as he deepens the kiss. She moans and he finds a future in the sound, caught on his tongue as it traces her teeth, memorising the taste of a woman he never intends to let go.
They part only to breathe, open mouthed and fast. Gibbs recovers enough to start exploring her neck, cold nose making her yelp.
He laughs, a real honest laugh, clutching her to his chest as they cackle together.
“Happy New Year, Gibbs.”
Grinning, he presses another kiss, to her forehead, her cheek, her jaw, until they're laughing again, giddy at the fresh start ahead.
When they calm, she draws back, meeting his bright blue gaze, captivated at the depths within, at the promise they hold, as he looks at her, calmly, evenly, with only a last hint of insecurity.
“You're staying?”
Leaning back, hands braced on his chest, she treads into deeper waters.
“As long as you’ll have me.”
His mouth softens, slack at her sincerity, at the longing within. Fear has made him bold, has helped him where everything else failed, now it makes him forget pain and loss and focus only on the love in her eyes.
He mirrors it, confessing what he wants, and has for many months.
“Come home.”
She nods, smiles wide, and they head for his truck, hand warming hand.
Now they’re buried in bed, warm and safe, together. Jack hums as she sips her coffee, perfectly sweetened in a way that feels far more revealing than he’d like, if she didn’t sound so damn content. Happy, as she hooks a leg over his hip and snuggles closer, head on his shoulder, elbow in his ribs and heart on her bare skin for him to examine at his leisure. Maybe it’s okay that she can see his too, beating in tandem with hers as the storm clears and the sun continues to rise on a new year.