A/N: I desperately need to get this out of my system; ever since the episode this scene would not leave my muse alone. Diane/Gibbs is an intriguing pair for me. I like them.
This is a drabble that was written after watching the final three minutes of the episode repeatedly for over an hour. This follows almost directly before the end of 'Devil's Triangle'.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of NCIS.
"You were my Shannon Leroy."
Gibbs froze at the words, unable to move. Shock pulsated through him; his ears didn't want to accept the impossible words.
The pocket watch was heavy in his hand, the metal cool against his palm. He watched her walk up the stairs, and he couldn't just let her walk away.
"Diane."
She turned, her eyes wet as they met his. He swallowed, his chest aching.
"Are you happy?" he asked, his voice still hoarse, and for some reason, it felt better than if it had been steady. "With Victor."
He watched her throat move as she swallowed, her arms folding over her chest as she moved back down the stairs, still keeping some distance between them.
"Yes," she said softly, but her voice was tinged with something that he couldn't identify. His chest felt heavy, and he blinked.
"But?" he asked, knowing there was more to that statement. Her eyes widened, and she looked away, her breath catching in her throat.
"It isn't the same," she whispered, her eyes running over the work bench, finding the pictures he kept on the corkboard of Shannon and Kelly. "Victor can't tell the difference, but I don't love him the same way. It's different, being with him."
There was silence that was punctuated by only their breathing, and he looked at her, practically crumpling in front of him.
"He isn't you, Leroy," she finished, her voice breaking on the last syllable. Gibbs swallowed, wincing slightly at her discomfort. Her eyes closed as she tried to breathe, but a sob broke through her barriers. She turned away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Gibbs set the pocket watch aside and stepped forward, knowing she needed comfort. He placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her towards him.
Her smaller frame fit against his just like he remembered.
Her head rested against his chest, her auburn hair just underneath his chin. It still smelled like lavender and jasmine, her favorite shampoo, and he closed his eyes at the memories the scent elicited. He held her against him, his nose pressing in her hair as her sobs quieted.
Eventually she pulled away, because she knew she needed to go before she made another mistake. She turned, meeting his eyes, and an understanding passed between them.
Leaning forward, she pressed a soft, innocent kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering for a few moments before pulling away, her eyes softer than he'd seen them in a long time.
"Good night, Leroy," she whispered, and the way she said it made it sound like goodbye.
He couldn't speak as she made her way up his stairs, her heels clicking and clacking against the wood and reminding him of Jenny, and he closed his eyes against the pain in his heart that was spreading through his chest.
He screwed up with all the women in his life, in some way, shape, or form. Nothing he touched was safe.
He ran his finger down his grandfather's pocket watch, swallowing. The never-ending ticking reminded him that time was forever running out.
Like he could forget that. He knew time was running out.
It had already run out for some many things in his life.
"You were my Shannon Leroy."