A/N - well, this is it. All done. Thanks for the reviews. I am still not sure what I was trying to write - something messed up, but not completely angsty. Something that was realistic about who they were and what they could do in terms of a relationship... Thanks to Elflordsmistress for her advice and encouragement.

Part 6

It was a cold morning and he winced just a little as the sharp air stole his breath. He ignored the hollow feeling in his stomach and the low throbbing pain in his head that told him he'd probably drunk too much bourbon the night before. He needed coffee, some painkillers and to stop feeling this way.

It should have been easy to deal with the end of something that wasn't exactly a relationship. He'd had the practice, he'd got over Jen once before after all. But of course it wasn't that simple – those whispered words that he tried to pretend he hadn't heard were only a confirmation of what he already knew; it hadn't just been sex.

The bull-pen and the locker room were almost deserted, which was just as well. The coffee had helped; the shower and change of clothes made him feel almost human again. In a blur of images from the previous night he remembered a quiet drink in an out of the way bar, a woman who didn't have red hair and her bed.

He'd left before dawn, crept away like a criminal while she slept, feeling empty and lonely. He hadn't wanted to have a conversation with her, especially since he wasn't sure that he remembered her name.

It hadn't been intentional – he hadn't gone out looking for a direct comparison. But now he had confirmation of something he'd known all along. The one thing he hadn't done with Jen was have meaningless sex. It had meant something – though the meaning was complicated; his brain was still trying to make sense of it. And then there was what Jen had said about her own capacity for relationships; the line she seemed to have drawn between them right from the start. He wasn't sure he wanted to have figured out what that meant.

He knew that over the last week his mood had been more, difficult than usual. That as a consequence his team was keeping a low profile and probably speculating like crazy about what was wrong whenever they thought he was out of earshot.

"Here," he was deep in thought when someone set a cup of coffee down in front of him and he looked up startled at the realisation that the subject of those thoughts had got so close without him being aware of it.

She looked tired and for a moment he wondered if she was here early for the same reason he was – hating himself for imagining her slipping out of someone else's bed. "Early meeting?"

"Late mission – I've been in MTAC all night." Well, that explained why she looked tired and was in need of coffee.

"Thanks," he said, gesturing to the cup – not prepared to ask how she'd known he was here.

"Are you all right Jethro?" There was something about the way she asked the question, the softness in her eyes as they travelled over his face that made him want to look away.

"Fine," he replied gruffly, "a lot to do." She nodded once, taking his not so subtle hint and continued her path towards her office.

But she stopped halfway up the stairs and looked over at him; he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye but forced himself not to react. He imagined she knew exactly how he had spent the night, could see the evidence of another woman's touch all over him.

Part of him hoped it caused her pain – but it was a fleeting thought. He didn't want to hurt her and, if he did know what he wanted from her he'd have followed her up to the office and made her listen. But he didn't know.

"Gibbs!" He shot Abby a reproachful look as he stepped into her lab. His headache had returned, lingering around his temples and her volume was just a little too much, although at least she wasn't playing what she referred to as music. She took the caff pow out of his hand and looked him over. "You need a hug."

It wasn't a question and only when she had wrapped herself around him did he acknowledge that perhaps she had been right. "I don't like it when you mope," she said – resting her head on his shoulder. "You haven't head slapped anyone all week – even Tony's getting worried."

He didn't tell her that he'd head-slapped himself earlier that morning when he'd looked in the mirror and seen his bloodshot eyes and tried not to think about drunken sex with some faceless stranger. "The Director's moping as well," Abby whispered, "you need to make it better Gibbs."

"Has she said something?"

She uncurled herself from his shoulders and shot him her, 'remember which one of us is the genius' look. "Of course not. But I know you met her at the airport when she came back from the funeral – it's good that you looked after her, that she let you."

He thought he understood what that meant; Jen had let him in because she trusted him, he trusted her in the same way. But, turning to each other when they were hurt wasn't a relationship and the woman herself didn't seem to think they could have a relationship. Which left him confused, again.

"How did that case turn out?" He asked, desperate to change the subject, "Rivers' one?"

"Interesting choice for an attempt at changing the subject oh great one," Abby smiled widely, letting him know that she'd seen right through him, "it turned out not to be about sex at all. The victim was involved in a smuggling ring and his partners decided they wanted a bigger cut – and tried to set up the woman he'd been having sex with. Apparently they thought we'd be distracted by the sex without strings."

"Still not exactly a fairytale ending Abs."

Abby tilted her head to look at him, something like sympathy radiating from her eyes. "You know Gibbs, I love you – but sometimes you can be really old-fashioned."

"Abs," he didn't want to have this conversation – and especially not with Abby.

"How we respond to another person is governed by all kinds of variables – physical, biological, psychological, sociological – we never have the exact same response twice. And putting all those variables in a box and attempting to give it a name is just crazy."

He wasn't sure he followed – but that was often the way when it came to Abby's explanations. But, without McGee or one of the others to interpret he had to try. Fortunately she decided to make things easier for him. "Gibbs," she put her hands on his face, making him look into her eyes. "There are as many different types of relationship as there are people having them. They're all complicated in their own way. If it works for you, if it makes you happy – then it doesn't matter that you can't give it a label."

The penny had dropped – sort of and he nodded once, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Thank you."

But despite his sudden burst of understanding it was two days before he was ready to share his sudden understanding with the other person concerned. Not because he needed the time to work things out – Abby's message seemed to be that he should stop trying to explain things, stop treating this element of his life as though it was an investigation. He made himself wait because he didn't want to turn up at Jen's door straight from another woman's bed.

Almost any other man might have brought her flowers. But Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't any other man and when he appeared at her front door it was with a bottle of bourbon. She considered accepting the bourbon and leaving him on the doorstep – but when she looked into his eyes she knew that was out of the question.

She sighed, moving aside to let him enter – knowing that her plans for a quiet few hours were about to be irrevocably derailed. But perhaps that wasn't so terrible a thing; she'd been avoiding spending time alone lately, not wanting too much time to think.

Deb was still on her mind – and weaving in and out of all those regrets about the friendship she hadn't given enough time to, was Jethro. They'd barely been together, yet she felt his absence. She hadn't realised how badly she'd needed someone in her life who knew her well, who could side-step her defences with ease, who wasn't intimidated by her.

But even while she acknowledged that she'd missed him, she reminded herself that he'd already shown that he was uncomfortable with what they'd started. If he didn't understand that trusting someone enough to offer and accept comfort was a huge leap of faith between two people with as much baggage as they had, then there was nothing she could say to convince him.

She took a step towards her study – but he reached out to snag her wrist, stopping her progress. He shook his head and turned in the direction of the kitchen instead – "we started this in your kitchen," he pointed out.

"We started this in an empty hotel ballroom," she replied – not sure that was really true either, because surely they had started this years before. But the bourbon he had brought would lace coffee – so she shrugged and changed direction. "What do you want Jethro?"

"To talk, about this." She sighed, for a man who didn't like to talk much he was certainly labouring this particular issue.

"Haven't we already had this conversation?"

"Wasn't much of a conversation."

"There wasn't much to say."

She looked over at him and found he was watching her – his gaze following her movements as she made the coffee. She was irritated by how closely this scene resembled that first night – knowing that was likely what he'd intended. She knew what would come next and didn't move away as he closed the distance between them, settling his body against hers. She clenched her fists to stop herself from touching him, "I thought we were stopping this?"

"I know we aren't using each other," he said quietly – a single finger tracing the length of her spine, "I know it means something."

He reached for one of her hands and she closed her eyes tightly as he smoothed out her clenched fist. She wasn't sure she had any defence against his gentleness – except the truth.

"I haven't changed my mind," she whispered, feeling the stiffness of her stance start to slip away as his warmth seeped into her.

"That's all right - I've changed mine." It was hard not to react to his words when she'd never expected to hear him to say them. She turned around to look at him – recognising the beginnings of a smirk at the surprise she didn't attempt to hide.

"How did that happen?"

"Well, I could try to explain – but I'm not sure it would help." She shook her head, trying to make sense of the change, surprised by how much she wanted to believe him. "Jen," her name was little more than a whisper; he was so close that she felt the word against her lips. "This works for us." And as if to prove his point he kissed her, softly at first – she thought they were both holding back. But the emotion slipped through anyway.

When they parted she stopped herself from asking what he had done with the real Gibbs and decided not to push him further for an explanation she wasn't sure she needed. Her fingertips traced over his features – seeing the tiredness and the strain she'd been trying to ignore for days.

She wished that she could give him more, because he deserved it – but it was out of the question. It wasn't who either of them was. She might have felt guilty that she'd been the one who'd forced him to accept that about himself – except for the way his eyes changed as she closed the distance between them; in the moment when he must have realised what she was about to do.

She wrapped her arms around him, giving and taking the comfort that this was all about; smiling into his chest as his hands curved over her hips, pulling her closer.

"Let's go upstairs," she murmured.

As he pulled on his clothes he let his eyes travel over the figure stretched out in the bed, a sheet covering her lower back. Though she was lying on her stomach her head was turned to the side and he wasn't at all surprised that he was watching him dress.

He'd have told her to go back to sleep – but he was perfectly aware that she needed to be up herself in half an hour. Which was the only thing stopping him from returning to bed.

Instead he knelt over her and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades, rubbing his stubble gently against the smooth skin. She squirmed against his touch and tried to reach for him. But when his hand closed over her wrist she stopped moving and as his lips found a certain spot beneath her ear she shivered.

It was probably appropriate that there wasn't going to be any sharing of showers and early morning coffee today. But, there wasn't going to be any creeping guiltily away either. This was how their lives were, both of them getting on with what was likely to be a busy day. And alongside that there was the knowledge that neither of them had to sleep alone – unless they wanted to. He had no doubt that between the two of them, there would be nights when it was easier to sleep alone.

"Jen,"

"Hmm…" He hesitated, fingers tracing over her skin, not sure about voicing this thought. They were complicated people, with more than enough baggage of their own and far too much history. As a consequence nothing that passed between them could be simple.

"If you ever change your mind…" There was enough early morning light for him to see the smile that curved over her lips. She pushed herself up and slid into his arms, kissing him softly, tenderly – her hand still cupping his face as they finally parted, both a little breathless.

"You'll be the first to know."

The End