Title: Letting Go
Author: Jo. R
Rating: K+
Pairings: Gibbs/Shannon, Gibbs/Abby
Spoilers: 'Heartland'
Summary: Missing scene for 'Heartland'. Jackson has a few words of advice after getting to know Abby Sciuto.
Disclaimer: None of the characters hereon in are mine. No money is being made.
Authors Notes: Another new version of Abby's past – re-watching season one had me realising that although Abby's parents were referred to in the past tense, there was mention of her mom setting her up with someone in the episode 'Minimum Security' so I made up a new version of her past even though I've now convinced myself it's something entirely different. Doh.

Jackson Gibbs insisted they all stay at his home in Stillwater, insisting there was no need for them to find a motel or bed and breakfast when he had rooms going spare. McGee and DiNozzo were given a room to share, while Abby and Ziva were treated to a room each on account of them being 'beautiful women', whom Jackson didn't have the pleasure of entertaining often. Gibbs – Leroy Jethro – insisted on taking the couch, leaving his father in his own comfortable room.

It was strange to stay in the place Gibbs had grown up. Abby found herself staying in what used to be his old room – the room he'd stayed in the night before she and Tony had joined their friends unexpectedly and unannounced. She couldn't sleep, though, her mind turning over and over in dizzying circles.

Meeting Jackson Gibbs had been both a surprise and a delight. For nine years, she'd mistakenly though him dead, never once having heard Gibbs mention his father, not even in passing. He wasn't at all how she imagined Gibbs' father would be, far more laid back and not at all as straight-laced as she'd pictured on the rare occasion she'd let herself think about it.

They were both equally charming, though. Abby could see where Gibbs got his way with the ladies from in Jackson's slightly flirtatious manner. Both Gibbs senior and Gibbs junior had an almost old-fashioned way about them, the kind she'd thought only existed in books and movies before she'd moved to DC and learnt that true gentlemen like Jackson, Gibbs and Ducky really did exist. Tony and McGee, she mused, weren't what she'd class as being gentlemen – they were wonderful and she loved them both dearly but they were of a different generation, in a different league.

Not for the first time, Abby found herself wondering if she'd been born a decade or two too late. If only she was ten years older, she thought ruefully, her feelings for a certain silver-haired fox (junior) would be easier to deal with and maybe act upon.

Would Jackson Gibbs approve? That was one of the many questions going around in her head. Would he see her as too young for his only son, too unconventional? Had he known any of Gibbs' ex-wives, approved of them, or did he, too, believe the late Shannon Gibbs to be his son's one and only true soul mate?

She kicked her legs free of the blankets covering them and sat up, swinging her feet over the side of the bed so they could rest upon the cool floor. She debated briefly whether or not to put something else on over her sweatpants and vest top but decided it wasn't necessary; everyone else had long since retired for the night and she was only going to be downstairs long enough to get herself a glass of water.

The floorboards on the stairs creaked twice as Abby made her descent. Both times, she froze and held her breath, listening intently for any sign that she'd disturbed anyone before continuing down towards the kitchen.

She didn't dare turn on a light, knowing it would wake Gibbs and have him reaching instinctively for his gun. She didn't even glance through the doorway into the living room, not wanting to risk setting off some deeply ingrained sense of survival in the former marine.

Fumbling through the darkened hallways with only the light from the street lamps outside to guide her, it took Abby a little bit longer than she'd anticipated to find the small kitchen at the back of the house.

For a moment, she stood in the doorway and let her imagination run away with her. She inhaled the lingering scent of coffee – strong, black, the way both Gibbs men preferred it - and pictured the late Mrs. Gibbs at the kitchen stove, humming to herself as she fixed a meal for the two men in her life. She imagined the three of them gathered around the kitchen table – four after the beautiful red-haired Shannon had joined their midst. Laughing and joking and undeniably happy, Abby felt a wave of sadness and longing wash over her as she thought about it. She walked unsteadily to the table and sat down on one of the wooden chairs, resting her elbows on the bale and her head in her hands.

She wanted to see that smiling, happy Gibbs she could so easily picture in her mind's eye and it made her chest ache to know she probably never would. She wanted to heal the rift between father and son somehow, to be able to recapture the elements of what she was sure had been a happy childhood until death had corrupted it.

She recalled her on childhood, largely spent in silence, and couldn't stop a heavy sigh from escaping. There'd been no cosy kitchen scenes in the Sciuto residence though she had no doubt that her parents had loved her and her brother deeply. But they'd lived in two different worlds, one with sound and one with silence, and no amount of love and affection could overcome the chasm between the two.

"Stop being so maudlin," she told herself, the whisper sounding harsh in the otherwise quiet room. "Quit moping, Abby. It's your own fault you're here."

"Do you always berate yourself in the middle of the night?" Jackson spoke softly but still managed to startle her with his unannounced arrival – another skill his son had inherited.

She looked at him through her fingers, a guilty flush stealing across her pale features. "I just came down for a glass of water. I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't." He waved her down when she started to stand, walking over to the kitchen cupboard with the ease of someone who'd navigated the small space for years. "I was going to get myself a small bourbon. Works wonders for maudlin thoughts. Much better than water if you'd care to join me."

"Another Gibbs family tradition." She smiled slightly and nodded at the bottle he held up. "I'd love one, thank you."

Jackson carried two glasses and the half-empty bottle to the table, setting them down before pulling out the chair beside hers and joining her. He poured two generous drinks and held his glass up to her. "What should we drink to?"

"Families." Abby spoke without thinking, another blush working its way across her skin.

"To families." Jackson repeated with a warm smile twinkling eyes, touching his glass to hers with a gentle clink. "Both old and new."

They drank in silence for a few moments, Abby because she was for once at a loss of things to say and Jackson because he wanted her to make the first move. When they did speak, it was together, voices trailing off into a partly amused, partly embarrassed chuckle.

"Go ahead," he urged, lifting his glass to his lips. "Tell me what's keeping that busy brain of yours from getting some sleep."

She bought herself some time by taking a sip of her bourbon, revelling in the familiar taste on her tongue. "Do you mind us being here? I mean, wouldn't you rather it just be you and Gibbs?"

"Not at all." Jackson blinked at her in surprise. "I doubt you've failed to notice the tension between Leroy and myself."

"Jethro," she found herself correcting him. "It's Gibbs or Jethro. He doesn't like being called Leroy."

His answer came in the form of a knowing smirk. "He never did. It was his mother's idea. Named after a great uncle of hers, I think." His smirk faded. "He was always closer to his mother. He and I were too alike, she said."

"I think I'd agree with her there." Abby turned the glass in her hand, watching the rich amber liquid swirling around. "It's a nice house. Feels like a real home."

"It is. Or it used to be." He leaned back in his chair and studied her through intense blue eyes so much like his son's but somehow missing that extra something that was always present when Gibbs looked at her. "Tell me about yourself, Abby. My son and I don't talk much so I'm afraid I've lost track of the people in his life I really should know about."

She shrugged modestly, eyes still fixed on the contents of her glass. "There isn't much to tell. We all work at NCIS. The others are field agents so they do most of the investigating and I help from my lab taking care of the forensic side of things, finding evidence, testing it. That sort of thing. Ducky gets out more than me – Doctor Mallard, I don't think you've met him. He's the ME. His morgue is below my lab and he's great. He's a good friend of Gibbs'." She took another sip of her drink, swirling it around her mouth before swallowing it and savouring the welcome burn as it ran down her throat. "You should come to DC and take a look around sometime. We'd be happy to give you the grand tour."

"I'll look forward to it." Jackson watched her for a moment. "Now how about you tell me about Abby the woman. You're very pretty, I hope you don't mind me saying." The cheeky grin made it impossible for her to be anything other than hugely flattered. "Is there a man in the picture or can an old guy dream a little longer?"

She laughed lightly, an involuntary response. "You're not old and no, there isn't anyone in the picture. There hasn't been for some time, actually. Not since... Not since last year and that's a depressing thought." Abby lifted her gaze to his, green eyes all but glowing in the darkness. "What is it you'd like to know?"

He hesitated for a split-second but no longer than that. "Tell me about your family," he said eventually. "And then you can tell me all about those tattoos of yours."

Abby laughed again, then told him quietly about her parents and her brother, and about Aunt Claire who'd all but adopted them when her parents had died. She told them how her parents had been deaf, how Ben and Gloria Sciuto had died in an accident when she was fourteen and how Aunt Claire had agreed to become their surrogate mom, moving into their house in New Orleans so they wouldn't have to leave their friends and schools behind.

She told him about sneaking out to study wreckages in the junk yard behind her house, her obsession with trying to figure out what had happened leading the way to a career she'd never considered but naturally fallen into. She found herself telling him things she'd never told anyone else, not even Gibbs or Kate when she'd been alive, like how she'd snuck out of her bedroom window late one night after an argument with her mom – Claire – and gotten her first tattoo using a fake ID and a bottle of vodka as Dutch courage.

She spoke about going to church as a child, how she'd resented having to translate everything into sign language for her parents so she'd abstained from going in the years following their deaths, only returning to it when she moved to Washington DC and found a place she felt she could belong at NCIS. She told him how she didn't go to church as often as she felt she should but how she went bowling with the Sisters from the Nunnery and that being in their calming presence somehow made up for it. She showed them the ornate cross tattooed on her back, her favourite but the one that had been most painful to have branded into her skin.

"It's beautiful," Jackson complimented her, waiting until her top had been lowered and she'd turned back to face him. "How many do you have in total?"

"Nine," Abby answered after taking a moment to mentally catalogue them all. "I was thinking of getting a new one but couldn't decide what to have or here to have it."

Instead of the disapproval she was used to seeing, Jackson looked at her in open admiration. "You are quite the woman, Abigail Sciuto. I can see why my son was keen to keep you to himself."

Before she could reply, before she could protest, a third voice joined the conversation and the kitchen was suddenly flooded with slight as the switch was turned on.

"It's Abby, Jack. Not Abigail." Gibbs – Leroy Jethro – rubbed his eyes with one hand as he padded into the room on bare feet. "What are you doing up, Abby? Can't sleep?"

The concern in his voice didn't go unnoticed by either of them. Jackson observed them with unabashed curiosity while Abby shook her head and stared down into her glass. "Jackson was just keeping me company," she said quietly. "I can never sleep the first night in a new place."

Gibbs nodded but didn't appear convinced. He moved to stand behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder soothingly while he reached for her drink with the other. Downing the contents in one, he set the empty glass back on the table and moved his other hand to her opposite shoulder, rubbing gently. "You should've woke me."

"And have you take your sleepless night out on Tony and McGee tomorrow morning?" Her instant retort had Jackson looking away to hide a smile. "I'm fine, Gibbs. Feeling sleepier by the second."

"Good." His hands still rubbing her shoulders, Gibbs didn't react to the knowing look his father sent him. "Go upstairs and get back into bed. I'll be up to check on you in a minute."

A snort of laughter escaped her even as she pushed her chair back and stood. "You gonna tuck me in?" She asked, an eyebrow arched suggestively.

"I'll think about it." No hesitation, no pause. Just a quick response and teasing half-grin.

"Promises, promises." Abby rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Jackson, undeterred by her flirting with his son in front of him. "Goodnight, Jackson. Thank you for the drink, and the company."

Jackson raised his glass to her in a toast. "Pleasure was all mine, Abby. I hope you sleep well now."

Both father and son watched her go, waiting until they heard the second creak of the stairs before daring to speak.

"I like her," Jackson said, breaking the silence before his son could. "She's one hell of a woman. Smart and good looking and modest, too."

"She is." Gibbs made no attempt at clarifying which part he was in agreement with. "She seem okay to you?"

Jackson shrugged his shoulders and continued to nurse his drink. "Seemed a little sad to me. A bit overwhelmed by the past like a lot of folk are."

Gibbs looked at his father sharply. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning whatever you think it means." Jackson lifted his glass again in a silent salute. "There's no future in comparing the present with the past, only disappointment." They lapsed into silence for several long, tense seconds. "She isn't like Shannon."

"No, she's not." If Gibbs was at all surprised by the direction of the conversation, he didn't show it.

"That's not a bad thing," his father pointed out quietly. "Shannon was a wonderful woman, there's no doubt about that. But maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

Jackson didn't balk at having his son's infamous glare directed at him. "Maybe it's time to let her go," he suggested softly, purposely lowering his gaze. "Say goodbye to her, Jethro, and try to be happy again. It's what she would want for you, I'm sure of it."

Gibbs didn't argue; he couldn't even if he'd wanted to. His father was right, as loathe as he was to admit it. Being back at Stillwater had forced him to encounter a slew of memories he thought he'd never have to, meeting his wife, falling in love with her on the platform of the train station, listening to her melodic voice recite the rules she lived by... He was sure she would have had a rule for him now though he'd never let himself consider it before. Maybe something about not forgetting the past but not letting it consume the future, either. He could imagine her saying that, laughing at him with her eyes, gently telling him off for trying to find a replacement in every redhead he met instead of opening himself to new possibilities even if they did end up being mistakes.

"Go to bed, Jethro." Jackson held up a hand when he opened his mouth, no doubt to argue. "I'm not saying go upstairs and jump into bed with that pretty young woman of yours – not like how you think, anyway. You'll both sleep better in a bed and there's plenty of room in that room of yours. I'm sure she'd be glad of the company and that you can restrain yourself for one more night at least." He raised an eyebrow when Gibbs stayed silent.

Eventually, Gibbs gave his father a short nod. "Goodnight, Jack."

"Goodnight, son." Jackson finished his drink as his son left the kitchen, grinning to himself when Gibbs automatically shut off the light on his way. He gave it five minutes, then ten, and sighed when he failed to hear the tell-tale creak of the floorboards on the stairs.

He waited five minutes more then stood to set the glasses in the sink and the bottle in the cupboard behind the bag of coffee beans. Jackson couldn't resist glancing through the open living room door on his way past, eyebrows rising at the sight of the empty sofa. He bypassed the creaky steps himself – second from the top and fifth from the bottom respectively – and hesitated on the landing outside of his son's old room.

He heard low voices murmuring and a short laugh, then silence as the room's occupants allowed themselves to finally fall asleep. He made his way to his own room and shut the door quietly, easing his weary body don onto the always welcoming mattress.

His son was back, his house was once more a home, and Jackson Gibbs found it easier to get to sleep that night than he had in a long time.

The end of the case filled him with both sadness and relief. Leroy Jethro Gibbs watched his father say goodbye to his team and lingered behind to say his own farewells.

It felt strange but also comforting to be back in his father's arms, to hear the word 'Dad' leave his own lips for the first time in a long time. He promised to stay in touch and he meant it, making a vow to himself that he'd make more of an effort to mend old bridges. Shannon and his mother would have approved of the decision and it would make Abby happy to know he was back in touch with his father again.

He sat in the car of his boyhood dreams and looked out across the town, not seeing it how it was now but instantly taken back to another time in his life when Stillwater had been all he'd known of the world.

He saw the railway station in his mind's eye, remembered the clammy hands and dry throat he'd experienced in response at seeing the pretty redhead sitting at the bench on the platform.

"Goodbye, Shannon," he whispered, conjuring an image of her smile, the warmth of it seeping through to his heart even now, years later. "I'll never forget you."

His oath whispered to the wind, to the past and to the present, Gibbs put his foot down and drove out of the town that had been his home, towards the city where his future and a certain black-haired woman were waiting for him.

End.