Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable as belonging to Bellasario and/or Walt Disney. And/or anyone else. Since I fail at sticking to Disney. Woops.
A/N: I promised myself I wouldn't over-Jibbs this, but that doesn't mean I can't write Jenny, right? I don't think it does. And this one doesn't have ANY Jibbs in it, which is shocking for me! Anyway, this is a Jenny-centric piece, musing on her relationship with her father. Can be set any time between La Grenouille's death and JD. It's fairly dark – well, sad, at any rate – but it has an uplifting ending, I promise! Ish ...
He Lives In You
From Disney's The Lion King II: Simba's Pride
Night
And the spirit of light
Calling
And a voice
With the fear of a child
Answers
Wait
There's no mountain too great
Hear the words and have faith
Have faith
He lives in you
He lives in me
He watches over
Everything we see
Into the water
Into the truth
In your reflection
He lives in you
Wait
There's no mountain too great
Hear the words and have faith
Ohh
He lives in you
He lives in me
He watches over
Everything we see
Into the water
Into the truth
In your reflection
He lives in you
He lives in you
He lives in me
He watches over
Everything we see
Into the water
Into the truth
In your reflection
He lives in you
"You have his eyes, you know." Jenny Shepard let out a small choke as she stared at her own reflection in the mirror. It was true; she had inherited most of her looks from her mother, but her eyes … they were all Jasper. That was the one thing her mother had ever said kindly to her; that she had her father's eyes. Other than that, her mother hadn't liked Jenny; hadn't wanted her. When she had left when her daughter was eight, Jenny didn't think a single tear had been shed in the household.
They had preferred life after she had left; Jenny and Jasper. 'That woman,' as she had been dubbed, had only ever made them both miserable. She had sneered and criticised her husband at every turn, and when Jenny had been born, her disdain had only become more pronounced for the man who had fallen in love with his daughter the way he never could have for his wife. Jenny had asked her father countless times why he had married the witch, and every single time he had responded with a sad sort of smile. 'It doesn't matter why, Jen,' he would tell her, using his nickname for her. 'Just think about this: if I hadn't married her, I never would have had you. Maybe I just knew.' And as a child, this had made her squeal with delight and hug the man she saw far too frequently and forget the question. As she had gotten older, she had learned that his response was his gentle way of deterring her; begging her not to dig any deeper. And so she never had.
She regretted that now, she thought with a heavy sigh, still unable to remove her gaze from the mirror. All those years, and she was just now discovering how little she had known about Jasper Shepard; about her Daddy. And while today wasn't her day to grieve, it had seemed inevitable that she would find herself reliving her sorrow nonetheless. She was attending the funeral of her father's closest friend from the army; standing in his place, she supposed. She had known Colonel Rickman growing up – he had actually been the one to put in a good word for her when she had decided she'd like to join NCIS after her father's death. And although he had never said as much, Jenny was almost positive he had known where her real interests lay, even then. And he definitely knew how far she had gone to get the Frog. But the good Colonel had never judged her; never said what she had always feared: that her father wouldn't have wanted any of it. The truth, as she was discovering now, was that she simply hadn't known what her father would have wanted. Maybe on some level she would have needed Rickman to tell her, but at the same time, she knew that she wouldn't have listened. Revenge was the only thing she could control, and she had thought it would give her closure. It hadn't.
Jenny had been as close to Jasper as a daughter can be to her Daddy … on most levels. But there were some things that her father just hadn't shared, and she hadn't asked about. She had known he was a Colonel, of course, and respected him; been proud of him. But the shock she had felt when confronted after his death with reports of arms trading and dirty dealings was comparable to nothing else. She just couldn't accept it. This was her father; her hero, that they were slandering. She bypassed depression and went straight to fury, and in that moment she knew that she wouldn't be able to rest until she had found the man who had not only driven her father to turn his own gun upon himself, but had destroyed his reputation as well. And Rickman had watched her spiral into obsession, never openly chastising her, and sometimes even helping her out. After all, how else would she have gotten access to the file giving her the one name she needed?
No, Jenny thought wryly, Rickman had never condoned the things she had done. But he had never stopped her, either. She supposed he had been a military man, too – his sense of honour wouldn't allow him to show any sort of encouragement towards her plans, but that didn't mean he had to dissuade her either. He could turn a blind eye; pretend not to see; and the ethical dilemma wouldn't exist. She snorted. She had even told him flat out that René Benoît was dead; shot, execution style; and he had merely levelled his gaze at her. 'I'm glad I know.' That was all he had said. He hadn't said he was disappointed in her, or that she had done the right thing. No, Colonel Rickman worked hard to maintain his sense of morality, even to the very last. See no evil, and no evil exists.
But all of this notwithstanding, Jenny had enormous respect for the man who had been closer to her father than a brother. She supposed thirty-five years of service together would do that. And he had been like a favourite uncle to her for her whole life; sending postcards from his travels; bringing gifts at her birthday; never once forgetting to come by if he heard even a scrap of news of her father after their paths had diverged and he was still in town when Jenny was left alone. Many was the night after Jasper's death that they could be found in Jasper's study, sharing a drink – Scotch for Rickman, wine or bourbon for Jenny, seeing as she couldn't bring herself to touch her father's drink after his death – and memories. He had let her see a side of her father she had never known; the way he was away from home, surrounded by men he loved and was willing to die for, playing a friendly game of poker or doling out punishments. She had been able to get to know Colonel Shepard, as opposed to Daddy, and she would never forget that Rickman had given that to her.
She smiled softly to herself as she reflected on the last time she had seen him. It had been too long, really, but perhaps it was better this way. She had visited him six months previously at home, and he had seemed to be fine, to her. They had stayed up until two am sharing stories and laughter, before she had confided in him about the death of the Frog. Even that hadn't ruined their visit. He had nodded sharply, absorbed the information, and moved on as though it were just another anecdote they had been sharing. When she had left, she had given him the usual hug and kiss on the cheek, and he had smiled at her and told her that she still reminded him of Jasper every time he saw her. A tear slid down her cheek now, as she recalled his final words to her. 'You've been like the daughter I never had, Jenny.' He must have known, even then, that he was dying, but he had said nothing. His son had told her this morning that he hadn't wanted her to spend the next months worrying about him, and that he would prefer her to remember him as he was. The unspoken words had hung in the air between them: the way she would never be able to look back on her father.
But really, she thought as she re-entered the function suite where Rickman's family and friends were gathered to mourn together and to remind one another of why they had loved him, she could look back on her father the way she did upon Rickman. She couldn't think of his death without feeling betrayed and hurt and angry … but through Rickman, she was able to remember his life. And through seeing herself in the mirror; through his constant reassurances that she was like Jasper; she could still find flashes of his character and his personality at odd moments. Rickman had given her the ability to find her father in herself, and that was a gift she wouldn't trade for the world.
A/N: Ok, it was more depressing than I intended … sorry! I find it very difficult to write upbeat, introspective Jenny – mostly because I don't think such a thing is in character, especially not when thinking about her father. I wanted to give her something good to remember about him, too, but it ended up being more about Rickman than Jasper at times. Anyway, apologies it's a little sad, but I did try to make the end vaguely happy!