One of Us, a ncis fanfic

A/N: One of these days, I'm going to throw the ABBA tape out of my car. Until then, or until I get my radio fixed, I'm stuck with this tape and the spawning of plotbunnies.

One Of Us

Jennifer Shepard sat at her desk, staring at the piles of paperwork in front of her. Midnight. At this hour, she should be upstairs in bed, not sitting in her study trying to stay on top of all the work that came with her job.

She couldn't focus. Hadn't been able to focus in days, but somehow she had managed to force herself to stay on top of her paperwork. In-between Jethro barging into her office making ever more impossible demands and the SECNAV breathing down her neck for performance evaluations a month early, it wasn't really surprising that she'd slept as many hours in a week as Agent DiNozzo probably had in one evening.

She knew what had set off her current lack of focus. Megan, her childhood friend, had called three days ago with news of a bouncing baby boy. As happy as she was for her friend, it had led her to reflect on her own life and how empty it was.

While she had achieved everything in her Five Point Plan, she was now coming to the conclusion that she had wanted the wrong things. Much as she loved her job, she allowed it to consume her.

Which was why she was doing paperwork when the rest of DC was asleep. Why she came home to an empty house in the evenings. Why she couldn't hear the pitter-patter of little feet above her. Why she felt more and more often that her life was empty.

And the one time things had been perfect, she had left him for her Plan.

They passed me by, all of those great romances
You were, I felt, robbing me of my rightful chances
My picture clear, everything seemed so easy
And so I dealt you the blow
One of us had to go
Now it's different, I want you to know

She had been an idiot, of that she was sure. Leaving Jethro was the hardest thing she had ever done and she regretted it every day. It was worse now they worked in the same building – she was guaranteed to run into him at least once a day, even more when he pulled another asinine stunt. Yet when he wasn't there, when he had left for Mexico, it had somehow been even harder.

Probably because they had reconnected. They had become friends again, trying to find safe ground between each other. It hadn't been difficult – it hadn't been difficult when they had first become friends – but it had felt awkward at first. Then the familiar flirting had begun and she had been forced to remember how good their relationship had been.

Perfect. It was the only word that summed it up. Every man she had been with since had been consciously or unconsciously compared against a certain silver-haired blue-eyed man. And not one had come close.

It had been her first clue that she had never stopped loving him. But she knew he would never forgive her for what she had done, for how she had left him. He didn't accept apologies and she had been taught not to offer them.

She had been an idiot. She had thought he would hold her back and prevent her from ever getting anywhere. She had thought she would get over him.

She had been wrong.

One of us is crying
One of us is lying
In her lonely bed
Staring at the ceiling
Wishing she was somewhere else instead
One of us is lonely
One of us is only
Waiting for a call
Sorry for herself, feeling stupid feeling small
Wishing she had never left at all

She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, the maelstrom of thoughts in her head keeping her awake. Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed to inform her it was two in the morning. Her paperwork might have been finished but she needed sleep before she could face another day at work.

Before she could face him.

She wanted a second chance, however impossible she felt it was. She wished she hadn't screwed everything up and they could be together again.

For the moment, they were friends. And it broke her heart whenever he paid attention to another woman. Not that he flaunted his dates in front of her – with the definite exception of the ex-future-ex-wife number four, as she had heard Tony referring to Lt. Colonel Mann. She was glad that relationship was over – the Colonel had been all wrong for him.

But their tentative friendship had survived the Mann debacle, which had surprised her. It showed how strong their bond really was and reminded her that she wanted to be the one by his side.

She rolled onto her side, ignoring the alarm clock that reminded her she desperately needed sleep. She was too busy thinking to care about mundane matters like rest.

Some people wanted to win the lotto. She just wanted him back. Why had she left him in the first place? Why hadn't she realized exactly what she had been throwing away?

I saw myself as a concealed attraction
I felt you kept me away from the heat and the action
Just like a child, stubborn and misconceiving
That's how I started to show
One of us had to go
Now I've changed and I want you to know

Europe dominated her dreams whenever she was able to fall into the arms of Morpheus. It had been a time when everything had been easier, when she had known who her enemies were. Unlike now, when politicians were willing to stab her in the back if they had the chance.

They were both stubborn, but somehow managed to make both their partnership and their relationship work. Sure, there had been plenty of fights, though they had always made up.

She recalled feeling angry that he had felt the need to protect her – they had clashed more than once over what she had termed his 'overprotective streak'. And she'd definitely accused him of being a chauvinistic pig more than once.

Another niggling side of her had known he was trying to keep her safe in a strange country, especially given her lack of experience. But when it came back to her Five Point Plan, as everything did, she had viewed his behavior as a hindrance. She needed to reach onwards and upwards, not allow him to hold her back.

Her stubbornness had led her to conclude it would be easier for everyone if she simply applied for a transfer and not told him. He had been going back to America shortly anyway – the mission was over. If she should happen to board a different flight, it wouldn't be the end of the world. And if she didn't tell him in advance, he wouldn't be able to stop her.

Now, older and wiser, she could see her mistakes.

She wondered where he was at the moment. Asleep, probably. In his bed or under his boat? She snorted. Like that needed much thought.

She wished she could know how he felt about her now. He had been willing to extend the olive branch of friendship, still dragged her into the field, ignoring her half-hearted protests, and only ever seemed to bring up the better side of Paris. There was a familiar twinkle in his eyes when they bantered and flirted. They both knew the spark between them was still there.

Yet he never made a move, never batted an eyelid when he knew she was dating someone, continued to date himself.

He had married Stephanie in an awful hurry after she herself had left him. Ducky had kept her updated and there had been a note of disapproval in his voice as he had imparted that particular piece of news.

Despite everything, he watched her from a distance. She felt his eyes on her whenever she crossed the catwalk. When she stood up there to observe the squad room, he pretended he wasn't observing her even when he glanced in her direction frequently. He held doors open for her without her asking or needing his assistance. He was even starting to treat her door as a door.

Much to her shock. And Cynthia's as well. The two of them had been so concerned the first time he had chosen to wait that they had called both Ziva and Tony to check if Gibbs had head trauma.

He appeared on her doorstep more often, bringing takeout for two and claiming she needed to eat more. Inevitably he would end up staying for a few hours and she enjoyed their time together.

But he never overstepped the boundaries.

Staring at the ceiling
Wishing she was somewhere else instead
One of us is lonely
One of us is only
Waiting for a call

The problem was that they were both too stubborn, she mused as the first rays of light made their way through her curtains. He wouldn't call her and she wouldn't call him. They were both too afraid to take the next step, afraid they would be turned down, afraid everything would change, that they would be unable to even salvage a friendship from the wreckage again.

If she wanted something to change, she was going to have to pluck up the courage and call him herself.

An impossible task – he would never listen to her. And she didn't know what to say. Yet if she could work it out, everything had the chance of changing for the better.

She rolled over to the other side of the bed and picked up her cell phone before she could lose her nerve. Speed dial one.

"Yeah, Gibbs," he croaked, still half-asleep.

"Jethro," she breathed.