Three weeks later

Gibbs' house

Gibbs descended into the stillness of his dark basement, trying to will away the tell-tale tension building in the base of his skull.

He considered popping a few pills, but part of him rebelled; almost relishing the advent of pain.

A reminder that not all gambles pay off in this life.

And that putting oneself on the line emotionally is not without its risks.

He hadn't waited till the end of the going away reception, despite her communicating that she wanted to have a word with him. If he was brutally honest with himself, which he was, he would admit that he hadn't wanted to be let down gently. Hadn't wanted to hear platitudes. Hadn't wanted to be alone in a room with her. Because the way she'd looked tonight, perfectly collected, the urge to force her into submission would have been beyond his control. So he'd slipped away as she was giving her last speech as Director. Not wanting to hear that either.

He snapped on the light over the workbench and stopped short at the sight of the all too familiar white envelope. Ran his fingers over it before picking it up. Turned it over and looked inside; to confirm that the letter from Cairo was nestled inside.

He almost laughed at the irony of his inability to run and hide from the truth. The ending he'd left the party to avoid was waiting for him in his sanctuary anyway. And there was nothing left to do but face it. So he slid down against the boat and stared at the envelope for a long while before opening it.

The intensity of the words paralysed him. It had been written four years after she'd left him in Paris, and yet all of the emotion was intact. With every line it became more and more apparent that she hadn't moved on, despite his best efforts to convince himself that she had; that she was burdened with regret.

That she'd never stopped loving him.

It was the last part that made him crumple the letter in rage and toss it away from him. Only to pick it up and smooth it out again a few minutes later.

Reading it over and letting it hurt him.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he stood from the ground. But he knew he needed a drink, in spite of the ache in his head which had escalated to a steady throb by this point.

Only his bourbon wasn't there.

He looked on the other side of the boat, hoping to find it. And found something else instead.

"Looking for this?" she asked, getting to her feet and handing over the bottle.

There was really no need for words as she stepped into his arms. And Gibbs wouldn't have trusted himself to speak anyway, because the moment he saw the look in her eyes he understood what she'd wanted to tell him.

What the letter meant.

She held him close as she hit one of the speed dials on her phone.

"Found him," she said to the person who picked up at the other end.

Gibbs looked at her inquiringly.

"Di Nozzo followed you to the bar. Got a bit panicky when he saw you disappear out back with Stacey." She repressed a chuckle as she wiped the lipstick off the edge of his mouth. "Was she a redhead, Jethro?" she asked in what he was pretty sure was amusement.

"I walked away," he said self-righteously as he tightened his hold on her, his mouth alighting restlessly on various parts of her face.

"I know. McGee and Ziva tailed you till you managed to lose them. Ziva swears if she'd been driving it wouldn't have happened."

She smiled against his skin and took the letter from his hand.

"The past is dead, Jethro."

"I know."

"Do you doubt me?" she asked, as she cupped his face.

"I don't doubt that this is going to be complicated."

"That isn't what I asked."

"Do you doubt me?"

"You were the one who taught me to think outside the box, Jethro. It's time to apply that to us now."

"Us is good." He started to close the distance between them, and then pulled back just before his lips touched hers. "Any other secrets I should know about before we get involved again?"

"Considering I'll be working for the Department of Defence, plenty. And they're all need to know" she said with a dramatic chortle.

"Forget I asked," he said, leaning in for a kiss that caught fire for a moment and then faltered.

She saw him wince.

"Does your head hurt?" she asked, having seen that pained look in his eyes often enough in the past.

He nodded fractionally.

Jen stood on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear.

"Do you remember the best cure for that?"

Gibbs smiled as broadly as he was able to.

"That an offer, Jen?"

Author's note:

And that, as they say, is that.

This story was originally written with a K+ rating, and I've decieded to stick to it.

Next up is the last of the survivors (and it's only three or four chapters long).

Old Wounds, for those who remember it.