Sour and Sweet

by Calliatra

Disclaimer: All recognizable NCIS characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Gibbs and Jenny find themselves working late on Christmas Eve.

A/N: For all the Jibbs authors who wrote such lovely Christmas stories, and especially for MissJayne who always makes sure the Jibbsfest is a success, and who organized the Jibbs Secret Santa this year. Thank you!

Christmas Eve was a quiet time at NCIS headquarters. Not many people came in to work that day in the first place, and by early evening the squad room was practically deserted. Everyone who could had left early, eager to spend as much of the day as possible with family or friends. Only a few of them had dared throw glances at Gibbs on their way out, some curious and some even pitying as he sat at his desk, alone, doing paperwork. His team had known better than to comment when he had dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

It had grown dark, and if he had let his attention drift from his work for a moment, Gibbs would have noticed that his desk lamp was now the only island of light in the otherwise dim squad room. It shone on the pages of a three year old case report written by someone who clearly didn't understand the purpose of a case report. One more pretentiously phrased sentence highlighting a completely irrelevant detail and Gibbs was going to have to hunt the man down and shoot him. Mentally sighing, he set the file down and admitted that Petty Officer Henderson's conviction for possession of a few grams of marijuana three years earlier probably had little to do with the fact that upon catching them in bed together, he had shot his wife and her lover.

He rubbed his eyes, strained from several hours of reading unreasonably small type. Breathing deeply, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his back. This had been the last of the files even remotely related to a case his team had worked recently. His eyes drifted up to the catwalk, and on to the door to the Director's office. Cynthia had left hours ago, but Jenny was still there, no doubt poring over files of her own. He glanced at the stack of cold case reports he had prepared to work on tonight. Then, on a sudden impulse, he stood, grabbed his coat, and headed for the elevator.

He returned not half an hour later carrying several telltale white cartons, and took the stairs two steps at a time. He brushed past the outer office as he always did, not bothering to knock or announce himself.

Engrossed in a budget report, Jenny looked up, startled, when the door to her office suddenly swung open. In strode Gibbs, clearly confident as always that whatever he might interrupt couldn't possibly be more important than what he had come for. Well, in this case he was right.

In lieu of an explanation he lifted the take-out boxes, and she couldn't help the smile spreading across her face as he started matter-of-factly setting up the food on her couch table.

"I have work to do." Her protest was perfunctory, however, offered even as she rounded her desk to join him.

His raised eyebrows expressed plainly what he thought of her objection. He was right, of course. It was Christmas; no one expected any serious work to get done. And if somehow it did, there would be no one to notice before work resumed after the holidays.

Sinking onto the couch, Jenny slipped off her shoes and relished her toes' newfound freedom. Gibbs sat down next to her, passing her one of the boxes and a pair of chopsticks.

"Chinese?" She raised an amused eyebrow.

He shrugged. "They were open."

She glanced at him. She wasn't exactly suspicious, but she wasn't really sure why he was here. "It's Christmas Eve," she said. "Don't you have somewhere better to be?"

Once again he shrugged, but there was a tension in his shoulders that belied the supposed lack of concern. "Nope." Somehow he could fit a whole world of meaning into just one word.

"You?" he challenged.

It hit a nerve, the same one she had been trying to dull with the legal department's quarterly spending analyses. "I don't need a pity party," she bit out. Immediately she wished she could take the words back, but of course she knew better than to apologize.

"Not offering." No, if there was one thing Leroy Jethro Gibbs would never offer, it was pity.

"What are you offering?" She didn't really expect a direct answer, but it was worth a try.

"Food."

Well, that was straightforward enough. "Sweet and sour chicken?" she asked, and peered into the box to indeed find her favorite. "Thank you."

He gave the barest hint of a nod, and opened his own box.

"You sent your team home?" Of course he had. He wouldn't keep them here unnecessarily, not when they had people waiting for them.

"Yeah. Wrapped up the Henderson case. He confessed."

"Well, he didn't have much of a choice. Not after Abby rescued the recording off his wife's cell phone."

Gibbs eyed her suspiciously. "You been trying to run my cases again?"

"I'm just keeping up to date on open investigations." And maybe – though she would never have admitted it – looking for a bit friendly company and holiday cheer. For both, there was no better place than Abby's lab.

"Uh-huh." Somehow he managed to convey the impression of raising his eyebrows and rolling his eyes without actually doing either.

"And just what do you mean by that?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You miss the field, Jen." It wasn't the accusation she had expected. It was a simple statement, and one she couldn't well deny.

"I have priorities."

He snorted. "Yeah. You do."

Memories surged into the air between them, pulling them into visions of another time, another place, another life, and they lapsed into silence.

"How did we end up here?" Jenny sighed after the quiet had filled the room for too long.

"Choices. Fate. Coincidence." He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"No. No, I guess it doesn't." But he didn't believe in coincidence, of course, and he didn't think much of fate, either.

"'Doesn't matter where you start, 'long as you know where you're going,'" he said, and it seemed so utterly unlike him that she stared.

"My father always said that," he explained.

She couldn't remember him ever mentioning his father before, and wondered what the story there was. From long experience, she knew better than to pry.

"Do you?"

He shook his head. "Never did listen to my father."

"Well, that would explain your manners." She raised a pointed eyebrow. "Or lack thereof."

"Hey!" he protested. "Didn't I just buy you dinner?"

"You did. But if you had manners, you would have knocked and politely asked me instead of just walking in with takeout."

"That what you want me to do?"

The mere thought made her laugh. "Jethro, if you ever politely asked me anything I'd think the world was coming to an end. Or I'd shoot you, since that'd be proof enough you'd been replaced by an evil clone."

He chuckled and leaned back, looking at her. "I missed you, Jen."

It was as clear an invitation as it had been the first time. A second chance, almost, or possibly a third one already. "You know," she said carefully, "Noemi cooked a whole feast for me. If you want a real Christmas meal…"

"You inviting me for coffee?" His tone was teasing, but she heard the real question.

"If that's what you'd prefer. But you really should try Noemi's tamales. I think they might actually be better than the ones we had in Valencia." The ones in Valencia had, of course, led to other activities.

He got the message. "Can't say no to that," he grinned. Pushing himself off the couch, he held out a hand to Jenny, which she pointedly ignored.

He laughed. "You want to drive?"

Gibbs was woken the next morning by a stray strand of red hair tickling his nose. He brushed it aside gently, careful not to wake its owner. In her sleep, Jenny moved slightly and nestled closer to him. A glance at the clock told him it was almost too late to still be in bed, but for once he chose to ignore it. He was about to drift off again when Jenny blinked and opened her eyes.

"Morning," she mumbled, and her lips were just too inviting not to kiss them. So he did.

"What was that for?" Even half asleep, Jenny was ever wary. He wouldn't have had it any other way.

"You," he said simply, and smiling leaned across for another kiss. "Merry Christmas."