oh, look! My first fic. It's only short, I thought it best to ease myself into this writing malarky at a snail's pace.

anyway, this came about when I was listening to "Easy Silence" by the dixie chicks, hence the title. Do listen to the song if you haven't already, it's cute.

enjoy :-)

"Come live with me," Gibbs mumbled, his face buried in her tangled red locks.

His voice roused Jenny out of her post-coital drowse, and she twisted her body awkwardly to look him in the eye. She didn't answer, she just raised a plucked eyebrow, half expecting, half willing him to retract the request.

"I do live with you," She tested, speaking through a yawn whilst dancing her fingers up his bare chest in a half-hearted ploy to distract him.

"'M talkin' about when we get back home, back stateside," Gibbs elaborated, although he was sure Jenny knew exactly what he meant.

It had occurred to him that he had yet to give her one good reason to take him seriously, but they were lying naked in bed, and a proclamation of love would not only appear distastefully cliché, but taint its significance.

She stared at him.

Now would have been the opportune moment for her to tell him that "we" weren't going back home. At least, she wasn't. Jenny had received her orders stating otherwise the day before the last. She was booked on a flight to Athens, with a connecting flight to Cairo, departing from Charles De Gaulle at 7:25 am tomorrow morning—precisely one hour and twenty minutes before Gibbs believed they both would be heading back to DC.

"Jethro," she crooned huskily, at a loss for words. She didn't know what he was offering, and that scared her. Jenny untangled her legs from his and shifted into an upright position, one hand still firmly planted atop his chest, her index finger moving almost imperceptibly in circles. She ran her tongue nervously over her lips then swallowed to wet her suddenly dry throat. She opened her mouth to speak, shifting her gaze to meet his expressive blue eyes. It was the look in those expressive blue eyes that obliterated all coherent thought from her mind, and sucked the breath straight from lungs so fast that it burned almost enough to bring tears to her own. It was like he knew, like he knew he was about to lose her, and Jenny Shepard wasn't vain enough to believe that would crush him, but his eyes spoke to the contrary.

So before she knew what was happening, she had already blurted out:

"Let me think about it."

Gibbs let out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. Jenny leaned close and kissed his lips, her own lingering millimetres from his after she broke it. He knew she was only placating him with that answer, but he wasn't about to address the elephant sized "no" in the room that her words clearly spelt out.

She lay back down, her head hitting the pillow like lead, heavy and hurting from the sudden turn the night had taken. Jenny turned her back to Gibbs, and curled up on her right side, enabling him to tuck her comfortably against his chest. She felt sick. She knew in the back of her mind that if you felt this strongly for something—or someone, the last thing you should do is walk away, but she was doing just that.

She let out a tired sigh, squeezing her eyes shut and resigning herself to the fact that her last night with Gibbs was going to be one of fitful bursts of sleep, in between attempting to meagrely convince herself that she was leaving Jethro for the promotion, and not because he was getting in too deep, too close her to heart.

Jenny didn't say goodbye to him, despite falling asleep the night previous having convinced herself she would. She couldn't face the look in his long-suffering blue eyes again, for fear that she would end up staying. If he'd asked her not to go, she would have cancelled all arrangements and climbed back into bed with him, without a doubt.

That's why she left a short and succinct letter, she left it along with that beautiful coat he'd bought her in Positano, and hoped with all her heart that one day he could forgive her.

Gibbs knew she had left the moment he woke up. Her side of the bed was cold, and the book she had been reading —Wuthering Heights— was gone from the bedside table. It took him a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes, and allow the fog in his mind to clear before he noticed in place of the book was an envelope addressed to him, and draped across her pillow was the coat he'd got for her.

It was more of a note than a letter, scrawled hurriedly in her neat, cursive handwriting. In typical Jen fashion, it didn't mentioned where she had gone, only that she was sorry, and how she hoped that he didn't regret her, because she would never regret him.

He wasn't angry with her, he was angry with himself. He'd knew it had been stupid to think she would commit to him, not when he closed up at any remotely emotional conversation, or when he had never shown any signs of genuinely wishing to establish an adult relationship, but still chose to carry on with their sex fuelled fling. Yet, he knew Jenny had been more than a fling, she had meant more than that to him. It was the only plausible explanation as to why every muscle in his body ached, and why his heart hurt so badly.

Washington DC - 6 weeks later

Gibbs loosened the tie around his neck as soon as he swung open the front door and entered the foyer. It had only been six weeks, but already he had dived head first into another relationship, with another redhead. This one's name was Stephanie, she was shy, and modest — but funny. She didn't challenge him and was straightforward. Everything Jenny was not.

He slammed the front door hard enough to cause the pane of glass to shake, but too tired to care. It wasn't until he reached the kitchen that he noticed, or rather, smelled something was different. It was faint, but it was enough to have him flashing back to Marseille, Paris, Positano — to her.

Gibbs headed straight for the basement, with an innate notion of what he might find. His suspicion was confirmed when he reached the bottom of the rickety stairs and laid eyes on the slender figure, running a hand over one of a rib of the boat. He stopped dead in his tracks, but he knew she knew he was there.

Jennifer Shepard had never felt so overcome with nerves in all her life. She had contemplated hiding until he had gone to bed, but she knew the chances were that Gibbs slept down here with the boat anyway. So she opted to shy away from his gaze upon hearing his footfalls at the top of the stairs, turning herself to the boat frame and feigning interest in the woodwork.

Plucking courage from the very pit of her stomach, Jenny turned around to meet his questioning eyes. She couldn't help but admire the dishevelled suit and tie he was clothed in, before noting that he didn't appear angry — in fact she struggled to read his stoic expression at all.

"Jethro," she murmured, almost in a whisper but was sure he heard her.

Gibbs neglected to say anything, so she continued,

"You're probably wondering why I'm here."

"Well, yeah — Jen," he replied neutrally, his brow rising expectantly.

Jenny cleared her throat, and ran a hand through her tousled red hair, which he noticed had gotten far longer. She shifted from one foot to another, before a smirk that was oh so Jenny, broke across her face.

"It occurred to me, Jethro, crazy as it may sound — that I can't seem to stop thinking about you," she purred throatily, succeeding in not giving way to the nervous wreck bubbling beneath the surface of her seemingly calm exterior.

"You made a choice, Jen," Gibbs retorted, stepping further into the basement towards the bench in the back corner. He was swift in emptying a mason jar of a few bolts, and and just as swift in replacing them with a considerable amount of bourbon. He sipped from the jar, and turned to directly face her.

She tilted her head, considering what he said.

"I know...and I had to do wha—"

"What was best for you," Gibbs cut in, as though it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before.

"Still do," she finished, stepping so close to him, he could no longer mistake the familiar scent from earlier as being anything but her perfume. Jenny lifted her eyes to meet his, "Did I mention that I'd thought about it?" she uttered sentimentally.

"Thought about what?" he asked in a brusque tone, suddenly aware of the lack of space between them.

"Thought about living with you," Jenny clarified.

"And what, Jen?"

"And yes, Jethro," she answered quietly, with unwavering resoluteness.

"S'good thought," he responded before offering her the mason jar of bourbon.

She took it from his hand, raising the rim to her lips, her eyes never once leaving his, and swallowed what was left of the liquid, enjoying the subsequent burn in her throat. She hadn't offered a verbal apology, and he hadn't offered any verbal forgiveness — but the bourbon, and the easy silence that fell over the basement was indicative enough of the small step towards putting the past behind them.

I think it's clear that I tweaked the timeline drastically, because canon dictates Jenny returns much later, and on very different terms. So it's an AU, of sorts.

also, notice the quotes I used from season 5 - "Lost & Found".

- flynn