|Raining in Paris
Author: DD Agent PM
It was raining when she left him sleeping in Paris.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Jenny Shepard & Leroy Jethro Gibbs - Words: 854 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 1 - Published: 05-22-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7012141
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Raining in Paris by DD Agent
I do not own NCIS or any of its characters, or its settings - all belongs to the lovely folks at CBS
She had wanted the rain to stop all night. Jethro hadn't given it much thought, just carried on eating their take out, watching her with a smile. They had been supposed to go back to DC three days ago, but he had called Morrow to let him know they would be late. Apparently he said they would need the extra week to fit all the shoes Jenny had bought into their luggage. She had laughed, reached up to head slap him in response. He had gripped her wrists and she had drowned in the look in his eyes.
She hadn't thought that the rain would help cloud the clack of her heels on the pavement outside as she made her escape. Luggage had been packed already, had been for days. The letter, that letter was something she had written late last night after they had made love and he had drifted off to sleep. She had stared at him as he slept, so different from the first night she had sat and watched him. He was much less guarded now, even relaxed as they slept side by side. It made what she had to do break her heart even more.
She loved the aftermath of a rain storm. The fresh air, the tinge of a new day clinging to the sky. She had wanted to taste that as she walked away from the man she loved, from a life that while not safe was what her heart clung to. Back in DC she would be greeted by an empty house, but it wouldn't be long before she was heading off to a new job. She would get to step outside and be bathed in the calm after the storm, just not today.
The rain was falling heavily out of the sky. Her red hair was plastered to her scalp, her clothes were sticking to her body and she just wanted to crawl back inside and lie down in front of the fire and get dry. But that wasn't an option. She tried to hail a cab, but no one would take a look at the soaking wet American and take her to the airport. Jenny placed her suitcase down on the floor and resisted hard not to cry.
Suddenly the rain seemed to stop cascading over her head, and Jenny noticed an umbrella shielding her from the sky. She turned to see her saviour, but she already knew who it was. His own hair was plastered to his head as the umbrella sheltered only her. He was dressed in the clothes she had taken off of him last night. In her hand was the letter she had written, slowly turning into mush.
A cab finally made its way to the waiting couple. The driver managed to brake in time, but not before he had splashed cold water onto Jenny's heels. She couldn't stop looking at him, couldn't stop her head begging for him to just say something.
The driver yelled at her in French, the rain making it impossible for her to hear all but a few disgruntled words. She turned to Jethro, but he didn't move. The rain was soaking him completely, and yet he still didn't move under the umbrella with her. It was all for her.
She turned to the driver and spoke words she had to repeat twice, gaining confidence the second time. The cab driver turned off, disgruntled, but she didn't care. She just turned to Jethro, smiling weakly. She stumbled forward in her heels, and his hands braced her against him. She moved the umbrella to cover him too, and his hands rested over hers, thumbs stroking the back of her hand.
He leaned in and whispered in her ear a tone she had never heard him speak before. Not the angry voice she had been expecting, but soft, loving, the voice of a man who knew he had already won. "Aren't you going to miss your flight?"
She looked up into his eyes, the only warm thing she could focus on. "What flight?"
Jethro smiled as he wrapped an arm around his shivering lover and led her back into the small apartment. She didn't know what else to say, what else to do, except be carried away by him. Maybe tomorrow morning she would write another letter and book another flight but the urge to leave was lessening with every step, the desire to leave him stopping with every inch of fabric he peeled from her.
Later that day, when they went for a walk, the rain had stopped. The air was fresh, the sky seemed clear and everything seemed reborn.
He didn't know why she couldn't stop kissing him that afternoon, but he didn't care. She had stayed, and he knew he had her until the next storm, and hopefully for many after that.