Redheads. Why did it always have to be redheads? Gibbs wondered to himself.

Jenny's hair was long when he first met her. He had loved it long – like a river of flaming silk. He thought he would never like it any other way. But then she cut it short. And somehow, that suited her too.

She was beautiful.

But Gibbs had never told her that. There were a lot of things he had never told her. And now he never could.

He hadn't forgotten Paris. How could he? Sometimes, when she was reaming him out, it would come back to him. Images, flashes of a happy time. Of them together. He would smile a small smile, and she would know.

Gibbs stood at her gravestone. The earth was fresh, the stone still pristine. Time had not touched it yet.

No one was around. He allowed himself a moment of weakness. A moment to mourn. It had been an official ceremony. Uniforms, salutes, speeches about a woman who didn't sounds like his Jenny. She would have laughed at what they said.

"I'm sorry Jen," Gibbs said. "I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner. You deserved better." And then he walked away.

Author's Note: Random idea that I finally got around to typing up. I'm so mad they killed Jenny! I was just beginning to like her. I think Gibbs will mourn her for a long time. A new boat named the "Jennifer", maybe?