*waves* Hi there everyone. This is my first NCIS fic that Im actually publishing so hope it's alright. I originally wrote it as Jen/Jethro, but it can really be anyone you perceive it to be. :]

Thanks must go to madame alexandra as without her encouragement, I wouldn't be posting.


Streams of moonlight play across the bed, casting shadows onto his face. She watches him silently, savouring the moments in which he finally rests. Below, sounds of the street begin to fade as night descends on the city. Distant lights from the tower reflect in from behind the blinds, painting the room in a dusky yellow hue. Lifting her arm out from under him, she places it under her own head, propping herself up to watch him.

His eyelids are moving rapidly, and he begins to stir in his sleep. These are the moments that she dreads, when she has to watch him suffer his own brand of torture. He is trapped in a dark, dangerous world, and she cannot bring him out of it. This is something he must pull himself from; he must fight his own demons. She moves in closer, pushing against his bare chest, and listens to his heart race.

His breathing quickens and he moves again, this time subconsciously pushing her away. She whispers his name softly, calling him from the darkness. He doesn't hear her, can't hear her, as his demons taunt him in a place that she can't see. She traces her fingers over his chest, watching as the muscles jump beneath her touch, whispering softly as she waits for his pain to cease.


He is running – but from what, he doesn't know. Something is chasing him, clawing at him, and the world is ending. People are dying and he can do nothing. The world is ending. The words replay again and again in his troubled mind. There is no exit to this torment, no way to fight it, and no way to win. The darkness is everywhere as his eyes close; the voices come closer, calling him to them.

He is falling – but from where, he doesn't know. He is being pushed over the edge, the blank edges of his mind being coloured black. He can see what is going to happen, and he can smell the death that approaches. People are surrounding him, hurrying around him, as he pushed through the dark streets. He can't talk to them, they won't listen; they don't understand that death is coming, and the world will cease with it.

He hears another voice, but this time it is not the voice of death and betrayal. It calls him in the other direction, and he pauses to listen, the confusion and haziness of his torment clearing. He can hear her properly now, and he runs towards her, his heart pounding in an effort to keep his body moving. She is the one person who can understand, the one person who can end this.

He reaches her, stretching out a shaking arm to touch her, to run his fingers over her soft and delicate skin. She moves backwards, and for a moment he doesn't understand. White edges appear around her, filling the void with light. He takes another step toward her as she fades away. She reaches out to him and he takes her hand.

A rush of air and a jolt bring him back.


She lets out a small gasp as he sits upright, the sudden movement throwing her pillow off the bed. In a rush she sits up with him, holding onto his arm. Startled, she notices the black weapon in his other hand, finger on the trigger. She calls his name again, reaching for the gun, knowing it won't help him. He knows it does, though. It helps him to chase away the demons that haunt him each night. She takes his hand in her smaller ones, weakening his grip on the device. It falls away and she places it on the pillow behind her.

She shifts position, looking intently at him. He is staring at something she cannot see, and she knows his demons have not gone. They are still there, and there is nothing she can do to tear him away. She curls her arms around his waist, pulling into his back. He doesn't move or even acknowledge that she is there, for he is still lost in his own world and blind to hers.

She whispers in his ear, calling him back to her and he murmurs a response. His breathing slows at the sound of her voice, and he turns to look at her. Moonlight reflects off her face, dancing around her. He closes his eyes and frowns, inhaling sharply. She shifts around him and places a soft kiss on her own finger before pressing to his mouth. Abruptly, he grabs her wrist.

She jumps at the movement, startled, then raises her head toward him. His eyes are open and glistening. Light seems to avoid his face, leaving only shadows that reflect his inner turmoil. She twists her wrist slightly and breaks his grip. Taking his hand in both of hers, she presses it to her cheek, leaning into the contact.

He moves suddenly, jerking both her wrists toward him. She pushes into his chest again, her head resting on his shoulder. She places gentle kisses along his collar bone and, in response, he pulls them both backward. Landing softly on the mattress once again, she shifts towards him, holding him tight.

"Make…" he begins in a whisper, but cannot continue, and her heart cries out to him.

She moves a hand toward his face, brushing his cheek lightly. "I'll make it go away."

She lies with him, watching as sleep begins to call him back. And she waits, for in the next few hours, it will all start over again.