Here for a good time, not a long time.

Between the Lines— A Jethro Gibbs Fanfiction

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/801614976245727232/between-the-lines-a-leroy-jethro-gibbs

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/802887715253272576/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/802888260104929280/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 4: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/802888434484232192/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 5: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803668079064268800/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 6: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803668232237154304/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 7: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803668312680759296/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfction

Part 8: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803668515300229120/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 9: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803668858732937216/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 10: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803668940374048768/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 11: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803669312222134272/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanficiton

Part 12: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803669481078620160/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 13: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803669556254195712/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 14: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/803669755173240832/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 15: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/806738767889203200/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 16: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/806738843824013312/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 17: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/806738937297158144/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 18: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/806739004855828480/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 19: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/806739103230132224/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanficiton

Part 20: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/816816764021309440/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanficiton?source=share

Part 21: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/816817237913681920/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 22: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/816817486218575872/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanficiton?source=share

Part 23: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/816817640025784320/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanficiton?source=share

Part 24: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/817284710700072960/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 25: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/817285719947083776/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 26: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/817556204267175936/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 27: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/817557051599355904/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 28: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/817558351407874048/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction

Part 29: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/818079184799809536/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 30: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/818079471581134848/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 31: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/818080106199302144/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanficiton?source=share

Part 32: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/818080340579139584/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 33: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/819093495201579008/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 34: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/819093630212079616/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 35: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/819093770602708992/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

Part 36: https://www.tumblr.com/crushingonfreddie/820094509513932800/between-the-lines-a-jethro-gibbs-fanfiction?source=share

The drive to Emily’s house is quiet in the best way. 

Not awkward. Not heavy. Just thick with awareness.

Jethro keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting against the console between them, close enough that Emily can feel the warmth of him without quite touching. She sits angled slightly toward him, heels kicked off, the night still humming under her skin. The music on the radio is low, something mellow and indistinct, but neither of them is really listening to it. 

They’re both still riding the edge of the evening– the dance, the looks, the kiss they had in the parking lot. The way his voice dropped when he asked if he could come over. The way she didn’t tell him no. 

When he pulls into the driveway, neither of them moves right away. 

Emily reaches for the door handle first. “You coming?”

Jethro exhales softly and nods. “Yeah.”

The moment the front door closes behind them, the air shifts. It’s subtle but undeniable, like something finally snapping into place. The house is quiet, lights low, the familiar scent of lavender and coffee lingering faintly. Jethro sits his keys down on the table by her front door and turns the lock, closing them in. Emily turns and Jethro is suddenly very close.

Too close to be accidental.

His hand finds her waist almost immediately, fingers spreading there like he needs the contact to steady himself. Emily’s breath catches, but she doesn’t step back. If anything, Emily leans in, her hands coming up to rest lightly against his chest. 

“Drink?,” she asks, voice softer than she intends.

“Probably a good idea,” he says, though his hand doesn’t move.

She pours them each a drink, feeling his presence behind her the entire time. He doesn’t crowd her, doesn’t rush, but his hand stays on her back, thumb brushing absently just against the fabric of her dress. It’s grounding. Claiming, without being possessive. 

She hands him a glass. Their fingers brush.

Again, neither of them pulls away.

They take a few sips, standing far too close for this to be casual. The alcohol warms her chest, loosens something inside her. When she looks up at him, his gaze is darker now– focused, intent. He’s never looked at her that way until now.

“You okay?,” he asks, low.

Emily nods. “Very.”

He hums softly, stepping closer, his free hand coming up to tuck her hair behind her ear. His touch lingers. Deliberate and appreciative. 

She swallows. “Come on.”

Emily leads him upstairs, aware of the way his hand never leaves her, sliding from her waist to her hip, then to the small of her back as they climb the stairs. Every brush of his fingers sends a quiet thrill through her. He’s careful, but there’s no mistaking the want there. When they reach her bedroom, Emily stops just inside the doorway. The room feels smaller suddenly. More intimate. The bed neatly made, soft lamplight casting warm shadows across the walls. 

She turns to him, nerves fluttering low in her stomach– not fear, just anticipation. Jethro has only been in here once before, and she feels this is going to end in a very different way.

“I want to change. I’m tired of being in this dress,” she says quietly. “Can you…?”

She turns her back to him, fingers brushing the zipper at the base of her neck. “Can you unzip me?”

Jethro doesn’t answer right away.

She feels him step closer, his breath warm against her shoulder. His fingers find the zipper, slow and sure, and he draws it down inch by inch. The dress loosens beneath his touch, sliding just lightly as he works.

He’s standing so close now she can feel him everywhere– his chest at her back, his arm brushing her side, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“You really are so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough.

Her throat tightens. “Jethro…”

Jethro’s hands linger at her waist, just for a moment. Long enough for the air between them to feel electric. Emily turns slowly, dress still draped over her shoulders, and they are face to face again. 

For a heartbeat, neither of them moves.

Then his hand lifts, cupping her jaw gently. His thumb brushes her cheek, reverent. When he leans in, the kiss is slow, unhurried, deepening with every second. Emily melts into it, fisting her hands into his jacket lightly, her body responding without reservation. It would be so easy to let it go further. They both know it.

Jethro pulls back, forehead resting against hers, breath uneven. His hands remain at her waist, anchoring himself. “We don’t have to rush,” he says quietly.

Emily smiles softly, her hands still on him. “I know.”

She presses one last kiss to his mouth, gentle and lingering, before stepping back. “I’ll be right back.”

She slips into the bathroom to change, heart racing, a smile tugging at her lips. Emily has never seen Jethro this way, and it excites her. 

Outside, Jethro exhales slowly, running a hand over his face before trying to steady and straighten himself. He doesn’t know what has come over him, but he is getting overwhelmed by what he feels and by the fact that he can actually show it. He’s hidden it for years. The last thing he wants to do is mess it up. 

They’re not done and they both know that.

They’re just taking their time.

And for the first time, neither of them feels like waiting is a loss.

—

Emily comes back into the bedroom changed, barefoot, hair loose around her shoulders. She has traded the dress for something softer– comfortable, familiar– but the effect on Jethro is immediate anyway. She has on a long t-shirt that falls around mid-thigh. His gaze lifts, slow and appreciative, and she feels it like a touch before he ever moves.

“Better?,” he asks.

She nods. “Much.”

She sets her empty glass that she finished while changing in the bathroom down on the dress and turns fully toward him. He hasn’t moved from where she left him, still standing near the bed like he is unsure where to put himself. The sight makes something warm bloom in her chest. 

“You don’t have to stand like that,” she says gently. “You’re allowed to relax.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I’m trying. This is all weird for me. I’ve broken something I’ve believed in for so long. I don’t want to mess it up. I can’t lose you.”

She then closes the distance between them, resting her hands against her chest again. He is warm, solid, and familiar in a way that feels dizzying now that she is allowing herself to lean into it.

“I’m not going to disappear,” she says softly. 

His hands come up then, settling at her waist, thumbs brushing lightly over the fabric of her shirt. “I know.”

But he holds her anyway, like he is reassuring himself.

The kiss that follows is slower than the one before– less tentative, more assured. It deepens naturally, his hands firming just slightly, hers sliding up into his hair. There is heat there now, undeniable, but also a carefulness that hasn’t gone anywhere. Every moment feels checked, chosen. A soft, warm sigh escapes her as his tongue teases the corner of her mouth, turning the quiet moment into something electric. His tongue then traces her lower lip before sliding inside, a slow, deliberate movement that makes the rest of the world fade away. 

He tastes of peppermint, beer, and something uniquely intoxicating, his tongue creating a slow, warm tango with hers. Her hands tangle in the thicker part of his hair, pulling him closer while his lips move against hers with a maddening patience. The scent of his cologne starts to fill her senses, mingling the heat rising between them. 

When he presses her gently back toward the bed, she lets him. Emily lets herself go, landing softly against the mattress with a quiet breath as he follows, the space between them now gone. Jethro then straightens just long enough to shrug out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, fingers already working loose the knot of his tie. He doesn’t take his eyes off her as he does it, gaze dark and focused in a way that makes her pulse race. The tie comes free and he tosses it, then his hands are braced on either side of her, weight settling carefully as he comes down over her. 

Not crushing.

Not rushed.

But close enough she feels him everywhere. 

Her hands slide up instinctively, fingers curling into his shirt at his shoulders, grounding herself in the reality of him. His forehead drops to hers, breath warm, uneven, his control visible in the way his jaw tightens as he pauses there.

“This is… different,” she murmurs, the words barely louder than the sound of their breathing.

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice rough. Honest.

For a few charged minutes, they stay like that– his weight supported on his arms, her body warm beneath his, neither of them pretending they don’t want more. His thumb traces slow, absent circles at her side, a touch that is grounding and intimate all at once, like he’s memorizing her. The kiss that follows is deeper than the last, unhurried but hungry, enough to make her toes curl and her breath catch. Enough to remind them exactly what they are holding back.

Jethro is the one who stills first.

He pulls back just far enough to rest his forehead against hers, eyes closed, his breathing uneven. “If we keep going…”

Emily exhales slowly, her hands sliding to his arms. “I know.”

There’s a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh between them– soft, intimate, shared.

He shifts then, easing his weight off her without breaking contact completely, rolling to her side and pulling her with him until she is tucked against his chest. His arm wraps around her automatically, settling her there like it is the most natural thing in the world.

They don’t push forward.

They don’t pull away.

They just breathe, letting the moment cool without losing its meaning, letting want exist without letting it rush them.

And somehow, that feels just as intimate. 

The ceremony ends in a wash of applause and relieved laughter.

Emily exhales as the guests rise, the knot in her chest loosening now that Brooks and Stephanie are officially married. She smiles at them as they turn back down the aisle, glowing, hand-in-hand, and happy in a way that feels contagious. Brooks catches her eye and gives her a quick wink, his grin impossibly wide.

“You good?,” Jethro asks quietly.

She nods. “Yeah.”

She means it.

The reception space hums to life quickly– music shifting, chairs scraping softly across the floor, voices overlapping as everyone moves toward food and drinks. The couple chose pizza and salad– a wonderful idea deemed by Emily. Easy and who doesn’t like pizza? 

Emily keeps her hand looped through Jethro’s arm as they walk, more out of instinct than intention. It feels natural. Grounding. Like something her body decided before her mind was able to catch up.

“Emily, my girl!”

She freezes mid-step at the sound of her name, instantly recognizing her voice as one of her favorite people in the world. Slowly, she turns.

Mike Franks stands a few feet away, beer already in hand, skin tan from the Mexican sun, grin sharp and knowing beneath his mustache. He has never been a small man, but he now looks frail under his signature loose-fitting western shirt and jeans. His hair and mustache appear to be unkempt, more than gray now. He moves slower as he comes closer to them. 

He takes one look at her hand locked around Jethro’s arm and lets out a low whistle. “I’ll be damned.”

“Hey Uncle Mike!,” Emily exclaims, letting go of Jethro to wrap her arms tightly around the strongest man she’s ever known. “I’m glad you were able to make it.”

He coughs as he hugs her back. It’s a dry, racking cough, which he always dismisses as being caused by dust or smoke, refusing to acknowledge his cancer. “You know I wouldn’t have missed it for the world girl. You and that boy are like my own. You practically are,” he tells her.

Emily lets him go and steps back beside Jethro. “Evening, Mike,” Jethro says, holding his arm out with a smile on his face.

Mike steps closer, clapping Jethro on the shoulder. “About damn time, Probie. Took you long enough to realize what you had in front of you.”

Emily laughs softly, tucking her arm back in to lock with Jethro’s. “Rules can be hard to break,” she says.

Mike chuckles. “But it was a stupid rule. You can’t help who you love.” He lifts his bottle slightly, taking a sip. “You look happy, kid.”

“I am,” she says softer now, meeting his gaze.

“Good,” he says simply. Then he smirks again. “Try not to screw it up.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jethro tells him.

—

They take seats at a large circular  table with Mike, Tony, Ziva, Ducky, Abby, McGee, and Jimmy. All the guys have a beer in hand while the women have champagne. Jokes are tossed around and stories told. The team keeps giving looks to Emily and Jethro, liking their newfound closeness, happy for both of them. Tony decides not to tease today, but the next work day, he is going to tease all his heart desires. He doesn’t care how many Gibbs slaps he gets to the back of the head. 

“So– are you two really a thing now?,” Abby asks, not able to help herself.

Emily takes another drink, hoping Jethro will decide to answer. He does. “I want to try. I want it to work.”

“Do you think it will complicate things at work?,” Ziva asks.

Tony laughs. “The way they act, they might as well have been together already.”

“It’s been that way since they started working together,” Mike adds.

Emily never says a word, just continues to sip her champagne when the opening notes of A Soft Place to Fall drift through the room. It’s one of her favorite songs. Brooks added it to their playlist for her– saying he’d include some oldies for her. She then gets the nerve to ask Jethro a question she’s never asked him.

“You want to dance?,” she leans over and whispers to him.

“Of course I do,” Jethro says. “I can’t promise I’ll be any good though.”

Her heart stutters– not from nerves, but from how gently he responds. He sits his bottle aside and stands, offering his hand. She takes it. They go to the floor, the team watching closely as they walk away.

At first, Emily and Jethro stand the way they’re supposed to. Respectable distance. His hand warm at her waist, hers resting lightly against his shoulder. It’s comfortable. Familiar and almost deceptive in its normalcy. 

But as the song unfolds, something shifts.

The room seems to fade, the noise dulling into background hum. Emily feels herself leaning closer without realizing it, the space between them narrowing until there is nothing left but warmth and steady and the solid reassurance of him.

Jethro adjusts his grip, subtle but intentional. His hand slides just a fraction higher at her back, drawing her closer until their bodies align more naturally. Not rushed. Not hidden.

Intimate.

Her forehead brushes his chest when she exhales, and he lowers his head slightly, resting his cheek near her hair. She feels the movement more than sees it.

Around them, eyes linger.

Tony nudges McGee, eyebrows raised. Ziva watches quietly in awe. Abby presses a hand to her mouth before smiling. Mike leans on the table with his elbows, satisfied. Across the room, Jack’s jaw tightens and he murmurs something under his breath, and his wife is angry about him caring. 

At the edge of the floor, Stephanie taps the photographer on the arm. “Can you get one of them, please?,” she asks quietly.

The photographer nods, lifting the camera just as Jethro dips his head closer, murmuring something Emily can’t quite hear because she chose to go without her hearing aid. A smile is on her face anyway, her hand tightening slightly against his shoulder. By the time the song winds down, there is nothing remotely ‘respectable’ about the space between them. They linger even as the music fades into another song, neither of them in a hurry to step back into the noise. 

Eventually, they do– slowly, reluctantly.

Emily laughs softly, breathless. “That was… dangerous.”

Jethro’s mouth curves. “Worth it.”

—

They spend the next hour drifting between conversations– laughing with the team, story trading with Mike, raising a glass to Brooks and Stephanie more than once. The energy is warm, celebratory, and easy.

But it’s late now. Brooks and Stephanie made their exit an hour ago, but they told guests there were still another two hours booked for the venue. The night has deepened, and Emily feels it settling into her bones. 

She glances at Jethro. He catches it immediately.

“You ready?,” he asks. 

She nods. “Yeah.”

They slip out quietly this time, unnoticed amid the hum of the reception. The night air is cool against her skin as they walk toward the parking lot, heels clicking softly against pavement before hitting the gravel they parked on.

Jethro walks with her to the passenger side of the truck.

For a moment, neither of them moves. 

“You looked beautiful today,” he says quietly. “You always do.”

Her breath catches. “Thank you, LJ. Have you really always thought that?”

“Yes ma’am.”

He steps closer, just enough that she can feel the warmth of him, the steady presence that has anchored her all day. His hand lifts, brushing a loose strand of her from her face. She tilts her head up. She smiles brightly at him, her expression showing that she thinks he hung the moon, as if he is the center of her universe. 

Little does Emily know, Jethro will worship the ground she walks on if she keeps looking at him that way. He adores her so.

He leans down and the kiss comes easily– unhurried, familiar, deeper than before. Emily falls completely into him. Her hands curl into the front of his jacket, grounding herself while the world narrows to the space between them.

When they part, he rests his forehead against hers.

“Sweetheart… When I take you home, can I please come in?,” he asks.

The question is simple. Honest. Careful.

But Emily laughs. He raises an eyebrow.

“Did you just say please? The Leroy Jethro Gibbs saying please?,” Emily jokes.

He shakes his head, but his lips curl up just slightly. “Hush woman. Get in the truck.”

Jethro opens the truck door and helps her climb in.

Wedding days move differently.

Emily notices it as soon as she and Jethro pull into the small gravel lot beside the venue for Brooks and Stephanie’s wedding. The air feels thicker, like everything is happening a second slower than usual, giving her just enough time to notice each detail before it passes by. The late morning sun filters through the trees, warm but not oppressive, and the sound of laughter drifts from somewhere behind the building.

She looks over at Jethro as he puts his truck in park. “You ready?,” he asks her.

“No,” Emily tells him honestly. “But I am very happy.”

Jethro smiles. “I’m sorry you got shell shocked last night by Brooks.”

Emily purses her lips. During the rehearsal the night before, Emily learned Jethro would be walking her in the wedding ceremony during the parent walk Brooks and Stephanie chose to have. Brooks didn’t want her walking alone and him being her only child, he said Jethro was the obvious choice to walk her. Jethro had accepted to do so only a week ago, but he thought Brooks would have said something to Emily so he didn’t mention it himself.

“Oh, that’s okay,” she finally says. “I get to have a very handsome man on my arm so I’m not going to complain.”

She grins at him and leans over towards Jethro, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He just smiles even brighter.

He then turns the ignition off and gets out of the truck. Before Emily can open her door, she notices he is already circling the truck toward her. Jethro pulls open the truck door and holds out a hand to help her step out since they are already dressed and she has heels on her feet. They had to arrive early for pictures before the ceremony. Emily takes in his appearance as she steps down onto the gravel, her hand in his– his jacket is slung over his arm, sleeves rolled, tie slightly loose. He looks different today. Not dressed fully yet, but he seems more open somehow and less guarded. Like he has allowed himself to be fully present for once.

“Did I tell you how pretty you look?,” Jethro asks, closing her truck door.

“No, I don’t believe you did, LJ,” she responds, looking up at him.

His eyes trail up and down her form once. He smirks slightly. “You look beautiful, Em.”

They stand there a beat, neither of them rushing the moment. There’s no awkwardness, no need to fill the silence. Just the comfort of having the other there. 

They then turn for the venue. They have to be early. Both of them. Brooks made sure to be clear of that. He wants Jethro included in the pictures, telling both of them how much it means to have him there. Jethro didn’t say as much, but Emily knows he is thankful to have Brooks to fill a void he doesn’t like to talk about. The choice of pairing them during the parent walk hasn’t quite settled in, the weight of it, but she feels it now as they head inside together.

Inside, the venue buzzes with controlled chaos. Florists moving quickly. Chairs scraping floors to be adjusted. Someone arguing gently about music timing. Stephanie’s laughter rings out from somewhere near the back, bright and infectious.

Emily and Jethro find a quiet corner near the windows while things settle.

“You okay,” he asks, low enough that only she can hear.

She nods. “Yeah. You like to ask me that a lot.”

He watches for a moment. “I just want to make sure you’re always okay.”

They’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Well, hey Emily. Gibbs,” Jack says, sharp and clipped. 

Emily turns slowly. Jack stands a few feet away, his wife’s arm hooked through his. He is well dressed, as always, hair neatly combed back, posture stiff, eyes already narrowed as he takes in the way Emily and Jethro are standing– close, comfortable, unmistakable.

“Jack,” Emily says evenly.

His wife, Rebecca, smiles politely, offering a small wave before being pulled away by someone calling her name. Jack doesn’t move.

“I guess my son Brooks really likes you Gibbs since he’s letting you walk his Momma in his wedding,” Jack says. “I knew you liked to swoop in on other people’s families but man, that’s a crazy move.”

Jethro doesn’t rise to it. He’s not going to cause a scene. He just inclines his head slightly. “I’m here for Brooks. Like I always am.”

Jack scoffs. “Of course you are.”

Emily steps forward before Jethro has a chance to say anything else. He bites his tongue. “If you have something to say, just say it, Jack. You weren’t like this the other day,” Emily states. 

Jack’s jaw tightens. He takes his eyes off Jethro and looks at Emily. “Relax, honey. I just think it’s interesting. After all this time.”

“Interesting how?,” she asks, calm but firm.

He leans closer, lowering his voice. “Must be nice,” he says. “Finally getting what you’ve always wanted.”

The words are meant to sting, to reopen old wounds. To remind her of a version of herself that once compromised too much to keep the peace. 

She doesn’t let them.

Emily straightens, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You don’t get to comment on my life anymore. You lost that right when you decided to sleep with someone else and leave me and Brooks.”

Jack laughs under his breath. “Oh, I left you? That’s what I get when I had to come home to a wife who always thought of fucking another man? Real cute.”

“That’s enough,” Jethro finally cuts in, taking one step forward to stand beside Emily. 

“At least I didn’t actually do it,” Emily spits. “Now we aren’t going to do this here. Our son doesn’t deserve to have us arguing. I thought we were doing better and could at least be civil to one another.”

Emily steps past Jack without waiting for a response, her shoulder brushing his as she goes. His gaze turns to follow her, letting out a sigh, not sure why he decided to pick a fight. He just didn’t like his son including Jethro. Jethro follows immediately, placing a steady hand at the small of her back– brief, grounding, unmistakably supportive. 

They don’t speak about it as they go through the process of pictures. Stephanie seems to have them take a million before stopping. They decided to do their pictures before the ceremony so they didn’t have to delay the reception to take them.

When pictures are over, the ceremony is about to begin and everybody takes their places. Jethro and Emily line up in front of Jack and his wife, being the first pair to walk out. Music cues softly. Guests begin to settle. Brooks appears at the altar, nerves written all over his face until he spots his Mom and Jethro. His grin is immediate and wide, relief washing over his features. 

Emily inhales slowly.

Jethro offers his arm. She takes it.

The music shifts, and the ceremony begins.

As they step forward together, Emily feels something deep settle in her chest. Not nerves. Not fear.

Certainty.

Certainty in the man beside her.

And for the first time in a long time, she lets herself believe that some things in life arrive exactly when they are meant to.

She smiles, gripping his arm a little tighter.

The bullpen feels different. 

Emily notices it the moment she steps off the elevator– coffee in hand from the diner to keep her awake and she hopes Jethro still picked up another for her.

Nothing has changed. There’s the same hum of fluorescent lights, bright orange walls glaring at her, distant ringing of phones, and low murmur of keyboard and voices, but something has shifted. Or maybe it is just her. Maybe it is the echo of something that happened in the space between breaths, between decisions, between lines that had existed for years and have finally been crossed. 

Jethro is of course already at his desk. His own coffee in hand, grey blazer hanging off the back of his chair, blue eyes staring at his computer screen. His jaw is set in that familiar way that makes him look carved out of patience and stubbornness. He doesn’t look up when she goes around the corner to their desks, but Emily still feels the awareness of him like a low current under her skin.

The kiss– well kisses– haven’t been discussed. 

But the fact that it happened lives in the quiet like a held note.

“Morning, Em,” Tony calls, spinning lazily in his chair. “Guess what! We have a day of paperwork ahead of us, and I added a few of your files to McGee’s desk. You’re welcome.”

“Hey!,” McGee shouts from his desk, beginning to look in the pile of manila folders that lay in front of him. 

Emily laughs softly as she sits at her desk and opens a file she doesn’t need to read. Her focus refuses to settle. Her body remembers the warmth of him too clearly. The carefulness. The restraint. The wanting that had felt almost reverent. 

She glances up then.

Jethro chooses that moment to look at her. Not long. Not obvious.

Just enough. 

Something unspoken passes between them. Not guilt. Not fear. Something steadier.

She smiles at him. He smiles back.

Tony clocks it immediately and goes to open his mouth, but Ziva also catches on and she cuts him off before he can say anything. “So Emily, dress shopping this afternoon?”

Emily pulls her gaze away from Jethro, thanking Ziva internally. “Yeah, sure. If it’s fine with Je– Gibbs that we leave early.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. Give Tony and McGee whatever paperwork you don’t have finished by two and you can leave then,” Jethro responds.

Tony scoffs. “Hey, that’s not fair!”

“Yeah, Boss,” McGee adds, not as confident as Tony.

It takes one look from Jethro to quiet both of them down. Then he looks at Emily again. Those icy blues lock on her sparkling greens and neither one of them wants to look away. Tony, Ziva, and McGee share a look. 

“Okay, I don’t want to be dramatic, but does it feel hot in here to you guys?,” Tony says, a know-it-all grin appearing on his face.

Ziva smirks. “You are imagining things.”

“I am never imagining things,” Tony insists. “I live in a state of hyper-observation.”

“Oh whatever Tony,” Emily jokes, finally breaking her stare from Jethro.

They stop talking then, diving head first into their stacks of files and paperwork on their respective desks. An hour passes by quickly and Emily feels herself growing sleepy. She maybe slept for a total of an hour on Jethro’s shoulder during the night, but no longer. Across from her, he’s taking notice of her drooping eyes. He stands and leaves the bullpen without a word, and her eyes raise, following him as he goes.

This is when hell breaks loose. 

Tony immediately scrambles up from his chair towards her desk, Ziva rushes across, and McGee even moves quicker than normal to reach her. She looks up, mentally preparing herself as best as she can for their load of questions.

“Emily, what the hell was that look?,” Tony starts.

Ziva nods. “Very romantic way to look at your boss.”

“Did something happen after you left the diner last night?,” McGee asks.

Emily holds her hands up in defense, leaning back in her chair to look at all of them. “I’m not obligated to tell you anything,” she says.

Tony laughs and claps his hands together. “Oh, this is good. Spill.”

“You kissed him,” Ziva says, crossing her arms. 

Emily freezes. 

Abby, Ducky, and Jimmy round the corner into the bullpen at this moment. Abby must have heard what Ziva said because she pushes through Ducky to reach Emily’s desk. She lets out a loud gasp like she has been waiting her whole life for this moment. “You kissed him?!”

Emily sighs, cheeks warm from everyone looking at her now. “It wasn’t– I mean– yes. I kissed him.”

Abby claps a hand over her mouth. “I knew it! I knew it would happen! The cosmics have finally aligned, allowing our silver-haired fox to finally make a move on the woman of his dreams.”

Ziva smiles softly. “How was it?”

Emily pauses. Her answer comes quietly. Honest. “Safe,” she says. “It felt– right. Like something that had already happened a long time ago and we were just catching up.”

Abby softens immediately. “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Good deal. I told you that everything would work out, dear,” Ducky says, a proud smile on his face.

Emily exhales. “I don’t know what happens next.”

At that moment, the group hears a throat clearing. The entire group turns and Jethro is standing there, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. Emily’s cheeks turn redder than they were and the group disperses back to where they were before without a word or gesture. Except for Ducky. He claps Jethro on the shoulder and grins before he walks away.

Jethro looks at him questionally then steps towards Emily’s desk. He places the cup of coffee down in front of her. “Here you go, sweetheart.”

There’s that name again…

“Thank you,” she tells him, wanting nothing more than to kiss him again.

Tony, McGee, and Ziva are all staring from their desks. Tony mouths ‘you owe me $20’ to McGee.

—

Emily, Ziva, and Abby leave early. Jethro doesn’t ask questions when he sees Abby on her way out with them, just assumes they are making it a girl trip and he’ll make his boys do all the work so his girls can. He watches Emily go with that quiet, unreadable expression that now feels different– less guarded, more open. Like a door cracked.

Emily offers to drive and Stephanie is going to meet them there to help choose good colors to go with the wedding theme. The boutique they arrive to smells like lace and perfume. Specifically lavender. 

Upon reaching the door, they run into the bright eyed Stephanie who is super excited to be involved. She reaches out and hugs Emily tightly before greeting Ziva and Abby. They head inside and immediately get to business. 

Stephanie tells Emily butter yellow for her mother of the groom's dress and tells the others to choose whatever they are comfortable in, but if they want to go with the color scheme, sage green or lavender would fit in. Abby immediately pulls something dramatic and sparkly, and it’s of course in black. Ziva goes with lavender, her choice elegant and understated. Emily, however, drifts, touching fabric, thinking of Brooks, of the wedding, of how time folded in on itself. 

Her phone buzzes. 

Gibbs: You okay? 

She smiles at the screen, knowing it took him a while to type a message out.

Emily: I am. 

There’s a pause before he responds.

Gibbs: Good.

It wasn’t a love confession. It wasn’t even close. 

But it felt like a hand on her back, steady and present. 

Abby peeks over her shoulder. “Is that Gibbs?”

Emily doesn’t even bother denying it. Abby grins. Emily laughs, shaking her head. 

Abby and Ziva pick their dresses. Stephanie is excited about both. Then all three of them search for a dress perfect for Emily. After an hour, Emily finally settles on one: an A-line scoop asymmetrical chiffon dress with ruffles. Once the dresses are paid for, they go to the coffee shop next door and have a seat to wait on their orders.

“So, Emily, I heard Gibbs stayed at your place the other night,” Stephanie says.

Abby gasps. “He stayed the night and you didn’t tell us?! How rude.”

“He stayed the night at my house, yes. But he slept downstairs and I slept in my room. Nothing physical happened until last night,” Emily admits.

“Woah! What happened last night?,” Stephanie questions, leaning in, interested now.

“We kissed. Don’t go telling Brooks, he will have a field day,” Emily pleas.

Stepahnie laughs. “Oh, I have to tell him. You don’t realize how long he’s been rooting for this.”

Emily groans– with a smile on her face– and their coffee orders arrive.

—

When they return to the Navy Yard, Abby and Ziva go to their cars. Emily opts for going back inside to finish her own work, not wanting Tony and McGee to pick up all of her slack. The afternoon sun shines through the large windows, glaring off of orange walls when Emily reaches the bullpen. 

“You didn’t have to come back,” Jethro says as she sits down.

Emily shrugs. “I can do my own work.”

He nods, standing. He walks over and hands her one of her files back he had taken to do himself without comment. Their fingers brush.

It lingers.

Not accidental.

Not hidden.

McGee notices.

Tony notices.

No one says anything. But the energy has changed.

Not tension.

Not fear.

Something warmer.

Something that had been waiting.

Emily opens the file and for the first time in weeks, her focus holds. 

Because whatever is coming next– uncertain, complicated, inevitable– it isn’t something she is walking towards alone. 

She glances up.

Jethro looks back.

The house feels different once she is gone.

Not empty or lonely. 

Aware.

Jethro is still standing where he was when the door closed behind her, the early morning light stretching thin across the floorboards. The quiet hums again, but it’s not the old quiet he has become used to, the kind that settles in his bones like a habit. This quiet feels earned. Changed in a way. Like the house is holding its breath. 

He doesn’t move for a long time.

Eventually, he turns back into the living room. The blanket she used throughout the night is still folded on the couch, the faint impression of her weight lingering where she dozed slightly against his shoulder. He reaches down without thinking and smooths the edge of it once, a touch that reminds him she was real. That last night was real. That kiss was real.

The western tape is still in the VCR. He doesn’t bother rewinding it.

Instead, he stares at the blank television screen and lets himself think– really think– in a way he hasn’t allowed in years.

Shannon comes first. She always does.

Not the wreck. Not the blood. Not the guilt.

Her laugh.

The way she used to learn against the counter with her arms crossed, watching him pretend not to notice. The way she’d shake her head at him when he got quiet, already knowing he was somewhere else. 

Kelly follows. Barefoot. Grinning. Too much energy for the small space of the memory.

For years, those memories came sharp. Accusatory. Like reminders of what he failed to protect. But this morning, they didn't hurt the same way.

They don’t accuse him.

They watch. 

And for the first time, he doesn't feel like he is standing trial. 

He thinks about Emily– the way she fit against him without effort, the way she stayed by his side no matter what he did, the way she gave him space when she wanted more than he could give her, the way she waited. Not because she had to. But because she chose to.

Loving her doesn’t undo what he lost.

It proves he lived through it, which he wouldn’t have without her.

The thought lands heavy in his chest, but not painful. Steady. True.

He exhales slowly, letting it settle.

He has spent years believing that letting himself truly love again would be a betrayal– of memory, of sacrifice, of the man he used to be. But sitting here now, in the quiet aftermath of the line he finally crossed, he realizes something else.

He didn’t stop living when Shannon and Kelly died.

He just stopped allowing himself to acknowledge it. 

Emily didn’t replace them.

She reminded him he was still here in a way no one else could. 

He runs a hand over his face, rough with stubble he needs to shave, and lets out a breath that feels like it has been held for decades. For once, the instinct to retreat doesn’t follow. Jethro doesn’t reach for distance. He doesn’t regret the kiss. The night. The way he held her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His only regret is the years he spent pretending he didn’t want exactly that.

And this time– just this once– he decides he won’t push her away. 

—

Emily doesn’t go home right away. 

She sits in her car for a long moment, hands resting loosely on the steering wheel as the morning light creeps higher. Her heartbeat hasn’t quite slowed yet, and she doesn’t rush it. Does not talk herself out of the feeling. 

She lets it exist.

The kiss– both of them– linger in a way that surprises her. It’s not overwhelming or even dizzying. It’s steady. Anchored. Like something that finally makes sense.

She has waited so long for this moment, for Jethro, that she half expected panic to follow. Second-guessing. Fear.

It doesn’t.

What settles instead is clarity.

She thinks about the care in his touch, the way he watched her like he was memorizing something previous. The way he didn’t apologize, hesitate, or pull back when it mattered most. 

That means more than the kiss ever could.

For years, she told herself what she felt was manageable. That friendship was enough for her. That loving him quietly was better than risking everything they had shared.

But sitting here now, she realizes something equally important. 

She didn’t fall into this. She chose it.

She thinks about rule twelve, the unspoken weight of it, the way it shaped everything for them. The way she once believed it protected them both.

Now, she understands it for what it really was.

A shield.

Not from consequences. From grief.

She doesn’t know what will happen next. She doesn’t know how this will look when the sun fully rises, when they are back under fluorescent lights and watchful eyes. She knows it isn’t going to be simple. She knows there will be conversations they have avoided for years waiting for them now.

But she also knows this:

She doesn’t want him carrying this alone. She doesn’t want him choosing distance out of fear anymore.

And for the first time in a long time, she is not afraid of what loving him costs.

She starts the car and pulls away from the curb, the image of him standing in the doorway burned quietly into her chest– not as something fragile, but as something solid.

Something real.

—

Back in the house, Jethro moves through the familiar rooms, muscle memory guiding him as it always has. The sun climbs, coffee brews. Life resumes its slow, inevitable rhythm.

But something fundamental has shifted.

He pauses once more in the living room before heading upstairs to shave and shower, his gaze reaching the couch where twenty years of tension finally came to a head, where their world finally changed.

Not with urgency. Not with regret. With resolve.

Whatever comes next, he knows one thing with certainty now. He’s done surviving alone.

The house settles around them like it always has.

Jethro shuts the door behind him, not locking it per usual, and flicks on the lamp by the couch, warm light spreading across familiar furniture, the quiet hum of night pressing in through the windows. Emily kicks off her shoes and tucks them nearly by the door without thinking. It’s a habit she’s had for years here.

The realization lands softly.

He heads for the kitchen, grabs two beers from the fridge, and hands her one without asking. She takes it, their fingers brushing just barely long enough to register. Neither of them comments.

Jethro moves to his TV, squatting on the floor to pop in one of his VHS tapes. Once the screen flicks to life, he stands back up. They sit on the couch– easy, close, angled toward each other without needing to touch. A black and white western fills the screen. Dusty street. Familiar faces. Slow drawl.

Emily smiles. “We always watch these.”

He huffs quietly. “They make sense. A bad guy shows up. Good guy handles it.”

She takes a sip of her beer, eyes still on the screen. “Real life’s messier.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But we don’t have to worry about any of that tonight.”

That feels like permission.

Somewhere between the second beer and the hero squinting into the sun, she shifts closer, subtle enough that he could pretend it’s accidental. Her thigh brushes his. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his arm settles along the back of the couch, not touching her shoulder but close enough that the heat of him is unmistakable. They watch in companionable silence for a while, the usual rhythm slipping back into place like it never left.

Emily breaks it first.

“Do you still have the Scrabble board?”

He glances down at her, amused. “You mean the one you accuse me of cheating at?”

“I do not accuse,” she says mildly. “I observe.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah. Closet.”

She’s on her feet before he finishes the sentence, already heading toward the hallway like she knows exactly where it is– because she does.

He watches her go, something warm and unsettled tightening in his chest.

When she comes back with the box tucked under her arm, her smile is unguarded. Comfortable. Home. They spread the board out on the coffee table, knees touching now without pretense. Tiles clack softly as they pour them out, the sound grounding, familiar.

“You’re going to lose,” he tells her.

She arches her brow. “We’ll see.”

They play slowly, teasing gently, neither of them really trying that hard to win. She reaches across the board for a tile and pauses when his hand brushes hers. Just a brush. Just enough. Neither of them pulls away immediately.

Her fingers linger a second longer than necessary before she draws back, eyes flicking up to his. Something passes between them– unspoken, unmistakable.

The game continues.

The western ends, the tape flicking off itself after the end credits. At some point, Emily leans back against the couch, shoulder pressing into his arm. It’s subtle. Familiar. Something they have done a hundred times before. 

His hand shifts, resting against her upper arm, warm and solid, thumb brushing lightly once before going still– like he’s testing waters.

He’s always been careful.

So has she.

But tonight, the care feels different. Less like restraint. More like a choice.

Emily exhales and lets herself sink into him, just a fraction more. The contact sends a quiet awareness through her– the strength of his arm, the steady heat of him, the way his presence has always anchored her. She tilts her head and studies his profile in the low light. The familiar lines at the corner of his eyes. The calm focus that has carried them both through disasters, through loss, through years of pretending the friendship they had was enough for both of them. 

The man who has been constant through everything that tried to break her. Even if it was himself who was breaking her.

“You okay?,” he asks quietly, already tuned to her, already knowing something in the air has shifted since they walked through the front door.

She nods, but she doesn’t look away. “Yeah. I just…” Her voice softens. Honest. “I really missed this. I missed being with you without worrying about my next move.”

That does it.

He turns then, really turns, his gaze settling on her like he is seeing her for the first time and the thousandth all at once. Something unguarded flickers across his face. Want. Recognition. Relief.

“Me too,” he says.

The words linger between them.

Missed.

Not lost.

Emily’s breath catches. She shifts closer, until their legs are fully pressed together, the line between them gone. His arm tightens around her shoulders– not by accident, not as a reflex he corrects, but because he wants her there. He always has.

Neither of them rushes.

Neither of them pulls away.

The board game sits forgotten on the table. There are no more cowboys, no noise, no distraction. Just the quiet hum of something that has been waiting for far too long.

Heat builds– slow, steady, undeniable. Not frantic. Not desperate. Just alive.

Emily tilts her head toward him, close enough that he can feel her breath against his jaw, warm and hesitant. Her sparkling green eyes have darkened, her lips parted slightly as she looks at him, her heart starting to beat faster because she is so close to something she has wanted for so long. She stops there, hovering on the edge of everything. Giving him the space. Giving him the choice. 

It is his rule, after all.

For a moment, he stays perfectly still.

Then something in him finally gives.

He tilts his head and slides a hand up her neck until he is cupping her cheek. The warmth of his touch sends chills down Emily’s spine. He kisses her.

Not rushed. Not tentative. Slow and deliberate, like he is memorizing the shape of her mouth, like he has waited years for permission he no longer needs. Her lips are warm, familiar in a way that makes his chest tighten, and as the kiss deepens, just slightly, a memory flickers through him, unbidden and sharp. 

He sees her as she was in that first year at NCIS.

Standing in the bullpen with a coffee she didn’t need that he got for her, smiling at him when she thought no one was looking. The way her shoulders loosened around him. The way her laugh came easier. How she’d angle her body toward his desk without realizing it. Married, yes– a ring on her hand, life already complicated– but something unmistakable in the way she looked at him.

The moment he noticed.

The moment he realized he cared more than a friend should.

The moment he decided– silently, firmly– that he would never cross that line. 

And now, almost two decades of don’t presses into the kiss.

He exhales into it, grounding himself now– in the feel of her hand curling lightly into his shirt, in the soft sound she makes when he lingers instead of pulling away. The kiss deepens, sure and unhurried, full of everything they never named and everything they survived.

When they finally pull back, they don’t separate.

His forehead rests against hers. Their noses brush. Their breaths are tangled, uneven now, like they’re both trying to remember how to breathe around the fact that they have now crossed something irreversible. 

Neither of them speaks. Emily stays exactly where she is, eyes closed, like if she opens them too fast the moment might disappear. Jethro’s thumb traces a small, absent arc against her arm– grounding, protective, real.

Eventually, she opens her eyes.

He’s watching her.

Not guarded. Not apologetic. Just there.

“Well,” she murmurs, barely audible.

A corner of his mouth lifts– not a smile, exactly. Something softer. Something settled. “Yeah,” he agrees.

They sit like that for a moment, the quiet wrapping around them again– different now, heavier, warmer. The house feels altered. Like it knows something has shifted. 

Emily leans back against his chest this time, deliberate, unafraid. His arm comes around without hesitation, holding her close like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it always has been.

They don’t talk about tomorrow. 

They don’t talk about rules.

They just stay– together, breath by breath– letting the truth  of what they’ve finally done settle gently into place. 

—

Hours pass without either of them noticing.

The house stays dim, lit only by the low lamp and the slow creep of night at the windows. They move eventually– not away from each other, just around each other– trading the couch for the kitchen, the kitchen for the basement, conversation drifting in and out like breathing. Some of it is familiar. Easy. Some of it is careful again, but not guarded. Not anymore.

At one point when they make it to the couch again, Emily dozes against his shoulder. He later brings her a blanket she never asked for and she accepts it without comment. Their hands find each other more than once, fingers lacing, separating, finding their way back like it’s muscle memory finally allowed to surface. 

No declarations made.

Just the quiet understanding that something fundamental has shifted, that the balance they have lived inside for years no longer exists.

Near dawn, when the sky is only just beginning to pale, Jethro stands at the door while Emily slips on her shoes. Neither of them rushes past this part either. She pauses and looks back at him, her heart feeling more full than it has in a long time, and for a moment they simply hold each other’s gaze– steady, unflinching.

No regret there. 

No uncertainty. 

He steps forward before either of them can think better of it and cups her face, thumb brushing her cheek like is grounding himself. Emily leans closer, her lips hovering above his, her nose gently touching his. When their lips meet, the kiss is soft, lingering– not urgent– a promise made without words. When they part, he rests his forehead briefly against hers, breathing her in one last time.

Then she turns and steps into the morning air.

He doesn’t watch her leave like he used to. He watches her go knowing that whatever comes next, there is no going back to the way things were– and for the first time, he doesn’t want to.