If Only

Author: OrphanActress818

Category: Angst (Romance)

Rating: PG

Contents: What if Jenny had completed that 'Dear Jethro' letter?

Spoiler: 5x18/5x19 Judgment Day

Disclaimer

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Jethro Gibbs sat quietly on his workbench. For once, his basement wasn't filled with the sounds that accompanied boat building; instead, he was merely here to think. His basement was a comfort to him—probably one of the only ones he had left. It was the only room in his house that didn't contain the painful memories of his beloved first wife and daughter and, somehow, the only place he felt even remotely safe enough to let down the shield he kept in place in front of everyone who knew him.

Turning the single sheet of folded paper over and over in his hands, Gibbs thought about his former boss. Unfolding it, he read the letter he'd found again.

Dear Jethro,

You have no idea how many times I've tried to write this letter. Everything that gets put down on paper doesn't seem quite right and I end up throwing another wasted sheet into the already overflowing trash bin beside me. There is no easy way to say what I have to say. I know you know that I'm sick. And, rules be damned, I am sorry that I wasn't the one to tell you.

By the time you read this, I'll already be dead and you'll have pieced most of the story together; you wouldn't be called an investigator if you hadn't. You'll know all about Natasha and the mission that I failed to complete ten years ago.

I keep asking myself, what if I had taken that shot that night so many years ago? What if I had killed her in cold blood like I was supposed to? And the thing is Jethro, I've realized that I wouldn't be any less dead if I had. I might have had longer to live, but you and I both know that it would have only been by months, maybe a year if I was lucky. And as much as I'd like to believe that I have no fear of pain, I can't keep telling myself a lie. I'm afraid to die a slow, painful death. I can't stand to picture a crowd of people huddled around my deathbed, waiting for my final words. Because I know they would. Because they care. And that thought makes me feel even guiltier.

And, so, I've decided to take the selfish way out. I refuse to sit around and let death come to me. I'm leaving for L.A. in the morning and I fully expect to die while I'm there. I left too much unfinished for it not to come back and haunt me. If I have to leave, I'd much prefer to go down with guns ablazing and fighting until I can't anymore. But, you know that as well as I do. Which is why it's been pointless for me to write these last few paragraphs because none of this information will be news to you, but, like I said, I'm a selfish person and I know that the reason I'm writing this letter is more for me than for you. So that I can die without a weighted conscience; so that I can die knowing that you know, instead of hoping that you do.

No matter what you might think, I do love you Jethro. Leaving you was probably one of the stupidest things I've ever done. Another selfish decision, I'm afraid. I thought that by doing what I had always thought would be best for me, my whole life would fall into place and everything would be perfect. Unfortunately, I'd deluded myself. Life is never perfect, and it never works the way it's supposed to. I know that if I knew then what I know now, everything would be different. Paris was the closest my life has ever come to perfection and I threw it all away. I'm not saying I don't love my job, because then I would be lying, but sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I'd stayed. I suppose now we'll never know.

I leave you now, Jethro. I've released the burden I set out to let go. As I review these words, I feel lighter somehow. It feels surprisingly good to finally bare all to someone after keeping so many secrets for so long.

Never forget that I love you and that the only regret I will ever have is not having spent those ten wasted years with you. We could have had so much if my own naivety hadn't gotten in the way.

Because, in my only fantasy, Paris never ended.

Jen

As he read and reread the words that had been left for him to find, Gibbs felt a lone tear trickle down his cheek. He knew that what was done was done, but sometimes, he wished it weren't true. He wished that he could turn back the clock and take a different path. And, like Jenny, he had a fantasy of his own.

In his fantasy, Paris never ended.

END