Tis The Season to Gibbs

Steven Radcliffe pinned him with one of those looks, "This is a family affair, Special Agent Gibbs. I don't see why NCIS would need to be present."

Jethro returned his gaze with one of his own, "I'm not here with NCIS, Mister Radcliffe. I'm here as your daughter-in-law's friend."

"Friend, Mister Gibbs?" he asked with raised brows.

Debbie fidgeted on the couch, the leather squeaking and groaning with each movement. All eyes turned towards her, she bit her lower lip and was about to tell him that perhaps it would be best if he waited outside. Until she saw the smug look on her former father-in-law's face.

She looked up at her painting once, drawing renewed strength from the secrets she kept from these people. No matter what happened here this day, she and Kelsey would be taken care of it. And she had done it all on her own. As De-Borah. The Radcliffe's money and influence had claim to her success. If she could do that, she could manage a final few moments in their presence.

"Yes, Steven, as my friend," she dismissed him. Turning towards the younger man, "Mister Atkins, let me save us all some time here. Whatever is in Jason's will, we don't want or need it. I have managed to care for my daughter for the past six years on my own and I will continue to do so."

"Yes, well, as you all know Jason came to me just before his death. He was thinking of changing his will, but of course, he never got around to it." He stared at Debbie, "The bulk of your husband's estate was divided equally between Kelsey and Michael Thompson. Given the young man's involvement in Jason's death and the DNA results there is ample recourse to challenge his claim. So Kelsey will be the sole heir of her father's estate."

She nodded and turned to stare at her in-laws, "Since we all know that my daughter's claim to her father's estate is valid, I want it put in trust for her. When she is older, she can decide for herself what to do with it."

Steven Radcliffe shifted in his chair, "Yes, well, Clarisse and I have decided to take a more active role in our granddaughter's upbringing. We have located a Swedish doctor, whose work with these children is showing remarkable advances towards a cure."

"Kelsey does not require a cure, Mister Radcliffe," Jethro said in that low voice that always did funny things to her tummy. His inclined his head towards the older woman, "If you and your wife want to be grandparents then I'm sure that Kelsey and Debbie will welcome you in their lives. Your granddaughter is an caring and insightful little girl, who sees people for what they are." He stood up and held out his hand for her, she smiled and took it.

"Kelsey and I are staying with Jethro while our house is repaired. If you wish to join us for dinner, this Sunday perhaps, Mister Atkins has my number." Standing next to him, she squared her shoulders and smiled, "The attire is quite informal. Something you won't mind getting dirty is best." She turned back to the younger man, "Please contact my attorney, Mister Atkins. Kelsey already has a trust fund. The annual payments from Jason were deposited directly into it. I am sure the two of you and manage the details."

She did not look back as his hand on her back guided her out of the room, through the foyer and out those impressive doors. For the last time. By the time, she collapsed into the seat next to him in the car, she was trembling. She did not know why. Things could not have gone better. She stood up to her former in-laws. She had won this little battle of wills. So why could she not seem to catch her breath?

His hand on her shoulder bent her forward, "Breath, Debbie. One, two, three, four. Nice deep breaths in. Now exhale. One, two, three, four. That's it, sweetie." He sat there counting, guiding each breath until the feeling returned to her numb fingers. "That's my good girl," he purred as he started the engine. He turned and smiled at her, "You were magnificent, De-Borah."

"You knew?"

He nodded, "Like you once said, you were a prime suspect in your husband's murder. Even if I knew that you would never put Kelsey at risk like that might, I had to eliminate you as a suspect. I'm just curious as hell about what you're hiding under that cloth, sweetheart."

She blushed, "You'll find out soon enough."

***

Debbie rinsed the last of the dishes, loading them into the dishwasher and pushing the buttons that filled the kitchen with a soft whirring. It was drowned out by the giggles coming from the living room. The room showed no sign of the explosion that Christmas Day. She and his friends had made sure of that before he even left the hospital. Of course, it was not quite as starkly decorated as it had been. The old leather couch had been replaced with a sectional in soft cloth material, a lighter brown. Masculine still, but more inviting.

But the built in shelves had taken the brunt of the blast. Many of the titles were unsalvageable. But by far the biggest loss was the small wooden frame that sat inconspicuously among them. Its precious contents had been irreplaceable. Of course, Abby had a scanned copy of it in her computer and they had done their best to make the copy as much like the original as possible, but it was not the same.

Of course, Debbie hoped that her surprise would lighten the loss. It had been finished for several days now. But she kept putting off giving it to him. It was supposed to have been a combined Christmas, thank you and farewell present. And that final one was why she kept delaying it, but she could not keep making excuses. The repairs to their home had been done weeks ago. The danger to their lives long since past. And Jethro certainly no longer needed the care that had been her final pretense.

No, it was time for them to go home. Except that did not seem right. The stylish house that they had shared with Jason had never really felt like home. It was a house, a place to live, nothing more. This place that had been their temporary refuge had come to feel more like home than it ever had. But they were just playing house, Debbie reminded herself. It was the intricate web of fantasies that her daughter and Jethro wove with their angels and happily-ever-afters.

And on days like this, it was almost impossible to resist the shimmering tangles of their dreams. She had not thought the Radcliffes would actually take her up on the invitation. But Clarisse had phoned her on Friday to make the arrangements. Debbie had spent all day Saturday cleaning and all this morning cooking. She knew it would not ever be to their standards, but she was proud of her leg of lamb and chocolate gateau.

***

Her mouth had dropped open when she opened the front door, promptly at noon to discover a jean clad Steven Radcliffe and Clarisse in an only slightly more formal pair of khaki pants and soft brown cashmere sweater. She had taken their coats and made small talk as Kelsey and Jethro came racing down the hall. The man had spent most of the morning entertaining the child, she suspected trying to wear off some of her seemingly boundless energy.

Lunch had gone remarkably smoothly even when Kelsey slipped a bit of her juice. Her daughter had fumbled with an apology, but Jethro had simply wiped it up with a wink.

After dinner, they had gone out into the backyard to make a snowman. She had been surprised when Steven had joined them. She had been busy clearing the table when she heard a gasp from the solarium. She had gone in to find Clarisse holding the canvass.

"I'm sorry. I was curious. Thought perhaps you were trying your hand a painting again after your conversation the other day," tears glistened in the woman's eyes as she looked up at her. "I had no idea. I apologize for what I said."

Debbie took the painting from her and placed it back on the easel, covering it once more with the tarp. She shrugged, "What does it matter?"

"You're getting better with each one. If that's possible. I'm sure that one will fetch a high price."

"It's not for sale."

"Not for sale?" the woman questioned. She stared out the window watching the two men play with the little girl. They had moved on to a snow ball fight. "It's for him, isn't it?"

"I don't think I owe either of you an explanation. We all know that my marriage to Jason had become an in-name-only arrangement to protect his Naval career." She squared her shoulders, "I also know about his affairs. Some of them anyway. So don't lecture me, Clarisse, on decorum."

The woman shook her head, "I wasn't going to. The past few weeks have been hard for us." Her hands trembled as she rubbed them together, "Steven was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor this past summer. That was what prompted Jason to make changes to his own will. My husband won't live to see spring."

Debbie held onto the top of the easel to balance herself as the room began to spin about her. Watching the older man play with her child, her stomach tightened into knots. They might not have been close, but she bore the man no animosity. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I know. Perhaps we should have told you sooner. But things were so strained," the woman said the words as if it tasted bad in her mouth. "Then of course, with Jason's death and that other business. Well, Steven and I have spent a great deal of time discussing our choices."

She looked up at Debbie, "Our mistakes, dear. We know we have no right to ask your forgiveness, but it would mean a great deal to us if you would allow him to spend as much time as possible with the child before," she dropped her eyes and looked away.

Debbie fought back tears as she went to the woman. She knew her former mother-in-law was not the touchy-feely type but she wrapped her arms about her anyway. Clarisse remained stiff for a long moment, but in the end she relaxed enough to bring up her own arms, patting her back softly. She drew back slowly.

"Of course. Anytime. Just call," she replied as she wiped tears away with the back of her hand. The woman reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a handkerchief, daintily embroider around the edges. "Here, dear, do use this if you must."

When the three chilly snow militia came in, she made them hot chocolate as they warmed by the fire. She had once more almost dropped the tray when she came into the room to find Jethro, Kelsey and Steven bent over the chess board.

Jethro had been teaching her daughter the game since coming home from hospital. It had been a distraction for them both, and Kelsey had taken to it with the same fanaticism as her super heroes and forensics. Now Steven sat on the edge of the couch studying the board that sat on the coffee table. Jethro sat on a pillow on the floor, his back to the fire and her daughter curled into his lap. Their heads were close to one another, smiling as they whispered conspiratorially.

She smiled as she put the tray on the table, offering mugs to each of them. Steven Radcliffe smiled his thanks as he took it from her. She noticed then the slight yellow tint to his skin, what she had assumed was just the last of a fading summer tan from their home in the Caribbean.

"You know, Debbie, Clarisse and I were hoping that you might come and stay with us for a bit. While they finish the repairs to your house or perhaps just rent it out or sell it even."

She tensed, was preparing a polite reply, when Kelsey stood up. Her tiny hands on her hips she replied, "We live here now, Grandpa. My angel told me that Jethro is my new daddy and that he'll keep us safe always!" She turned and ran off down the hall, leaving her hot chocolate untouched and the adults in uncomfortable silence.

Debbie turned to follow her, but his hand on her wrist stopped her. "I'll talk to her."

"Do you think that is the best idea, Agent Gibbs?" asked Clarisse.

He pinned the woman with a stare before turning and walking down the hall without another word.

"Debbie, I like the man. Don't get me wrong," began Steven Radcliffe. "But Jason has not been dead two months yet. We just aren't sure that given all you have been through lately if you should be making these sorts of decisions."

"Lately? All I have been through lately?" she cried. "I appreciate your coming today. And any time you want to see Kelsey just call. I mean that any time. But I think it is best if we call it a day for now. Before any of us say things we shouldn't."

He nodded slowly, "I suppose you are right." He held out his hand for his wife and they followed her to the door. He paused by it for a moment, "Debbie, I know this won't mean much. But I'm sorry, honestly I am. If," he inhaled deeply.

"We will take you up on your offer. The child is actually delightfully refreshing when you get to know her. Thank you for giving this old fool a second chance." When he reached out and drew her into his arms, she froze. Then she noticed the unshed tears in Clarisse's eyes.

***

She stood next to the easel. Her fingers shook as she lifted the cloth covering it. Clarisse was right. This was perhaps her best work. It held a passion that had only been hinted at in her earlier works. It captured as closely as any canvas could the love and devotion of the family. Of course, she could not take all the credit, Abby had used her skills to age progress the woman and young girl. Mixing the exact blue-grey for his eyes had been difficult. She caressed his face on the painting with the freedom that she had not allowed herself even in his bed for the few nights.

This had to end. The games. Playing house. She could not allow them all to keep pretending. This afternoon had proven that. Her daughter was already going to be hurt deeply when they left, the longer she waited the more her child would be devastated. She picked up the canvas and went back to the living room. They were playing chess again.

"Remember, Kels, think three moves ahead," he smiled approvingly as the child bishop took his knight.

"Patience, right?" she asked looking up at him.

He nodded, "Right, waiting is never easy. But if you want to win, you have to learn how," he said as he looked up into her eyes. Was he talking about the game anymore, she wondered.

"Hey, Kelsey, Mommy has a present she wants to give Mister Gibbs. From both of us." Her daughter stared at her, she noted a slight pout to her bottom lip.

When she ran out of the room earlier, Debbie had been expecting one of Kelsey's meltdowns. They were getting rarer as her daughter matured but they were still something to be reckoned with, like a force of nature, a hurricane. But by the time, she had seen the Radcliffe's out, Jethro and the girl had reappeared from the bedroom with an apology. She was though still a bit recalcitrant.

She crossed the room to sit between them on the floor. She covered her daughter's hand where it rested on the coffee table as she began, "Jethro, we really can't begin to thank you enough for all you have done for us. Taking us in." Tears filled her eyes as she squeezed Kelsey's hand tighter, "Saving Kelsey's life. Words just don't," she swallowed back tears. "This won't either, I had planned to give you the sketch on Christmas Day but then." She pull out a long breath, "You've been wondering what has been under the cloth, well, here."

She passed the painting to him. Watched as the significance of it dawned on his face, a wide smile broke across it. One that actually reached those blue-grey eyes as it had that day. She chocked back more tears. Tears that she could give him that.

"Debbie, I don't know what to say. No one has ever given me a gift like this. It's," He shook his head as he smiled at her. "Perfect."

"Let me see, let me see," Kelsey bounced up and down on her knees.

He turned the painting so that her daughter could see the man and women, one older, the other younger. Her daughter frowned.

"What's wrong, Kels?" he asked.

"My angel. Mommy, why is my angel in your picture? When did you see her too?"

Debbie shook her head, uncertain what to say. "Your angel, Kels? The one from your dreams?"

The child pointed to the younger woman, "That's her. I don't understand, Mommy. If you see her too, then why are you making us go away? She said we would stay. She promised," tears were cascading down her daughter's face. She could tell that the child's emotions were escalating rapidly.

He put the painting down on the table and walked around to the girl. "Kelsey, what did we talk about this afternoon? I'm not going anywhere. No matter if you live here or across town or even far away. I'll always be here for you," he drew her into his arms. "And your mom."

***

Jethro was not sure which of his girls needed him the most in that moment. Kelsey was trembling in his arms. Maybe Debbie was right, maybe he should not have encouraged the child's dreams, but his gut screamed at him. No, she was right. They were meant to be together. A family. He wanted to cry right along with his little girl. Shannon's words once more echoed in his mind, 'what you need now.' And they were, exactly what he needed.

But it was not his decision to make. He had tried to explain that to Kelsey this afternoon. He told her the story of the baby that was crushed in the child's hand when it tried to hold it too tightly. He knew he could not do that, could not make them stay, could not crush this woman.

He knew too that this was her good-bye. And watching her face as the firelight danced across it, he felt as powerless as he had when they told him of Shannon and Kelly's death, except this time he did not even have the anger to mask the pain of his loss. It was not her fault, she was scared, he understood that.

He closed his eyes and drew Kelsey closer. Rocking her slowly back and forth, he pressed kisses to the top of her head. "I promise you, Kelsey, I will always be here for you."

"But I don't want to go. She said," the child buried her face against him and started to cry more.

He looked up at the blank expression on her face. Her fingers caressed the painting that she had created. He realized that she had not said a single word since the child's outburst. Her silence worried him more than the child's tears. "Deb?"

Her hand flew back from the canvas as if it had burned her. She brought her fingers to her lips, shaking her head. Her eyes were wide in shock. "I can't" she said as she stood up. "I need to," she practically ran to the door, barely stopping to grab her coat. "I'll be back," she said as she slipped into the cold, dark night.

He calmed the child, reassuring her that everything would be all right. It took three stories this night but he finally managed to get her to sleep.

She had been gone for over two hours. He had called her cell phone, only to discover it rang in the solarium. He poured himself a glass of bourbon and collapsed on the couch. Fifteen more minutes. If she was not back in fifteen minutes, he would call Abby, have her come watch the child while he went looking for the woman. His woman, he thought as most of the liquid burned its way down his tight throat.

He looked at the picture lying on the table in front of him. He sat up and picked it up. The woman was a hell of an artist. He could almost feel the sunshine on his face from the damned thing. His eyes caressed the image of Shannon. A thousand regrets ate at his gut, just like they had for almost twenty years. But her words in the hospital played in his head. He had to let them go.

"I loved you. I'm just sorry I didn't love you good enough. Forgive me?" he asked. He could almost hear her laughter, see that soft smile once more, as if she were right there saying 'What's to forgive.'

He shook his head as a tear slipped from the corner of his eye. Looking at the beautiful image in the painting next to him, he felt old. She was grown, a woman. A beautiful woman with laughing eyes just like her mother's. But he could see that wicked glint of mischief still in them. "This is all your doing. I can tell that Kelly. You always did have such a soft heart. You got that from your mother too."