Category: NCIS AU sadfic

Rating: G/PG

Characters: Everyone plus OFC

Series: No - standalone

Spoilers: Season One

Summary: The road not taken. If only things had gone differently…

Archive: Just tell me where it's going

Additional `stuff': As far as I know, no Medals of Honor have yet been awarded for service in the Gulf War. **WARNING: Death of OFC**

Title: Hope St

‘Can I go Dad? Can I?’

Jethro looked across the table. In things to do with the boys, he took his cue from here. He was away enough to know that he wasn’t the world’s greatest parent, and knew Marilyn would have an opinion. She did. She smiled and nodded slightly. He loved that, even after all they’d been through, including his frequent prolonged absences, she still allowed him to play the good cop most of the time.

‘Do you know how to put a tent up?’ He looked across at the sleep-ruffled hair on his seventeen-year old son and prayed silently that the dark hair would remain dark a few more years. His own hair had begun to salt-and-pepper the morning of his twenty-first birthday.

Luke rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah Dad…I know how to put up a tent. And Miss Sciuto…MrsMcGee says it’ll be great to have someone who knows how to sign as good I do to. You have *no* idea how many deaf kids there are in this town.’

Teasingly, Jethro made a big show of making his mind up.

‘Dadddd!!’ Luke rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he waited impatiently, silently imploring his mother to support his case.

Finally: ‘Mind your manners…and watch the kids.’ Jethro cautioned.

‘I can go?’

Jethro and Marilyn exchanged an amused glance. Marilyn got up, lifting their plates from the table. ‘Yes Luke you can go.’

‘Sweet!’ Luke grinned, getting up.

‘You’re not leaving this minute? You can help clear the table then.’ Jethro re-filled his glass with juice. It would be his only non-caffeinated drink of the day.

Simon trailed down the stairs, closely followed by Mark, both yawning. At thirteen and ten, they were as close as if they were twins, and both had their mothers’ red hair. Both passed close by their father on the way to the table, getting their hugs, muttering something close to ‘Good morning’ as they settled at the table, clumsily reaching for cereal, juice and toast.

Jethro looked up despairingly at Marilyn. ‘Six months away and this is what I get?’

She laughed. ‘Feel sorry for me. I’ve had it for the last six months.’

‘Where’s Daniel?’

‘Sleeping. He waited up for you remember?’ Marilyn smiled, resting her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

Jethro got up, heading for the stairs. Pausing outside Daniel’s bedroom, he heard only silence. He opened the door, walked across and opened the curtains. Slowly, very slowly, Daniel woke and looked across, blinking sleepily. He smiled and reached up. Taking his youngest son in his arms, Jethro hugged him gently, letting him wake fully.

At almost seven, Daniel looked most like his dad of all their kids. He and Marilyn had been understandably shocked when, at almost a week old, they had discovered their new-born son was deaf. Profoundly deaf. The specialist offered sympathy, a heap of equipment, even surgery. Jethro and Marilyn had taken the sympathy, tried and rejected the equipment piece after piece, and refused to even consider surgery.

Their son coped perfectly, his hearing friends learned to sign if they wanted to communicate, and he attended a school in the town a few minutes walk from their home, the local school board providing a signing assistant for him to help him in the classroom. It had been a while until they worked out that ‘Abby’ lived only a few doors down from their own house. Her parents had been deaf, she had trained as a teaching assistant for deaf kids and Daniel adored her. Jethro and Marilyn privately thought her dress code and make-up were a little extreme, but Daniel didn’t seem to mind that she looked different to his other teachers. Very different. And very different, too, to her equally young husband, Tim. His conservative suits and perfectly-shined shoes were a stark contrast to Abby’s habitual t-shirts and jeans. But, he had told Jethro, he doubted his FBI colleagues would tolerate a more relaxed dress code.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jethro signed for a few minutes, reassuring Daniel that, yes, this time he was home for a while and no, he hadn’t forgotten his promise to talk to Mom about getting a dog.

Finally, he signed: ‘Shower or the food will be gone and we’ll have to feed you from the garbage’.

Daniel pulled a face, mimed throwing up and hurried into the bathroom. Jethro chuckled as he watched him leave, picking up the toys and other stuff from the floor.

‘Get any new medals or stuff this time Dad?’ Luke asked, loading the dishwasher.

‘Yeah.’ Jethro nodded.

‘Bravery again?’

Marilyn laughed. ‘Your son is becoming blasé about your medals darling.’

‘Am not!’ Luke protested. ‘It’s just…you have them already.’

‘Got a new one this time.’ Jethro said softly, knowing Marilyn would immediately worry.

‘Yeah?’ Luke asked, interested peaking again.

Jethro reached into his bag, still laying on the table, pulling out the small multi-colored fabric strip. ‘Here ya go.’

Luke frowned as he stared at it. ‘Um…this is it?’

Jethro sighed. ‘Remember what I told you son, size doesn’t matter.’

‘I’ll get my sewing box.’ Marilyn handed Luke the dishcloth.

The Medal of Honor. She held the small pale blue ribbon in her hand, running her finger of the stars decorating the fabric. Tears dripped into the open drawer in front of her, darkening the threads other items in the wooden box she had open.

Jethro came up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. ‘I was gonna tell you.’

‘Was it bad?’

Jethro breathed softly, deeply, remembering. ‘Yeah.’

‘Jane got the visit. She called me day before yesterday.’

Jethro sighed sadly. ‘Mickey was evac-ed out a week ago. Guess he was worse than he looked.’

They stood, silent, entwined until Simon ran into the room. ‘Eddie’s here Mom…can I go, can I?’ Like his wife, his children would take some days to adjust to their father’s presence in the house.

Hastily wiping her tears, Marilyn didn’t turn round. ‘Yes…just be back for dinner.’

‘Where’s he going?’ Jethro asked.

‘He’s in a band. Abigail lets them rehearse in her garage.’

‘She let you call her Abigail?’ Jethro asked, amused.

‘Not to her face.’ Marilyn smiled, turning in Jethro’s grip. ‘You’re going back, aren’t you.’

Jethro kissed her gently. ‘It’s what I do Mar.’

Marilyn looked up. ‘Let someone else do it Jethro, please?’

‘We’ve gotta get him Mar. I wanna be there when we do.’

Marilyn felt tears prick her eyes for the second time. ‘Damn you Jethro Gibbs.’ Jethro held her close, feeling her body trembling. ‘We have to do this Mar. *I* have to do this.’

‘What if you never find him Jethro. When do you come home?’ Marilyn demanded, her voice rising.

‘When my Commander in Chief orders me home.’ Jethro said calmly.

Pushing him away, Marilyn almost ran from the room.

Jethro watched her go. It was always the same. They both needed a day or two to adjust to him being around. And alive.

Luke came in almost the same moment his mother left the room. ‘Dad?’

Jethro smiled. ‘It’s okay son.’

‘Mrs Henley got the visit.’

‘I know.’

‘Permission to speak freely?’

Jethro chuckled. ‘Maybe.’

Luke’s mood changed in an instant. ‘Don’t go back.’

Jethro sighed, looking at Luke’s anxious expression. ‘You channeling Mom now son?’

‘She already asked you.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘You’re still going.’

‘I’ve got another eighteen months son, then I’ll be home.’

Luke shook his head. ‘You’re being selfish. Don’t you love us? Not even Dan?’

Jethro frowned. ‘Watch your mouth!’

‘I won’t come to your funeral.’

Jethro’s face darkened. ‘ENOUGH!!’

Luke’s facial muscles twitched. ‘I’m outta here.’ He slammed the door on his way out and Jethro pushed the drawer at his thigh closed with more force than he meant.

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