YOU HAD TO BE THERE
Kort remembers Jenny and in particular her smile.
An established relationship story.
Warning: Major character canon death mentioned.
Written: July 2010. Word count: 500.
When he thinks about her, which is more often than he ever thought he would, he remembers two things: her smile and their one time together. He realizes now it was the former that led to the latter.
The fact they did spend an afternoon and evening together still comes as a surprise to him. She wasn't been his type; she wasn't conventionally beautiful or sexy, but when she smiled . . . When she smiled she became the most beautiful, the most sexy, the most attractive woman he had ever known. She never did smile as much as she should have done; now he knows why.
Their one time had begun with an argument when she'd turned up at his apartment. But then he'd said something which at first had silenced her, then had led to her beginning to smile. Just a twitch of a smile at first, the edges of her lips turning upwards, then it became a full smile. And that was when he had seen the real Jennifer Shepard; the woman she was; the woman she hid from everyone - even Gibbs.
And that was when he knew that no matter what, he had to make love to her. He couldn't have explained to anyone why one minute he was exasperated by her and the next she was in his arms and he was kissing her. Some things you can explain; some you can only understand if you were there. This was one of the 'you had to be there' times.
Even now he can taste her scent, feel her lips as they met his kiss and returned it with interest, feel her arms around him. One minute they'd been arguing; the next she'd been smiling at him; the next she was in his arms and they were kissing; the next they were in his bed.
For those few hours he'd found something he'd never expected to find: love and a level of contentment he'd never believed in. For those few hours they weren't enemies, they were lovers and friends. For those few hours he believes he gave her happiness and took her mind off of the two things that'd haunted her: La Grenouille and her illness. Not that he'd known about her illness at the time. He'd only learned about that when Mike Franks had told him she was dead.
He doesn't want to think about her illness; he doesn't want to think about anything but her smile. He'd taken a photograph of her as she'd reclined on his bed, smiling up at him, just a head and shoulders shot, and it stands on the desk in his home. He looks at it daily; looks at her smile and sees the woman he knew for far too brief a time. What they'd shared that afternoon meant more to him than any other relationship. But to understand why, you had to be there.
He picks up a glass of whiskey and toasts her. "Rest in peace, my chéri," he whispers.
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