The last thing she'd ever have

Chapter 3: The kiss and her death

A\N: This is the last chapter in The last thing she'd ever have. I hope you Angels have enjoyed this story. This has been one of my saddest JIBBS stories to date. I hope you enjoy this chapter, Angels.

After the words had left her mouth, the office was silent. Jethro just looked at her, he never said a word. She wished she hadn't said anything but it was what she wanted: she wanted him to kiss her one last time before her death, to have one last happy memory embedded in both their minds to go back to when she died. She didn't know how long it was before she felt his lips come down on her own, his hands had moved away from her shoulders and had moved to her waist while her own arms had wound around his neck, playing with the ends of his silver hair. Their kiss deepened and she opened her mouth to allow his tongue to enter. His tongue explores her mouth, their tongues battled for dominance which he won, like he usually did. They pulled away when air, unfortunately, became a necessity for the two of them, their foreheads against each other. They stared into one another's eyes, breathing heavily.

"That was one of the best kisses we've ever had." She said, panting slightly. Jethro chuckled, not removing his hands from her waist, she was glad he hadn't moved his hands from her waist, she liked it.

"I'd have to agree with you there, Jen. Although I loved the one we shared in Serbia, underneath the night sky in that farmhouse." She laughed, she hadn't forgotten about that one: it was on a random night they were spending outside and he had suddenly kissed her without warning and she fell against him, making them fall back in the snow. 

"I remember that one." She laughed slyly, looking at him with a wicked smile on her face. "I also remember what we did to get warm." Memories of him making love to her in Serbia assaulted her mind. They relapse into silence, content in being with each other in silence.

"Jen," Jethro said quietly, shattering the silence between them. Her eyes hadn't left him so she had just simply nodded at her name. "I still love you, I've never stopped loving you." He had revealed. For the umpteenth time that day, tears had poured down her face at his revelation. He can't still love me! The dying redhead thought to herself angrily. She had shaken her head as if she could forget what he had just told her. When the words echoed in her head, she had looked at him, she saw that he meant what he had said. There was no denying that, there was also no denying that she loved him too, but they couldn't be together. It just wouldn't be fair on either of them. 

"You can't love me, Jethro." She said angrily. Jethro narrowed his eyes.

"Why not?" He asked, equally as angrily. Jenny scoffed, her eyes rolling.

"Isn't it obvious?" She spat, Jethro sighed. "I don't care that you're dying, Jen, I don't care how long you've got, I want to be with you again!" He said loudly. Jenny shook her head. "I can't do that to you, Jethro!" She shouted. "I can't be with you, die a little bit each day until I die and leave you heartbroken, I won't do that to you." She said, calmly down slightly. Jethro sighed. "I'm gonna be heartbroken when you die anyway, Jen." Jethro said as he pulled her into a hug, she laid her head on his shoulder. 

"I love you, Jethro. I really do, but we can't be together again, I'm sorry." She said, her breath warming the crook of his neck. Jethro rubbed her back up and down.

"I know, Jen, I know." Jethro whispered, kissing her hair. "I love you too, Jen." 

It was a month after their kiss in her office and their declaration of love for each other that the Director of NCIS, Jennifer Shepard, was ambushed, shot, injured and killed in a diner out in California. Tony and Ziva were the ones to find her body on the diner floor, covered in her own blood. He was glad he didn't see her body covered in blood. He was heartbroken by her death, of course he was. She was the love of his life. But he was also glad that she didn't die from her illness that caused her so much pain, she would've like that was killed in a hail of bullets, protecting him. She always  said she wanted to die in a hail of bullets. 

He had entered her home and got a few bits and pieces that she loved: her pillow that was doused in her scent, the perfume she wore everyday since 1999, the engagement and wedding rings she wore on their undercover operations, a few of her favorite books, her coffee cup, and a few of her clothes, including his black USMC t-shirt, then he and Mike Franks burned her town house to the ground.

Once he got back, with Jen's stuff, he walked to the basement and broke down on the floor of his basement. Once he had finished crying over the loss of his soulmate, his Jen, he put the rings in his toolbox that housed his own wedding ring, his one from Shannon and the one he wore undercover while in Europe with Jen. He hated taking it off when he returned home from Paris without it. For weeks, months, years, after Jen had left him, he would have dreams about being married to Jen as themselves, not their undercover aliases. He would have loved to have gotten married to Jen and maybe, just maybe, had a couple of kids running around the house. He would have had dreams where he confronted her about leaving and changed her mind. 

He was happy that he had kissed Jen a month ago in her office when he discovered she was dying from an unknown, incurable illness. Chances were that if she hadn't requested that he kiss her, he would've kissed her anyway, regardless of the consequences brought upon him. It would've been worth it to taste her cherry lipstick again. He loved her from the second he met her in Director Morrow's office almost a decade ago. Even when she had left him at the Paris airport with her coat and a 'Dear John' letter, he had still loved her.

He'd always love Jennifer Shepard, nothing and no one would ever change that.

He was happy that he gave Jen the last thing she'd ever have.

A\N: This three part sad JIBBS story is done. I hope you enjoyed reading this one, Angels.