Author Notes: I've been downloading a lot of old songs and for some unknown reason the line from "Joey" by Concrete Blonde, "Joey, I'm not angry anymore" sort of stuck with me and the story started flowing. The story does *not* follow the song. As I said the line from the song just stuck with me and I started thinking about how angry people get when someone dies. They get angry at the situation, the person that died, what or whoever caused the death, and themselves. Grieving and closure are processes that sometimes a person needs a little help with.
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Big, strong arms in fatigues squeezed the breath out of her. And it was the best feeling. She grabbed his boonie and slapped it on her head as she kissed him fiercely. He was home. Safe. Sound. Whole. But he had a haunted look in his eyes that worried her. But he was home. She could fix the rest.
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"Yo, One-ten, you ready to lose?" a teasing male voice shouted across the range.
"And who's going to beat me? You, Weeble?" an equal teasing female voice responded.
The banter made Gibbs look up from his notepad. He was at the range following up on a suspect's alibi and was waiting for a particular employee to arrive. From where he was standing he couldn't see the two making the remarks.
"I might get lucky O'Reilly, you never know. Whaddya wanna bet?"
"Weeble, you haven't gotten lucky since you solicited that undercover vice cop. But if you want to bet, I'm game. I win; you mow my lawn the rest of the summer."
"And if I win?"
"I'll make all your whipped cream fantasies come true." The woman's silvery laugh rang through the range.
Gibbs had just taken a sip of his coffee and almost choked on her last remark. He had to see this woman. He walked towards them but all he saw was a tall thin woman in jeans and sweatshirt, she had on a camouflage boonie that hid her hair and her features. He could see her double checking the clip on a Sig however and that caught his attention.
The firing horn went off and the sound of rapid gunfire filled the range. After the closing horn, they collected their targets and he heard more of her warm laughter.
"So Weeble, will Saturday mornings work for the lawn?"
Gibbs moved so he could see her target, the bullet holes were in a very, very tight grouping, dead center. There were barely millimeters between them. Her friend's target wasn't so pretty. Gibbs was hoping she would look his way so he could see her face but no such luck. So he took matters into his own hands, "Nice grouping, can you do it again?"
She lifted her head at his question and he was met with a pair of smoky blue eyes. She was very fair skinned with a hint of freckles. She smiled at Gibbs and said with a hint of bravado, "All day. Which hand do you want me to use?"
She liked the look of the stranger challenging her shooting ability. He definitely had a military air about him. And she'd put money on the Marines. It was just a hunch.
Gibbs slipped off his jacket and she cast an appreciative eye over the man, and his weapon. He asked subtly, "So you like to bet?"
"If it's all in fun."
"Gonna make all my whipped cream fantasies come true if I win?" he said with a cocky little grin.
"Gonna fix my deck if you lose?" she replied with an equally cocky grin.
Without another word they squared off facing their targets, the horn again started and stopped the action.
Gibbs took one look at her target and knew that he'd been beaten. Not by much but enough for him to admit defeat. He laughed; he couldn't remember the last time that had happened.
She was doing this little happy dance and teased both men, "Two, nothing, O'Reilly. I need a third victim for a hat trick. I have gutters that need cleaning."
Her friend grumbled, "I swear it's the damn boonie." He knocked the brim of her boonie and it flew off, catching by the cord to hang down her back. He looked at Gibbs' target and teased her, "This guy looks like he should be your new shooting partner One-ten. You'd clean up at competitions."
He turned to Gibbs and extended his hand, "Ernie Castina."
Gibbs was a little distracted by the wealth of copper curls that spilled out from underneath the boonie, but he dragged his attention back and shook Ernie's hand, "Jethro Gibbs." He offered his hand to the woman and asked with a questioning grimace, "One-ten?"
She shook his hand and warned Ernie, "Not a word out of you Castina. I'm warning you." Turning her attention back to Gibbs she grinned, "Rosemary O'Reilly. And don't ask about the One-ten."
"So you competition shoot, Rosemary?" After seeing her skill he could envision her doing well in completion.
"Not anymore." She said a bit wistfully. "Now it's just for fun. Like today. I get the deck fixed and the yard mowed. Doesn't get much better."
"You don't even know if I can use a hammer." He was reaching for his coffee cup when she took his hand and turned it over.
"Calluses and splinters. Sawdust on your shoes. And you spent five minutes investigating the overlapping joints of that octagon picnic table over there. Somehow I don't think your working with wood is a problem." She let go of his hand and crossed her arms, looking smug.
Gibbs regarded her seriously for moment. Who was she? Obviously a trained investigator of some sort, but who did she work for? She intrigued him. "You're very observant, Rosemary."
"I try, Jethro."
Ernie hadn't seen Rosemary like this in a very long time. She was actually flirting with this Jethro. It was nice to see her being playful again, that side of her hadn't made an appearance in a very long time.
"Cop?" Jethro prompted, sipping his coffee.
"Not exactly. So which one of the alphabet soup do you work for?"
Gibbs laughed, "That obvious?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Let me try my introduction again. Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS." He said more formally.
Gibbs watched the woman that he had been laughing and teasing with suddenly turn to ice in front of him at the mention of NCIS. He didn't understand.
She looked away from him and grabbed her knapsack, "Sorry, I've got to go. Ernie, I'll talk to you later."
Gibbs would swear that he heard her say, "Damn. NCIUseless" as she walked away.
He turned to Ernie and asked, "What the hell just happened here?"
Ernie looked at the retreating back of his friend as she walked towards the parking lot. He turned back to Gibbs and sighed, "That was Rosemary O'Reilly. She was my partner at Metro, homicide. Six years ago she left Metro and entered the FBI Academy but washed out when her husband was killed. He was a Marine, and his death was investigated by you guys. The case was never closed. She works at the state police academy as an instructor now."
Gibbs was thinking hard, trying to ring bells in his brain, O'Reilly, O'Reilly, O'Reilly. Then it hit him, "Oh god, Joseph O'Reilly was her husband?"
Ernie nodded and Gibbs was sick to his stomach. Joseph O'Reilly had been a forty year old, decorated Marine who served in every hot spot on the globe in the last twenty years. He had gone missing only five months after returning home from his third tour in Afghanistan. He was listed as UA until his wife started receiving his body parts in the mail. It was a case that haunted the agency. It was one of their most infamous cold case files.
Gibbs let out a huge sigh, "Now I know why she hates NCIS."
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TBC….Feedback appreciated!
Author's Chapter Notes:
Gibbs meets the widow of a Marine, can he solve the cold case of her husband's murder and help heal her heart?