Ashleigh Anpilova


A sequel to Ah, Jethro.

Ducky is awakened by Jethro bringing him breakfast in bed. However, there is more on the tray than just bacon and eggs.

An established relationship story.

Written: October 2007. Word count: 940.



The morning following my beloved's idea of a picnic, I awoke to the tantalizing scents of bacon, eggs, coffee, and the smell I'd know anywhere, even if blindfolded: Jethro.


As I blinked my eyes several times in an attempt to clear the final residue of sleep away, I gazed up and saw my beloved standing by the bed smiling down at me. He kissed my forehead, handed me a glass of orange juice and informed me that he'd be back up with breakfast in five minutes.


I took advantage of those few minutes to pay a visit to the bathroom; it was still warm and damp from his shower. After relieving myself, washing my hands and face and brushing my teeth, I returned to bed and settled back against the pillows. Breakfast in bed is a rare luxury, a very rare luxury, and I intended to enjoy the experience.


As promised he returned within five minutes with a laden tray and proceeded to fuss around me in a manner that he adopts from time to time. Once he had me and the tray arranged to his satisfaction, he joined me, sitting on his side of the bed on top of the bedclothes and shared the plate of perfectly cooked bacon, crisp but still moist, and fluffy scrambled eggs. He had even gone to the trouble of making two pots of coffee, one to his liking, another to mine. I do prefer coffee with bacon and eggs, tea just doesn't taste quite right somehow.


Once we had emptied the plate, I turned my attention to the toast and marmalade, spreading the first piece and offering it to my beloved, who accepted with a smile. It was only when I was working my way through my second slice that I noticed something else on the tray; it seemed to be a bunched up piece of paper.


As I reached for it, Jethro's gun callused hand closed over mine and I looked at him. Suddenly he seemed to be faintly uneasy, uncertain, hesitant almost. Then the look, the impression, fled and he was just 'my Jethro'. He took his hand away and I pulled the item towards me. As I did, I knew it was more than just paper, it felt hard.


I looked at Jethro as I felt he was waiting for something, he was watching me intently, his eyes never leaving my face; watching and waiting. He also seemed to have stilled his breathing, and the intensity that radiated from him was akin to how I have seen him many times over the years, albeit usually when he was deeply involved and concentrating on a case. I have never known him to display quite such intensity in his personal life.


I couldn't imagine what could be causing such a reaction, so I smiled, turned away and opened the paper. There resting in the middle was a gold band, not overly wide, but not overly thin; it glinted up at me as a shaft of sunlight chose that very second to flash in through the window.


Again I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. I was a little puzzled; the ring said only one thing to me, but I did not dare to hope that it might be thus.


The next second he reached across and gently picked the band up, turned it over once, before taking my hand, my left hand, and holding it.


"Marry me, Duck," was all he said.


Three words.


Three simple words.


The three words I have always desired, but never allowed myself to even hope, and certainly not believe, that I would hear from him.


His tone was soft, his dark gaze intense, and there it was again: hesitancy, uncertainty. Did he really think, really fear, that I might say 'no'? And then I realized: of course he did; it was only natural that he would.


Everyone thinks Leroy Jethro Gibbs is a confident man, some might even say an over-confident man; a man who never has uncertainties, who is always positive and self-assured, and is never unsure or insecure.


I know differently. I know the real man; not the cock-sure bastard who hides behind the façade he present to the world. It was that Leroy Jethro Gibbs I was now seeing. The man who was hesitant, who did genuinely have some doubts, I hoped not many, that I might say 'no'.


I smiled at him and stroked his face, lightly with my fingers of my right hand. "Oh, my dearest, Jethro," I said softly, matching his tone. "Of course I will marry you. It would make me happier than I can begin to explain."


He exhaled suddenly and I saw the doubt race away. "That'd be a yes, then?" he asked, his tone light.


"Oh, yes," I said, and offered my finger for him to slip the ring onto it. It was a perfect fit.


Just like Jethro and myself.


Plates that have held scrambled eggs really should be washed, or at least put into soak, at the earliest opportunity, otherwise the egg does tend to become difficult to shift. Nonetheless that didn't bother Jethro or myself when, several hours later, we finally got around to doing the washing up.


Our lovemaking began in the shower, I reasoned that as he was fresh and clean, I wished to be thus too, and continued in his – in our – bed.


As I mentioned, like the ring that felt as if it belonged on my finger, that felt as if it had always been there, Jethro and I really are a perfect fit – in more ways than one. 



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