: Not mine. BtVS is Joss Whedon's, NCIS is Donald Bellisario's.Note
: This ficlet is not related to any of my other NCIS fics, so please don't give yourself a headache trying to work out how it fits in!
Mike Franks frowned as he punched the number into the phone. It wasn’t one he recognized, nor was the organization it belonged to. But Jenny had been pretty damn specific about what needed to be done, and who didn’t need to know about it. She’d shielded his probie in more ways than one, even if Jethro would with a little luck never know it.
“I need to talk to a Xander Harris. My name’s not important, but I have a message for him from a mutual friend.”---
Xander sighed as hung up the phone.
“Bad news,” he announced.
The other Scoobies, seeing his expression, mentally braced themselves. That phrase and that expression together could mean only one thing. Someone had died. That it wasn’t of natural causes went almost without saying. The only person anyone in this room knew who had died a natural death was Joyce Summers.
Dawn’s question spoke for all of them. Another Slayer? Another Watcher? Another ally? Who was now just another name in the journals or on the plaques in the Memorial Garden?
“Not unexpected, but it seems to have happened quicker than she led us to believe,” Giles remarked, reaching for his glasses.
Jenny had been a recent ally, after a few cases in which her agency's jurisdiction had overlapped with theirs.
“That would be because she didn’t die of what we were expecting her to die from,” Xander said slowly. “She most certainly did not go gentle into that good night.”
“What happened?” Willow asked.
“Firefight,” Xander replied grimly. “Tying up loose ends from the sound of it. Took a few enemies with her.”
The group was silent for a few seconds, before Buffy spoke.
“She chose that, then. To go out with her boots on. The way it should be.”
She, out of all of them, best understood why Jenny would choose that course. To feel life slowly slipping away from you, mind and body failing, was not for her. She knew in Jenny’s position, she would make the same choice. One last fight, knowing perfectly well that there would be no walking away this time.
“I guess under the circumstances, it’s what you would call a good death.”
Willow snorted. There were no good deaths, at least not that any of them had ever seen.
“Who made the call, Xander?” Giles inquired.
“Didn’t give his name. Just said to be on the lookout for a package from Mexico, because he doubts we’ll want to approach the new director any time soon.”
“Tying up loose ends in more ways than one, it would seem,” Giles mused.