A/n: Okay so, MIA is an understatement. I kind of dropped off the face of the earth, but this is just a little random Christmas crackfic nonsense oneshot that I typed up. I needed a little something off the wall to loosen up the old writing bones lol. Merry very late Christmas everybody :)
Oh, and if anybody is wondering about my other stories, check out my profile for the status of those.
Jenny Shepard was yanked from her sleep by the shrill ringing of her bedside phone. She groaned, pulling her pillow over her face. Only one person would have the audacity to toss even the most basic of etiquette out the window and interrupt her precious beauty sleep on Christmas Eve no less.
She sighed happily when the blasted noise finally ceased-for all of five seconds.
She let out a disgruntled shout and rolled over to yank the object of her displeasure off its hook.
"What?" she demanded, knowing just who would be on the other end.
" Get up. Dead Marine in Anacostia Park." came the gravelly voice of her ever so polite boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
"It's Christmas," she replied promptly, irritation lacing ever syllable. "How did you get this number anyway?"
"Christmas Eve. It's 11:59. Not like you're doing anything anyway," was his infuriatingly accurate reply. "In your file," he added as an afterthought.
Her mouth dropped before she promptly shut it and her lips compressed into a thin line. She took a deep breath before speaking again.
"It's Christmas. We're not catching. And how do you know that I'm not doing anything?" she snapped petulantly.
In the background she heard the distinctly irritated mumble of a woman's voice and smirked.
"Your creature is stirring," she quipped, before adding an obnoxiously chipper, "Merry Christmas!"
She sniggered and set the phone back on its hook, before settling back under the covers.
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Sometime later, just what time she wasn't sure, she was pulled from her slumber once again. Literally. She screamed as she was being dragged off her bed by her feet. She swung at her attacker blindly and heard a grunt as they both fell to the ground.
"Damn, Jen!" she heard, and narrowed her eyes, blowing her hair out of her face.
"Jethro!" she screamed furiously, smacking the ground with her palms.
"What the hell was that?" he growled, rubbing his smarting shoulder.
"What are you doing in my bedroom?" she demanded, her voice shooting up in pitch to a shrill. "What are you doing in my house?"
"Why the hell are you wearing brass knuckles?" he shot back, his voice rising in volume to match hers.
"To defended myself from creepy old men who decide that it's okay to break into my room late at night," she snapped. "You still didn't answer my question."
"Jesus, Jen," he muttered, still rubbing his shoulder. "I told you we had a damn case."
"And I told you that I'm not on call," she seethed, pushing herself to her feet. "How did you get in here?"
"Key," he muttered, and her brows shot up in disbelief.
"Where did you get a key? I sure as hell didn't give you one," she fumed, but held out her hand to help him up nonetheless.
"Need a new hiding spot," he chuckled as he took the offered hand, never missing an opportunity to patronize her. "Found it in the plant thingy outside."
She switched on her bedside lamp and he cleared his throat, realizing for the first time her state of undress. Her nightgown was very short-he wasn't even sure it could really be called a gown, more like a shirt.
"You uh want a robe or somethin'?" he asked uncomfortably.
"No, I don't. You broke into my room," she snipped, too angry to think that maybe she didn't want to be half naked in front of her married boss, or to revel in his discomfort at the fact.
"Well, get dressed in something. We're going. I volunteered us and since I'm your boss that means you volunteered too," he said, a little too much triumph in his voice.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Fine," she acquiesced, making a face. "But you're life is going to be hell for however long this thing takes, Gibbs, hell. "
"Hurry up," he said, turning to leave. He at least had the decency to giver her some privacy.
"And I hope that thing hurts," she called after him, referring to her handiwork. "And bruises," she added contritely before slamming her door.
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Jenny and Gibbs strode across the lawn of Anacostia Park, gear in hand, seeing that Ducky was already there.
"Well this is morbid and painfully ironic," Jenny remarked under her breath as they walked up to the body: a particularly large man in a Santa suit who reeked of booze, his fake, cottony beard askew.
"What do you got, Duck?" Gibbs asked, assessing the condition of the poor man in the red suit.
"Well, the man was obviously intoxicated. It appears as if he simply took a nasty and unfortunately fatal fall," Ducky remarked sympathetically.
"Why is this ours again?" Jenny asked.
"Metro found a Marine's ID on him," Gibbs replied absently.
"Oh, please, he's obviously not a Marine, Gibbs," Jenny insisted in disbelief. "This can't possibly be ours."
"It is until the Director says otherwise," he said as a Metro cop walked up to them.
"Gibbs, NCIS," Gibbs introduced himself curtly, flashing his badge.
Said cop, narrowed his eyes at the badge, and let out a great bellowing laugh.
"Where'd you get that, the dollar store?" the large, now obviously Southern man quipped. "What's that there, a water gun?" he continued, pointing to Gibbs' gun.
Gibbs looked at the badge, thinking the man was simply trying to be demeaning, but immediately realized that what he was holding was not his badge. It did in fact look to be from the dollar store. It was cheap and plastic, and 'Police' was embossed on it in chipping black ink.
He watched Jenny's smirk out of the corner of his eye.
And the hell began.
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Hell was an understatement.
Jenny had already switched his coffee out for green tea, and taken his for herself; she had put itching powder in his gloves, and she had "bumped into him" at least five times already. She actually had switched his gun out for some toy water thing. And they hadn't even left the crime scene yet.
"Shepard!" he shouted, and she appeared at his side in patronizing salute.
"Yes, boss!" she replied, her hand on her hip, a wicked grin on her face.
He settled her with one of his most potent glares, but she simply smiled.
"Take this," he growled, handing her an evidence bag.
"Please?" she prompted, but his hand tightened on the bag, and she took it in acquiescence.
To his dismay, she reappeared within minutes, chewing some green gum. He cringed every time she popped it. He swore he was developing a tick.
"Don't you have work to do, Shepard?" he snapped, bagging his last piece of evidence.
"Don't you have work to do, Shepard?" she mimicked him childishly, pitching her voice obnoxiously and pulled a face.
He was going to have Ducky check her blood for illegal substances when they got back.. He gathered his kit, and shoved her lightly, earning him a glare from his red headed probie.
"Do you have the keys?" he asked, as she fell into step with him once again.
"No, I decided it would be better to chuck them into the woods and make a game out of finding them."
He ignored her and held his hand out for them, but she pulled back raising a brow.
"I'm driving," she said matter-of-factly.
That was the last straw.
"No," he growled, keeping his hand held out.
He refused to forgo his last shred of dignity and utterly disgrace himself by making a grab for them.
"Give me the keys, Shepard."
"No," she replied primly and proceeded to walk away. Her mistake.
He grabbed her by her arm and pinned it behind her back, though he was careful not to hurt her, snatching the keys from her and continued toward the truck with a triumphant stride leaving a disgruntled Jenny in his wake.
She made it to the truck only moments after him, and slid into the passengers side seat; but not without tossing a withering glare in his direction. When it became clear that he was unaffected, she finally slammed the car door with an unnecessary force and turned front to glare a hole through the windshield instead.
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When they made it to NCIS, Burley sat at his desk making phone calls. Jenny took some pleasure in seeing that he looked even less contented to be there than she.
The entire office was decorated in mockingly festive green garlands and lights and every decoration under the sun, not to mention the obnoxiously large Christmas tree. How they had managed to get the thing into the office was beyond her.
"Where's Decker?" Gibbs demanded as Jenny took a seat at her desk; he resisted the urge to roll his eyes when she crossed her arms on her desk and flung her head down on top of them with a theatrical sigh.
"Forensics," Stan replied promptly, sparing Jenny a curious glance.
He may have been displeased, but unlike Jenny he had no desire to let Gibbs know that.
Speaking of the red headed little devil, Gibbs watched Burley's eyes widen and followed the other man's line of sight to see her drinking his coffee. Again.
Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she watched him over the stolen coffee.
"Give it to me," he growled with narrowed eyes, and she smiled sweetly before handing it over willingly.
He narrowed his eyes further in distaste at the bright red lipstick mark at the lip of his cup, and snatched a conveniently placed napkin from his desk to rid his lid of the smear.
He held the cup to his lips just as Decker stepped off of the elevator, and the younger man rounded the corner to the bullpen just in time to see his boss grimace and let out a disgusted sound . Gibbs turned on Jenny who was simply smiling deviously.
Gibbs strode past her crooking his finger in a 'come on' motion.
"You're buying me new coffee," he said matter-of-factly.
"Oh, am I?" she asked patronizingly, though she followed behind him nonetheless.
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Jenny and Gibbs stood in a little coffee shop in downtown D.C. forty minutes later. Jenny handed a lanky, teen with too much gel in his hair a ten dollar bill, and thanked him when he handed her two cups of coffee in turn.
As they stepped out into the frigid, December air Gibbs took an appreciative sip of his coffee.
He turned to Jenny, who was laughing softly once again at his expense ;and his eyes darkened, his narrowed eyes burning into the back of her head simply because he had no idea why she was laughing this time. He could only suspect she had seduced the little punk at the register into doing something God-awful to his coffee.
She stopped mid-laugh when a hand connected with the back of her skull and she flinched slightly, her free hand going to the spot reflexively. He head-slapped her. She never got head-slapped.
She turned to him with teary eyes, a hurt expression on her face, and his expression immediately morphed into one of guilt and remorse.
"Gibbs, that hurt," she declared, "I can't believe you hit me."
"Jenny," he started cautiously.
Jenny Shepard crying was a behavioral anomaly.
"Gibbs," she stressed his name. "You hit me."
He was actually going to apologize until the slight twitch at the corner of her lip gave her away and he knew she was faking. Just for good measure, he whacked her again, and she gasped in outrage.
She punched him in the same shoulder she had no doubt bruised earlier that morning, and watched with satisfaction when his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"That should leave a mark," she quipped, and as if on cue, something wet landed on her head with a 'splat' and she flinched, cringing in disgust.
She heard the distinct sound of a bird's squawk and her eyes widened.
There was no way.
For the first time since she had ever met the man, Jenny Shepard saw Leroy Jethro Gibbs laugh; and oh did he laugh.
"Gibbs!" she shrieked, her voice shrill at the notion that their might actually be…bird poop on her head.
"Jethro, what is that?!" she demanded, but he just kept laughing, and she started to panic.
She let out a scream of absolute disgust and created one of the most comical sights that little neighborhood had ever seen: a very short redhead, jumping up and down in the middle of the street, waving her hands around like a buffoon while her dark haired counterpart stood nearly hunched over against the wall in laughter.
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When they walked into the bullpen an hour later, Gibbs mood had obviously heightened and Jenny was quite obviously livid.
Her red hair was still damp and to her dismay, it was developing into a frizzy, tangled, curly mess.
Burley looked up from his paperwork and nearly doubled over in laughter at the sight her.
"Damn, Shepard. What the hell happened to you?" he snickered. "You look somebody tried to drown Bobo the clown."
If looks could kill, Stan Burley would surely have burst into flames at the withering look Jenny gave him as she sat down in her chair slowly.
"A little bitch named karma showed up, and ruined my day" she snapped irritably. "Ho, ho, ho, merry fucking Christmas."