This is just kind of a random scenario that popped into my head the other day. One-shot. Not much plot, kind of nonsense. *shrugs*
He stormed out of her office, slamming the door behind him and taking the steps two at a time when he reached the stairs, passing by Cynthia who was carrying a variety of take-out boxes upstairs.
"Not again," Tony moaned, putting his head in his hands and peeking through his fingers at Ziva, who was also looking quite burned out as she glanced up at Gibbs descending the stairs.
"That's gotta be the tenth time this week," McGee mumbled.
"Fifth time in two days, actually," Ziva muttered in response, all of them shutting up as Gibbs raged into the bullpen.
"I'm goin' for coffee," he spat out bitterly as he grabbed his coat. "Better have made some progress by the time I get back."
They waited a minute after the elevator doors closed him from view, all glancing to make sure the Director wasn't on the catwalk before they opened their mouths.
"We should lock them in a room together," Tony plotted. "They'll either kill each other and therefore spare us from their fury, or they'll finally release all that sexual tension, which would result in the same thing."
McGee made a disgusted noise while Ziva rolled her eyes.
"What, you two have a better idea?" Tony demanded.
"Locking Gibbs anywhere for any reason is a terrible idea. He'd just get more angry and kill us all," McGee stated, typing on his keyboard.
"Trapping the Director is even worse," Ziva commented with a smirk.
Tony stared at her, sensing there was more to this.
"I take it you know from experience?" He fished.
"Let us just say...a prank in Cairo did not go as I had planned," she replied, staring out over towards the big window with a smile on her face.
"Well? You can't tell me that much and not go into the story," Tony prompted.
"No," she said, turning back to the work on her desk.
"Come on Zivaaa," he whined. "I wanna know."
"No. She is our superior and my friend. You should know by now that I never plate on her."
Tony had to think for a solid minute on what she actually meant.
"Dish, Ziva, not plate," he finally responded.
"What?"
"Never mind," he grumbled.
They sat and worked in silence for about ten minutes before Tony was bored again. He crumpled up a paper and threw it at McGee, who ignored him.
"Do you think Gibbs and the Director are just synced on the same grumpy cycle?" Tony questioned, failing to hear the ding of the elevator and the terrified look Ziva shot towards him. "It's either they make each other grumpy, or they're on the same cycle or something. All that pent up sexual frustration—"
The smack that resounded across the room was loud, and Tony didn't whine one bit, knowing he probably deserved it.
"Progress?" Gibbs demanded as he marched to his desk with his coffee, feeling murderous and debating how exactly he was going to torture DiNozzo.
He glared at the three of them, all of them jumping up and starting to babble. The phone on his desk rang and he ripped the handset off and pressed it to his ear.
"Gibbs," he growled.
"The Director would like to see you in her office...again," Cynthia responded, sounding nervous.
He slammed the phone back down and glared viciously up at her door. He downed his coffee and threw the empty container in the trash, marching off to the stairs.
"I think we might need to get Ducky, he's going to have at least one body on his hands pretty soon," Tony said seriously, all of them looking up nervously at the catwalk as Gibbs nearly tore the outer office door off.
"This is your fault, Tony," McGee piped up. "You made him even angrier when he got here. If he kills the Director, it's on you."
"Shut up McStupid," Tony snapped, all of them not able to look away from the door, each silently debating if any intervention might be required.
Cynthia emerged from the office and closed the door, noticing they all had their eyes on her and Tony was motioning to her. She sighed and headed towards the stairs instead of the upper elevator, going down to meet them all.
"Where ya goin', Cynthia?" Tony asked as she entered the bullpen. "The Director didn't happen to ask you to bring her a gigantic machete or anything, right?"
"Cute, DiNozzo," she snapped, looking tired, clearly sick of being harassed by the grumpy bosses. "I'm going on my lunch break, actually."
McGee and Ziva both shot her apologetic looks, aware that Cynthia had the worst position the last two days of being the middleman in the Director and Gibbs' fighting. Tony continued to just look amused by the whole thing.
"Someone call and let me know if either of them kill each other. I'll be hiding in a restaurant somewhere in the meantime," Cynthia muttered, turning to head to the elevator.
"We will, have a good lunch," McGee called out.
"Where is Jethro?"
They all turned around to see Ducky entering from the other side of the bullpen.
They all looked up towards the Director's office in response.
He followed their gaze and let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head.
"Tell him when he's done that I have an update for him. Here is the report for you three to read in the meantime," he said, tossing a file onto Gibbs' desk. "Let me know if any body bags are needed."
He walked away, muttering under his breath about "fools in love" and "Paris".
As soon as Gibbs stormed past Cynthia's desk he flung the door to the Director's office open and stormed in, slamming it behind him.
"What!?" He spat at her, feeling anger radiate from him, trying to reign it in and hold onto the tiny sliver of patience he had left.
She was standing by her desk, propped against it and glaring at his tone.
"What would you say if I kissed you right now," she asked, looking him straight in the eye.
He deflated, completely taken aback, his tense posture relaxing as he tried to process what she had just said. He blinked at her, wondering if he had finally lost it and looked around as if searching for an answer. He took in the take-out boxes sitting on her desk, questioning if her food was drugged or something.
"Well?"
He looked back at her, blinking again, wondering if this was some sort of trap.
"What?" He questioned blankly.
She smirked at him, standing up and swaying towards him.
"I asked, what would you say," she paused, giving him a sultry look, getting closer, "if I asked you," she was right to him, his mind numb, not really sure what to do as she reached out and grabbed his lapel lightly with her hand, "to kiss me," she enunciated, her hand smoothing the lapel out, rubbing down his chest.
He wondered if this was some weird dream. Maybe she'd actually knocked him out earlier and he was in another coma.
He looked her in the eyes, trying to discern if she was playing some weird game. They hadn't been together in a good seven years, after all, and they'd been fighting nonstop for days. All he could see in her eyes was desire, and it was hitting him in all the right places, especially with her proximity and wandering hand. He inhaled, not smelling any alcohol on her, only smelling what he could describe as her.
"I guess I'll just have to do it and find out for myself," she purred, reaching out with her other hand to grab the back of his head and tug his face down towards hers.
Her lips met his hungrily, and he couldn't help but respond just as eagerly. He was confused as hell. He didn't know what had suddenly changed or why, but he did know that feeling her lips on his again was indescribably gratifying.
He groaned as she pushed him against the door and tugged his suit jacket off, tossing it to the floor before rapidly untucking his shirts from his pants. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, almost out of breath as they kept their mouths glued together, feeling her undo his belt and pull it out of the loops, hearing it hit the ground. She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, dipping her hand in, making him pull apart from her mouth as the back of his head collided with the door.
It was all so fast, and he still didn't know what was going on.
"Jen," he panted, stopping her hand with one of his, pulling it out and looking at her, tangling his other hand in her hair. "What's goin' on with you?"
"I want you," she breathed out, pulling his face to hers again.
He pulled apart, feeling hazy with desire, but still needing a logical reason as to her insane change in behavior.
"Jen, what's goin' on?" He repeated, studying her eyes.
"Jethro, I'm throwing myself at you and you are seriously questioning it right now? Have you forgotten how good sex between us used to be?" She asked, looking perplexed, her hand sliding up underneath his undershirt and rubbing against his chest hair.
"No," he answered, the steamy memories flooding his mind and only making him feel more turned on. "It's been years, and you turned me down when you got back. Hell, we've been fightin' nonstop for the past two days, twenty minutes ago we were ready to kill each other. Why the sudden change?"
"I don't have an explanation," she snapped, glaring at him. "But I'm sick of tiptoeing around you and trying to avoid my feelings just because of the past and my position. I know you've wanted me, and hell knows I've wanted you, and I'm fed up with the pointless fighting…and I need you right now."
She lifted up his polo and undershirt, rubbing her hands against his sides as she began to kiss his chest, making his eyes shut as he focused on the sensations she was eliciting.
He couldn't deny he had wanted her, that he had wanted to get back together the minute he saw her again, and that he was also sick to death of the constant bickering.
They both knew deep down why they fought so much. They both knew they were just trying to ignore their feelings and substitute them with anger instead.
Still...why had she gone from cold to hot without any warning?
He opened his eyes again, his gaze landing on the take-out containers, suddenly recalling Tony's words.
"It's either they make each other grumpy, or they're on the same cycle or something."
It was like a light bulb suddenly went off in his head.
Irrational anger, mass amounts of different kinds of foods over the past couple of days, lust…
"You got PMS, Jen?"
She stopped what she was doing, her eyes snapping up to his, glaring daggers at him.
"What?"
His hazy mind was suddenly becoming aware that he had actually just voiced his thoughts out loud. The look in her eyes told him he was now in mortal danger.
"I, uh," he sputtered, "just...the food, the hormones—"
He stopped abruptly, realizing he was just digging himself deeper. He reached out to kiss her, hoping to distract her and get back to what they were doing, too turned on and hazy to figure out how to fix this situation, but she didn't budge, still glaring at him.
"What? You're saying I can't eat, or get angry, or want to have sex just because I want to?" She demanded.
He winced, wanting to head-slap the hell out himself for being such an idiot.
"I didn't mean...I just meant, Je—"
"What the hell is with men and their gigantic egos?" She cut him off, her voice raised as she threw her hands up in defeat. "They can eat all they want, have more mood swings than all the women combined, and constantly crave sex and it's totally normal, but HEAVEN FORBID a single damn woman on this planet ever be considered human! Instead, they must always happily cater to the men's needs. No wonder divorce rates are so high, in fact, no wonder you have been divorced three times!" She yelled, turning around indignantly and marching towards her desk, her back towards him.
"Bunch of bastards," she muttered as she tried to collect herself, knowing she was acting irrationally. It hadn't even occurred to her that it was almost that time of the month, that she would be dealing with PMS right now. It was rare for it to be this bad, but some months were worse than others. It did explain her mood swings, her cravings, her slightly tender breasts, and the fact that she had been yelling at him for two days and wanting him to take her against the wall at the same time.
There was no way she was going to admit to him that she was dealing with PMS right now, because she hated that he picked up on it, and she hated that her hormones had betrayed her. She didn't like men ever assuming she had PMS just because she acted unreasonably, but it was even more irritating when they were right.
He stayed where he was, not sure what to do. He felt like if he said anything she'd probably murder him.
"Just go," she said with a sigh, her back still turned to him, feeling foolish.
"Jen—"
"Go," she cut him off. She wasn't in the mood anymore, and she wanted some space.
He tucked his shirt back in and buttoned his pants back up, reaching down and grabbing his belt and jacket and putting them back on. He looked at her back, feeling guilty as he heard her sniff, wishing he could turn back time and keep his damn mouth shut. He turned and opened the door and left, knowing there wasn't anything he could say or do right now.
"Idiotic bastard," he growled at himself, smacking himself on the back of the head as hard as he could before he forcefully slammed the outer office door shut as he walked out. Now he felt even more angry, not to mention overwhelmingly sexually frustrated.
He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand, just in case there was any lipstick leftover, and glared down at the bullpen, feeling annoyed that his team were all looking at him nervously as opposed to working.
"We're screwed," Tony said, all of them noting that he looked even more irate than he had before—none of them sure how that was even possible.
"This day can't go fast enough," McGee moaned.
"Perhaps we will get a triple homicide," Ziva said longingly.
"Get to work!" They heard him shout as he descended the stairs, all of them obeying the order without hesitation.
The rest of the day had been awkward and frustrating. All he could think about was how they'd been kissing, how she'd been touching him all over, and then how he had ruined it in a stupid, brainless instant. He kept seeing her back turned to him, hearing the sniff that meant he had made her cry. He felt guilty for it, even more so knowing he could've satisfied her, not to mention himself. He worried that she felt embarrassed for coming onto him like she did. He didn't feel violated in the least, and if he'd known she felt that way he would've initiated it months ago. It was relieving to know that she had wanted him as bad as he wanted her this entire time.
He hadn't seen her for the rest of the day. She stayed hidden in her office and in MTAC, and later that night when he went to her office he found that she had gone home already. It wasn't like her to go home early, hell, she never went home on time.
He stared in the darkness of the empty outer office, beyond frustrated with himself. He hit the wall with his hand, turning to leave and going back to the bullpen to send his team home.
When he got outside and made it to his truck, he decided he wasn't giving up. He wasn't just going to let things go back to the way they were, or worse...
He went straight to the store, grabbing the most expensive assorted box of chocolates he found, and then he swung by a flower shop and picked out a bouquet of her favorites. Then he went and picked up a pizza, making sure to include the toppings he knew she liked, before he headed over to her house.
He made it to her Georgetown home in record time, killing the engine, grabbing the shopping bags and pizza before he marched up to her door. He wondered if Noemi would even let him in, Jenny probably told her faithful housekeeper that he had pissed her off.
He reached out and smacked the doorbell with an elbow, his hands occupied with the peace offerings.
The door opened slightly, and a familiar face peeked through the crack—not the one he had thought would greet him.
"Oh..." she said, the tiny portion of her pale face he could see reddening instantly.
She opened the door and faced him, her arms crossed, biting her lip nervously.
He lifted the pizza box a little, nodding towards it.
"Got a pizza I can't eat by myself, if you haven't had dinner yet."
She considered him for a second, her lip quirking up as she stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.
"Noemi out?" He asked, trying to ease up the awkward silence.
"Vacation," she replied as she closed the door.
He followed her into the kitchen, not able to help but glance at her ass and the way her hips swung in front of him.
She took the box from him and placed it on the marble counter top, reaching up into a cabinet and pulling down two plates. She looked at the grocery bags in his hand and quirked an eyebrow at him.
He held the bags out to her.
She took them, smiling at the one that had a bouquet of flowers sticking out of it, and pulling the box of chocolates out of the other.
She hadn't expected him to visit, much less bring her anything, and she wasn't really sure how to respond. She still felt embarrassed about attacking him earlier, and the way that had ended up going.
She looked at him, trying to discern what he was feeling, what he was trying to say, why he was here. She wasn't sure where they stood right now, hell, she'd been confused on what they were ever since she became Director.
"Thank you," she finally said.
She moved and looked around the cabinets for a vase, trying to distract herself from his piercing blue gaze.
He watched as she found a vase and put water in it, wanting to know what she was feeling. She was being distant. She freed the flowers from the flimsy plastic container, carefully putting them in the vase. She stared at the orchids, touching them gently, avoiding his stare.
"These really are beautiful, my favorites," she said quietly.
"I know," he replied.
She finally looked up at him, feeling her emotions rise.
"I'm sorry," he said. He had a rule against apologies, but he knew she deserved one—there was no way out of this mess without him giving one. "I was an idiot, I was out of line."
"No, I was," she protested, her cheeks heating up again. "I've been taking out my frustration on you for days, and you haven't deserved the way I've been treating you at work. And then I practically assaulted you in my office, tried to jump you without any explanation or reason, completely losing it when you tried to figure out why."
She moaned in embarrassment, putting her face in one of her hands.
"I've been completely unprofessional, and I'm sorry for making things so awkward," she apologized.
He stepped over to her and grabbed her hand gently, tugging it away from her face.
"If I didn't want it, I would've said no," he whispered, resting his hand against her cheek, stroking the bottom of her lip with his thumb.
He heard her intake of breath, feeling her hand reach up to the back of his neck, her fingers brushing the ends of his hair.
"I've wanted to be with ever since you got the job here. As far as I'm concerned, Jen, you can assault me anywhere anytime."
With that he moved his hand to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in it and pulling her face closer to his, kissing her as fiercely as she had kissed him earlier that day, open mouth and all.
When she broke apart to breathe, she smirked at him.
"Guess you didn't come here just to eat pizza. Now you're the one trying to jump me," she laughed breathlessly.
"Jump for a jump," he quipped, laughing as well.
"Well, you'll have to wait a little bit, because the smell of that pizza is intoxicating," she breathed out, their noses touching.
"What, and this isn't?" He asked, pulling his face back from hers, almost offended.
She laughed at his expression and shrugged, glancing over towards the pizza.
He growled and pushed her up against the counter, kissing her senseless for a little bit longer.
"Mmm, I'm serious," she moaned as he ground against her, "if we eat first we'll have more energy...plus, I hate cold pizza."
He knew she had good points, not to mention his stomach was alerting him that he hadn't consumed anything except for coffee since lunch. He gave her one last lingering kiss, caressing her face before he reluctantly pulled away from her.
She smiled at him and turned to the pizza box, opening it and grabbing a slice, ignoring the plates she had taken down earlier.
They joked around as they ate pizza, occasionally tossing a topping at each other—a game she had started when she tossed a piece of onion at him, leaving a tiny marinara stain on his polo. She had a spot of marinara on her face from the piece of sausage he had flicked at her in retaliation.
The minute she had finished her second piece he went over to her and leaned down, grabbing her behind the knees with an arm and scooping her up over his shoulder, grinning at her giggles as he carried her up the stairs.
"He's late."
"So what, Tony?" Ziva snapped, wishing he would just shut up.
"He's never late!"
"Probably stuck in traffic or something," McGee responded, clicking away on a game at his desk.
"He's always early, and now he's forty minutes late. Something's gotta be wrong," Tony insisted.
"For all we know he is already here and in a meeting or something," Ziva replied, trying to concentrate on the paperwork in front of her.
"No, I didn't see his truck in the usual spot," Tony mused, thinking about all the possible explanations.
"Someone definitely will not be here for much longer if they do not shut up," Ziva growled.
"Maybe the Director finally killed him," Tony said seriously, thinking it could be a very real possibility.
They looked up as they heard the elevator on the upper floor ding, watching as the mentioned redhead walked across the catwalk towards her office, coffee in hand, and a smile so big they could see it from where they were, her cheeks glowing.
"Yup, she killed him. Gibbs is definitely dead," Tony concluded. "Look at how happy she is."
Ziva actually considered what he said for a minute, watching Jenny as she eventually disappeared through the outer office door.
"She is happy," she agreed, wondering what the reason behind Jenny's cheerful attitude was. Perhaps Tony was right.
"Who wants to go check his house with me and look for the body?" Tony asked.
"You live in a strange world, Tony," McGee stated, still clicking away.
"You aren't concerned at all?" Tony questioned.
"There's a million reasons he could be late, I'm sure he'll come in soon," McGee said indifferently.
The ding of the elevator sounded as Tony opened his mouth to argue, all of them turning their heads to see their boss strolling out with his coffee.
McGee clicked off of his game while Tony shoved the magazine on his lap back into his drawer.
"Morning Boss," Tony greeted.
"Mornin'," Gibbs greeted back cheerfully, catching all of them off guard.
They all stared at their boss as he sat down at his desk, a faint smile on his face.
"We catch a good case or something?" Tony asked.
"Nope," Gibbs replied, putting his things away.
"Then why are you so happy?" Tony interrogated.
Gibbs turned to look at him, a menacing glare on his face.
"I mean, uh...never mind, boss, not happy, I, uh...shutting up now," Tony stammered lamely, sitting back down and pretending to work.
The team members all concentrated on their work in order to keep Gibbs' mood from turning sour, not wanting to go back to dealing with the grumpy boss they had endured the last two days. They all concentrated hard enough that they failed to notice the moment when Jenny walked out of her office to MTAC, and the flirty, knowing smirks she and Gibbs exchanged with each other.
What they did notice was the moment around noon when Jenny came down to the bullpen, all of them inwardly holding their breath, expecting a tense situation to arise between the two bosses.
"Special Agent Gibbs," she greeted, walking over to his desk.
The three gave each other nervous looks, wondering if a shouting match was about to occur.
He looked up at her silently, a smirk on his face.
"Care to join me for lunch?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.
The team members all leaned closer to watch the exchange, wondering what the catch was.
"Sure thing, Director," Gibbs answered, getting up from his desk. He looked around at his team, glaring at their interested looks. "Lunchtime. Everyone be back in an hour," he announced.
They all watched as Gibbs put his hand on the Director's back, guiding her, leaning his head towards hers and whispering in her ear as they got into the elevator.
Tony's mouth dropped open, and they all stared dumbfounded as the elevator doors closed a blushing Director and their boss from view.
They were all silent for a minute, processing what they had witnessed.
"Well...that was unexpected," McGee said, finally breaking the silence.
Ziva muttered something in Hebrew, shaking her head with a smirk as she looked away from the elevator doors.
She and McGee both went over and each grabbed an arm of Tony's, helping the sputtering agent walk to the elevator.
When they made it to the parking lot they found themselves trying to pick him up from the ground next—the sight of Gibbs tonguing the Director against his truck was apparently a little too much for the senior field agent to cope with.