a/n: remember "Idioms" ? because the concept of this story is kind of the same, except not Ziva-ism centric! it's based on a favorite Gibbs scene in which Jenny says "Get a dictionary!" in an annoyed response to Gibbs' stubborn refusal to acknowledge that he probably knows exactly what she's talking about. each chapter is a different word!
A: Affiance (verb; infinitive form) : to engage to be married ; syn: betroth, engage
The Director of NCIS had been in a touchy mood all day, and since he was about one hundred percent sure it wasn't his fault, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was determined to find out why – after all, the worst thing that could happen was that he was one hundred percent wrong and it was actually somehow all his fault.
He doubted that would happen, though; yesterday her last words to him had been tired praise for not going ballistic during a news interview, and unless he'd called her and said something offensive in his sleep, he hadn't done anything to incite her wrath since then.
He tried subtlety first – he preferred not to barge into her affairs too obviously, because he had at least some class – but when that failed, he resorted to blatant investigation, beginning with asking Ziva – which didn't go well –
"I do not know, Gibbs," she said sternly, giving him a look. "I would not tell you if I did."
"So you do know."
"I did not say anything."
"That's somethin', Ziva!"
She had taken her bag, giving him a wry look, and left the office, shaking her head. That left Gibbs alone in the bullpen, glaring warily at the spot where Ziva had been standing, and Jenny up in her office, brooding over something, no doubt, and working late.
He assumed she was brooding because she'd seemed brood-y all day, and he assumed she was working late because her catwalk office with its big ominous window and dark lighting was an optimal place to brood, especially if you were a busy, workaholic – he should know.
He strolled upstairs and walked into the outer office, immediately looking for Cynthia – but the assistant had already gone home; her desk was neatly cleaned off and siting empty in front of a large bookshelf.
Gibbs took that as permission to barge right in to his former Probie's office.
"Jethro," she hissed immediately.
He'd expected her to be at her desk, and when the hiss originated from somewhere else, he was momentarily disoriented. He blinked, and took a few steps in, finally spotting her over by the conference table.
She was leaning against it, television remote in her hand. He guessed she'd been watching the news, but at the moment she was giving him a baleful glare over her shoulder.
"Ziva says there's somethin' wrong with you," Gibbs announced boldly.
The Director stiffly turned off her television and turned to face him, arching her eyebrow as she crossed her arms.
"I doubt that," she said wryly.
Gibbs grinned.
"She wouldn't say," he corrected. "But she said she wouldn't say, instead of sayin' you were fine," he added smugly.
"And you thought that meant she was hinting you should barrel in here and demand to know why I've been so touchy all day," Jenny guessed dryly.
"Yeah."
She glared at him – he didn't even flinch when she revealed it had gotten back to her that he'd called her touchy. He smirked at her and prowled over to her desk, taking an obstinate seat in her chair. She sat on the edge of the table, watching him – she was in a touchy mood, and sometimes, she kind of liked having someone to take that out on, so she let him stay and provoke her.
"Needs a cup holder," Gibbs drawled, tapping the arms of her leather chair flippantly.
She smiled a little, and he sat forward, grabbing her glasses and examining them.
"Some senator piss you off?" he asked, blowing on the lenses as if to clean them.
He set them aside and reached out, picking up a stiff, elegant looking cream-coloured card with a lace fringe.
"Who's gettin' married?" he snorted.
He looked up, and caught her giving the thing a distasteful look – and his eyebrows went up; really? She was touchy because of - because someone was getting married?
She caught his eye, and smiled grimly.
"My high school sweetheart," she revealed.
Gibbs squinted and read the names – he wasn't surprised he'd never heard of the bride or the groom. He checked the venue and date – four months from now, somewhere in New York. He shrugged, and put the invitation down.
"You pissed you're not in the wedding or something?"
"I don't have time to be in a wedding," Jenny scoffed.
Gibbs arched a brow at her, and made a skeptical noise.
"Then what's makin' you touchy?"
She tilted her head.
"The bride was my high school best friend," she said coolly.
Gibbs shrugged.
"Ah, Jen," he said. "You don't care about that."
He knew her well enough to know that after this long, there was no way she expected people she'd known in high school to adhere to some sort of youthful romance rulebook.
It was her turn to shrug.
She crossed her ankles and watched him for a moment, chewing on the inside of her lip.
"It's not so much the invitation as the note that came with it."
Gibbs picked the card back up. He looked around, then spied the envelope and opened it, taking out a small piece of cardstock that requested her R.S.V.P. along with a small folded piece of paper.
It said –
- Jenna! Can you believe it? I'm finally walking down the aisle! With any luck, you'll be next! Xo – Bethany.
Gibbs arched his brows.
"Jenna?" he quoted.
She waved her hand.
"That's what I went by," she muttered.
He read the note again, and then put it aside, sitting back. He folded his hands and put them behind his head, elbows sticking out.
"So what, Jenny?" he asked bluntly.
She looked frustrated. She licked her lips, and held out her hand.
"That comment – as if I'm wasting away because I'm not married; as if that's what I'm waiting around for," she said, her eyes a little hard. "She knows what I do for a living. She made that comment to put herself above me."
"You're jealous?" Gibbs asked, studying her. "Never thought you cared about gettin' married."
She gave him a sharp look – she understood he was referencing her treatment of him, her mocking of his marriages, and she gave him a short, sharp little smile.
"You ever think I just didn't want to marry you?" she asked smoothly.
He gave her a look, and tilted his head dashingly, silently answering. She bit her lip, rolling her eyes at him.
"It's irritating, that we still live in that kind of world – I can be this successful, but I must not be happy, because I don't have a husband," she griped, gritting her teeth. "I don't have to be unhappy."
"Are you unhappy?" Gibbs asked.
She met his eyes. She stood there, looking at him, and then she pushed off the table and walked forward. She came to her desk and plucked the invitation and note away from him, tucking them into an envelope.
"No," she said, focused on the envelope. "I just don't see why it has to be the norm for everyone to affiance themselves – God forbid some people just be single – "
Gibbs gave her a look.
"Affiance?" he grunted.
She turned her head and gave him a sly smile, her eyes sparkling.
"I'm surprised a man with so many marriages under his belt doesn't know what affiance means."
"There it is; been waitin' for that."
"What?"
"The joke about my wives," he said dully.
She smirked.
"Affiance means to get engaged – "
"Why the hell don't you just say fiancé, Jen?"
She snorted.
"Because fiancé is a noun, and affiance is a verb," she retorted. "Let me finish – it means to engage; like betroth."
Gibbs sat back, giving her a skeptical look.
"Do you know what betroth means?" she asked sweetly.
He considered her a moment, his expression unreadable. He raised one shoulder and cracked a small smile, narrowing his eyes impishly.
"I know what propose means," he drawled.
She laughed, leaning forward on the desk and tilting her head up at him – she was absolutely sure that was a word she didn't have to teach him.
! let the fun begin !
-alexandra
story #259
