Just a little something I found when I was looking through the back-up from my laptop. I think I was going to extend it, but I really can't remember. I do remember, however, that I wrote this around Easter last year when poetry was driving me insane. It isn't Carol Ann Duffy bashing...more just a method of getting my frustration against poetry out of my system. Looking back at it now (without the stress of exams and everything) I actually quite like the poem now...but that may have something to do with the fact my essay on it helped me get an A! I think it suits Jibbs pretty well though.

Disclaimer – the poem belongs to Carol-Ann Duffy, Jenny and Gibbs don't belong to me either. I do own the line "If you ever give me an onion I will throw it at your head" cos I may have turned around and said that to this one guy... (KTMrshall – it was Bert)

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As Gibbs headed up the stairs to Jenny's office, he couldn't believe how bad his luck had turned out to be. Just three hours ago he had received a phone call from an annoyed Jenny telling him that they would, in fact, be going to that fundraiser tonight. Just what he needed. Instead of a normal, possibly romantic, night at home with Jenny he had to go to a fundraiser for god-knows-what. To be honest, he didn't even think she knew what it was for. He loved her, and he knew that going to these types of events came with the territory, but he really hated going to these things.

He walked straight through the outer office, Cynthia didn't even bother to look up anymore, and threw the door open in his usual style. However, instead of her usual comment about treating her door as a door, Jenny didn't even move her eyes from the pile of papers lying on her desk. As Gibbs closed the door, she growled dangerously, "If you ever give me an onion, I will kill you."

There was a lingering silence as Gibbs studied Jenny carefully. Apart from the frown on her face, there was nothing else to suggest she was annoyed. He hadn't pissed anyone off, so her anger couldn't be directed at him...and what the hell did onions have to do with anything? He opened his mouth to say something but, thinking better of it, he closed it again. After a moment he asked hesitantly, "Did I miss something?"

"No." Jenny sighed and pushed the papers away in disgust. She looked up at Gibbs standing by the door and glared at him. In a low voice she added, "But if you ever give me an onion, I will throw it at your head and then I will shoot you."

"Point taken." Gibbs was really confused now. He gave up trying to figure out what she was on about and dropped the case files on her desk. He sat down in the chair in front of her desk and raised looked at her curiously, "...Why are we talking about onions?"

"The fundraiser," Jenny groaned, glaring at the papers on her desk. "We are being forced to go because SecNav hates poetry and feels that I should suffer too."

"What does a fundraiser have to do with poetry?" Gibbs inwardly groaned. The only thing he hated more than lawyers was poetry. It was just so...boring. Just the word had him wanting him to bang his head off the desk in front of him. It brought back memories of a stuffy classroom and his old English teacher.

"Until about two hours ago I would have said 'nothing'. But apparently some of the speakers are poets." Jenny looked at Gibbs, her wide eyes pleading. Her tone matched his thoughts exactly. Novels, plays, even Shakespeare, fine. She even enjoyed them. But the thought of sitting listening to poets made her skin crawl. "I now remember why I hated poetry in high school. I always skipped English if I knew we were doing poetry."

Gibbs chuckled, knowing exactly what most of the agency would do if they knew their Director had admitted to that. He, on the other hand, knew that was just Jen. It looked like the Director mask had slipped and Agent Sheppard was whining about an unfair assignment. Meeting her eyes, he asked cautiously, "And what does this have to do with onions?"

Jenny glared at the stack of papers on her desk again and sighed. "I had Ziva Google the speakers and find a few of their poems for me so I didn't look like a complete idiot. So I have spent the last two hours reading poems. One of the speakers is Britain's poet laureate, Carol Ann Duffy." She grabbed the top sheet by the edge and turned it towards Gibbs. Gibbs glanced at the piece of paper which seemed to have caused her so much offence. By the look of disgust on her face he concluded that this piece of paper was going in the shredder as soon as he left. "I finished Valentine as you walked in. If you ever decide that an onion is an appropriate gift, I will not hesitate to shoot you."

"You've lost me." Gibbs grabbed the sheet off the desk, glancing over the words. It seemed like the word 'poetry' had the same effect on him now as it did in high school. All he saw was a bunch of words arranged into eight sections. A line here, four there, five somewhere else...it didn't even read right!

Jenny leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. "She talks about how an onion represents love. I'll give her some credit. Some of the images she creates are good, and she gets the idea of love. But, the poem is completely pointless. It makes no sense! I don't particularly want to be blinded by tears. And the end is just strange. Give me depressing poems any day." She stopped mid-rant, sounding very much like a teenager stuck in a class she didn't like. She glared at the white sheet of paper again, hoping that if she glared at it enough it would burst into flames. "One of her other poems, War Photographer, was good. It made sense. Another one of the other poets, Seamus Heany, wrote about ploughing and not following tradition. I actually enjoyed that but this..." She mentally shuddered. She hated poetry.

Gibbs laughed. She was alternating between glaring at the sheet of paper in his hands and the pile on her desk. Definitely reliving her teenage years. "So the moral of the story is don't buy you an onion?"

Jenny stopped trying to scare the paper and smiled at Gibbs. Trust him to make her feel better by saying something like that. Oh well, that was just one of the many reasons she loved him. "If you value your life, then yes. I should probably stay away from the poets tonight, shouldn't I?"

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I know I should be working on Paris Never Dies - the chapter is about 3/4 done :)