I fidgeted nervously with my straps of my navy blue dress as I sat in NCIS. Of course, I had never heard of the place until today when three agents had come upon a 'murder' that I had witnessed. I put in the murder in quotes because it was more of an assassination. I knew exactly who had ordered it and why. And more importantly I knew what would happen to me if I had said what I knew. I had so far refused to speak to anyone and no one really seemed to be asking me any questions either. Instead I was currently locked in a conference room in the NCIS building. The official director had popped in and told me that the other agencies were too busy to do the witness protection program and that it would be far too risky to move me anyway, so she would chose an agent to take care of me in the building. She had sounded overly apologetic and offered me food and drink at least twice. I politely refused, unsure of whether to trust her. I was hoping the chosen agent would be that Tony guy, one of the agents that had found me. He definitely shared my sense of humor and had quite the dashing smile but the McGee agent had a cute nerd thing about him. Ziva was the lone woman in the trio, and probably the least friendly. I wondered when was the last time she had smiled.

And now there was a cranky man that was arguing with the director right outside the door. I had a feeling it was a little ajar. Either that or their voices were so loud I could clearly hear every word. The man sounded extremely snappy and impatient…his name was Jethro and Gibbs…at the same time…interesting. Before I had time to fully try and figure out what their conversation was about, two other people walked into the room, though the Goth woman mostly skipped.

"Oh my god, you get to go inside Gibbs's house, oh my god you HAVE to take pictures! What does his bed look like, does he sleep in a coffin, you have to talk me and -

Her bubbly personality was very obvious once she started talking. It was very surprising to hear in comparison to the knee high leather boots she was sporting. They somehow managed to match well with her black Lolita dress.

"Abigail, please leave her alone," an old man that had a grandpa feel to him then turned to me, "I'm terribly sorry, she was just leaving." And he had an accent as well. I would guess British…

"But Ducky?" The woman pouted like a five year old. "His house..."

To say the least, I was a little confused as to what was happening.

"Let's not test the director's patience, shall we?" With that, he gently ushered her out of the door and closed it behind him. Then he sat at the opposite side of the conference table, a searching as well as sympathetic look on his face. It made me clutch my purse in suspicion. He seemed ready to start a therapy session.

"Well, hello there, my name is Ducky. Not my real name, of course but there's a story behind that all started in …" And off he went, telling his life story with plenty of details that were not needed. I pretended to be listening but in reality I had no other wish than to run out of the door and into the nearest taxi for the airport.

"But enough about me, what about you?" He questioned me about little things – number of siblings, hobbies, movies I had recently seen. The line of questioning didn't really make sense and I suspected he was attempting to have me relax. But my shoulders were just as stiff as when he first entered. When he finally seemed to noticed that no amount of his coddling would make me open up, he instead began to tell about the agent that was assigned to me. Apparently it was the angry man that I had heard yelling and arguing with the director just outside the door. By the sound of things, the agent – Agent Gibbs as Ducky called him – was not overly keen about being in charge of me and my safety but the director had chosen him since he was the best and more experience agent currently available. I just had nodded blankly as Ducky continued to explain that this agent would be taking me to his personal home due to some sort of odd protocol that didn't make sense. I was about to remark about there were several parts of this that seemed just plain illegal but then another older man punched the door open.

"Ah, speak of the devil. Jethro." Ducky smiled at the man.

I gulped. Agent Gibbs walked towards me with a very permanent frown on his face. "Let's go."

I got up almost immediately. My fingers continued to dig into the outside of my purse and I keep my eyes downward. As we walked through the parking lot, I scanned the area for any sights of a threat. There seemed to be none so far.

He led me to his car and grunted as he opened the backseat door for me. I step in quickly, not knowing whether or not speaking in general would be a good idea at this point. He had not said anything to me since the conference room and seem to be in silent fury as he drove.

His house was in the same genre as the rest of the things that he owned – simple, straight to the point, mildly grouchy. And judging by the neighbors and how their houses were sparkling with Christmas lights, he was probably the only person on the whole street that hadn't been in a rush to get in the holiday spirit. I saw all of this as he proceeded to park in his driveway. He got out of the car without preamble and then stood next to my door impatiently.

So much for chivalry.

Several small children and their mother waved enthusiastically at me as I walked up the plain driveway. I waved back with a small smile, choosing to ignore how Gibbs ignored the group. I figured I didn't have anything to lose by the small gesture. The poor mother was obviously happy to see another sign of life in her neighbor's home. But I quickly put my hand down as soon as Gibbs turned around from in front of me to glare at me. By the look of things I have a whole hand to lose, just from being friendly. He seemed more and more like a real life scrooge.

Other than the glare, he said nothing to me the rest of the time from entering his door to a silent dinner that I managed to put together with the little content that lay in his refrigerator. He then pointed out the hallway and where the master bedroom and bathroom were before sulking back down to the basement, with his giant boat that I caught a quick glimpse of when I first entered the home. I had to admit I wasn't feeling particularly protected being on a different floor than my so called security. But I also had no desire to share the room with a brooding man that was armed. So I padded down the hallway and took refuge in the master bedroom.

Around ten at night, Gibbs came up to the room as I continued to read the Da Vinci Code novel that I always keep in my purse. The top of my left arm pulsed in pain as I read but I ignored it. The agent had given me a bruise from his extremely tight grip as walked from the NCIS building to his car. I hadn't noticed but it was indeed changing color to purple and blue. Maybe I could sue.

After rummaging through his closet, he tossed me a long men's blue polo. Pajamas apparently. Before I could get up from my criss cross applesauce position, he had walked into the bathroom and shut the door. I heard the click of the lock only seconds later. Feel the hospitality. Apparently, I was to change in the room. So I did, feeling naked without pants on. I headed to the living room with his set of blankets and settled into the couch with my purse on my stomach. I let out a huff and stared at the ceiling. The couch was more comfortable than I had expected but it was still a couch. I could feel the hardness of the couch arm under my neck.

"Why are you on the couch?" His voice seemed to indicate that I had gone insane when he entered the room. I jumped. I hadn't heard him approach.

"Because…I'm going to sleep here." I want to add duh but held my tongue. It was the first time I had bothered to speak to him directly and I was already rejecting it. Maybe I should just go mute, pretend the murder scarred me or something. But then that Ducky dude would be on top of me…better Duck man than -

"You're sleeping with me."

He must have seen the look on my face, because instantly he corrected himself. "Just in the same bed."

Like that was supposed to ease my growing panic. There was no way I was going to sleep in the same bed as a stranger…especially of the opposite sex, especially when it was a federal agent that seemed to hate my very existence.

And that when he began to come towards me, almost as if he was going to grab my wrists and –

Oh hell no.