A/N: This is a drabble I wrote a good while ago, but it's surprisingly relevant to The Sixth, I suppose. It has nothing to do with it and was NOT written as a tag, but I'm just saying, if you look at it in that light, it sort of works.
Guardian
Gibbs rubbed his forehead dejectedly and leaned back in his chair. He stared balefully at the busted cell phone on his keyboard; he'd violently broken it out of frustration.
He was so sick of seeing his ex-wife's number flash up on the screen, so sick of being reminded that he had another failed marriage under his belt, and this one over so quickly that he barely remembered marrying her.
It was late and work was hell.
He looked slowly around the bullpen, finally fixing his glare on his new agent—his really new agent. It was Anthony DiNozzo's third day, and the case had wiped him out. The pretty boy homicide cop was passed out on his keyboard. Snoring.
The kid was a mess. He was a skirt-chaser and a goof-off, but somewhere in there down deep, Gibbs knew there was a damn good agent. Somewhere. Down really deep. Hiding.
It wasn't Anthony DiNozzo's fault that his Boss resented him simply for sitting at his predecessor's desk.
Her desk.
Jenny had never fallen asleep at her keyboard. On late nights, he remembered, she'd always been awake—and her green eyes had always stared right back at him across the squad room.
Gibbs sat forward suddenly, pushing his phone aside. He woke his computer silently and pulled up the NCIS archives; he chose a file he often looked at but would never admit to keeping track of and opened it. Her picture popped up on his screen, and he scanned his eyes through the file.
Jennifer M. Shepard, NCIS. Special Agent. Location: Middle East.
Status: Active; Injured.
Injured.
He blinked at the word, and swallowed hard.
She had never been listed as injured before. Often, her location was redacted. Once, she'd been listed as inactive, and once was undisclosed, but never injured.
Watching over her like this was going to kill him someday.
He picked up his desk phone and dialed a trusted number by memory, and when a tired, gravelly male voice answered, he said:
"Callan," and ignored the swearing he heard when the other agent recognized him. "Need you to pull some strings, find out about an agent's injuries," he explained. "Want to know if it's serious," he said, and then cleared his throat, "And don't let her find out I called, Callan…"
Always figured Gibbs sort of watched over her.
*another tumblr story.
-Alexandra
story #110