A bit different from the last ones I've written! So please, please, review - would love to know what you think. Five chapters in all, and all pretty much written so updates should be fairly regular. Rated T for now, the rating will go up in chapter 5.

As usual, I own nothing. I keep trying.

Jenny Shepard sank down into her chair, kicked off her heels and leaned back, closing her eyes. It felt like someone was twisting a dagger in the side of her head, and her feet ached. She cursed herself. Wearing a brand new pair of three-inch heels for a fifteen-hour day at work had not been a good idea. She stood up and fetched a glass and a bottle of bourbon from the cabinet, and poured herself a generous measure. It wouldn't help her feet – or her head – but she was past caring.

She grimaced as the first mouthful of fiery liquid hit her stomach, and slipped off her suit jacket, throwing it over the back of the chair she had just vacated. She looked around her. She had worked so hard for this. The brownstone house in Georgetown with its dark wooden floors, leather armchairs and luxurious furnishings was all hers. It was her statement to the world of who she was and what she was, but it was also her refuge, a place of safety and comfort when she needed one. Her salary as the new Director of NCIS had made it possible. Tonight, for the first time, she wondered whether it had all been worth it. Her first four weeks in the post had been hell.

She shook her head at herself, and took another mouthful of bourbon. It always had this melancholy effect on her. She had never been able to work out if it was the drink itself, or the man who had introduced her to it. She grimaced again. Once her superior in the field, Gibbs was now her lead agent. The role reversal had not gone down well, and the timing could not have been worse with his team – what was left of it – in turmoil and hunting the killer of one of their own. She supposed that, had the circumstances been reversed, she might not have made things particularly easy either. Finding out your former lover was now your boss was not a situation she had ever had to deal with.

She sat back down with her drink and closed her eyes. It was pitch black outside, the air muggy and close, and the single lamp that lit the living room cast soft light and shadows over the bookcases and soft chairs. A delicious smell was coming from the kitchen – Noemie had put lasagna in the oven before she left for the evening – but for now she was too hot and tired to eat. She let her mind wander, a random train of thought from Gibbs to a Paris safe house to a barn in Serbia, to the Director's office that was now hers. She had made it clear to Gibbs once more that their relationship was now strictly professional. Rightly or wrongly, she had made that decision a long time ago, and Jenny Shepard was not given to changing her mind.

Her thoughts moved over the past month. Agent Todd's death at the hands of Ari Haswari had unexpectedly brought someone else back into her life, but this one she was not prepared for. She had not seen Ziva David since the joint NCIS-Mossad operation in Cairo five years before. She opened her eyes and sipped her drink. She had known Ari was Ziva's half-brother, and she had her suspicions about how he had finally died. Her decision to bring Ziva back to NCIS as liaison officer was not one she could easily explain. It was not a position that the agency had ever had before. It was not one that they really needed, and it certainly was not one – at the present time – they wanted. It was her first major change as director, and she did not want anyone realizing that her main reason for taking it was probably personal.

Damn, it was hot. Jenny stood up to open a window and stood by it for a moment, breathing in the night air. It didn't help much. Even with the streetlights now burning brightly she could tell the sky was heavy with clouds. She turned away, intending to refill her glass, when a knock on her front door stopped her in her tracks. She stiffened, automatically reaching for the gun she still kept in her jacket. Moving quietly out into the wide hallway towards the door, she took a look through the peephole and stepped back as she realized who it was. Her stomach did a quick back flip. The bourbon? Or something else?

'Ziva'.

'Shalom, Jenny'.

The younger woman was dressed in combat pants and a sleeveless top, her brown curls falling around her shoulders. Jenny's skirt and blouse suddenly felt hot and constrictive, and she wished she had bothered to change when she had got home. Still, it was a bit late now.

'Are you going to invite me in?'

Jenny gave herself a mental shake, and stepped aside, allowing Ziva to enter the hallway before closing and bolting the door behind her.

'Is something wrong, Ziva?'

Ziva shook her head as she pulled off her boots, her warm brown eyes finally resting on Jenny.

'It is ok in this country to call in on an old friend, yes?'

Jenny couldn't help but smile. 'It's eleven at night, Ziva.'

Ziva shrugged and returned her smile, her gaze wandering to the gun Jenny still held at her hip.

'I can go if you would rather not have company'.

Jenny sighed, still smiling, and shook her head. She gestured to Ziva to follow her through to the living room where she put the gun back in her jacket, poured another two shots of bourbon and handed one over. Ziva took it, a dubious look on her face.

'Bourbon', Jenny said as she settled herself on the sofa. Ziva raised her eyebrows, but said nothing and perched on the edge of an armchair across from Jenny.

Jenny watched her for a moment, well aware that Ziva was watching her too, but maybe not being quite so obvious. She had not changed. The same dark brown eyes, olive skin, slim figure toned by years of military style workouts, the same curly hair falling across her shoulders. Jenny resisted the urge to reach out and run her fingers through it. Not even Ziva calls this late at night without a reason. She leaned forward, a questioning look on her face.

'Why are you here, Ziva?'