A/N: It's about that time for me to write an angsty Jenny-centric piece, as I cannot get Torn to come out, the past couple of weeks have been horrible for me, and this just won't leave me alone.

This song is in a roundabout way inspired by the Natalie Merchant song 'My Skin' (shown to me by Jibbsgal1, who did an excellent song-fic to it; if you haven't read it, go do it NOW).

Also- this takes place almost directly after the season three episode 'Probie.' It's short, angsty, and I like it that way.

Disclaimer: I do not own a single thing other than the premise of this story.

"I'm a slow dying flower."

Jenny Shepard had been the Director of NCIS for six full months.

It felt like she had been Director for six years.

She could feel the toll the job was taking on her body; she was exhausted and worn down, she'd lost weight, she didn't sleep anymore. She was barely functioning, but she couldn't do anything to change it; her schedule was as it was, and she'd resigned herself to this fate when she'd taken the job.

It was a Saturday night; she'd spent the past few hours doing backlog paperwork, and she needed a break. She'd come into her bathroom with the possibility of taking a bath, but so far she'd spent most of her time looking in the mirror.

She was so pale. She had always been pale, with the Irish blood in her veins and flame red hair, but now she was like a ghost. She was almost transparent.

Her veins stood out prominently; the blue in her arms was so obvious her eye widened. Her eyes were shadowed, dark circles permanently etched in her skin. The green of her irises- one of her favorite things about herself- was duller than she remembered; less emerald and more olive.

She couldn't help but notice that she looked as tired as she felt. She didn't eat anymore; she mainlined coffee and bourbon, only eating dinner when she had to go to State dinners or lunch with Senators. And even then, it was always half a salad or a lite soup or something that never filled her up.

She knew she couldn't keep this up; her body could only keep up for so long.

Jenny looked at the mirror again, wincing. Her hair was a wreck. Her ends were split beyond repair; she was in desperate need of a trim. She was in need of a dye job too; gray hairs were becoming rampant as the stress slowly started to kill her. Her bangs were getting in her eyes, and her whole head was just one ugly mess.

She was considering just cutting it all off and not even dealing with her long, heavy curls anymore.

But Jethro loved her hair long- wait, why was she bringing Jethro's opinion into this? Clearly, he wanted nothing to do with her anymore, and he had no say in her life anymore. So if she wanted to cut her hair, she could.

She'd go to her hairdresser's tomorrow.

She just wanted to look in the mirror, and see the reflection of someone strong. Of someone pretty.

Of someone happy.

"I feel pretty…but unpretty," –'I Feel Pretty/Unpretty', Glee