A/n: It's long. Oh dear lord it's long (lol), and you can probably expect to see more of them, maybe not quite as lengthy as this. Hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

xoxo-

Monkeys :)


Gibbs stepped off the elevator, his salt and pepper hair plastered to his head with rain water and nearly collided with Stan Burley as the younger man came barreling around the corner, an eager grin on his face.

Gibbs exhaled in annoyance, settling Burley with a glare that would normally have the man cowering under his gaze, but whatever had the infamous prankster practically bouncing with glee was clearly too good for even a glare from Gibbs to ruin his mood.

"Boss," Burley acknowledged breathlessly, having the sense to at least try to control his foolish grin. "Shepard."

Gibbs stepped off of the elevator allowing the doors to close behind him and, and eyed Burley with a raised brow, prompting him to give some sort of explanation regarding his behavior other than single word titles.

"Boss, Decker," Burley exclaimed, emphasizing his excitement with his open palmed hand gesture, and practically sparkling eyes.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, giving Stan a reproachful look. He was getting fed up with the 'name game.'

"Shepard hurled in autopsy," Stan finally blurted out, actually bouncing on his toes.

For the past six weeks, ever since the petite red-head had been assigned to their team, it seemed she could do no wrong. Not once had Burley seen Shepard get one head slap. To his annoyance, she had excelled at practically everything; and when she actually made some small mistake, Gibbs barely blinked.

This though, this she couldn't get out of. Observing an autopsy was the only thing she had yet to do, and Burley had a feeling she had been avoiding it. Finally, she had done something to warrant the wrath of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

He knew Jenny never had the stomach for anything involving blood. Apparently it 'made her skin crawl'. Nevertheless, he definitely hadn't expected her 'womanly sensitivities' to get in the way of her job.

"She contaminate something?" he demanded, and Stan furrowed his brow in thought before the insane joy was back again, perhaps more intense than before if that were possible.

"I don't know, boss. Decker was down there with her. He just called. I was goin' down to find out," Stan replied.

Now that would take the cake. Contaminating evidence? She'd never live it down.

Gibbs let out an agitated huff and turned to jab the elevator button a little more forcefully than necessary. The doors opened with a 'ding' within moments, and the ex-Marine stepped back onto the lift. He held a hand out to stop Burley from following him and the younger man honestly looked as if someone had stolen his best friend and then hit his dog with a car.

"Go work," Gibbs ordered, pointing sharply toward the bullpen and Burley's shoulders slumped.

"Boss!" Stan protested in utter desolation, coming about as close to whining as any self-respecting man could.

"Work!" Gibbs snapped before the doors closed and the elevator began its descent.

When Gibbs strode into autopsy, the mechanic 'whoosh' of the doors behind him signaling his arrival, he caught the tail end of what had surely been a long-winded argument.

Jenny sat on an empty autopsy table, the harsh light of the morgue giving even her profile a ghostly cast.

"I'm fine, Dr. Mallard," Jenny insisted, though the dry bark of a cough that followed made her statement less than convincing.

"I'll be the judge of that, my dear," Donald Mallard admonished lightly, handing her a cup of steaming Earl Grey tea. "And please, call me Ducky."

Jenny managed a grateful smile, lifting the offered cup to her lips, the heat of the dark tea brushing her already flushed skin.

"Thank you, Dr…" she started ,but stopped and smiled slightly before remedying her statement. "Ducky."

Decker looked up from his place beside Jenny at the sound of Gibbs footfalls and both Jenny's and the doctor's eyes followed.

"Oh, Jesus," Jenny muttered, rolling her eyes in disdain at the sight of him.

Jethro, she could deal with; but Gibbs, with his no nonsense bark…that was the last thing she needed. Scratch that. Gibbs would hardly bat an eyelash unless she had contaminated something, but Jethro? Oh, he'd probably worry her to death.

"She dyin', Duck?" Gibbs asked bluntly.

By the look of her, it could actually be considered a valid question.

Jenny actually risked meeting his gaze and she was surprised to say the least at what she found there: genuine concern. His posture was rigid as usual from years of standing at attention, and to anyone else he might look his normal self, but he certainly hadn't had the same concern in his eyes when Burley had come in sick three weeks ago. The feminist in her wanted to say it was because she was a woman and he was an old chauvinist, but she knew better than that.

"Well, Jethro I wouldn't go so far," Ducky murmured, cracking a smile at the younger man's crude humor. "Though she's in no state to be working. Ms. Shepard appears to have a nasty case of influenza."

"I am fine," Jenny insisted yet again, despite her watery eyes and the scarlet flush to her skin.

She knew she was far from fine. Her head ached, breathing through her nose was a notion level with clouds of cotton candy and unicorns, and she felt sick to her stomach even as she sat there, and there was no doubt that she should certainly be at home; but she'd be damned if she would let any man in that room know that.

She handed the nearly empty tea cup to Ducky, and slid down off of the autopsy table, her vision crossing as she did so; but she blinked rapidly in an attempt to brush it off. Her slip did not go unnoticed by Ducky however, or Jethro for that matter.

"Jethro, someone really ought to take Ms. Shepard home," Ducky decided, eyeing the red-head warily.

Decker snorted at the notion that Gibbs would send anyone home for being sick-

"I'll take her," Gibbs said

-and his eyes bulged

"No one needs to drive me anywhere, because I'm not going anywhere," Jenny spoke up, enraged at the fact that they were speaking as if she were not there.

"Yeah, you are," Gibbs replied, eyeing her pointedly, and she narrowed her eyes.

"Gibbs," she growled lowly.

The last thing she wanted was special treatment from him. She got enough complaining about it from Burley. She didn't need concrete proof.

"You're sick," he stated matter-of-factly, and she glared at him balefully through her lashes.

"Thank you, Agent Obvious," she snapped, her voice breathy with sarcastic exaltation.

Gibbs fought the urge to roll his eyes as well. He had forgotten how snippy she got when she was sick.

"I don't need you contaminating any more evidence," he said instead.

"I didn't contaminate any evidence," she shot back, propping her hand on her hip.

"You want a job to come back to, Shepard?" he demanded testily, she glared at her balefully. "I don't need you getting anybody else sick. We're backed up enough on cases as it is."

He tugged her by her bicep and she forced to aversely oblige.

Decker watched them go curiously as Ducky made his way over to the cadaver he had covered for Jenny's benefit. There was something about the way Shepard and Gibbs interacted. He knew for sure that he had never seen nor heard of Gibbs sending anyone home on a sick day, much less taking them home himself; but Gibbs was an old chauvinist, and women were few and far between at NCIS. Jenny Shepard was the first Decker had ever seen, and he was almost positive she was the first on Gibbs' team. Will hated to admit it, but he couldn't help but think that maybe the crap Burley spouted had some credibility.

There was no denying Jenny Shepard was attractive: with her long legs, big, green eyes, and fiery, red hair. She wasn't his type; not a blonde, but Jenny Shepard was attractive. William Decker couldn't help but wonder if maybe Gibbs had noticed too.

"Hey Ducky, you think there's something going on there?" Decker asked absently, pointing to the path they had taken.

Ducky paused, his scalpel poised over their dead Marine's open chest, and turned to Decker with an air of amusement.

"William, I am not quite old enough to be a gossip," Ducky murmured in veiled admonition, and Decker chuckled sheepishly.

"What can you tell me, Ducky?" he asked, returning the conversation to their dead Petty Officer.

Meanwhile, Jenny and Jethro stood at opposite sides of the elevator per Jenny's doing.

He watched her warily while she grew increasingly flustered trying to ignore the fact that he was.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the back wall of the elevator with a sigh, her right arm wrapped tightly under her bust, massaging her left temple with the other hand. Suddenly, the elevator lurched taking her stomach with it, and her eyes shot open as the lights flashed off with a mechanical whir.

She inhaled through her nose and swallowed deliberately in an attempt to control her stomach function before sending Jethro a scathing glare.

"Damn it, Jethro, why do you do that?" she snapped, holding her palm to her turning stomach.

She had only been the reason for his brutal treatment of the elevator twice before, but she had since learned that he used it as his personal conference room.

"You're going to break the damn thing one day, and it's going to cost the agency an arm and a leg to fix," she muttered, her M.B.A. dictating her thoughts.

"What are you the Director now?" he demanded smarmily as he advanced on her. "Why are you here, Jen?"

"I work here," she sighed wittily.

"You're sick," he stated once again, and she rolled here eyes.

"Yes, Jethro that has been established," she snapped. "You had no qualms keeping Burley here when he was sick," she pointed out.

"Burley was faking," Gibbs said. "He got over it over the weekend, and Burley had a cold; he didn't have the flu."

She kept her sour expression a moment before her features softened; semi-comfortable that he was not giving her any extreme special treatment.

"Take me home," she finally sighed in reluctant agreement, and he flipped the emergency switch, sending the elevator whirring back to life.

Burley looked up as the elevator doors opened with the customary 'ding' and Jenny stepped off, closely followed by Gibbs. He grinned impishly as the two of them walked into the bullpen and his gaze followed Jenny as she reached her desk and he narrowed his eyes as she grabbed her bag.

He felt rather than saw Gibbs coming before the steely ex-Marine's hand connected with the back of his head.

"Where you going, boss?" Burley asked as Gibbs continued past him, and grabbed his car keys from his desk drawer.

"Takin' Shepard home," Gibbs replied, looking up at said red-head who was waiting at the entrance of the bullpen.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx

Jethro drove up to Jenny's Georgetown town home, and turned to see that she had fallen asleep sometime during the drive there, and she was snoring softly with her mouth open, head resting against the car door. He smirked, and shifted the car into neutral and pulled the key out of the ignition before pushing his car door open, kicking it closed behind him and walking around to Jenny's side.

"Jen," he murmured, unhooking her seatbelt, but she kept on sleeping, and he hesitated a moment before grabbing her keys and her bag and scooped her into his arms.

She stirred slightly with a small moan before snuggling closer into his chest. He kicked the car door shut, and continued up the walkway to her door.

Halfway to her porch, the front door flew open, and Magda stood there wringing her hands, her brow furrowed in concern. The squat Puerto Rican woman came trotting down the walkway, fearing the worst.

"What has happened?" she demanded of Jethro, and he shook his head, waving off her concern.

"She's got the flu again. Probably got it from Kelly. Lost it in autopsy. To stubborn to stay home a day," he replied, and Magda visibly relaxed.

"I tell her, 'get the shot,'. She does not listen," she sighed, and Gibbs chuckled as they made their way up the porch steps. He stepped back , motioning for Magda to go ahead and she stepped in, but shut the door behind him.

She watched as he carried Jenny up the stairs, and she was reminded of better days. Maybe there was a chance that Jenny was right; 'he would rather die than hurt her again.'

Jethro attempted to get Jenny into her bed without waking her, but alas, he was unsuccessful and Jenny's eyes fluttered as she registered the smell of sawdust, and coffee: a smell she had long since come to associate with Jethro.

"Jethro," she murmured, leaning away from his chest to look up at him in confusion before looking around in bewilderment before she sighed and her shoulders relaxed as he set her on the bed gently, pulling her covers over her.

He made his way over to her chest of drawers and realized he no longer knew where she kept what.

"Which drawer?" he asked. "Pajamas," he clarified.

"Top left," she sighed, sniffling slightly as she hugged a second pillow to her.

He rifled through her drawer, searching for something comfortable, and smirked when he found a 'Stillwater High' sweatshirt he had been looking for since before they had split.

"Been looking for this," he announced, holding it up, and she opened one eye, a small smile gracing her lips before she rolled back over into her pillows.

"It's mine," she mumbled, fluffing the pillow under her head. "Don't you dare try to take it."

He laughed quietly, settling on a pair of flannel pajama pants and said sweatshirt. He shut the drawer and smirked at the sight of her: her loose red hair a stark contrast against the white pillowcase under her head, her nose as red as the hair.

"Jen, change clothes," he ordered, knowing she would hate having rumpled her work clothes, and she moaned, burying her face in her pillow.

"No," was the petulant answer she mumbled into her pillow.

"Be back to check on you later," he informed her, setting the clothes on the edge of the bed.

"Stop treating me like a wife, Jethro," she called after him, though a small smile graced her face at the thought that he cared enough to check up on her. "You should be treating me like an agent."

"You think I care if Diane is sick," he replied smartly. "Go to sleep, Jen."

He shut her door behind him and rounded the corner to the stairs. He jogged down them, finding Magda standing in the foyer. He slowed as he reached the foot of the stairs, feeling she had something to say.

The older woman spoke in broken, Spanish-accented English."

"You no hurt her anymore."

He was unsure if it was a statement, a demand, or a question; but his reply was the same regardless of how she meant it.

"No ma'am," he assured her, and she narrowed her dark eyes suspiciously a moment, assessing the pain in his blue ones before she nodded curtly.

"Good," she approved.

Magda knew first hand what kind of childhood Jenny had; she would go home and cry after a day in the Shepard house at times. Jethro did not, and she would do anything she could to keep the red-head's adult life from being anything remotely close to that.

"Mrs. Cruz," he bid her farewell, nodding respectfully.

"Jethro," she returned the farewell, using his given name for the first time in years.

He smirked, pulling the door closed behind him and walked out into the mid-afternoon sunshine.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

William Decker strode into the bullpen to see Stan Burley nearly dissolving into a conniption fit.

Stan looked up as his teammates shadow passed over his desk.

"He took her home," he whined. "She hurled in autopsy and he drove her home for a sick day!" He waved his hand angrily. "He'd never let us take a sick day. He made me stay last month," he remembered, jabbing his finger into his chest.

"You were faking it," Decker said unsympathetically, dropping into his chair.

"I was not!" Burley insisted before bringing the conversation back to Jenny Shepard, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and their allegedly undeniable relationship. "You can't tell me you don't see something going on," Stan practically yelled, his eyes bulging: his expression verging on insane.

"He's not saying anything," Gibbs voice broke into Stan's rant as the older man strode into the bullpen, greeting the back of Burley's head with the customary slap.

"Thanks boss," Burley winced, giving Decker a, 'what the hell' look for not warning him, and Decker shrugged.

"What do we have on the McCarthy case?" Gibbs demanded, tossing his badge and gun into his top drawer.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kelly Gibbs ran through the door of the large Georgetown town house she had come to call home a couple of hours later, slamming the large door shut behind her, and slung her backpack on the floor.

"Mom!" she called, running up the stairs, her feet thudding like a herd of elephants.

When Magda was not waiting for her, that meant that her mother was home.

She furrowed her brow in confusion at receiving no response, and ran to Jenny's room, throwing the door open.

"Mom!" she called brightly, smiling.

"Kelly, will you stop that God-forsaken racket?" Jenny snapped, wincing at the sudden, harsh light, and Kelly's face fell.

Jenny sighed heavily, sitting up in bed, squeezing her eyes shut at the effort to lift her pounding head. She reopened her eyes, and Kelly's shoes were the first thing she saw.

"And what did I tell you about your shoes?" Jenny demanded, her voice harsh. She had told Kelly time and time again to take her shoes off before she came in the house.

"I'm sorry," Kelly apologized quietly, her voice cracking, and Jenny immediately felt guilty.

"God," she muttered to herself. "No, no, I'm sorry," Jenny sighed. "I don't feel well, okay? I'm sorry I snapped."

Kelly nodded slowly, eyeing Jenny with large, uncertain eyes. Her mother had never spoken to her with such unwarranted anger. Her father, yes, but never Kelly. She was not sure she should give her what she had brought her.

"Go play in your room, Kelly. I don't want you to get sick again," Jenny murmured, her point punctuated by her rattling cough as she rested her head back on the pillow.

Kelly backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her and as she did so she heard the door open, and she peered over the banister to see Magda walking in the door with several bags of groceries. She ran down the stairs, to greet her with another of her bright smiles.

"Kelly, niña, how are you?" Magda asked, smiling at the young girl. "You had a good day at school?"

"Yes," Kelly agreed, nodding her head, her thick auburn hair swinging on her head.

"Do you want a snack?" Magda asked, and Kelly's eyes lit up.

"Yes, please," she confirmed, following Magda into the kitchen.

A thought dawned on Magda as she set the bags on the counter and she turned to Kelly, grimacing.

"Oh, you did not wake your mama did you?" Magda asked, and Kelly dropped her eyes to the floor before looking back up at Magda imploringly.

"It was an accident," she insisted. "I didn't know she was sick. I wanted to show her the picture I drew."

Magda shrugged and waved it off. It was already done.

"She will forgive you," Magda assured her as she put a carton of orange juice in the refrigerator. "What do you want to eat?" she asked, and Kelly paused in thought.

"Pretzels and peanut butter," she decided, and Magda nodded. "You a drew a picture?" she asked as an afterthought, the child's words dawning on her.

"Mm-hmm," Kelly replied, nodding with a proud smile. "For art class. My teacher wants to put it in our school's show."

"Show me," Magda requested, and Kelly grinned and ran to her backpack before returning with the paper.

She set it on the counter in front of Magda with a pleased expression, and Magda bent over it to see it more clearly. It was not the average fourth grade picture she had expected to see.

"You did this?" she asked, sliding the realistic looking still life toward her, inspecting the advanced shading and the accuracy of the shadows.

Kelly nodded, and Magda met her gaze, smiling with surprised pride.

"This is very, very good," she praised. "Make sure to show your mama when she is better."

When her father knocked on the door later that night, Kelly sat on the couch in her pink, Barbie nightgown watching her Beauty and the Beast VHS tape, a bowl of popcorn in her lap. Magda had put it in for her before she left for the night, and admonished her not to open the door for anyone other than her father.

Kelly hesitated, before she set he popcorn down and ran to the door.

"Who is it?" she called tentatively.

"It's Dad, Kel?" a gruff voice that sounded like her father's drifted from the other door.

Kelly moved to open the door, but stopped, remembering her mother's words about tricks strangers might play, and more relevantly her father's lecture only weeks ago when he had forgotten his key and she had let him into their house without question.

"How do I know it's you?" Kelly called, deliberately antagonizing her father.

"Kelly," Jethro sighed in exasperation. "Don't I sound like me?"

Kelly backed away from the door warily, just in case.

"That's what Mom and Ms. Grant said strangers would say," she called, putting on an air of fright.

"Kelly, let me in, and you can see that it's me," Jethro coaxed, cursing the fact that Jenny had changed the locks on her doors. It had damn near killed him when he realized it.

"No," she refused adamantly. "What's my favorite color? My daddy would know."

"Kel-!" he started, but sighed. He supposed he should be glad she was so careful. "Pink."

"When's my mom's birthday?" Kelly demanded, and Jethro growled low in his throat.

"September thirtieth," he called, realizing his mishap too late, having told her Shannon's rather than Jenny's.

Kelly gasped, her eyes widening in terror, realizing that her father had been right.

"Mom!" Kelly screamed, taking off for the steps.

Jenny appeared at the top of the steps having heard Kelly's distressed voice, and pulled her robe tighter around herself.

"Kelly?" she hissed, knitting her brows, squinting her eyes as they adjusted to the light. "What's wrong?" Jenny asked, holding her arms out to stop Kelly from colliding with her before hugging the child to her.

"There's someone at the door saying he's Daddy, but he said the wrong birthday," Kelly said, and Jenny gave her a small smile, rubbing her shoulder affectionately.

The redhead sighed, making her way down the rest of the steps with Kelly at her side; her long, silk robe moving around her ankles.

She stood on her toes to check the peephole Kelly was too short to reach, and Jethro was indeed standing on the porch looking particularly disgruntled. Jenny swung the door open, and Jethro's eyes widened slightly at seeing her out of bed.

He looked down at his daughter, who was looking up at her father indignantly from behind her mother's waist.

"You said the wrong birthday," she informed him pointedly.

"Yeah, I know," he assured her, actually managing to find humor in the situation.

"You did right, Kelly," Jenny assured her softly. "Go watch your movie."

"Better or worse?" Jethro asked as Kelly ran back into the living room, and Jenny looked up at him with heavy eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Jen," he said, and she sighed, nodding. "You eat today?" he asked, and she smiled at his thoughtfulness before shaking her head in the negative.

"Not hungry," she said.

"I'll make you some tea," he said, and she moved forward to kiss him on the cheek.

The last time he had been there to take care of her when she was sick she had pushed him away when he had tried to kiss her, insisting she did not want to get him sick. His reply had been that he 'didn't get sick'. She had realized that there had never been a time she could remember him being sick; and it stuck.

"Thank you," she murmured before turning to retreat back up the steps.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx

The morning sun set the horizon ablaze as Jethro strolled up Jenny's driveway, a cup of coffee in hand. The morning breeze ruffled his hair as he came to a stop in front of Jenny's heavy, oak door and lifted his fist to give it three sharp raps.

The door swung open within moments, revealing Magda there. She gave him the smallest of smiles and stepped back to allow him in.

Jethro walked into Jenny's house, shutting the door behind him as Magda called up the stairs to announce his presence.

Jenny was returning to work after being out for three days. He had never brought her car to her house, and so he was there to drive her to NCIS.

"Hi, Daddy," Kelly mumbled sleepily as she trudged past her father looking something like a zombie, heading for the kitchen.

"Hey, Kel," he laughed before looking up as Jenny appeared at the head of the stairs.

He raised a brow in question. They were supposed to be leaving, and her hair was still wet.

"I know, I know," she assured him, scrunching her curly hair with a towel. "I woke up late. I'm trying," she offered in lame explanation.

She ran down the stairs fifteen minutes later dressed in her usual dark slacks and a white, v-neck tee, whipping her towel off of her hair to reveal damp, red curls. She flipped her long hair to one side, scrunching it again with her hands, and braced herself against his arm as she stepped into her black pumps.

"Come on, I'll do my makeup in the car," she prompted, scoffing in annoyance at the sound of her lingering cough and they stepped out into the early morning sunlight.

She eyed his single cup of coffee a minute before deftly plucking it out of his hand, and took a sip. He looked to her in bewildered outrage; more at the fact that she had managed to steal it than the fact that she was drinking it.

"Oh don't have a stroke," she teased, handing it back to him. "You don't get sick remember?" she reminded him mockingly. "That's absolutely awful by the way," she added, pulling a disgusted face as she pointed at the swill he called coffee.

He glared half-heartedly and she smirked, sliding into the passengers seat.

"Why do you straighten your hair?" Jethro asked seemingly out of the blue after nearly five minutes of sitting in the car in silence, and she paused in the application of her mascara to look over at him.

He was staring at the road so stoically she wasn't sure he had said anything, so she tilted her head in question.

"What?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

Since when had Jethro noticed the difference between her hair when it was straight or curly.

He turned to her briefly before looking back to the road.

"Your hair," he repeated. "Why do you straighten it all the time?"

"Because," she began slowly, narrowing her eyes in suspicion and curiosity. "I don't like leaving the house with wet hair every morning."

He grunted in what she assumed was understanding or acquiescence? She wasn't really sure. As she went back to her makeup, he spoke again.

"Like it better curly," he said gruffly.

She stared at him for the better part of the next thirty seconds, but that was all he said and she smiled in disbelief at the oddity of his expression.

As they drove into the Navy Yard, twenty minutes later, she realized they were driving past the NCIS building.

"Where are we going?" she inquired curiously.

"Shooting range," he replied, and she rolled her eyes.

She was a decent shot. Jethro had made sure of that; but she had no doubt she should be prepared for some sort of attempt at 'probie' hazing on Stan's part. Burley had informed her on her first day that it would put her on Gibbs' good side to bring him a cup of green tea with lemon; that it calmed him.

In her opinion, that was a very poor attempt at trickery. Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not look even remotely like a man who drank green tea; and he certainly wouldn't add insult to injury with a lemon slice.

She had foiled nearly every attempt of his to get her on Gibbs' bad side for the simple fact that Jenny Shepard knew their boss much better than Stan Burley realized. Anything she did that the steely ex-Marine disliked was simply to deliberately antagonize him out of pure spite.

Stan Burley and Will Decker stood waiting when their boss drove up with Jenny Shepard in his passenger seat.

"He drove her to work," Burley hissed disbelievingly.

"Her car is still in the parking garage, Stan," Decker snapped irritably, setting his NCIS cap on his head, squinting at the rising sun.

It was too early for Stan Burley's Shepard-Gibbs conspiracy theory.

The subjects of said conspiracy theory stepped out of their respective sides of the car, Jenny twisting her hair into a quick bun and wrapping a hair tie around it at the back of her head.

"Isn't the shooting range that way?" Jenny asked, pointing in the opposite direction of where they were headed.

"Got to buy ammo," Burley reminded her, pointing out the obvious. He had forgotten just how new she was. "How'd you get your hair like that?" he asked, stepping back to look at the damp waves created by the tension of her bun in curiosity.

Her mouth dropped in outrage at his previous statement, and then she shut it promptly as his latter registered; and she did a double take, caught off guard by the inquiry into her hair for the second time that morning.

"What?" she demanded, her voice pitched in disbelief. "DNA," she replied smartly.

Why was everyone suddenly so interested in her hair?

"And what do you mean, buy ammo?" she demanded in disbelieving outrage. "We have to buy our own ammo to practice on the range? We're federal agents."

"Well, we're federal agents," Burley pointed out smugly with a grin to match, motioning to the three men in the group. "You're a probationary agent."

Jenny glared, and shoved her palm against his head, resulting in a much more violent slap.

"Hey!" he snapped, smacking her hand away and rubbed the side of his head with a disgruntled look. "What's the big deal, anyway?" he muttered, referring to the ammo. "It's cheap."

"That is beside the point," she insisted, continuing her rant. "There has to be room in the NCIS budget for providing ammunition to their agents; or at least their should be."

"Well, maybe you should take that up with the Director, Red," he taunted.

"What did I tell you about calling me that, Stanley," she barked, and Stan backed off but smirked.

"Damn Shep, you sound a little too much like my mom there. You sure you don't have kids?"

"Hey!" Gibbs snapped, and Burley jumped, turning to face him.

Gibbs motioned toward the empty spot at the counter. Jenny met his eyes briefly, and he knew he had overreacted slightly.

"Hey, you got my lunch last week. I'll get yours for you, Jenny" Decker offered, holding his hand out for her gun, and Jenny eyed him warily. "Hey come on, I'm not Burley," he coaxed, grinning teasingly and she handed her gun over slowly.

"Thanks," she murmured slowly, still watching him skeptically.

"Think she can shoot?" Decker asked of Burley as they walked behind her five minutes later, Gibbs in front of all of them.

Burley shrugged, then grinned impishly.

"Want to screw with her?" he suggested, and Decker grinned.

Ten minutes later, Burley, Decker, and Jenny were lined up in that respective order on the outdoor range.

Jenny knew she was being scrutinized, and held her gun up, lining it up with the target, focusing on it, preparing herself for the recoil of the gun. She steadied her hand over the trigger, pulled it confidently, and-

-nothing.

She tried again, and once more; but all she got was an incessant clicking.

"What the hell-" she muttered, but broke off at the distinct sound of…snickering; Burley an Decker's snickering.

She lowered her gun, and squared her shoulders back. She turned slowly to glare at them, and they nearly doubled over laughing.

"Didn't want you to hurt anybody with that, Red," Burley laughed obnoxiously, and Jenny smiled sweetly.

"Give me your gun," she demanded, and he started to sober up.

"What?" he laughed at the absurdity of her request, but it was cut short when Gibbs' hand connected with the back of his head, and Burley pulled his gun from its holster to hand it over to her along with a new cartridge.

She loaded the gun forcefully and spun on her heel to fire two shots at the target. She took off at a confident stride toward the target with Gibbs, Decker, and Burley on her heels.

"You missed," Burley announced gleefully when they approached the target and there were no holes in the bulls-eye, but his face fell slightly when Jenny grinned triumphantly, a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

"No, I didn't," she assured him, her gaze drifting down on the target, pointing with one perfectly manicured pinky finger, and all three men's gazes followed.

You didn't live practically married to a Marine Sniper for years and learn nothing.

There, in the crotch area of the target were two shots, and Burley's eyes bulged; Gibbs' eyes widened slightly in surprised amusement, and Decker nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter.

"Damn, Jenny," Stan muttered hoarsely, his expression excruciated.

She smirked, pointing his gun at him, and he tensed before she set the safety and turned it in her hand so that the butt of the gun face him and he snatched it for fear she might change her mind.

Gibbs grinned briefly, and Decker continued laughing, clapping Burley on the back sympathetically.

"Damn good shot," Gibbs praised, and Jenny looked up at him out of the corner of her eye with a satisfied smirk. "Do it again," he said. "Give me your phone," he ordered, and she furrowed her brow in confusion, but handed it over nonetheless.

Gibbs pulled a roll of tape from his jacket pocket-why on earth he just carried tape around in his pocket, she had no idea-and stuck her phone next to the chest of the target. He pointed where she had been standing when she took the previous shot, indicating for her to return there.

"Don't shoot it," he advised smugly, and her eyes bulged, her mouth dropping.

"Gibbs," she whispered in disbelief. "Jethro, you can't be serious."

He looked very serious.

"Jethro!" she shrieked, her voice raising an octave in rage. "That thing was not cheap!"

Being that she no longer had to deal with the goings on of a business that had an annual revenue of fairly decent amount, it wasn't exactly necessary, but it was convenient and she liked her phone.

"Be a waste of money if you shot it," he said, and she nearly screamed.

He moved on to Burley, and the man eyed his boss warily. He snatched Burley's NCIS hat from his head, and Burley scrunched his face up in displeasure and Jenny was ironically reminded of Kelly.

"Oh, boss, come on boss. That's my favorite cap," Stan whined, but he hadn't heard the worst of it.

"Car keys," Gibbs demanded, and Jenny grinned when the infamous car fanatic reached into his pocket and fished his keys out before handing them over like he was selling his soul.

Gibbs taped the cap to the head of Stan's target, and taped the keys over the visor.

"Don't shoot it," he advised again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The noon sun was shining through the NCIS windows; and the commonplace click of fingers flying against keyboards, and the bustle of the agents moving about could be throughout the bullpen.

Jenny sat back in her chair, her black pump-clad feet propped up on her desk while she read through the latest article in Cosmopolitan. Her phone sat safely on her desk: no holes. Stan on the other hand, was looking particularly pitiful as he stared dejectedly at his car key which was bent at a right angle.

"Stop pouting, Burley," Jenny laughed softly, lowering her magazine only slightly to peer at him over it.

He slumped over to her desk and threw himself on his knees in front of her, holding his key up in both hands.

"Do you know what this is a key to?" he whispered pitifully, looking up at her with big eyes. "A 1956 Ford Mustang, perfectly restored, Candy Apple Red."

She knew. It was his pride and joy. He had saved practically his whole entire adult life for it. It was all he talked about half the time.

"Get a new key made, Stan," she laughed, flipping the page of her magazine,.

"It's not the same," he cried, throwing his head onto her lap theatrically, and she rolled her eyes. "Hold me," he squeaked.

"Get off of me Stan," she ordered, shoving him away though her eyes twinkled in amusement. "For God's sake it's not like the car is totaled." She grinned devilishly. "You'll just have to ride the metro for a few days."

He moved to his feet, glaring at her.

"You're a cruel woman, Shepard," he said, moping back to his desk, and she shook her head, smirking.

Stan burley was like the obnoxious, childish, insufferable older brother who liked to put glue in your hair that she never had. She couldn't stand him 99.9 percent of the time, but the other one hundredth of a percent, they got along alright.

She flipped her magazine again, tilting her head in amused curiosity at the title glaring in block letters at the top of the page: 35 Things to Do to A Naked Man. Her eyes widened at number ten and she smirked at number twenty-two; she distinctly remembered that one being particularly interesting.

The elevator 'pinged' and Jenny nearly fell out of her chair as the man she had done said thing to rounded the corner.

Jethro cut his gaze to her, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as she shoved the magazine in her drawer, swinging her legs back onto the floor.

"Don't do that, Gibbs!" she snapped breathlessly, and he eyed her skeptically.

"Don't read dirty magazines," he shot back knowingly, and she flushed bright red to her ears.


A/n: Oh the inspiration childhood memories can bring...

And did you pick up on that hint about Jenny's childhood? Mhmmm…Next Tuesday. See you there ;)

S/n: I'm doing my stuff un-beta'd you guys as usual, but if any of you know a good one to recommend who can work with a one week updating time frame that would be awesome! So this is kind of a beta advertisement…I guess? I'm searching, but a lot of heads are better than mine :)

P.s. I know, I know, you're probably like "how many notes is she gonna write?!" but I just wanted to thank you all for the great reviews. I'm glad you all liked it. I'm trying for shout outs next week, I just didn't have the time this week :/, but I wanted to get the chapter up nonetheless because I promised Tuesdays :)

Ok, I'm done. Really.