Sorry for posting this twice! I haven't quite got the hang of this yet!

Thanks to Kristen for all the wonderful suggestions. And thanks to everyone who reviewed.

Chapter 2

Gibbs drove home on autopilot. His mind wouldn't stop whirring. Jenny was gone. His team was being reassigned. And the only person who could help him was unreachable.

He debated what he was going to do. Should he retire again? There was nothing left to keep him at NCIS. Perhaps he and Ducky could retire together this time… but then he thought of Abby and realized that she would be heartbroken if he left so suddenly after all the changes.

Maybe he could retire in a year or so. Give Abby time to get used to things. Ducky could finish training Palmer…

Or perhaps he could go out in style. He grinned, the first time he'd felt even vaguely happy since… He shut off that particular thought. He could get in Leon's way at every step, until he was fired. It would avenge the reassignment of his team, and cheer him up somewhat.

His mind made up, he arrived home. He went straight to his basement, and froze…

She was sitting at his workbench, mug of bourbon in hand. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, her green eyes twinkled as she saw him. She grinned, a comfortable smile that he hadn't seen in years.

"Hello Jethro."

"I don't believe this," Palmer exclaimed. He was sitting in a bar not far from the Navy Yard, having been dragged there by Ducky. Tony, Ziva, McGee and Abby were also present, and had just told him about the reassignments. "How can they separate you guys? I mean, your solve rate is really high."

"We weren't given a reason," McGee told him.

"Easy for you to say that, Probie," Tony complained. "You're staying here. I have to go on a freaking boat. Gibbs was trying to locate someone who could get us out of this mess –"

"Excuse me, but if we are comparing situations then mine is a lot worse," Ziva interrupted. "And I liked Gibbs' idea. Blackmail works very well."

"Who was Gibbs trying to blackmail?" Palmer asked, getting confused.

"Director Vance. But he couldn't get hold of someone."

"Did he tell you who he was trying to talk to?" Ducky inquired.

"No. Apparently the number he has doesn't exist."

"Ah," Ducky murmured, turning back to his drink.

Tony rounded on him. "Ah! Can you get hold of this magic person?"

"Alas no. He was right about this magic person being able to help." He smiled softly at Tony, who looked distressed. "I wonder…"

"So you do know a way!" Abby squealed. A minute ago she had been in tears, but with hope around the corner…

"No, no, not that," Ducky told her gently. "I was wondering about… this person's response to Jenny's demise. I certainly wouldn't want to be the one to tell next of kin." He shuddered softly. "I'm not sure I'd survive."

"Next of kin?" Ziva repeated. "Jenny had no family left."

"Did she tell you that, or Mossad?"

"Both."

Ducky chuckled to himself, feeling rather proud. "Don't always believe what you see on paper, my dear," he told her, and refused to answer any more questions.

It took Gibbs a few minutes to find his voice again, much to the amusement of the redhead. By then, she had poured him a drink and topped up her own.

"You were lucky you didn't give me a heart attack," he called to her, taking a few shaky steps down the steps.

She said nothing as he made his way over to her and looked straight into her eyes. He sighed at what he saw.

"I thought… I hoped that the last few days had all been a horrible dream." He took the proffered mug and cradled it in his hands. Suddenly he looked up as a thought occurred to him. "Have you heard –"

"Yes."

"But you weren't at the funeral."

She giggled.

"How are you finding any of this funny?" he growled, letting his frustrations get the better of him.

She looked at him as though he was mad. "And if I'd shown up, what do you think would have happened?"

He tried to consider what she was saying, but found it was getting harder to concentrate by the minute. He took a few sips from his mug and turned away from her.

"Exactly," she told him, sounding smug.

"It was a private ceremony."

"I could have started a riot."

He turned back around to spot another grin on her face. "It was a private ceremony," he repeated.

"You had to check which one I was when you came over! Imagine what would have happened if I had been present. No one would have paid the slightest bit of attention to the service, just to me! I did attend, through a scope at a thousand meters and a few strategically placed bugs."

He stared at her for a minute. She did the same, refusing to back down from the challenge. "She's not dead," he stated finally.

"Jennifer Shepard was shot and killed," she replied. "Ducky autopsied her. You watched the burial. She's dead."

"You wouldn't be so damn cheerful if she was dead."

"I'm exceptionally good at my job. Which includes hiding my feelings."

"You should be in tears. She's not dead. Where exactly is she?"

"Six feet under."

He slammed his free hand down on the bench. "Stop lying to me," he roared in her face.

She closed her eyes for a moment to bury her feelings. Then she looked him in the eye. "She was dying anyway. She… she told me a few months ago. I suggested that she ask Ducky for another opinion, just to be sure." She paused for a moment and took another sip of bourbon to calm her. "We had the wake a fortnight ago. Just the two of us. She didn't want to tell you. I've had my chance to mourn, and she would have preferred to go out in a bang than suffering."

NCIS Director Leon Vance looked around his new office. He had been working in it for the last three weeks, but then it belonged to someone else. Now…

He glanced at his watch. 2230. Most people would be gone, including Gibbs. Even so, Vance locked the door before going to the filling cabinet again. He entered the code and opened the drawer, searching for a different file this time. But it wasn't there…

Gibbs had taken the chair and she was sitting on the bottom step. The basement had been silent for a while, giving both parties a chance to recover.

"I need a favor."

She wasn't surprised. He always wanted something. "And what do you require?"

"Leon's messing with my team. I'm going to have to break in a new one."

"Let me guess, you want me to get you your old team back."

He just looked at her.

"No."

"Why not?" He glared at her, forgetting for a moment that she was the only one who wasn't fazed by his glares.

"Why should I?"

"Did she tell you about Ziva?"

"Ziva… she saved her life in Cairo once."

"Leon's having her transferred back to Mossad."

"If I understand correctly, she never left Mossad."

"She saved her life, and you want her to be sent back?"

"There is nothing I can do."

"Bull."

They stared at each other for a few moments, before she gave in this time. "I need some time."

"She gets on a plane in 13 hours."

"Try 13 weeks."

"WHAT?"

"I can't promise it won't take 13 months, but I think it would be highly unlikely."

"What are you up to this time?" he growled.

"I am giving him the rope to hang himself with. Unfortunately, that takes time. If I interfere now, it'll take even longer."

"Just get Ziva back. I can live without the others until you've finished your little plot."

"Translation: Someone can teach you to email and call the others, but you won't be able to get a hold of Ziva as easily."

"See, you do understand."

"You don't seem to understand me. It's not going to happen. Forget it."

"Look –"

She stood up abruptly. "Jethro, believe me when I say that I can't help you this time. I'm not omnipotent." She was halfway up the steps before his voice stopped her.

"When I saw you down here, I thought…"

"You thought I was Jennifer."

He didn't need to reply.

She turned to face him. "That was the reason I didn't show at the funeral. I don't need conspiracy theories running uncontrolled throughout the federal government. Not right now anyway. I'm sorry Jethro."

He watched despondently as the spitting image of Jennifer Shepard walked out the door.