A/N: Thanks to A'serene.
~I hope all of you know how awesome you made me feel with your reviews. Everyone noted how 'dark' and 'angsty' it seemed, and that is *exactly* what it was supposed to convey, so I feel like I accomplished something, and that's always nice as a writer, you know ;) And whoever (I apologize for not remembering) said it was like a "noir film" made my entire life complete.
I would also like to say (and I swear, the long A/Ns stop after this chapter) I failed at spelling 'Oshimaida', apparently, as pointed out by two people. It took two mentions for me to look it up and then, being a perfectionist, I freaked out. So, that's been fixed.
Note: This is "present time", a rewind from the Prologue.
The Czech Republic was a welcome change from the ceaseless cold of Russia. There was at least some warmth to the air here as it neared April, where in Russia, the weather still chilled to the bone.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs leaned against the wall in a dark alley, hands in his pockets; a jacket zipped up around his now slightly wrinkled suit. The streets of Prague around him were riddled with litter, the occasional drunk, and the general dregs of society that ran the gamut from high class to the scum of the earth.
Good thing none of them had a care for a curiously clean American lurking in one of the dingiest alleys nearest to the Narodni Technicke Muzeum.
He looked at the helmet in his hand, holding it casually, one foot propped behind him on the crumbling stonewall. Prague was an old city, possessive of an air of elegance and at the same time a slum-like quality.
She found it beautiful, but to him it had nothing on Paris.
A skittering in the dark close to him drew his attention, and his senses relaxed when he noticed it was a rat, thwarted in its pursuit of garbage as a few boxed tumbled down to scare it away. Another noise, far more troubling, coaxed his attention back.
An alarm, it sounded like.
He pushed off the wall, his hand in his pocket, keys in his hand. His cell phone vibrated in his jacket and he had it against his ear in seconds.
"It might be a good idea to start the engine," was all she said, and he swore she sounded slightly amused. Cursing, he snapped his phone shut, and heard an identical snap from the alleyway entrance.
Her laughter reached him as the glow of her phone was extinguished and gravel crunched under her feet in the dim alley.
As Jenny Shepard emerged from the inky night, the front of her cream-white leather coat hanging open to reveal the silver dress she still wore from earlier this evening, he glared, thrusting out the helmet in his hand.
"I don't think so," she hissed, giving it a disdainful look.
He just threw it, and she caught it obligingly, a look of distaste in her eyes.
"You set the alarms off?" he growled, his keys in the ignition. He threw one leg over the seat of the motorcycle, his scowl directed straight at her.
"Motion sensors," she responded, one hand in her pocket ominously, fingering her prize, "Hit them by a hair—"
"Get on the bike," he snapped, and she moved quickly, standing next to the motorcycle that she still admired him for acquiring out of nowhere, her hand on the seat reverently. "Dammit, Jen," he cursed, at the thought of authorities.
"I'm not an acrobat," she growled, straddling the seat behind him, chucking the helmet in her hands to the trash bin near to them. He rolled his eyes at the crash that resounded.
"I'll keep that in mind the next time we're in bed—"
"DRIVE," she ordered, her palm colliding with the back of his head to interrupt him. He grinned as Jenny's dangerously sharp high heel kicked the motorcycle's stand up and he took off out of the alley, high-tailing it as far away from Prague's Museum of Technology as was possible.
He fought to keep his vision clear as the wind whipped past his face, drying his eyes and sending chills up his spine. Jenny's arms tightened around his waist and she moved her hands inside his jacket, fingers twisting into his shirt. She rested her chin on his shoulder, her body warm against his.
Traffic was risky to navigate, but it was much easier to do on a thin, remarkably fast motorcycle than in a car. They had a while to go back to the run down projects they were quartered in at a less than savory part of town. Motorcycles were more than common in Prague, hence his choice of vehicle: they would hardly draw attention.
Jenny's hair, yanked loose from whatever had been keeping it back by the high speed, blew into his face and with it, the intoxicating smell of her, though neither was as distracting as the less-than-chaste kiss she graced his neck with as she held tighter, exhilarated by the ride.
She squealed and turned her face into his neck as he narrowly avoided a few irregularly parked cars and she pinched him in the ribs when she felt the vibration of his laughter, realizing he'd done it one purpose.
He thought he was a pro with this death trap, and though it made her adrenaline rush more than anything, she was still half-terrified he was going to kill them both.
Jenny felt the slim, rectangular case she'd successfully stolen from the Museum hitting against her thigh in the pocket of her coat and she concentrated on it, glad the pocket was tightly zipped shut. The device was valuable, more valuable than a few people's lives at this moment and instrumental in their next operational move.
It was a small wonder she'd succeeded in acquiring it, particularly considering the James Bond-esque moves she'd just made.
Jethro didn't have to know about those, though. She doubted she'd be able to hide the worryingly deep gash on her knee, though. He'd be sure to freak out about that.
Street signs and billboards in blurs of bright color and Czech language breezed by as they made their way through the narrow streets, turning onto cobblestone that made for a less comfortable ride and more bumping around. This route would take them out of the center of the city and towards the undesirable part of town they were in.
A few police sirens went off, far in the distance, and Jenny smirked, pressing closer to Jethro and smirking against his neck. If this wasn't damn impressive, she didn't know what was.
Jethro set his jaw as navigation became more difficult; junk was strewn everywhere in the projects of Prague; abandoned cars, broken down appliances, dead animals—anything one could think of. He hardly managed to avoid a pile of destroyed brick on the last turn before their run down apartments appeared in his line of sight and he pushed the motorcycle faster until he was jerking to a skidding stop next to the other cars and bikes out back.
Jenny released him and was stumbling off as he kicked the stand down, planting it firmly against the broken concrete. She turned, her hand running through her hair as she shook it from the elastic she was rolling onto her wrist.
The wicked grin on her face clearly read 'come get me'.
He snapped off his gloves and caught up to her, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close against the back wall of the building, lips meeting hers almost triumphantly. She pulled him toward her roughly, her breath catching when her back hit the wall, the noise and engine of the motorcycle still reverberating through her blood.
He kissed her until she couldn't breathe and then drew back, his hand sneaking up her leg to the teasingly short hem of her dress. Jenny closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the brick, biting her lip. He wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her against him, backing towards the fire escape.
Jenny brought up her hand to muffle a laugh, considering the late hour, as she tried her best not to fall as they navigated the fire escape up to the third floor. She stepped into their outdoor hallway and pulled him close by the collar, pressing hot, urgent kisses against his lips and jaw.
He braced his arm on the wall behind her, dropping his mouth to her neck and scraping his teeth against her shoulder as she lifted the apartment key from his pants pocket, expertly reaching to her left and maneuvering the door open.
Jethro dragged her in, pushed it shut forcefully, and slammed her against it, pinning her hands to the door with his. He pressed his lips against hers, giving her a slow, dizzying kiss while his fingers intertwined with hers, his body fitting so perfectly against hers.
Then his hands slipped down her arms and to the collar of her leather coat, which he fingered with a proud smirk before shoving it backwards off her shoulders, leaving her in that sinful, strapless silver number that barely had enough material to call it a dress.
She let herself laugh this time, meeting his lips in swift, needy kisses as she ran the zipper down his jacket and shucked it off, his suit jacket following it to the floor seconds later. Next her fingers where tackling the buttons down his white shirt and loosening his tie from his neck, exposing his skin to her tongue and teeth.
Jethro groaned at the contact, eager hands at her back rending the stiff buttons of her dress loose and carelessly shimmying it down, leaving her in the matched set of black lace strapless lingerie that she'd hidden.
He summoned enough finesse to run his hand reverently and caressingly over her spine and then around to her stomach, feeling her muscles tighten for him as his fingers trailed lower to the thin lace covering her and the inside of her thighs.
"Jethro," she breathed, arching into his hand, brushing her lips over his now bare shoulder and lower onto his chest, her nails running light marks down his chest to his pants, weaving around his to unbutton and unzip.
"Bed?"
"Forget it."
He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her head hitting the door as he slipped into her and she dug her nails into his shoulder, overcome with the pleasure. He grabbed her wrist in his hand, pressed it into the door, the grip tight and uncomfortable, slick.
His fingers dug into her ribs as, he thrust into her again, groaning her name. She drew her lip into her mouth and arched into him, the heat and heaviness coiled in her stomach begging for release. He kept moving, kept pushing her, her name spilling from his lips in a jumble of words, until she tightened around him and her moans broke into a sharp cry when the climax crashed over her.
He pulled her close and shuddered, his lips seeking hers desperately, mumbling her name and a stew of other words she liked to hear. His grip on her wrist relaxed yet she still held onto his hand, stroking his palm.
It was a good few moments before she trusted herself to stand.
He moved his hand from her hip to her face as she untangled her legs, brushing tangled hair away from her cheek. He loved her like this; he loved this look in her eyes, the bitten, seductive part of her lips.
"I'm never getting rid of that motorcycle," he swore in a low voice.
Jenny laughed softly.
Jethro grinned and kissed her again, pulling their hands away from the door and stroking the pulse in her wrist gently, bringing it up to kiss the place where he knew bruises would bloom later. She smiled languidly and took a deep breath, regaining her composure.
Jethro trailed after-thought kisses down her throat and shoulder, his eyes roaming her, and that's when he saw the wound just below her knee, a cut with blood smeared about it that he damn well should have noticed even with her dress on.
She knew he'd spotted it when he pulled back suddenly, and rolled her eyes to herself.
"It's a scratch," she said, trying to pull his attention back to her. He was already crouching down though, and by grip on her hand, taking her with him.
"You're bleeding," he pointed out.
"Is that what the red stuff is?" she responded with soft sarcasm. He shot her a look and she touched his face. "It's nothing."
"What happened?"
"I didn't mention the motion sensors had back up?" she asked innocently.
"Jen," he demanded.
"I lost an argument with the metal cage around one of the older exhibits," she told him mildly, running a soft hand over the gash.
He muttered something and examined the cut, reluctantly admitting that she was right, and it was nothing. He looked up at her, determined to at least care more than just blowing it off. It irked him that in his rush to possess her he hadn't noticed she was hurt.
"It needs to be cleaned," he said gruffly.
She gave him a look through her abundant eyelashes.
"Then let's get in the shower."
He smiled, unable to deny her that.
"Callan will be here in an hour," he stated, glancing at the watch still secure on his wrist. She ran her hand over it with a smirk.
"Fifty minutes," she corrected, alluding mockingly to the time they'd wasted. He smirked and nodded in agreement, helping her up with him. He left their clothes in haphazard distress on the floor, not bothered to pick them up right now.
The shower was unbecoming at best, and Jenny was comically afraid to utilize it alone. Jethro picked up a few clean towels from the cleaning service from the bed as he followed Jenny, shutting the door tightly behind them for a steamy clean up.
They had been in the Czech Republic for three days.
Jenny sat on the mattress they called bed, her muscles relaxed, finally warm for what seemed like the first time in forever, methodically brushing knots out of her drying hair, watching Jethro as he moved around the room, toweling his hair and rummaging for lounge clothes.
They had one suitcase each, the bare minimum of things, though it was surprising how much they had managed to bring just in case. Most of what they owned, and everything they had in Paris, was safe in a St. Petersburg hotel, where they were working on the current operation.
They had been in St. Petersburg almost a month when Agent Callan had given the all-go for the Russian Operation to start, at which point Decker had called in to order them to the Czech Republic where they would set things in motion.
Where it got dangerous.
They'd left Positano halfway through January, when Jethro was healed completely and Decker had things in place. The weeks after were spent in Moscow, then Volgograd, and ultimately Chechnya, working under cover with Decker to glean information and start rumors. Their play hadn't been able to start until Agent Callan finished his, which was in turn, vital to theirs. It was a tangled web that she thought seemed easy to get lost in, so different from Paris already.
So cold, everywhere, and all the time.
Jethro chucked something on the mattress in front of her, amidst the two tangled, thin blankets, and she looked at it expressionlessly, the brush stuck against a particularly troublesome knot in her thick hair.
He pulled a t-shirt and then a sweatshirt over his head and sat down close to her, stretching out in front of her in the scant space and picking up the rectangular case again with interest. She watched him turn the notch that opened it and look mildly at the flash drive inside, a flash drive that had been hidden innocently with a display of modern computers in the Prague museum.
Not anymore.
The flash drive contained the bank accounts and classified monetary information pertaining to a Russian spy ring whose reach sprawled across Europe from Russia to France. A ring they happened to be infiltrating. Valuable and highly coveted, the drive had been hidden in the obscure museum by one of the top ranking Russians who generously funded Prague's arts.
The earlier part of their evening has been spent at stiff-necked, fancy benefit at the museum, where she and Jethro had been engaging in recon, scouting out the place and working how she'd pull off the thievery. It was exciting in a death-if-you-fail kind of way. It was vital that she kept herself from being suspected, as she would be slipping in the highest ranks of the ring they were currently screwing over.
Callan's arrival would get them started on coordinating the next necessary movie.
"Lot of fuss over something this small," Jethro said gruffly, closing the box and pushing it away carelessly.
Jenny smiled at his utter ignorance of technology and tossed her brush away, giving up and instead running her hands through her hair freely.
"Lot of valuable information on that small thing," she responded.
He just grunted and rolled towards her, taking her am and pulling her down beside him. She smiled comfortable and allowed him to put his arm around her, amused with how he struggled to fit on the barely big enough mattress at his angle.
"You warm?" he asked, his hand falling to trace circles on her leg, exposed to him by shorts for the first time since Positano. She nodded, rolling her neck to soothe the muscles and closing her eyes to rest. There hadn't been much sleep in the past days, due to the cramped room and even more cramped bed.
He frowned at her smile and shifted around, trying to make her scoot over. She refused to budge, laughing and snuggling closer, content to crowd him even more.
"At least the bed's roomy in St. Petersburg," he growled, flopping onto his back. This resulted in him having a leg and a shoulder hanging off the mattress.
"That's okay, we just use the door here," Jenny teased wickedly. He laughed, turning his head to look at her. She wrinkled her nose, more relaxed than he'd seen her in a week or so now. He was glad of it. She was uptight during most of this under cover stuff.
A soft, repetitive rapping sounded at the door.
"Speaking of the door," she mumbled, sitting up as Jethro stood swiftly and approached it. She sat back against the wall, reaching to the floor beside her to finger her gun casually, watching Jethro take a look through the peephole.
"Callan," he grunted, and she eased her grip on the gun, stretching one leg out in front of her, the box containing the flash drive in her hand. Jethro opened the door to Agent Callan, whom he had; Jenny found out a few days ago, known before he even met her.
"Damn nice job," Callan said with a sly smile, as he slipped past Jethro into the dingy room.
"You sound surprised," Jenny remarked smartly from the bed, and Jethro smirked from the doorway as he was closing the door, always enjoying it when someone met Jenny for the first time. Callan backtracked a little.
"Not at all," he said, stopping and looking at her curiously. "Jenny Shepard?" he asked.
"Guilty," she replied, inclining her head a little. She extended her free hand and shook Callan's firmly.
"G Callan," he said, "And—"
"You don't know what the G stands for," Jenny interrupted uncaringly, with a small smile, "I know who you are, Callan."
"I'm appropriately impressed," he responded, amused, "How ya been, Jethro?" he asked, turning to the older man and clapping him on the back.
"Been divorced," Jethro responded with a growl.
"Again?" Callan whistled, "Tough luck, pal—that mean the fox is free?" he teased slyly, and Jenny wondered vaguely if they were talking about Diane. Jethro gave Callan a pained look.
"Get in line," he growled, and Jenny snorted, aware he was referring to Fornell. It really was too bad all these men were doomed to find Diane so fatally attractive.
"Let's dispense with the pleasantries then, eh, get to business?" Callan suggested, looking around the room. "Uh, chairs?" he asked.
Jethro dropped to the mattress, sitting on the edge of it, away from Jenny's relaxed position against the wall.
"Floor," he corrected sternly, gesturing with a flourish.
Callan gave it a distasteful look and sat down, crossing his legs. His eyes went to Jenny, who had decided to play with the rectangular box nonchalantly to draw his attention to it. Jethro watched the other man like a hawk, attempting to read his thoughts while Callan's eyes were on Jenny.
"Just what the doctor ordered," he said lightly, reaching for it. Jethro watched as Jenny pulled it towards her casually, removing it from Callan's arms' reach. Callan took an amused glance back at Jethro and let his hand drop.
"First, the Op," Jenny said silkily. She may trust Callan as an NCIS agent, but she didn't know him, and she wanted to know the finer details about what was about to go down. She knew what she had in her hand was bait, and in the end, it couldn't be allowed out of her possession, but she wanted the in and out of the plan.
"Fair enough, Madame," he said gallantly, and Jenny smirked.
"The recipient of this flash drive is Konstantin Pretskaya, head of the Chechnyan arm of our mutual friends of the Russian Arms ring. He also happens to be the financer of most of the ring, and the keeper of the records, so to speak," Callan said, his voice low and quick, careful of anyone who may be listening.
Jenny listened carefully, her eyes locked on Callan, while Jethro did the same, memorizing every word.
"I've been climbing up the ranks of his ring, playing the sleazy, untrustworthy varmint," here Callan smiled, and Jethro snorted derisively, "The objective has been to turn him. We need him to turn over the records he's got on all of your targets' former operations, buyers, etc. in order for you to be informed and get the show on the road, and it's been a hell of a job. But Pretskaya likes money, almost as much as he likes power, and as patriotic and Russian as he is, he's been decadently tempted by what I've been able to bribe him with—not to mention a little something I wrangled out of the Israelis—"
"Not Mossad?" scoffed Jenny.
Callan nodded, and Jenny was impressed, though skeptical.
"One of theirs owed me," he said, savoring the idea, "Saved his ass on an Op in Iran two years ago. Anyway," Callan moved on, drawing his eyes away from Jenny's probing glare, "It came down to me making good on the bribe I promised, as well as delivering to him that particular drive."
"The bank accounts and routing numbers," Jenny murmured.
Callan nodded.
"Don't ask why the backup is all being hidden in Prague, I don't know, but it will hit the ring hard if he gets his hands on it. Only a select few know the codes, and many need access. There will be a break down if this information goes rogue, and he'll have too much power over his superiors, which they won't want. Pretskaya is exchanging what we need," Callan snatched the drive from Jenny with a triumphant smile, "for this."
"And yet we don't let him have it," Jenny mused, giving Callan a look.
"'Course not," he scoffed, "Much too dangerous for a terrorist to have this, we need it to remain where we've got eyes, hence the next part of the operation," Callan hesitated as he looked at them, returning the flash drive. "We aren't going to make good on the deal."
"Sounds like suicide," growled Jethro, his piercing gaze boring into Callan.
"Sounds," repeated Callan, emphasizing the word. "It isn't. Pretskaya knows I've got the drive, thanks to Jenny," Callan nodded at Jenny and she smiled a little, nodding her head. She had left his calling card, after all.
Something occurred to Jethro.
"You set off the alarm on purpose," he stated, growling at her a little.
"So it didn't look pro," she said, with a shrug, "I dropped a little something of Callan's as well, to keep with his less-than-suave cover."
She looked away, but he was glaring at her, berating her for the danger she'd put herself in. Jenny didn't care if it was reckless, and not what they'd planned out. It was worth it. Jethro wasn't going to like what came next even more.
"Pretskaya is under the impression the people I work for, who want what he's got, are a covert branch of the CIA—and he knows I'm a liability. This is Decker's way of getting me out clean and getting you two in easy: you set up the meet with Pretskaya to deliver. I've been killed as a necessary casualty, that's the story. You're going to give him the run down on the CIA order of immunity I've told him he's getting and Jethro—"
Callan broke off, looking at the man he knew fairly well, and Jethro nodded, aware of what was coming.
"Kill shot," he said.
"Bingo," Callan said, holding his hand like a gun and silently pulling the proverbial trigger.
Jenny's jaw tightened, but she didn't say anything. Jethro knew she didn't like the blatant assassinations, but she would have to deal with it. That was the game they were in now.
"I'll provide you with what you need to know, the contact information, and any wild cards that might show up," he broke off with a sort of grin, and saluted, "but I'm on the red-eye to the Los Angeles coast. Re-assigned to the Special Ops field office," he said.
"Hollywood Agents," sneered Jethro, and Callan just shook his head, snorting at Jethro's derision.
"You can't linger here," Jenny murmured, her head against the brick wall behind her as she watched Callan.
"No," he agreed, standing swiftly. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a phone and a small envelop.
"Contact Pretskaya with that phone," he said abruptly, "And the details are in the envelope. I'll be in contact tomorrow to brief you a little more, from a secure line."
Jethro stood and shook Callan's hand, a blank look on his face. Jenny watched the two men saying goodbye, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. It was not that she was afraid to meet someone like Pretskaya, or eve afraid of what they were doing now…but something made her gut twist over this op. It made her feel sick, bad.
She didn't like the sound of it.
Callan started to leave, and looked back at Jenny.
"It has to be her," he said, nodding cordially to Jenny, "He has to meet her. I told him about a woman, an arms dealer," he was speaking of Jenny's cover now, and she was watching him like a hawk.
Callan paused and nodded to Jenny, a nod she returned with a smirk.
"You watch your back with Pretskaya, Shepard. He's brutal, and he doesn't trust anyone."
"Neither do I," she responded, swallowing the feeling in her stomach, trying to push it away.
Jethro looked calculatingly at Callan, disliking the idea of sending Jenny in alone himself. He watched as Callan opened the door, and then shut it, turning to them with a sly look.
"Bad luck on the lodgings," he said, glancing around, before he paused. "Wait. You have spare bullets?"
Jethro rolled his eyes as if it were the dumbest question he'd heard. Jenny stood gracefully, taking her gun with her, disappearing into the bathroom.
"How many?" she asked.
"Three or four," Callan answered, "I want a full magazine to last me until I get the hell out of here. Damn, this place is dirty," he murmured, looking at Jethro.
Jenny opened a beaten up bathroom drawer and reached to the back for their bullet supply, feeling in the dank dark for a few to gift Callan with. She had just pulled her arm back when she saw it, right on the back of her hand.
"Rats?" Callan was asking in the outer room, looking around.
"No," Jethro grunted, starting to continue when a loud, panicked scream reached his ears from the bathroom.
Callan jumped and grabbed his weapon from the place at is back, charging towards the bathroom. Jethro just rolled his eyes, not even bothering to take his weapon as he breezed past Callan, followed Jenny's shaky pointing, and picked up a bottle of soap to kill the particularly big spider that had scared the crap out of her.
Callan stared in shock for a moment, and then started laughing.
Jenny glared.
"That's the third one today, Jen, you think you'd be okay with them—"
"You get the floor tonight," she growled, chucking Callan's bullets at him and storming out.
"Feisty," remarked Callan, failing to notice Jenny's suggestive comment. He dropped the bullets into his pocket and shot another amused glance at the dead spider. He chuckled.
"You better leave," warned Jethro, fearing for Callan's life if Jenny heard the chuckling continue.
"Good idea," murmured Callan, touching his head in salute He slipped past Jethro, holstering his weapon safely again and when he reached for the door this time, it was for real.
"Good night," Jenny waved patronizingly from her place on the bed. Jethro gave her a look. Callan smirked.
"Good luck," he offered, before disappearing.
Jethro followed up behind him and locked the door. He leaned against it and turned to Jenny. She gave him a sour look, aware of what he was about to say.
"I don't want to hear it."
"It was dangerous, Jen," he growled, referring to her alarm setting off.
"Our job is dangerous, how many times have you told me that? Sometimes we take risks."
"You take a lot of risks."
"Risks are what get you recognized, Jethro!"
"Who the hell do you want to recognize you, Jenny?" he retorted, and she reigned in her ambition, blinking. Her shoulders sagged.
"I don't want to fight," she said in a low voice, pushing her gun away from her. He crossed the room to her, crawling on the mattress to sit next to her.
"Fine, we won't fight," he murmured, putting his arm around her shoulders. She rested her head on him and closed her eyes, sighing.
"Jen?"
"What?"
"Do I really have to sleep on the floor?"
She hesitated briefly.
"…No."
Jethro winced as Jenny kicked him for the third time in fifteen minutes. He shifted and pushed her shoulder, putting up his knee to try and stop her from rolling closer. She sighed in frustrating and turned onto her back, kicking at the blankets in annoyance.
"Stop," he growled.
"Shut-up," she growled back in the dark, tired and frustrated with this godforsaken excuse for a bed.
"I can't feel my knee from your kicking," he snarled.
"Well you're elbow is digging into my spine!"
"You're smaller, scoot over."
"You're the man, get the hell over it."
"Real mature, Jenny."
She smacked him in the shoulder and he grunted, glaring at her.
"Stop giving me that look," she ordered knowingly. He looked at her in outrage.
She sighed and twisted a little, lying on her back, half tangled in sheets, half tangled in him, and half off the mattress, just desperately trying to sleep.
"This is fucking ridiculous."
"You get a sailor mouth when you're pissed, Jen, ever noticed?"
"Jethro, I am going to kill you."
He propped himself up on one arm and looked at her. She shifted her head, glaring at him darkly.
"What'd I do?" he asked innocently.
She just blew hair out of her face and shook her head, sighing.
"Nothing," she said, her anger deflating a little. "Nothing, Jethro, I'm sorry. I can't get comfortable."
He moved closer to her and put his arm around her, laying back down closer this time, with his face buried in her neck.
"Since you can't sleep," he murmured, kissing her neck, "We could—"
"I'm so tired, Jethro," she interrupted, rubbing her face. Her voice was soft, apologetic. He didn't even have the energy to be offended by the rejection because he felt bad for her. Jenny was having a rough time. "I have a headache."
He kissed her forehead gently, pulling her a little closer, and caressing her hair.
"You can sleep on top of me," he suggested softly.
"Subtle, Jethro," she said sarcastically, though she sounded tiredly amused.
"Not what I mean," he insisted, tucking her hair behind her ears. "You need sleep, Jen."
"Mm-hmm," she murmured, twisting her hand into his shirt and snuggling closer. She shifted her head and put it on his arm, worming a leg into his. "Don't move," she said thickly, sounding half-asleep. "This is nice."
He smiled and pressed a kiss into her hair, glad he could help. If she could just get a good, long sleep, that would be perfect. He'd try and slip out early tomorrow, let her have the mattress to herself for some rest, and bring back some coffee to make her smile.
"Jethro?" she murmured sleepily, shifting her head uncomfortable again.
"Jen?" he drawled in response, running his fingers lazily up and down her back.
"Take me to dinner tomorrow," she murmured, pulling at his shirt a little.
He smiled at the girlish request. They hadn't had time for things like that much lately. He ran his hand through her hair and touched the diamond earrings he'd given her, earrings she had yet to take out. He kissed her ear softly and settled down next to her, watching her slightly troubled, sleeping face.
He'd give her whatever she asked.
What I've learned from writing Chapter One: 1)I love Prague 2)Gibbs + Motorcycle = weak knees
-Alexandra
