A/N - so this is the second part - still set in the same universe.
Minor Ailments – 2
He'd only gone for coffee; left the building for twenty minutes tops and somehow in that time, all hell had broken loose.
One of the other teams was investigating a death linked to a new designer drug. They'd been interviewing a Marine who'd known their victim – he wasn't even a suspect – not really; when suddenly it became clear that he knew a lot more about the drug than they'd realised and that he should definitely have been a suspect.
Part way through the interview he'd gone crazy, clearly under the influence of the drug in question and fought his way out of the interview room. It had taken several agents to subdue him. In fact it had taken several agents and one Agency Director - who'd been passing and for her trouble had picked up a split lip and what looked on the way to becoming a truly spectacular black eye.
The situation was back under control now. The Marine had been sent off to hospital under heavy guard. Ducky was on patch up duty, but no one seemed to have been seriously hurt. At the moment he was finishing up with Agent Sullivan while the Director was leaning against the wall, she had already waved Ducky away once; clearly she had decided that she could wait until last for treatment.
Gibbs sighed and stepped out from the doorway. "You going to give me a lecture Jethro?" She asked, without looking over at him.
"No," he handed over his coffee and she took a sip carefully – grimacing either at the taste or because her lip was sore.
He wasn't going to lecture her, because he wasn't responsible for her choices – whatever he might think of some of them. And there was no way he was going to tell her that the corridors were already ringing with tales of her exploits, of how she'd responded.
He doubted she was happy about the black eye – but everyone else was delighted at the evidence that she still had the instincts of an agent. She pulled a face and handed him the coffee back, "how bad is it?" He smirked, clearly she hadn't looked in a mirror yet.
"Well, I doubt you'll want to go to that charity dinner tomorrow night."
"There is such a thing as make up."
"Not that much."
She brought her hand up to her head and probed her skull gingerly. As she touched one spot she went very pale and swayed a little. All at once it wasn't so amusing and he didn't know that giving her coffee had been such a great idea. "Did you lose consciousness Jen?" No one had mentioned that – but they might not have noticed in the confusion. "Jen?"
"I don't think so," he took her elbow and steered her to a chair, pushing her down.
"Ducky," the tone of his voice alerted his old friend and he patted Agent Sullivan on the shoulder as he finished cleaning up his bloody nose.
"I think you should be fine now. But take it easy." Sullivan moved to the door and seconds later Jen bolted after him, her hand covering her mouth.
The two men exchanged worried glances – certain that she was heading for the bathroom on this floor. "She OK?" Gibbs asked
"She may have a minor concussion. I'll check her over in a moment but you'll need to keep an eye on her Jethro."
"If I'd kept an eye on her this wouldn't have happened."
"I think you are rather overestimating your ability to keep her out of trouble." He shrugged, refusing to concede the point – though Ducky was right.
"She had to prove a point." His old friend smiled and shook his head, ignoring the grumbling.
"Would you have preferred her to stay safely on the sidelines? That's not exactly an option you know."
"I know." She wasn't a magnet for trouble the way DiNozzo was, but Jen had never been one to stand by and watch. Protecting her hadn't exactly been part of the deal, the risks were inherent in the job and they'd taken more than their fair share of them over the years. When she'd been his partner he had frequently been the one to place her in harms way, which made it pretty late in the day to start worrying about her health.
Except that she wasn't a junior agent anymore – she was the Director of a Federal Agency and she probably should avoid getting herself into actual fistfights; concentrating instead on tussles over budgets and turf wars with other agencies. But, it was Jen – she no doubt thought she could do both.
He was waiting outside the bathroom with a glass of water and a bag of ice cubes and when she emerged he handed her them both, taking a moment to look her over. "Ducky thinks you might have a concussion," he told her, "let him check you out."
"OK," the ready acquiescence was good news and he walked her back towards Ducky – standing close, but not too close; watching over her without being too overt about it.
Ducky's slight smile told him that his old friend knew exactly what his was doing and why. So far, he was the only one who'd worked out that they were involved and they were both happy to keep it that way. "What have you done to yourself, Jennifer?" he said in an oddly affectionate tone that still managed to be gently chiding. She sighed in response and stood still as he ran his hands over her hair line.
"Probably something very unwise. It must look bad if Jethro is restraining himself from shouting at me."
Two hours later his cell phone rang. He hadn't strayed far – not a deliberate decision, or so he'd say if challenged. He could have gone with DiNozzo and Ziva when they went to interview witnesses but he'd chosen not to, because Abby was working on some results. It had nothing to do with keeping an eye on the Director and her minor head injury.
"Agent Gibbs?" Cynthia's voice was hesitant and he flicked his gaze up, almost expecting to see her standing outside the office. "I'm concerned about Director Shepard." He closed the phone without further comment and moved rapidly up the stairs to the Director's office. Normally he would stride past the woman whose job it was to guard her door but today he lingered, his expression asking the question.
"I thought you'd want to know," she said, just a little nervously. "I assumed you'd be going home with her, to make sure she was all right? To be honest – I think she needs to leave now."
His expression didn't budge and Cynthia was nearly intimidated enough to tell him that she was basing the assumption on a variety of small details that added up to the conclusion that the Director of NCIS was, very discretely, in a relationship. Admittedly the identity of the man involved was – if not guess work – then at least intuition. But the other bits of evidence had been pieced together with a thoroughness that under different circumstances Gibbs might actually appreciate.
It had taken her a little while to notice that the spare clothes the Director kept in the office were used and replaced more frequently these days, that she was actually leaving the office at a reasonable hour at least once a week. And then the week before Shepard had asked her to find a file she'd left in her briefcase and, while she been searching for it, she'd found a packet of condoms – opened. But more significant than any of this was the change in the Director herself. It was carefully concealed but Cynthia spent a lot of time with her, knew her moods well and there was no doubt that she was, happier, these days.
But, all of this information she kept to herself; because it was her job to protect the Director – and that included protecting her private life. ""I was in there a minute ago and it looked as though she had a headache."
He nodded once and headed into the office, still without commenting, very aware that not issuing a denial had been an answer all of its own. Between Cynthia and Ducky he decided that the agency's best kept secret was probably safe for a little longer.
"Jethro?" He winced when he caught sight of the black eye and then wished he hadn't when her expression faltered for a moment. He didn't speak, gathering the files into a neat pile and leaning past her to switch off her computer screen. "I was working on that!" She protested.
"You can work at home. I'm going downstairs to pack up my stuff," she shook her head and then winced at the movement. "Jen, you need to get some rest and take a couple more painkillers."
"OK," that was twice she'd given in without a fight, her head must be killing her. "You going to stay?"
"Unless there's an emergency." It was, they both knew, about as much as he could promise. "You want me to see if I can borrow some sunglasses from DiNozzo?"
"I have some," his surprise must have shown. "You think the only thing I keep in my desk is my weapon?" He wasn't going anywhere near that – but the thought of her covering her injuries had sparked a memory. He smiled, "what?"
"I was just thinking about Naples – that bar,"
"It was a brothel," she pointed out, knowing exactly what he was talking about. "And I still haven't forgiven you for telling the madam that I liked being tied up."
"Well, I wasn't going to tell her that you had rope marks on your wrists because you'd spent the previous twenty four hours in a basement tied to a chair being interrogated. Besides – she was impressed."
"Oh I know – she told me to ditch you and go to work for myself – she said I'd make a fortune with my looks and preferences." He laughed – in spite of the fact that the memory wasn't entirely happy. She'd been missing for a day before he'd managed to rescue her. They'd been on the run, hiding in a place that was full of other dangers. Every customer in the bar had looked at her with hunger in their eyes and at night he'd slept with her in his arms and his weapon within reach.
"Were you trying to prove something Jen?" Returning to the subject of her recent injury, still concerned about how it had happened.
"I turned the corner and they all came tumbling out of the interview room. I stepped into his path and tried to help hold him. He caught me in the face with his elbow and I think I hit my head on the floor when I went down. It was instinct Jethro."
He could tell her the next time her instincts told her to take on a Marine, pumped up on who the hell knew what, who easily weighed twice what she did she should just ignore them. But he knew her too well to even attempt it. Instead he leant over and kissed her carefully on the cheek – the gesture surprising them both because they were normally careful about displaying their intimacy where they could be seen. His lips lingered just a little on her cheek, "let's go home," he said.
The End
