A/N: thanks to a'serene! Kudos to MissJayne for the suggestion (and subsequent information!) on Les Invalides.

*I must apologize for the long delay in updates--that being said, it's not my fault! My laptop had a meltdown, locked me off of everything, and almost annihilated every document I had saved in the entire run of its existence. It was very stressful and quite disheartening! But everything is functioning now, and my documents are safely backed up!


Jenny Shepard was in the middle of sneaking another picture of Jethro as he tried to eat his pasta when his foot hit hers again under the small café table. She clicked the shutter button with a glare just as he caught her in the act and reached out to slap her hands down.

"Stop taking pictures," he ordered.

She rolled her eyes and set the camera down on the table. He immediately picked it up and dropped it in his lap, looking like he'd accomplished something.

"You know if I want that back I'll just come get it," Jenny informed him.

He smirked. She smiled. It probably wasn't all that unwelcome of a threat.

Jenny watched him return his attention to the pasta dish he'd gotten and eyed it enviously before she picked up her sandwich and titled her head to check back with their targets a few tables away and to the left.

They were having lunch in an airy, casual café on the Champs-Elysees, one of the locations listed in their folders as a known meeting place and a pleasant place to be in itself. In her opinion, at least; Jethro had grumbled something about tiny-girly-pansy-restaurants and made her covertly drag him in.

She had to give him credit through; it was the only thing he'd complained about today and she'd been dragging him in shops along the famous street all morning. She wasn't sure he was exactly thrilled with her semi-lecture about the Arc de Triomphe either, but he'd been mostly compliant the whole day.

Jenny concluded that either she needed to wake him up like she had this morning more often or Tuesdays were just really good days for him.

She smirked at the thought and turned her face away from the two clean-cut men they were supposed to be watching. She swallowed a mouthful of her food and picked up her fork, inching it slowly over towards Jethro's plate. He stuck his fork out and stopped her.

She frowned.

"I just want to taste it," she whined.

He rolled his eyes and twisted a hunk of noodles around his fork, holding it up to her with a smirk. She stared at the proffered fork and lifted a disbelieving eyebrow.

"What exactly are you implying?"

"Taste."

"I refuse to eat that off of your fork!"

She narrowed her eyes at him but he just smirked more insolently. He gave her a serious look.

"We have a cover to uphold," he informed her with a completely straight face.

"As Lady and the Tramp?" Jenny retorted, furrowing her eyebrows. He wiggled the fork at her slightly. "Jethro, stop it."

He shrugged smugly and turned the fork towards him, eating his pasta. Jenny scowled. She poked her fork at him menacingly and took a drink of her lemon water, trying to come up with ways to get him back.

Jethro leaned back, resting his arm on the back of his chair, and looked towards their targets, watching them nonchalantly. They looked like two colleagues enjoying a leisurely lunch before heading back to work—which they weren't. They were questionably associated men who had numerous crimes under their respective belts and were being watched by the United States.

Jenny and Jethro looked like nothing more than a couple out to enjoy lunch in the warm weather after a bit of shopping—which they weren't, or at least technically. The lines between her partner and her lover were starting to blur, something Jenny felt she should be paying more attention to, watching more closely, before she got in too deep.

She wasn't, though. She was busy stealing pasta off of said boss/lover's lunch plate while he was doing their job. He turned his head and caught her right as she put the fork in her mouth. She giggled through a mouthful of noodles.

Jethro just gave her an annoyed look. He leaned forward and switched their plates, placing his pasta in front of her and her half-eaten sandwich in front of him. She crinkled her nose at him and smiled.

His foot knocked against hers under the table again.

Jenny almost slammed her fork down; it clattered against the pasta plate.

"Are you trying to play footsie with me or are you being an ass?" she demanded, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes.

He turned towards her again and gave her an unreadable look, drawing his foot back. She heard the crinkle of thick paper and something clicked; she glared at him and pointed her finger accusingly.

"You're trying to look in my bag!" she said, reaching down and dragging it back towards her chair protectively. It had, in fact, moved several inches forward.

That was slightly comforting, though, that he had other motives besides footsie. Jenny had hated footsie since fourth grade.

Jethro was feigning innocence.

"What bag?"

She gave him a look.

"You've been trying to see what I bought since we left that boutique," she said primly. He could wonder all he wanted; he wasn't seeing it until a later date known only to her.

"I don't care what you bought," he retorted gruffly, even if the petite size and delicate make of the fancy black bag made him think he should care very much what she had bought. He was counting on something lacy and virtually non-existent.

"No peeking," Jenny said suspiciously, for good measure. She finished off her water and kept a sharp eye on him. He could be a very sneaky, very devious bastard when he was in the mood to be.

After a second of glaring like he really didn't care, he leaned forward and made a grab for it; Jenny gasped in mock horror and kicked him in the calf, thwarting his attempt. He jumped and his knee hit the table, spilling his water all over.

"Merde!" he growled in a low voice.

Jenny laughed.

"Of all the French you could learn, you figure out how to say 'shit'?"

He glared and dropped a napkin on the mess, half-heartedly attempting to clean up. Jenny rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"I'll get it," she said, scooting her chair back and getting up. She glanced around for napkins and such and spotted some, conveniently, by a counter their friends were sitting at. It was an opportunity to overhear some conversation.

She started towards the counter and then stopped, backtracked, and swept up her little black bag, holding it casually over her wrist. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him not to look.

Jenny came up to the counter and picked up a few napkins, pretending to look over a few sauces as well. The two men were speaking in low, fast French, almost too fast for her to translate; the few words she could catch were dangerous but useless out of context.

Guns. Materials. Time. Place. Schedule. Execute.

Jenny chewed on the inside of her lip and tucked a strand of escaped hair behind her ear, setting down a shaker of interesting looking spice. She started to turn when she heard the last half of a clear question, in perfect French, and the attention-grabbing answer.

"…thank our provider profusely."

"La Grenouille."

Jenny's fingers slipped on the shaker and she knocked it over, her blood running cold. She set her jaw and closed her eyes briefly.

That couldn't be right.

That's not what he said.

She swallowed hard and righted the shaker, her heart audible in her ears and her breath caught in her throat.

The Frog.

Jenny straightened her shoulders for comfort and performed, in her opinion, a spectacular show of not having heard a word, of not having been paying attention, even, and walked back towards her table with the napkins held limply in her hand.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two gentlemen getting up to leave, one of them dealing with the boy taking checks. She put the napkins down on the table and started to mop of the table, blinking away her shock and leaning forward.

Jethro's hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Jen?" he questioned, leaning forward to find her face. "You all right?"

She nodded blankly, trying to unstuck her throat, and removed her hand from the table, shaking off his hand gently. He gave her a stern look, his blue eyes studying her face, and she schooled her features expertly.

"You're pale," he commented.

Jenny didn't answer. She glanced at their food, preferring to remain silent even under his alert and suddenly penetrating gaze. He glanced casually over her bent shoulder.

"Did one of them say something to you?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice. She shook her head curtly. She turned slightly and gestured to the garcon.

"Controle, sil vous plait," she said politely, her voice completely steady. The boy came over instantly, taking something out of his pocket. Jenny reached behind her to her pocket but Jethro grabbed her hand. He gave her a funny look.

"I got it, Jen," he said. She furrowed her brow at him momentarily. Was he supposed to be paying for lunch? She straightened up and nodded.

"I'm going to wait outside," she said quietly, curling her wrist towards her and leaving him to take care of the bill. The whole café was sort of indoors under a pavilion, but she wanted out of the darkened area and into the light.

She stepped into the warm sun, blinking again, putting a hand to her brow and kicking herself for her reaction. It was unbelievable, though, to be confronted with that despicable name—and so soon after the mission started. If it was a coincidence that evil bastard was involved with their criminals, it was a damn good one.

Jenny glanced back in the café and then down the boulevard, stopping when she saw the backs of the men a little ways down, in casual conversation, one of them looking with a sharp eye for a taxi to call.

She wanted to see his face. The one who'd said it. Jethro was going to kill her.

Jenny lifted her chin and walked over to them, forcing her throat to unlock and speaking with cool unconcern.

"Excusez-moi, Monsieur,"

He turned coldly, surprised to be spoken to, annoyed to be interrupted—and then didn't look too fussed about it. Well, that was an advantage of her looks. She softened her eyes in a doe-like way and pursed her lips, flicking her eyes as if nervous to the other. She affected American-accented, flawed French and asked:

"I beg your pardon; could you point me towards the Arc de Triomphe?"

He looked highly amused suddenly, no doubt because it was clearly visible above the other structures. Dark, groomed eyebrows went up slightly, cold eyes glinted, and his thin lips curved into a small smirk on his pale face. He turned, gesturing and responding in fluid, silky French.

Jenny feigned embarrassment and nodded, batting her eyelashes and thanking him. The man turned away abruptly, saying something derogatory about pretty American women to his companion, and Jenny moved away.

She almost ran into Jethro, who did indeed look like he was about to throttle her. He gritted his teeth and set his jaw.

"What the hell were you doing?" he asked, taking her arm above the elbow. He turned her away from the departing men and stepped close, cloaking their conversation in the crowds.

Jenny steeled herself.

"Closer look," she said simply. It was plausible, seemingly. "I can identify him easily now."

Jethro's grip on her arm was tight and reprimanding; she didn't react angrily because she knew she was in the wrong and being careless. His eyes narrowed and he put his mouth close to her ear, for the first time in days not in passion.

"Do not approach," he warned sharply. "That wasn't initiative; that was stupid. They can recognize you now."

Jenny nodded shortly and pulled her arm back. He glared at her and she shrugged at him insolently, not in the mood. Her mouth was still dry and she still felt like she couldn't answer him properly.

"What is wrong with you, Jen?" he snapped.

She finally snapped out of it for the time being, loathe losing control or provoking his curiosity and questioning any further.

"Nothing," she said shortly, pushing past him.

He followed her easily through a few people she excused herself to. She stepped off to the side of the avenue, trying to stay out of the way of natives and tourists, part in the shade of a building's awning. She turned to Jethro and pulled two tickets out of her pocket, lifting an eyebrow.

He was still looking at her in annoyance and something like concern, but the sight of the tickets caught his attention and he eyed them warily.

"What are those?"

"Do you want to take a cab or walk to the seventh arrondissement?"

He looked suspicious.

"Where are we going?" he asked cautiously.

Jethro did not take pleasure in the idea of seeing a bunch of paintings by old dead guys, and those looked suspiciously like museum tickets. He dreaded being dragged into the Louvre.

Jenny smirked and lifted an eyebrow.

"It was Ducky's idea," she said, placating him and pulling the tickets back against her chest so he couldn't see the words—not that he could read them in French anyway.

He did not look convinced, to her.

Jethro was not convinced. As much as he liked Ducky and trusted the medical examiner, he had an old Englishman's taste and she could very well be tricking him into the ballet. Jenny laughed and lifted her arm, smacking him in the chest with the tickets.

"It'll be worth it, Jethro," she coaxed.

"Walk," he said, giving in. It would give him more time to figure out what was wrong with her, if he could just watch her. Providing she didn't talk too much, or play too much for that matter.

She grinned.

It was getting inexplicably harder to say 'no' to her, anyway.


Jenny was gloating.

She walked slowly through the Musee de l'Armee at Les Invalides, the old retirement home for French war veterans that housed three museums centered on battle and artillery as well as several well-known tombs and a beautiful chapel she wanted to see.

She threw a glance over her shoulder at Jethro and smiled, moving on quietly to the next piece of history, leaving Jethro a few feet away to glare at the same military display he'd been glaring at for twenty minutes. She'd never get him to say it, but he was eating this up.

The place was filled with France's entire military history. Jethro had stopped glowering menacingly and muttering about senseless museums once she'd gotten him past the first museum of Contemporary History, which he hadn't found quite as interesting.

She was content to study the military displays; they were fascinating. She was also content to openly gloat over her triumph in picking a place that wasn't torture for either one of them—thanks to Ducky of course, who'd mildly suggested it over breakfast.

Jenny titled her head up at the gorgeous ceiling, in possession now of her precious black bag and her camera. Jethro had finally given it back, and while she preferred to look instead of shaming herself as a tourist and clicking a camera, she was glad to have it back.

Jethro materialized behind her, pulling her hair off of her shoulders and kissing her below the ear from behind. She shivered and shook her head, turning to give him a look. He smirked and looked over her shoulder, pausing before he brushed past her again. She smiled, following him at her own pace.

He stopped in front of the magnificent sarcophagus, she right next to him, and studied it.

"Napoleon Bonaparte," Jenny said, shifting her weight.

Jethro grunted, walking around the tomb to look. Jenny watched his back appreciatively, tilting her head. She lifted her eyebrow.

"The people's revolutionary turned exiled emperor," she mused, always a fan of the man. "He was a great military leader."

Jethro snorted and looked up.

"He was an ambitious idiot."

Jenny gave him a mildly surprised look.

"Idiot?" she commented.

"He lead troops into Russia in the dead of winter," Jethro pointed out in annoyance, "Military suicide."

Jenny bit her lip and nodded absently, turning to look around the room.

"It wasn't the best choice," she admitted, "but we all make mistakes."

"Ambition made that mistake for him."

"What's your problem with ambition?"

She looked over her shoulder at him and he looked up at her from a part of the sarcophagus he was examining, straightening and walking towards her.

"Makes people forget what's important," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him with a slight tug. "Do stupid things," he added, dipping his face close to hers and speaking into her lips.

Jenny pressed her palms against his shoulders and shifted, rolling her eyes.

They'd been here for nearly four hours. She supposed that was a huge accomplishment; he'd hardly touched her since they'd walked in. Clearly he was losing his interest in the museum, military or not.

"I want to see the chapel," she said, pushing him away.

He grunted in annoyance.

"You don't like the guns?"

She lowered her voice seductively and raised her eyebrow.

"I love the guns," she said. He smirked and let her precede him towards the chapel she was so eager to see.

The French baroque architecture of the chapel dominated the north courtyard from the outside and, in Jenny's opinion if not Jethro's, was no less impressive from the inside. Reminiscent of St. Peter's Basilica, the artwork and sculpting was beautiful, especially to someone who appreciated it as Jenny did.

She always thought that churches had their own beauty, beauty that came from purity and the message they carried. They were literally sanctuaries and comforting, even to someone like her who hadn't found her way into a church for an actual service for years.

"There are no guns in here," she heard grumbled from behind her.

"Did you make that observation by yourself?" she retorted sarcastically. There were others in the chapel; she kept her voice low.

She could feel him scowling at the back of her head. Jenny stopped in front of the altar, roped off at the stairs. She looked up at the larger-than-life crucifix locked in place and thought briefly of her father. He'd been religious; had always regretted that she wasn't. She felt a twinge of guilt and anger.

Jethro pulled her to the side a little to make room for a few other tourists and she apologized quietly. He continued to tug at her, and she found herself being dragged over to the side, in an alcove by the altar stairs.

He pulled her close.

"Seen enough?"

She poked him in the chest.

"You, Jethro, could use some religion," she stated, lifting an eyebrow.

He laughed and tightened his arms around her waist, ignoring her squirm of protest. The bridge of her nose flushed and he leaned forward to kiss her exposed throat, figuring they were in the shadows and off to the side enough not to be noticed.

Jenny squirmed again.

"You ever had a religious experience, Jen?" he asked in her ear.

"No…" she answered slowly, quirking her eyebrow unseen, unsure where he was going with this.

He grinned.

"Want me to give you one?"

"Jethro!" she hissed, rather loudly. She tried to push him back, her hands on his abdomen between them. "We are in a church!"

He shrugged, but did not succeed in pulling her back against him. She planted her feet and placed her hands solidly against his stomach, holding him at arm's length and glancing around. As of yet, they weren't being stared at.

"Religious experience," she snorted, giving him a smirk, "you think you're God now?"

That actually didn't surprise her one bit.

She stumbled backwards against the wall and muffled a giggle in his jacket, her hands slipping down his sides. Jenny stopped abruptly when her hand brushed against something hard. She ran her hand over the contour through his clothing and looked up at him sharply.

Apparently there were guns in the chapel.

"I'm not allowed to break the rules but you are?" she asked quietly, all seriousness now.

He gave her a blank look, warning her not to push it. She was going to anyway.

"We don't have authorization to carry weapons here, Jethro," she said sharply, "what if you get caught with that?"

"You didn't even know I was carrying until you felt it," he pointed out plausibly.

Jenny narrowed her eyes. He'd berated her outside the café for approaching a target when that was taboo, and he was risking arrest by carrying an unauthorized weapon. She wrapped her fingers around the handle of his SIG under his jacket, shimmying it out to glance. He grabbed her hand and gave her a deadly look, stepping closer. Slowly, he pushed her fingers off of the gun and replaced it securely.

"Not a good idea, Jen," he said.

"Packing heat isn't exactly brilliant either," she hissed back.

She felt wary enough without her weapon; it wasn't right of him to carry concealed and refuse to let her do the same. She had better ways of hiding a gun anyway.

"If you think I'm walking around an unfamiliar city tracking terrorist unarmed, think again," he growled.

"Then don't you dare chew me out for ignoring regs, either."

"That was different," he growled. Approaching the people they were covertly spying on defeated the purpose.

"You could carry a knife," she pointed out sharply. Her eyes glinted. "You do have a knife on you, Jethro?" she asked suddenly.

He paused, keeping silent.

"Rule nine," she reprimanded, pushing him away.

He caught her arm at the shoulder and pulled her back, giving her a rough kiss. Her eyes flew open and she pulled away, glancing around furiously. She was faced with a few lifted eyebrows and disapproving looks.

"What the hell—"

"I thought you said you liked guns, Jen," he challenged, ignoring her indignant outburst.

She narrowed her eyes angrily and then smirked, turning away. He came up behind her and slipped and arm around her waist, brushing an argument to the side with the careless wandering of his hand. His concealed SIG pressed against her hip.

She didn't know why it got to her, his carrying against regulations. It was typical of Jethro; she knew it was his way of protecting himself and her, and it was probably smart. But something about it bothered her. Without her own weapon, she'd have to rely on him if something went wrong.

She trusted him to have her back. Expected him too. Laying her safety in his hands, having no control over her fate in a situation…that was a different. It was relying on him in a way she didn't think she could yet. Not because she didn't trust him, but because she feared the emotional implications.

Jethro dragged her out of the chapel, back towards the military displays. Jenny pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. She turned towards him and pulled him closer at his belt loops, threading her thumbs through.

Jenny cocked her eyebrow teasingly.

"Carrying any other concealed weapons for me to play with?"