Jenny didn't flinch under his furious gaze.
To her credit she didn't as much as bat an eyelid.
However, she knew better than to carry on with the charade – even if she knew instinctively that he didn't have all the details. That he was just following his gut.
"How much has she figured out?" she asked.
"She's figured out a dead man's switch was used."
"That's all she should be able to discover. Jethro. I was careful."
"Fornell?" he asked as he shook his head in disbelief at the entire situation. Disgusted that it should have come to this and yet not surprised.
"No. I was working alone."
"Ya don't say ..." he muttered sarcastically.
"I have a job to do, Jethro."
"You always do," he retorted nastily.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know damn well what it means," he snapped back.
"If you're referring to what happened in Paris ..."
"You planning on giving me an explanation anytime soon?" he pushed, practically in her face." You manipulated me. Hell, you manipulated all of us. You lied to me. You put people at risk. For what, Jen?"
She looked straight at him, still deadly calm.
"I don't have to explain myself to you, Jethro."
"Is that a fact?"
"You just have to trust that I had my reasons. I still do."
"And what was this?" he asked as he gesticulated rapidly between the two of them. "Trying to make yourself feel clean again after sleeping with the enemy?"
The tiredness etched into her features morphed into shock and hurt for a split second as she rubbed a hand across the lower part of her face; the internal struggle written all over her face.
But the moment passed, and she realized she had decisions to make.
"It's complicated," she said with deliberate softness, "and I'm tired. Can we talk about this in a few hours?"
Gibbs shrugged.
"Knock yourself out," he said, indicating the upper level as he turned back to his boat.
Jenny stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down on his hunched form as he varnished diligently; his deliberate movements the only indication of how angry he was.
Her fingers danced on the railing as she lingered for a moment, her heart heavy.
"I'm sorry Jethro," she whispered into the air.
He never even heard her leave the house.
A short while later, in the autopsy suite at the Navy Yard …
"Autopsy."
Dr Mallard's facial expression turned serious as he listened to the speaker, and he glanced over his shoulder at Tony and Ziva. Sighing softly.
"Mother ..." he said in a world-weary tone. "No. No I'm not alone. Yes, mother. I know I promised. I can assure you there's no need for that. I'll be there soon."
"Troubles, Ducky?" Ziva asked, as he slipped into his coat and hat.
Ducky paused for a moment; considering how best to put it.
"Mother is threatening to go to the liquor store on her own if I do not return home immediately."
"At least she's still up to it, " Tony pointed out.
"She's threatening to drive there, Tony. In the buff."
"In the buff?" queried Ziva.
"Nekkid, Ziva!" said Tony dramatically.
"Well, I'd best be on my way. This will have to wait till tomorrow, I'm afraid," Ducky said as he tipped his hat and headed for the elevator.
Twenty minutes later
Georgetown, Washington D.C.
Eyes took in the form of Jennifer Shepard as she stepped out of a cab into the Georgetown air.
She looked around once before entering the bar, and he wondered how long she'd known that he'd been following her.
Jen drew her coat closer to herself - unable to decide whether it was paranoia or whether her senses were erring on the extreme side of caution. There was something about the way that the hair stood up on the back of her neck that made her certain that someone was tracking her.
And it wasn't Gibbs.
She'd hailed a taxi and changed her plans as soon as she'd felt the presence. But perhaps it hadn't been enough. She couldn't be sure, and now she sat in a corner waiting for her contact; her eye on every flicker even remotely resembling movement in the room.
"Good evening," the man in questions said as he slipped into the seat opposite her a few moments later.
He patted her hand gently, aware at some level of her distress.
Jen smiled and closed her other hand over his.
"Thank you for coming so quickly," she said.
"Where's Jethro?" he asked, looking round.
"He's not here" she replied simply.
"Of course he's here. Where else would he be?"
"What can you tell me about cause of death?" she said.
As he registered the sadness in her voice, Ducky looked at her for a long moment.
"Jennifer ..." he began, squeezing her hand a little.
"You haven't called me that in a long time" she said gently. Deriving some comfort from the fact that she wasn't alone for the time being.
"Good times" he said, returning her smile with one of his own.
"Good times ..." she echoed, inclining her head just a little.
"Does he know you're here?" he asked.
Her eyes hardened minutely, and he had his answer.
"Is this wise?"
"We're not partners anymore, Ducky. I'm his boss. And Jethro doesn't ..."
"I remember a time not too long ago when you put your side arm in its holster and forgot you were the Director because you thought your old partner needed you. I can't believe that Jethro would -"
"I've had to make decisions that make that kind of thing impossible now. Decisions that Jethro doesn't approve of, or understand."
"Oh my dear ..." he said, patting her hand again, but knowing better than to push.
He was pretty sure he understood anyway.
"So … cause of death?"
The brief moment of personal contact was over, and he was looking at Director Shepard again.
"Definitely not suicide. That part was staged."
"How then?"
"Air embolism" he said gravely.
She looked at him quizzically.
"I thought that was only something you saw in the movies."
"It's very real, I'm afraid. The circulation system in our bodies is air-proof," he began. "The only way that air can enter is if it is pumped in – effectively causing what you might call an airlock. This kind of thing is quite common in the plumbing trade where the normal flow of liquid through tubes is completely or partially blocked by air. Quite in the same manner this air lock blocks the flow of blood through the arteries and veins. Thus ... "
"Disrupting circulation" she finished for him.
"You always were quick on the uptake," he said. Thinking of days gone by as he looked at her fondly.
She blushed slightly and smiled. Nodding at him to continue.
"More commonly injections for murder are given in the veins, as in this case. The bubbles keep travelling till they come to a lung – where the capillaries are too narrow to allow passage."
"So all blood traffic stops?"
Dr Mallard nodded.
"But the body thinks that the blood is not getting purified because of lack of air. So it quickens the respiration."
"The person gasps for breath?" She looked at him with horror written all over her face. "But it doesn't help, does it?"
"Correct," Ducky nodded. "Because the cause lies elsewhere."
"Did you find the puncture mark?"
He nodded again. "It was actually Mr. Palmer who realized what was going on? He caught it in an x-ray before we opened up."
He watched the agent in her apply logic to what he'd just said, and smiled when her eyes lit up a few seconds later.
"The only evidence within the body would be a bubble of air somewhere in the blood vessels."
"In the pulmonary artery, to be precise. The air bubble would have escaped once we opened up. We dissected the blood vessels under water."
"Like finding a leak in a tyre tube ..."
Ducky smiled at the analogy.
"What else can you tell me, Ducky."
"That this was done by someone with great skill."
"A member of the medical profession?"
"Maybe. I can't be sure."
"Anything else?"
"The small intestine showed clear traces of alcohol consumption."
"He was drinking on an empty stomach? I don't know enough about SecNav to know if that's unusual or not."
"That's not my point, Director. The optimal alcohol concentration to facilitate that kind of rapid stomach-emptying has to be 86 proof. Or 43 percent alcohol."
"Are you going somewhere with this, Ducky? I don't follow."
"Very few drinks have that kind of proof."
"Were you able to identify it?"
Ducky looked straight at her, and she felt her stomach knot in response.
"L'Esprit de Courvoisier," he said grimly.
Her eyes cut to his, as her mind scrambled to assimilate the information.
"Go back to NCIS Ducky. I need all your evidence, reports. Everything."
She wrote an address on a piece of paper.
"Have them delivered by courier to this address."
Ducky nodded and rose to his feet.
"Jennifer ..."
"I'll be careful."
"You'll let me hear from you?"
"As soon as I can, Ducky."
She sat at table trying to organise her thoughts and quell the nausea that had reared its ugly head.
Outside, Ducky sat in his car and turned the key.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
He was muttering under his breath when there was a tap on the window. He cranked it down and looked up at the man standing there.
"Looking for these, Dr Mallard?"
Spark plug wires were dangled in front of his nose just seconds before he found himself looking into the barrel of a revolver.
Author's Note:
The L'Esprit de Courvoisier reference takes us back to a conversation in a car in the season four episode Blowback.