A/N: thanks to a'serene! It's back to school for me this very day:/

Jenny Shepard closed her cell phone silently and looked at it, pressing her lips together. She turned around in the decorative sitting room and looked out the window to their suburban street, visible through the translucent curtains in the fading daylight.

She ran her thumb over the screen on her phone, thinking. Ducky was cooking something in the kitchen that smelled delicious and she didn't know where Jethro was; she'd hazard a guess at the shower.

The Director had sounded busy and distracted on the phone; he was no doubt swamped with work. They were out of the loop on news in America, but his job was a never-ending cycle of stress. Morrow had listened a little more intently when she'd told him to watch the arms community more closely.

She couldn't give names or sources, just her gut. She didn't even mention the name she'd heard and it was a miracle Morrow had given her credit at all. Contact was supposed to be minimal and here she was bending the rules again because of an obsession she tried to stomp to the back of her mind.

It probably hadn't been a good idea to contact Decker, either. He'd seemed surprised and yet relieved to hear from her, but she'd had to deal with Kasey when it came to a description of the man she saw. Kasey, as usual, was bitter, and seemed to think Jenny was having as hard a time as she with her partner. Jenny had to be all but rude to get Olivia to shut-up about Decker's imperfections and pay attention to the information she was risking.

Jethro would hit the roof if he knew.

She heard footfalls behind her and turned to intercept the person sneaking up behind her. Speak of the devil; Jethro stood in the doorway, his hair still wet, one arm braced against the frame. She closed her fingers over the phone, shielding it.

"Have a nice shower?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

"It could've been better."

Jenny smiled.

"Yes, but then you wouldn't have gotten clean," she responded, raising her eyebrow. She smirked and walked towards him, heading for the hallway to the kitchen. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her back.

"Jen," he protested. She closed her eyes and shivered at his proximity. She knew exactly how he felt. Ducky was hovering; they couldn't just mysteriously disappear.

"I wouldn't mind being dirty," he said quietly.

"I don't like it when you're dirty."

He pulled her closer and spun her against him, bending down to draw his lips over the material of her shirt.

"Yes you do," he corrected suggestively in her ear.

"Mmm," Jenny murmured, leaning back into him. He pulled her backwards into the hall and towards the stairs; she planted her feet, and listened carefully to Ducky moseying around in the kitchen.

"How many times do I have to say 'no'?" she whispered, trying to pull away.

Stupid male; he didn't realize she was just as frustrated as him. She just handled it more maturely.

"One more time,"

"Will it make a difference?"

He smirked into her hair.

"No," he answered mockingly, imitating her stern denial. He tugged at her around the middle and she suppressed a giggle as he managed to get her up two steps before she stopped him.

"No!"

"Yes."

"Jethro…"

"Jenny…" he mocked warningly.

Ducky started humming loudly in the kitchen and Jethro pulled her head back into his shoulder by her loose hair. He did look pitiably tortured.

"Just a quickie?"

Ten minutes later she was sitting in the kitchen watching, Ducky pour sauce over the meat he was cooking, her cheeks only slightly flushed and her hair in a neat ponytail, looking quite like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"My dear, would you mind helping me with the dinnerware?" the M.E. asked, looking up at her with a warm smile.

Jenny nodded and pushed her chair backwards, getting up just as Jethro walked in, completely straight-faced. Training as an agent helped her keep her composure but she still couldn't resist the pert wink she gave him before turning towards the cabinets to comply with Ducky's request.

"Smells good, Duck."

"Yes, well, I thought it might be nice for poor Jenny here to have some real food. I can imagine being subjected to take-out or a thrown together dinner night after night isn't her first choice," Ducky answered, smiling at Jenny.

She laughed as she shut the cabinet and set the plates on the counter for him. They had been eating at odd hours since they'd gotten here, at first because their times were still mixed-up and then because sometimes in the mix it was easy to forget to eat. Jethro's solution, as always, was something easy and Jenny never really complained.

"What is it?" Jenny asked, leaning over Ducky to look at the pan.

"Ah, the French name is Coq au vin," he said, taking a plat from her, "but we'll call it Red Wine Rooster."

He handed Jenny a plate and gestured to the cooling stove.

"One of mother's old recipes; she hardly remembers it now. Snap peas are on the back burner."

Jenny had no idea Ducky was a cook. She drew a fork out of one of the drawers and got some snap peas. She sat down across from Jethro at the table and smiled sweetly, forking a few of the greens and putting them in her mouth.

"Are you waiting for me to get you a plate?" she whispered conspiratorially, pointing her utensil at him and smirking.

He got up and retrieved his own food. She didn't think he was really waiting to be served, but it was funny to poke at his pride by teasing him about it.

Ducky was the last to sit down, bringing with him his plate and a bottle of wine. He offered it to them all, but Jenny held up her hand and waved it away. She got up and filled herself a cup of water instead.

"Wine makes me sleepy," she said, sitting back down.

She didn't want to be tired tonight.

"Ducky, this is fantastic," she praised.

Ducky beamed, and thanked her. Conversation was lax during dinner while they ate; Ducky inquired about the excursion to Les Invalides and mentioned seeing one of their targets in the heart of Paris when he'd been visiting a friend.

"I believe, thought I couldn't be quite sure, I saw Agent Kasey in the crowds as well," he said, musing.

"Kasey's working Law Enforcement," Jenny said. "She and Decker are more in the open than us. He's handling her cover; she's working with French police."

Ducky looked surprised at this information.

"I wasn't aware you knew the nature of their assignment," he said.

"We know a general idea," Jethro said. "Though they think we're doing the same as them."

"Ah," Ducky nodded.

Jenny bit her lip at the look Jethro gave her across the table. She'd inappropriately said too much about their colleague's assignment. Decker and Kasey's job was more open than theirs; the French government was, from what she could gather, aware of their presence and cooperating. They were handling the investigations of the same people as Jenny and Jethro, drawing the targets' attention away from silent watchers.

It was why Jenny had contacted Kasey about the man she'd approached. Kasey and Decker had access to more information than she did about him.

"…after Harper was fired,"

Jenny perked up at Decker's words, raising her eyebrows.

"Harper was fired?" she asked, clearly remembering the Forensic Tech and Jethro's intense hatred of him.

"Oh yes," Ducky said solemnly, drinking from his glass, "He botched a very high profile case, apparently a slip up in a long line of careless mistakes and the Director was forced to let him go."

Jethro looked vindictively thrilled.

"It's about time," he grumbled, stabbing his meat vehemently. "We'll get more done without that lazy bastard running the lab."

Jenny was the only one who ever got—probably tortured—results out of him anyway, and the 'how' of that accomplishment of hers Jethro had never questioned properly. He figured it was best if he didn't know.

"Fiona must be thrilled," Jenny sighed. The blonde's one complaint about her work was Harper's incessant habit of hitting on her.

"Fiona left us before Harper was fired. She graduated from my tutelage," Ducky informed her.

Jenny raised her eyebrows and smiled.

"Then I'm afraid she defected," he added with a small smile, looking at Jethro.

Jethro looked up and caught Ducky's eye before his eyes narrowed suddenly and he gave his friend an annoyed look.

"She didn't join the—"

"FBI."

"Fornell," growled Jethro petulantly.

Jenny giggled at her partner's indignation. She remembered how the FBI agent had taken to Fiona during the case they worked together. He'd been beyond amused by her constant singing.

"Federal bunch of idiots…" Jethro muttered under his breath, and Jenny laughed disbelievingly.

"Oh, Jethro come on," she placated, rolling her eyes. He just gave her a dark look.

"They steal everything!" he protested.

Jenny raised an eyebrow.

"Agent Langer went FBI," Jethro offered moodily, "Turncoat," he muttered, thinking of the green agent he'd been working with for a short time just before Jenny showed up.

"You hated Langer," Jenny pointed out, rolling her eyes.

"That is not the point," Jethro growled. "Thieves."

Ducky cleared his throat with a curious look on his face, almost like he was trying to look sad while really highly amused underneath.

"There is ah, something else Tobias seems to have...taken a fancy to," Ducky said slowly, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Jethro, still grumbling, didn't respond right away; he was too busy muttering about the damn Hoover building and the armed agency food chain. Then Ducky's words seemed to register and he looked up suspiciously, and glared at Jenny like she was going to up and join the FBI in front of him.

"Oh, no, not Jennifer," Ducky said quickly, sensing a lecture. "Though the hair color is right."

Jenny had never actually seen Jethro look shocked, and the priceless moment ended in a split second. Then he narrowed his eyes, looking at Ducky in sheer disbelief, his blue eyes flashing.

"No."

Ducky smiled indulgently.

"Diane?" Jethro snapped.

Jenny raised her eyebrows skeptically and then widened her eyes when Ducky nodded in confirmation. She lost it; she burst out laughing, while Jethro touched the side of his head gingerly with a grimace.

"He can have her," he grumbled balefully.

It took Jenny a few minutes to recover from her cackling outburst. She snorted at the moodily look Jethro gave her and tilted her head at him, reaching across to pick up his wine glass and wave it in front of him.

"Is your head hurting?" she asked, pouting mockingly.

There were so many things she could say to Diane now to curl the woman's toes.

Ducky laughed good-naturedly.

"I really am sorry to be the bearer of bad news—"

"Ducky, this is hilarious," Jenny interrupted, muffling another batch of giggles as Jethro snatched his wine glass away and glared at her.

He hadn't mentioned Diane since Jenny had seen her at NCIS before they left for London. He did have a right to be bitter towards the women who'd not only whacked him in the skull with a golf club but also cleaned out his bank account.

"Someone should warn him," Jethro muttered darkly, stabbing his food even more viciously.

"Hush and eat your peas," Jenny ordered gleefully.

She continued to antagonize him about it through dinner, spurred on by the amused look on Ducky's face at her daring. She didn't care how vicious his glares got or how annoyed and rude his responses became; she'd wipe that bitch's name from his mind later tonight.

It was almost pitch black and freezing in the room when Leroy Jethro Gibbs woke up in the middle of the night, his eyesight blurry and half-aware in the dark. He groggily attempted to pull sheets around him without success; they were all twisted and gathered around his legs. He rolled over with searching hands, attempting to find Jenny and drag her warmth towards him—only to discover she wasn't there.

Blinking rapidly and opening his eyes wide to let them adjust, he leaned up and looked over her place in his bed, glancing over his shoulder at the bathroom door. He could make out that it was open, and the light wasn't on. The sheets where she'd been were cool; she'd been absent for a while.

Jethro sat up and rubbed his forehead, alert in a matter of seconds. He felt around for some form of clothing and left the room, silently walking down the hall to hers. It didn't make sense that she would leave; yet there were no lights visible from downstairs to suggest she was there. He opened her door soundlessly and flipped on the light.

No Jenny.

Completely awake and starting to get annoyed, he went down the stairs and checked the kitchen even though his gut already told him she wasn't here, and he didn't know where the hell she could be at half past two in the morning.

He flipped on all the lights and stormed back up the stairs, snatching his cell phone and dialing her number. No answer; it rang off the hook. His blood ran cold and he tossed the phone into the headboard violently, half-angry and half concerned.

He was almost at the bottom of the staircase again when Ducky's door opened and he peered out sleepily, looking concerned.

"Jethro, what is all the noise about?" he asked quietly.

"Have you seen Jenny?" Jethro demanded sharply, ignoring the question.

Ducky shook his head slowly, his brow furrowing.

"Did you check her room?" the older man asked.

He probably should have found it odd that Ducky would assume Jenny wasn't sleeping in her room, but he was too distracted to pick up on it. He just nodded curtly and whipped around. Ducky left his door open and followed, tying his bathrobe with a concerned look.

"Perhaps she's outside," he suggested, "getting some air."

"You don't think I checked?" Jethro growled nastily, turning in the kitchen doorway and bracing his arms against the frame.

Ducky crossed his arms, his eyes filling with worry. They were both thinking the same thing; she was out, alone, unreachable in an unfamiliar city without back up. Jethro in particular was distressed, considering the stunt she pulled in the café a few days ago.

"Where the hell is she?" he growled viciously, brushing past Ducky and going for the door. He had it open when Ducky caught up and stopped him, resting his hand on the door.

"Jethro, Paris is immense, you can't think you'll find her if you go looking?" he said in disbelief.

Jethro gave him an immovable look, his blue eyes like steel.

"Let's rethink this. Jennifer wouldn't just go off the grid in the middle of the night; she's a smart woman," Ducky protested, sounding only a little unconvinced.

"Don't put it past her," Jethro snapped lividly. Ducky still prevented him from leaving.

"At least put clothes on," he said.

Jethro glanced down at his boxers and frayed t-shirt and slammed the door shut with a force, causing Ducky to flinch. He took out his frustration on everything in the bedroom, slamming drawers shut and throwing things unnecessarily.

What the hell was she thinking?

Dressed in seconds and holding the car keys between his teeth, a thought occurred to him suddenly and he barged back into her little-used room, yanking open the drawer where she kept her SIG.

Empty.

Damn her.

Ducky came out of the kitchen when Jethro re-appeared in the hall, wearing Jenny's fedora and searching for his jacket. He picked it up off of the banister and started slipping it on, dialing her number again on his phone. He fought the urge to break it in half when she didn't answer again; latching onto the anger he was feeling in order not to let the fear take over.

He dropped the keys from his mouth to his palm and turned towards the door just as he heard Ducky utter a sigh of relief.

She stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, clenched tightly, her lips compressed and her eyes betraying her thoughts of being caught red handed.

He stared at her in complete, bitterly charged silence for a full ten seconds before he lost it.

Doctor Donald Mallard stood quietly in his room, looking out the window into the darkened streets, eerie in the glow of streetlamps, listening to the muffled screaming coming from the kitchen.

He cringed at the sound of fighting; Jethro hadn't stopped shouting since Jennifer walked back in and she had been quick to add her own voice to the shrieking match. He hadn't listened to it for more than five minutes before disappearing back into his room behind a closed door while they stood ten feet apart yelling at each other.

Jenny was in the wrong; there was no doubt about that. Ducky couldn't imagine what she'd been thinking; stealing off like that considering the nature of their assignment, but Jethro was out of control. He was one to typically treat stupidly with short reprimands and cold silence, not heated shouting matches.

Ducky wasn't sure what was between those two; he didn't know if they had crossed the line of platonic partners or if they were just stomping all over it and refusing to go past it, but they were interesting to watch in their actions and words.

He had no place to judge, or to even say a word, and he never would ask, but Ducky was concerned for their professionalism. Whatever was between them was volatile, if it wasn't sexual Ducky had no doubt it would be soon and if it already was, he couldn't see how it would end well.

Ducky clicked his tongue and turned away from the window and edging cautiously towards the door. It sounded as if the battle had quieted a little. Alas, he was wrong. Another round of yelling burst from the hall, followed by the shattering of glass.

Ducky sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to patch up Jethro again.

Jethro turned and grabbed a dishtowel from the sink; Jenny cursed loudly and closed her eyes, her shoulders stiffening and her color draining quickly.

He stepped carefully to avoid the broken shards of glass and sat her down in a kitchen chair roughly, leaning against the table and pulling her cut and bloodied hand towards him. He rested it on his knee, holding the dishtowel in his hands and looking distastefully at the shards of glass wedged in her skin.

"Dammit, Jenny," he swore.

She opened her bright, angry emerald eyes and looked at the damage, the remnants of the glass she'd shattered when she'd smashed it violently against the table.

Jethro hesitated just briefly and pinched the edge of one shard delicately, drawing out of her flesh slowly. She hissed at the pain and closed her eyes again, breathing evenly.

"It's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission," she said shortly, still fighting with him even through her haze of pain. She fought back a cry as he pulled out another piece of glass and opened her eyes.

He glared at her violently and grit his teeth, his jaw set.

The shattering of the glass had ended the shouting, but he was still furious with her. He pulled back the dishtowel, dropped a shard of glass on the table, and examined the last small piece embedded in her hand.

She refused to tell him where she'd been, maintaining it had been an innocent walk. He wasn't fooled for a damn second; there was something about her face when she lied, something he hadn't quite pinpointed that let him know she wasn't being truthful. Shouting did nothing to draw it out of her; she fought back viciously, called him controlling and sexist and infuriatingly holding her own.

She made a point, even.

But she smelled of smoke and musk; scents like that didn't come from innocent walks.

He pressed his thumb into her palm where the cuts were not present, applying pressure to take some of the pain out of what he had to do to maneuver the last piece out. He looked up at her sharply, swallowing hard to avoid shouting again.

"How am I supposed to know if you're in trouble or just walking," he spat the word derisively, "if you go prancing out into the city in the dead of night?"

She didn't answer.

"Hold still," he warned coldly, bracing her arm and grasping the glass between his thumb and forefinger, covered in the dishtowel. He pulled quickly and she jerked reflexively, gasping through set teeth. Her eyes watered and she lowered her head, blinking rapidly.

"God," she said, her fingers curling slightly.

Jethro got up and brushed the glass on the floor into a pile with his boot, running the dishtowel under cold water and getting a few cubes of ice from the fridge. He crouched down in front of her and wiped off the blood, spreading her hand out on her knee, placing the ice in her hand and curling her fingers around it.

She winced.

"Ducky can look at that tomorrow," he said shortly, studying her closely.

Her hair fell around her face prettily; her clothes were dark and inconspicuous. She was wearing tennis shoes and he'd already discerned her SIG was concealed at her lower back and very well, at that.

He shut his mouth against the recurring flare of anger at her and put his hand on her knee, having already shouted everything he could possible shout to get her to realize her complete stupidity and lack of good judgment.

"What's gotten into you, huh, Jen? You think you're going above and beyond?" he asked bitterly.

His only explanation for this was interwoven with her earlier initiative in approaching one of their targets; like she was getting ahead of the game, trying to impress him or someone. She didn't have to do anything anymore to impress him.

"Why are you such a self-righteous bastard?" she asked quietly.

He ground his teeth together.

"If you ever pull a stunt like this again, Jen," he stopped, letting the threat hang.

Now he was just content that she was back unscathed, other than the self-inflicted injury to her hand. She glared at him, challenging and hard, silent as the grave.

He couldn't gauge what she was thinking behind those sharp green eyes, but he was seeing a whole different side to her. Part blind ambition and part reckless brutality, a combination that had potential to make her one of the best—which she already was.

He'd underestimated her, even after she'd shown him he shouldn't. Whatever she'd been doing, it had a purpose. There was something in her as guarded and untouchable as in him.

Jenny moved her hand slowly and dropped the melting ice cubes on the table, pressing her cold, jagged palm against his cheek.

"I don't need your permission for anything," she said softly, meaning every word, and he chose not to point out that he was the senior agent, he was literally in control here; he didn't even fuss that she was using his rules against him.

He taught them for a reason.

She paused and ran her hand over the stubble on his chin and his lips.

"I'll seek forgiveness," she said, and it was the closest thing he figured he'd get to remorse.

Whatever she'd done tonight, she didn't regret it and she wouldn't ever divulge it.

His eyes flashed with rage again and he stiffened, his skin crawling, fighting another urge to pick up the shouting match again.

"You don't care if you get it," he growled sharply, and stood up, pushing off of her knee.

She stood up abruptly and grabbed his shirt collar, pulling him close. She looked him in the eye defiantly.

"Sorry," she murmured flippantly. No doubt she was sorry. She was sorry she'd been caught; if she'd come home just thirty minutes earlier no one would have been the wiser.

She waited for the inevitable response before she dragged him forward by his collar and kissed him, channeling the left over rage burning beneath their skin into the only way they ever dealt with it anymore.

"Don't apologize."

My Dad refers to the FBI as the 'Federal Bunch of Idiots'...