A/N: Thanks to a'serene! I apologize for the bit of a wait in between updates. School sometimes makes me lose track of time and I didn't realize it had been more than 2 days.


Kelly scampered around in the grass, sneaking after butterflies and giggling when she failed to catch them.

Jethro watched her from the back door, listening to her laughter.

"Daddy! Look!"

Kelly held up her finger excitedly and showed off the monarch that had alighted on her fingers. Her blue eyes shone brightly and she kept very still.

He smiled at her. She was always able to catch butterflies; he thought it was because she was so gentle and kind with everything. Kelly giggled as the monarch fluttered away and she spun around in a circle, stopping suddenly.

"Where's Mommy, Daddy?" she asked.

Jethro turned to his side. Shannon was gone.

"Daddy, don't go," Kelly whimpered suddenly, and he stepped forward, shaking his head.

"I'm not going anywhere, Kelly," he soothed.

She looked straight through him and stepped back. She spun around again.

"Daddy!" she cried, tears springing to her eyes. "Daddy, where are you? Daddy!"

"Kelly," he tried, but he couldn't speak above a whisper. He tried to reach for her but he could only watch her look for him.

"Daddy, help," Kelly cried.

She stopped and lifted up her hands. His throat locked up when he saw the bloodstains spreading over her small palms, staining her dress. Her blue eyes went wide. She looked up, horrified, and held out her hands, looking around wildly.

"DADDY!" she screamed, starting to cry. "Daddy, come back! I need you! Daddy!"

Her frightened voice faded and he could only see her lips moving desperately, screaming for him. Jethro stumbled backwards and tried to look away, but the sight paralyzed him. He just wanted her to know he was there…he wanted to hug her…

Jethro woke with a violent start, covered in sweat. He threw the heavy covers off of him and sat up, cradling his head in his knees. His first instinct was to breathe. He ground his teeth together tightly, unable to shake the images.

Kelly's screams still echoed in his ears.

He lifted his head, blinking slowly and resolutely ignoring the sting in his eyes. Narrowing his eyes in the darkness, he turned slightly to find Jenny. She was curled up in the sheets on the other side of the bed, her hair completely covering her face as she slept. He looked at the clock; it was early.

Running a hand over his face roughly, Jethro got out of bed and found a discarded pair of jeans, jerking them on and leaving the room without a backward glance. The house was dark except for the tiniest hints of morning starting to peak through the blinds. Ducky's door was tightly closed.

He went straight through the kitchen and out the sliding door, not bothering to shut it behind him so he'd hear anyone moving around. He crossed his arms and glanced over the small yard, not really seeing it, watching the sky slowly lighten from black to grey.

He hadn't dreamed about them since they left the states. Without the constant reminder of sleeping in a house that would forever echo with his little girl's footsteps, and laughter, and Shannon's voice, he'd been able to relax into sleep easier. Jenny had been a formidable distraction, as well.

He stared down a dewy patch of grass. It hurt to remember them. It was why he never talked about them, though they were the center of his life still. No one could possibly understand that pain, and he didn't have time for sympathetic looks and awkward apologies. Their memories were his and his alone, and they were constantly marred by dreams of Kelly's frightened screams and tearful face, or memories of Shannon's brave smile as he left for Desert Storm. He couldn't remember them properly when his nightmares plagued him with guilt and regret. He'd give anything to tell them everything he felt for them in every word possible. Shannon would never complain he had weird ways of saying I love you again.

But that would never be. He had to get over it; accept it.

He didn't turn around at the sound of soft footfalls behind him. They were too light to be Ducky. She stopped at the open door and he felt her hesitate, and then tentatively start forward. Her small hand touched his back and she appeared at his shoulder, looking up at him with messy, knotted hair and sleepy eyes.

Her brow furrowed slightly.

"Jethro," she said quietly, obviously the first time she'd spoken. "It's five a.m."

He didn't answer. He caught himself before he snapped at her to leave, sensing she didn't mean any harm. He'd probably woken her up anyway leaving so loudly. Jenny tilted her head at him and seemed unfazed that he didn't answer. She inched forward and kissed his shoulder, leaning her head against him. She yawned.

Without a word, he lifted his arm and slipped it around her, pulling her in front of him and wrapping his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent; she was always warm, always smelled like exotic flowers and honey mixed with something spicy.

It struck him as odd that he didn't mind her here, even wanted her, when anyone else would be ordered away from him with a glare. Diane had always borne the brunt of misplaced anger when he'd dreamt badly during their marriage. Jenny didn't provoke that kind of annoyance; probably because she wasn't trying to shrink him every five seconds.

"Jethro," Jenny murmured again, shifting her head and resting her cheek against his chest. "It's chilly."

There was a slight breeze. It wasn't cold to him at all, but she was wearing shorts and a camisole of some light material, and attempting to burrow into him as tightly as possible. She snuggled into him a few more minutes before turning her head to look at the light-streaked sky.

She looked back at him, studying his face.

"Coffee?"

He nodded, and she extracted herself, squeezing his arm as she brushed past him back into the kitchen. He lingered on the back patio for a while, listening to her pull out mugs and situate the coffee maker. Birds started in around the area. At least Kelly's screams had faded.

He followed Jenny into the kitchen and slid the door shut silently. He leaned against the counter next to her and picked up her left hand when she'd finished starting the coffee, looking at the thin, healing lines that were left over from her episode with the broken glass. He ran his fingers over the scars.

Jenny yawned again, and watched him examine the scars, dark shadows visible just slightly under her eyes.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said gruffly.

Jenny shook her head, and shrugged.

"I was half awake," she said. "You kicked me." She added.

Jethro smirked and she shouldered him softly.

"Not funny."

"Payback," he shot back, numbering the times she'd kicked him back in London, before they'd slept together. The list went on.

"You kick harder than me," she defended, gently pulling her hand away from him to attend to the buzzing coffee maker.

"You have cold feet."

"You steal the covers! I have to practically climb on top of you to keep warm!"

Jethro smirked again. Jenny gave him a suddenly suspicious look and held the cup she'd been about to hand him out of arms reach.

"You do that on purpose," she hissed, slowly handing over the coffee with a glare. He raised his eyebrows innocently and took a sip, grateful she'd lightened the atmosphere a little. She dispelled darker thoughts.

"I plead the fifth."

"Jethro, blanket manipulation takes the cake for annoying bed habits," Jenny informed him, taking a drink of her own coffee. He noticed briefly that she, for once, didn't add any sugar or creamer, or anything else.

"No," he protested, glaring at her, "you talking to me in your sleep is annoying."

Jenny gave him a look. She always denied her sleep talking. He rather enjoyed it, particularly when she randomly mumbled and he tried to figure out what she was thinking by the broken words.

"Hmmm?" Jenny murmured, raising her eyebrows. She set her cup down and inched closer to him, folding her arms and leaning her hip against the counter as she turned. "What do I talk about?" she asked softly.

Jethro swallowed a mouthful of coffee. He leaned closer.

"Me," he informed her smugly.

"It turns you on, doesn't it, Jethro?" she asked, slipping her hands up his waist. She pulled him towards her, not that he was resisting at all.

"Only when you moan my name,"

"Jethro," she complied softly with a smirk, pressing her lips against his.

He kissed her slowly, tasted coffee on her lips, and for once it didn't matter if he was dragging her into bed with him five minutes from now; he just wanted to kiss her. Jenny kept pulling him closer. She sighed and slipped her tongue into his mouth. Jethro ran his hands over her back, bunching up the cotton of her camisole in his fingers.

At the same moment, they both pulled back and turned to their respective coffee cups; Jenny cleared her throat quietly and lifted hers, looking out the small window above the sink. Jethro made a point of looking past her back to the other side of the kitchen, bringing his mug to his lips.

Both of them had heard Ducky in the hall. The medical examiner entered the kitchen just as Jenny took a drink of her coffee; neither of them knew what he'd seen or heard.

"Good morning," Ducky greeted pleasantly.

"Morning, Ducky," Jenny answered, turning slightly. She gestured to her mug. "You want a cup?"

Ducky shook his head with a smile.

"You know of my penchant for the Earl," he answered, moseying over to the cabinet where he kept his tea making materials.

Jethro rolled his eyes behind Ducky's back and Jenny smiled into her coffee. Ducky pulled his cabinet open on the other side of the sink and Jenny swiveled to him, taking the teapot from his hand helpfully. She set her mug down absentmindedly.

"My dear, what on earth happened to your arms?"

Ducky took Jenny's wrist gently and pulled it towards him, concern spreading over his features. Jenny furrowed her eyebrows and looked down, confused. Ducky held up her arm delicately; she set her face carefully when she realized Ducky was referring to the bruises Jethro had left.

Next to her, Jethro pointedly drank his coffee.

"I—those," she paused, swallowing carefully. "I must have hurt myself." She finished lamely.

She could practically hear Jethro groaning in exasperation in his head. Again, he felt like he failed in teaching her anything about covering yourself.

"Yes, clearly, Jenny," Ducky responded, looking at her in surprise. "These don't look accidental; they look as if they were inflicted on you. Jethro?"

"What?" Jethro asked sharply. Ducky gave him a surprised look as well, having only referred to him for his opinion. Jethro looked down at Jenny's hand briefly and shrugged.

Jenny could have hidden her face in her arms if that had been an option. She hadn't even noticed he'd bruised her, and on top of that her excuses fell short of believable. Ducky made a displeased comment and Jethro turned slightly, looking at her wrist again.

"Jen, that guy on the underground probably did it," Jethro commented casually.

Jenny glanced up at Ducky and didn't miss a beat.

"He's right," she said, nodding as if she was just remembering, "some idiot fell on the subway and grabbed me to keep from face-planting."

She pulled gently on her hand and Ducky let her go. She wrapped the hand around her mug again and flicked her eyes to the other wrist to check it for the same evidence. The bruises there were less visible. Jenny tapped her coffee mug loudly, mentally yelling at someone to speak. An alarm went off and Ducky startled.

"Ah, that's mine," he muttered, trailing off as he turned and hurried out of the kitchen.

Swiftly, Jethro picked up Jenny's hand and turned it over, taking a look at her wrists himself. He held her wrist limply and looked up at her.

"When—"

"I don't know. Pick a night, any night," she paused. "Or day, for that matter. Afternoon, possibly." She lifted an eyebrow smartly.

He snorted and ran his thumb over her pulse point.

"Did I hurt you, Jen?" he asked.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"I'm fairly certain I was unconcerned at the time," she remarked lightly. "If you had hurt me, you'd know," she threatened as an afterthought, narrowing her eyes.

Jethro responded by dropping her hand on the countertop unceremoniously.

"Ow!"

She punched him in the shoulder.

"You can't lie worth a damn," he informed her impudently. She tried to hit him again but he blocked her.

"What was I supposed to say! 'Oh, that's nothing, Duck—Jethro and I got a bit carried away in bed'. How do you come up with an excuse for," she fumbled for the words for her bruises and instead just shook her wrist in his face "for this!"

"I saved your ass, Jenny," he gloated.

"Would you like a gold star, Jethro?" she responded sarcastically.

"Has anyone gotten the paper?" Ducky called down the hall.

"No," Jenny answered promptly, glaring playfully at her partner. The front door opened with a click, presumably Ducky going out to get it himself. He would want it with his tea, naturally.

Jethro placed his hand on her neck and pulled her forward into a kiss. Jenny squealed and pulled back, glaring at him in the middle of the kitchen.

"Have you lost your mind?" she hissed, biting back a smirk.

He shushed her and backed away to an appropriate distance. Ducky entered the kitchen again while Jenny glared at Jethro. He looked out the back door and drank his coffee nonchalantly. Ducky set the paper down on the table and went back to his tea, pouring it into a small cup and returning to the paper.

Jenny continued to glare at Jethro while he stoically ignored her. He couldn't just kiss her like that and walk away…there were rules to this game. He had to learn them. Ducky's clearing of his throat snapped her out of her conniving thoughts of punishment.

"Is anyone going to break the silence?" he asked lightly, as if asking one of them to pass him the milk. He turned a page in the paper and opened to another spread, shaking it out. "No?"

Jenny thought he sounded suspiciously like a patronizing chaperone, or parent of some sort. She watched Jethro shift slightly and look over his shoulder to give Ducky a look.

"Right then," Ducky laid the paper flat and turned in his chair, holding a saucer under his teacup. "I believe it is high time the two of you stop sneaking around. We are all adults here."

He seemed to notice the completely floored look on Jenny's face that she didn't even get the chance to try and hide. To his credit, Jethro managed to stay completely composed. Ducky gave them a pointed look and inclined his head at Jenny.

"I am well aware Jennifer is not sleeping in her room," he stated simply, with a small smile.

Jenny resisted the urge to hide her face in her hands but she couldn't resist the flush that crept over her cheeks. The only way this could be worse for her was if Ducky was her father, and she didn't even want to contemplate that. At least Ducky wasn't pulling a shotgun on Jethro.

Jethro didn't say a word. She could have killed him for being so casual. If she'd kept it together like him they could plausibly deny everything Ducky had just intimated and carry on 'sneaking around'.

She turned away from Ducky and rubbed her forehead reflexively, pushing her coffee mug away from her. The paper crinkled and Jethro spoke up suddenly.

"There's been a murder," he said gruffly.

She turned, resting her palm on the counter, and threw a violent glare at his bent head. She felt exceedingly unprofessional and irresponsible at the moment and he was making small talk about the Paris crime news? Yet another reason she could kill him.

"That's very nice, Jethro. Thank you for sharing," she snapped.

He looked up at her in slight surprise and narrowed his eyes.

"He's one of ours," Jethro said shortly, clearly not pleased with the tone.

Ducky turned with a furrowed brow and looked at the paper. Jenny paused and then stepped up behind Ducky's chair, leaning over to look at the paper. Jethro's hand was holding it down over a spread detailing an exclusive on the murder of a 'less-than-model-civilian suspected of various criminal acts'. Ducky translated the important bits for Jethro.

Jenny looked up from the article at him and pursed her lips, placing a hand on her hip and another across the back of Ducky's chair. It was the man from the caricature shop.

"We need the intel on this," she said shortly. "We need to identify that woman, too," she added, glancing back at the article for a moment.

"Contact Kasey. You're good at that," Jethro remarked, giving her a look. Jenny bit the inside of her lip to hold back a retort and touched Ducky's shoulder hesitantly.

"I can get in touch with Decker," she said slowly, working it out in her head.

"Kasey's the one with access to the police records and reports. Talking to Decker would be useless," Jethro shot her down.

Jenny held her ground, giving him a sharp look.

"I can get Decker working on an identification, Headquarters too, if I contact them. Kasey will be at the crime scene; you and Ducky could blend in and check it out. Your investigative skills are pretty useful," she received a glare for her insult; "We'd get different aspects of the crime and have a few better angles to look at."

"What angles?" he scoffed.

Ducky's shoulder stiffened beneath her palm and she pushed down her initial instinct to bite out a response to him for, yet again, ignoring her proposals. Their bickering made Ducky uncomfortable.

"Well, Jethro," she said carefully, "whether it's a coincidence or involves us, for one."

"I don't believe in coincidences."

"And I don't believe in assumptions," Jenny snapped, taking her hand off Ducky's shoulder and stepping back from his chair. "I suggest we don't make any."

Jethro glared at her across Ducky's head for a split moment and then nodded curtly.

"Sharp thinking," he commented, "Not bad."

He turned away from her caught off guard look and pulled the paper towards him, rolling it up haphazardly and woe to anyone who planned on reading the rest of it.

"Duck, you're with me," he said. "You could talk the intel out of anyone," he added in a mutter.

Ducky nodded and smiled, getting up and leaving his tea things on the table.

"This should be interesting," he remarked brightly, excusing himself to her as he brushed past her to get dressed.

Jethro dropped the paper on the counter behind him and turned to Jenny, facing her penetrating look expectantly. She disliked the impatient look he was giving her, like he was waiting for her to snap at him and get it over with. She made him wait a little longer than necessary.

"Why is it always a battle to get you to listen to me?" she asked quietly, apparently quieter than he was expecting if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he answered flippantly.

Jenny made a quiet noise of discontent in her throat and folded her arms, gripping her shoulders. She gave him an annoyed look.

"You still don't take me seriously. Your first reaction is to blow me off," she said, refusing to let him look away from her. He fixed her with an annoyed glare.

"Did you miss the part where we decided to go with your plan?" he snapped in irritation, gesturing roughly at the newspaper. Jenny's emerald eyes flashed with anger and she set her jaw.

"After you made it clear you're unimpressed and consider it last-ditch. You have a habit of belittling my thoughts—"

"Paranoia is not attractive, Jenny," he growled, and she almost hit him for it. She straightened her shoulders and grabbed his shoulder when he tried to get past her.

"The chauvinist in you won't dare let it look like a woman has any semblance of control or power, and sure as hell not in front of Ducky. Start treating me as an equal and not a just a fucking girl—"

"Dammit, Jen, I question you to make you back up your plans. It makes you think. It works out flaws if you feel you have to defend yourself and you do a damn good job of defending yourself. Don't think I'm not fully aware of your ability to be resourceful and deceitful, and don't dare think I don't see you as an equal," he interrupted, shaking her arm off and stepping up to look down at her.

Involuntarily, she took a step back from his blazing stare and cursed herself inwardly for it. She smarted slightly at the use of the world deceitful, but she deserved that. He studied her face closely, watching the expression in her eyes.

"But I see you as a woman, too," he added in a lower voice, and in a way it was one of the sexiest things she'd ever heard—which was unsettling and perfectly sensible at the same time. It meant he saw her as his partner and his lover.

Now she didn't know whether she should be pissed anymore. It was any independent woman's goal to be seen as capable and strong yet feminine at the same time. She pressed her lips together and opted for just glaring back at him.

"You are infuriating," she informed him mildly, relaxing her stance. He relaxed and backed off, shrugging carelessly.

"You've got a hot temper," he pointed out.

"You're a bastard."

"You're stubborn."

Jenny broke into a tiny smirk. Her anger ebbed away and she leaned forward, kissing his shoulder lightly and giving him a smart look.

"You men have fun at the crime scene," she mocked, turning and leaving the kitchen.

Jethro watched her saunter down the hall and listened to her light footsteps on the stairs as she went to get dressed. When he really thought about it, it was hard to discern if he liked fighting with her or sleeping with her more.


Jenny sat on her usually neglected bed in the center with a few pillows around her, files and papers spread out around her, her gun sitting next to her. She chewed on the cap of her pen and studied the file of the now deceased man, looking at his associates and such.

She'd kept her conversation with Decker short in order not to incriminate them or give anything away, just to be on the safe side. He didn't seem to believe the murder was a coincidence, coming so close on the heels of the NCIS arms bust. Decker wasn't aware Jenny's hunch had been the tip for that arms bust, but the idea of the death threading together with that started a sneaking worry in the very back of her mind.

The dead man, who'd been in the caricature shop with her and Jethro, was associated closely with the two men who'd mentioned La Grenouille. Jenny had a sneaking suspicion they may have considered him a leak for some reason, and staged a murder—but she had yet to talk to Ducky or Jethro about the crime scene and they'd been gone for close to five hours.

And they knew her face. She'd never confided in Jethro the details of what she'd done when she went rogue that night about a week ago, but the bottom line was she'd been careful but more visible than he would have allowed. As long as Jenny remained unconnected to any of this, there was nothing to fret about, but she suddenly saw the error in her ways. She never should have approached them.

Decker was working on an ID of the unidentifiable woman from Jenny's careful description until she could get a picture printed and delivered to him. He'd confirmed Kasey was helping deal with the crime scene and filing copies of the reports with NCIS.

She was memorizing the files. Locations, associates, names, places, dates—she was determined to know it all in order to arm herself better. She hadn't been focused. When she was alone, she could reflect logically on the way she'd been doing her job of late and reprimand herself. Her surveillance with Jethro had been half-hearted at best.

She should be worried about the fact that she didn't regret it. They hadn't slipped up with the mission, hadn't blown a cover or shaken anything up. She hadn't spoken to Decker in depth about his and Kasey's work but she was willing to bet they'd done more.

Jenny's one triumph had been celebrated alone—Morrow had called her after the arms bust story had broken and thanked her for the tip, even tried to sniff out how she'd acquired it. She dodged the question, didn't tell Jethro or Ducky about the phone call, and thought about it for a long time afterwards, lying awake in the dark while Jethro slept.

Jenny sighed loudly to break the silence in the room and slapped the folder in front of her shut. She knew every fact and figure of the dead man's folder, as well as the two men she'd practically introduced herself to.

She picked up her gun and ran her hands over it, checking to make sure it was loaded. Beyond the range at work, a few close calls, the firefight in Manassas and the hostage situation that had been her first kill she'd hardly fired it. The moments she had had been so charged with stress and fear, particularly her first kill, that she hadn't thought about it. She buried it in the recesses of her mind.

Jenny shifted on the bed and held up her SIG, examining it. It was too quiet. She considered finding some music to play, banking on finding some classical tunes in Ducky's room. She shuddered to think how lonely this would be if she weren't here with people she cared about and got along with.

She swept her hair back off of her neck and slung it into a ponytail for the fourth time today. It was annoying the hell out of her no matter how she wore it. She flopped backwards on the bed, trying to think of something productive to do.

Next to her, her cell phone started to ring.

She dived for it, eager for the attention.

"Shepard."

"Jenny," Decker's voice was breathless on the other end, like he'd been running. She furrowed her brow.

"Yeah, Shepard," she repeated, giving her phone a strange look. "Will? What's the problem?"

There was a brief silence. Decker cleared his throat and sounded as if he was catching his breath to speak.

"Are you near a television?"

"I can get to one," Jenny started slowly.

"G-get to one," Decker stated. Now he sounded like he was suppressing laughter and attempting at the same time to sound solemn.

Jenny got off of her bed and trekked across the room, pulling open her door and taking her time on the stairs.

"Quit with the games," she warned, asking him for an explanation.

"You heard from Gibbs or Mallard?" Decker asked shortly. She shook her head and then remembered he couldn't see her.

"No," she said, her pulse quickening suddenly. Something had gone wrong…

"Er," Decker paused, drawing a breath again. Jenny rolled her eyes impatiently and found her way into the study, searching for the remote.

"Spit it out, William," she snapped. If their bodies were splayed across the breaking news she was going to knock skulls, consequences be damned.

"There's a warrant out for Ducky's arrest."

Jenny stopped moving and fell silent.

Decker stifled laughter on the other end of the phone. She pulled the phone away from her ear, stared at it, and then straightened up, forgetting the remote, and calmly put the cell back to her ear.

"I'm sorry, Will, I think I misunderstood. Repeat that," she growled, knowing full well she'd heard correctly.

She had no earthly idea how this possibly could have happened. Jethro, that was understandable; there were a million different scenarios that could have him wanted by the police—but Ducky? The worst thing she could think of was that he talked someone to the breaking point!

Decker had already repeated his statement.

"What happened?" she asked tightly.

"I don't have details—Livy called and started in on it, I thought you'd need to know," he paused to catch his breath again.

"Deck," Jenny said shortly, interrupting his fun. His partner wasn't the one gallivanting around Paris on the run from the cops. "I'm dropping this call," she warned, before she hit the end button and snapped the phone shut.

She stared at it, working herself into a temper again. This had Jethro written all over it, whatever 'it' was. She should have gone with Ducky. It was probably due to a misunderstanding on Jethro's part—if he'd just learn to speak the damn language!

Within the next five minutes, her phone went off again, snapping her out of her imaginings of various scenarios. She flipped it open with a set jaw, fully expecting it to be her boss on the line.

"Shepard," she snapped sharply, about to let him have it. And not in the way he liked it this time, either. "Jethro, so help me god, I will kick your—"

"I assume you've heard the news, Agent Shepard," Director Morrow's voice commented grimly, interrupting her.

She winced.

"Unfortunately," she answered, reigning in her anger and softening her voice. She could see Morrow's slight drop of the head and sagging shoulders.

"This puts us in a delicate position," Morrow said shortly, though there was no anger in his voice; only concern. "You are not authorized to operate in Paris. Explaining the situation is jeopardizing relations and putting us in violation of international law—what is the situation, by the way, Miss Shepard?"

She gritted her teeth. She hated being called Miss Shepard—by anyone but Ducky.

"I'm not informed on the situation, sire," she answered formally, wishing she could sound less like an idiot.

Director Morrow sighed and paused again.

"I need to speak with Agent Gibbs," he said.

"He is still out with Dr. Mallard."

"They're still on the streets?" Morrow actually groaned. "Where?"

"I—I don't know, sir," Jenny answered, sounding for the second time like a completely clueless moron.

She was going to kill them twice over.

"All right. Agent Shepard, you listen to me. I want you to contact Jethro. Get him on the phone with me in the next hour at the latest. I don't know how to deal with this, and I can't do a thing until I'm apprised of the situation—"

"Director," Jenny interrupted hesitantly, "let me handle it."

Morrow went silent on the line. He cleared his throat.

"As confident in your abilities as I am, Jenny, I can't leave something of this magnitude in your hands while you're still, in paperwork, a probationary field agent—"

"Sir," Jenny interrupted again, "the operative words there are 'in paperwork'. I understand," she paused and took a deep breath. "I understand the precarious nature of what we're potentially dealing with, and I'm capable of handling it."

"And just what do you plan on doing, Agent Shepard?" Morrow barked a little forcefully. She winced again, but she tried not to miss a beat. This was a chance for her to show off her skills and prove herself beyond necessary.

"It wouldn't be wise to discuss details," she said bravely, and heard a sniff of outrage from the impatient director. "But if I can get them out of the country until the fervor dies down, you'll have a hell of an easier job of handling this."

She held her breath; she could hear Morrow trying to find a way to shoot her down. She resisted the urge to yell at him. These men were going to have to start taking her seriously or one of these days she'd show them…

"It's preferable that I speak with Agent Gibbs before we proceed," he said finally.

Jenny almost threw the phone across the room in frustration.

"With all due respect Director Morrow," she said through gritted teeth, "I am in the area and you're not. Whether or not you believe me competent is irrelevant when clearly Jethro and Ducky have forfeited their chance to have any say in the matter by royally screwing things up. You trusted me on the arms tip; I'm asking you to trust me now. I need you cooperation more than you need mine right now—"

"Jennifer," the Director interrupted, softer this time. She still almost jumped through the phone and killed him for using her given name. "Handle this. It's yours." He said, and the line went dead.

She snapped the phone shut and shoved it into her pocket quickly, her head spinning. She shouldn't have spoken to him like that, though it seemed to have worked. Her mind started working over scenarios and possible outs, and she groaned in frustration as she reached for the phone again, realizing she did need to contact Jethro.

A sound at the front of the house stopped her.

She cocked her head and stood still, listening. It sounded like a door was opening. Calmly, she left the study area and walked down the hall, stopping in the foyer just in front of the staircase as the door slowly inched open. She folded her arms, biting her lip hard to refrain from shrieking.

Jethro finally pushed open the door all the way and actually looked ashamed to see her standing there as he realized they were busted. Ducky crept up the stairs behind him, both looking the part of criminals on the run.

She couldn't help herself. She took one look at their faces and:

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?"


Jethro watched her pace back in forth in the foyer, her phone in her hand. She ran her thumb over the screen soothingly ever few minutes, listening in irritation to their story. Ducky told it, as the first thing Jethro had done was stick his foot in his mouth and caused her to immediately stop speaking to him in anger.

"Let me get this straight," she snapped, stopping the annoying pacing and facing them. "You found a problem with the body at the crime scene, argued with the French officer, and pushed him off of a cliff?"

Ducky paused.

"My dear, when you say it like that…" he tried with a small smile. "There was water under the cliff. The poor man is only a bit wet; he wasn't injured! This has all been blown out of proportion." Ducky protested.

"Blown out of proportion or not," Jenny stated through gritted teeth, "We are screwed!"

Jethro shifted his weight and stepped forward, tired of remaining silent. She gave him a hostile look as he held out his hand.

"Phone," he said.

She did not hand it over.

"I need to contact Morrow, Jen, give me the phone," he ordered sharply.

She slipped it into her pocket for the first time since they'd arrived and shook her head curtly. She looked him right in the eye.

"I've spoken with the Director. I'm handling this," She informed him shortly.

Jethro studied her tensely, wondering what she meant by that, and stepped closer, looking at Ducky quickly to gauge his reaction.

"You're what?" he asked.

"You heard me, Jethro," she barked. "I am in charge."

"The hell you are," he snapped, clenching his jaw. She raised her eyebrows and her eyes flashed furiously.

"You do not have a say in the matter," she said in a low voice, her features darkening.

Jethro clamped his mouth shut. Ducky remained silent, unsure of what to do in the situation anyway; they were only making it worse with their refusal to work together and their constant need to piss each other off.

"Kasey can deal with this for us," Jethro growled under his breath, and went past Jenny and out the door. She whipped around, shouting at him furiously.

"Ducky. Stay put," she ordered, giving him a glare before storming out after Jethro and slamming the door.

He was halfway down their street when she was able to catch up and grab him roughly. He shook her off and she fell into step beside him, hissing at him angrily.

"Where the hell are you going, Jethro?"

"Precinct," he answered gruffly, not affording her a second glance. Faster than ever before, they found their way onto a busy street, both moving quickly, not caring who saw them or heard their spew.

"Stop," she snapped, grabbing his arm again, tighter this time, and stepping in front of him. "Just stop. Everything you said to me in the kitchen this morning, was that all a bunch of bullshit or do you trust me to take care of this? You can't barge into Kasey's precinct and start demanding amnesty, it will jeopardize everything—"

"On the subject of jeopardizing—" he snapped petulantly, glaring at her.

"You and Ducky got yourselves into this mess," Jenny snarled, "I have to get you out. You may not like it; it may kill that over-indulged ego of yours, but goddamnit Jethro you're going to deal with it!"

"You can't handle this, Jen," he scoffed.

He didn't miss the sudden flash of hurt in her emerald eyes when he said it, and somewhere in the back of his mind regretted the words. She released his arm from her vice-like grip and as he started to push past her locked eyes with him.

"Watch me," she threatened, turning to follow him.

She felt like crying with rage she was so pissed at him right now. He dodged through the crowds in front of her while she tried to keep up, swearing up and down she would make him believe in her before this affair was over. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back, focusing on a fresh wave of anger and grabbing him again.

He turned and his icy blue eyes flashed at her. Her breath caught in her throat and for a split second, she forgot how to speak at the pure intensity contained there. Then, over his shoulder, she saw what was about to happen before he would even realize it.

She gently released his shirt and turned, stepping away as if she'd made a mistake. The last part of his face she caught was his sudden furrowed brow before she heard the violent shouts of the French police. Ever so slightly, she turned her head and watched one of them yank Jethro's hands behind his back, shouting in French about association and evading; another started rooting around for ID.

He didn't look at her. He kept a poker face and complied with their shouts, understanding few words and the importance of making things as painless as possible. Not that it was already too painful.

Jenny stormed around a corner and found a wall to lean against. She slumped backwards and watched as a few lookers-on walked past; mouths open, eyes wide, no doubt watching them arrest Jethro.

A jolt of stress hit her and sent a throb through her aching head, weighing on her shoulders with the rage she was already feeling. She had the sudden, irrational fear that they would hurt him; she was desperate for them not to hurt him.

She took a deep breath and straightened up a little, steadying herself.

He sure as hell didn't have a say in who was in charge now.


Leroy Jethro Gibbs had never actually been in prison before. He'd given the local sheriff enough trouble when he was a kid, but he'd never been arrested. Boot camp didn't count, either. In fact, he wasn't sure this counted as prison.

Yes, he was under arrest. He was being detained for aiding and abetting, not to mention illegal status and carrying an unauthorized weapon. He was in a cell. It was dirty, and there were cops around—well, a few. It was getting increasingly later in the night and Jenny had apparently not 'handled this' yet.

He scowled at the bars of his cell from the shadows. He wouldn't put it past her to be letting him sit just to teach him a lesson. He'd spent the last hour thinking up ways to bust himself out, before conceding that would just put them in even hotter water with the authorities, which they didn't need.

He scowled harder at the bars.

If there were others, they were silent. Occasionally he heard scuffling or coughing, and once in a while one of the French cops paraded past his cell and glared at him with a very weak, not at all frightening glare. They were easy to intimidate, these cops. They avoided him.

Jethro muttered to himself under his breath and leaned back, knocking his head against the wall and ignoring the throb in the back of his skull. He considered banging his head again. He was in Kasey's precinct for god's sake, and he'd been stuck in jail for close to six hours. He hadn't seen head or tail of her.

He tilted his head to the side a bit at the sound of soft voices down the hall. A loud yell reached his hears, in French of course, but it sounded like a catcall all the same. He grumbled to himself again, stretching out his legs and fixing the bars of his cell with a glare. Damn Ducky. Damn Ducky and damn Jenny.

"Find yourself interesting to talk to, Jethro?"

Speak of the devil.

He blinked slowly and then, if it was possible, fixed her with a steelier, angrier glare than he'd already been giving to the empty hall. Jenny flashed him a catty grin through the bars and flicked her wrist sharply. The bars jingled. She had keys.

The cell door slid open with a bang, courtesy of Jenny slamming it dramatically, and she held up the keys mockingly, making them clink together in the air. He set his jaw and gave her the dirtiest look he could muster before he casually flicked his eyes over her.

He guessed she was the reason for the catcall. She wore some kind of black leather skirt and boots that hugged her calves nicely; her blouse was low cut and adjusted so the lace of her bra peeked out just enough to make you lean forward and try to look. Her hair just looked sexy, as usual.

Jethro looked back at her face and attempted to feign unconcern. She smirked at him and tossed the keys carelessly on the stone bench next to him, strutting forward purposefully. She shook her hair out of her face, pulled a pair of cuffs out of a bag slung over her shoulder, and started to yank him up.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

"Busting you out of this joint," she responded sharply, tightening her grip on his arm and pulling him harder. He allowed her to get him up and spin him around.

For the second time this trip, she cuffed him, except he wasn't pleased about it this time.

"It's about time," he growled, as she spun him around to face her. She didn't look nearly as playful as she usually did.

"Say the word and I'll leave you here," she hissed.

He swallowed a smartass response simply because she might, and the shorter he was stuck with the French the better.

Jenny pushed him backwards slowly against the wall and lowered her voice. She leaned into him and pulled his head down towards her ear.

"Keep quiet. I've got the patrol cop's confidence; Kasey's keeping the others occupied. I've got papers identifying me as undercover French police and glossing you through if we get stopped—but we won't. Patrol thinks I'm moving you to the embassy,"

Jethro rolled his eyes over her shoulder.

"And you're not?" he asked, thinking it would be the logical place to take him in order to smooth things over.

Her head moved imperceptibly and she pulled back.

"It's a little more unorthodox than a textbook gloss-over," she mouthed off, as if he was supposed to be impressed by her prowess or something.

Jethro glared at her and she smiled tightly, tilting her head.

"What's the matter? Don't like taking orders from me?" she asked unsympathetically.

He jingled the handcuffs slightly in response and turned his mouth into her hair, breathing her in, dropping his forehead to her shoulder and kissing her neck. She remained still for a moment and pushed him away, taking his shoulder and giving him a hard look.

"I'm still mad as hell," she informed him shortly, drawing him towards the open door.

Instead of turning towards the entrance, where the soft voices were coming from, she pushed him the opposite way, taking him down the long hall full of cells. A few catcalls started immediately. Jethro turned a harsh look on the inmates, unsure of what they were saying but determined to kick their asses for it.

Jenny silenced them sharply in French, her voice tight and angry.

"I can walk, Jen," he snapped quietly, annoyed at the alternative pushing and steering she was inflicting on him.

She dug her nails into his shoulder and released him, slipping in front of him and stalking forwards a good distance. He shrugged at her behind her back, content to watch her storm away and appreciate just how short that skirt was.

Jenny stopped suddenly at a metal door and leaned against it, her hand on the deadbolt.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked smartly.

"Am I supposed to feel bad for it?" he retorted nonchalantly.

Jenny allowed him a smirk and threw her weight against the deadbolt, holding a finger to her lips as she unlocked the door as silently as possible and beckoned him out into what appeared to be a parking area for the government police cars.

He gave the cars a suspicious look and turned to Jenny as she worked on re-latching the door from the outside. He noticed that she was wearing leather gloves; her fingerprints would be nowhere.

"Why the stripper get-up?" he asked brazenly.

She didn't bat an eye, but straightened up from locking the door and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Security cameras will show a whore called in to entertain a few cops. It's easy to get what you want in a leather mini. I liked it. To piss you off. Any reason. Take your pick." She snapped.

Jenny pulled him towards her and spun him around, working the lock on his cuffs so they loosened. She dropped them back in her shoulder bag. He scowled at her.

"What was the point?" he demanded.

"So your fellow criminals wouldn't raise an alarm," she answered derisively. "And so you'd know who was in charge," she added mockingly.

"When are you going to get over that?" he snarled.

Jenny glared at him and jerked her head towards the cars, indicating he shoulder follow her. She surveyed the area alertly, making sure he stayed close behind her, and took out a hairpin from her pocket, inserting it into a keyhole on one of the cars.

Jethro put his hands on either side of her and then pulled her hair off of her neck, pressing his mouth against her bare shoulder lightly. He felt her shiver, even if she tried to resist, and knew it had been too long for either one of them.

"Dammit Jethro," Jenny hissed, maneuvering the hairpin in they lock expertly. He heard a click as he sucked on her neck gently and she opened the car door, walking back into him. He snaked an arm around her waist and secured her against him.

She gripped the car door tightly and shoved her shoulders back, pushing him off.

Jenny twisted slightly and glared up at him, her eyes stony.

"Don't think that's going to solve our problems every time," she warned, squirming out of his grip and ducking into the car. "Get in."

"What the hell are we doing?" he barked, and she almost ripped his vocal cords out for the volume he used. She settled for glowering viciously and he lowered his voice, bending down to look in on her.

She ignored him and proceeded to begin hotwiring the car. He stared.

Jenny touched the ends of two wires together and ran her hands over the wheel, giving him a sharp, annoyed look.

"Jethro, get in the damn car."

He climbed across her. Jenny childishly kneed him in the ribs and tried to make it difficult for him, hissing in outrage when he clambered over her into the passenger seat. He gave her a smug look and threw the seatbelt on.

Jenny jerked the door shut.

"You still think I can't handle this?" she asked tightly, setting the car in gear.

"You got some brilliant plan up your sleeve?" Jethro snapped, suddenly realizing she'd just hotwired a police car. He looked around hesitantly and glared at her harder. "Because this is looking pretty stupid."

"It won't matter once I get you out of the country," she growled, sick and tired of hearing him associate her work with the word 'stupid'.

"What?"

Jenny just gave him a look.

"What about Duck?"

"He's got the car, out of town. We've got a two hour drive to meet him in Calais so I can get you two across the channel while Decker pulls a fast one to calm down the authorities so I can charm us out of this once we're in England again," she explained, making it clear she didn't think he deserved to know.

He looked at her skeptically.

"Spectacular," he snapped. "Hot wiring a police car. That will warm them to us."

"It won't matter," she repeated through gritted teeth.

Jethro stared at her sharply across the car, his eyes adjusting and finding hers in the dim light. He wanted to yell at her. He also wanted to drag her into the bag seat and yank that sinful skirt up. He settled for mocking her because he was an egotistical idiot.

"How do you plan on getting us across the channel, Probie?" he growled, reminding himself painfully of Mike Franks and gleaning satisfaction from her annoyance at being called 'probie'.

After a short moment of glaring, she turned towards the windshield, shifting into gear and stepping on the gas worthy of Jethro himself. She sped up recklessly, getting them out onto the streets.

"You planning on swimming?" he asked sardonically.

Jenny glanced at him and smirked.

"I commandeered a boat."


If you'll remember, the bit where Gibbs gets arrested is incorporated from a flashback, though I can't quite remember what episode.