Having been born into a military family, Jenny Shepard was no stranger to moving around in her younger days. Relocation came with the territory of her fathers job and her family had long accepted that.
The array of places she had called home over the years after makes her forget that her roots started in the city of DC and while she's never had an evidence to support her theory, she thinks it's one of the reasons she ended up back there as a young adult.
She liked life on the east coast. Between her family and her job she was well travelled; having been all across both the United States and Europe. The Eastern side of the states had always been where she felt most solid. The city was bustling with opportunity and she got everything from the cherry trees in the spring to snow covered pines in the chillier months.
That said, she wasn't much for the cold, and the city was downright freezing in the winter.
It was a non-issue in the grand scheme of things. A nuisance when she had to leave her house and the source of her costly heating bill, but she learned to live with it.
They stayed at her home more often than not. It was easier this way, not having to deal with the hassle of alerting her security where she was going, and less memories there for them to get tangled in.
She loved it when he stayed. Loved him. He was the great love of her life.
But...
"If you touch the thermostat in this house one more time, so help me god Jethro I will confine you to desk duty for a month. "
She hadn't meant to sound as annoyed as she came off, but it had been an ongoing battle for weeks now.
"Why are you so quick to blame me?" He had asked defensively.
They were standing in her study, next to the unlit fire place that she was debating having him amend when she finally snapped.
"Because you enjoy complicating my life," She argued, "You're the only other person who is here besides me, and I know from being in your own home you keep the temperature appallingly low."
He looks amused at her rant, which only serves to make her more irritated. She hated when he did that.
Smug bastard.
"Can't handle a little cold, Jen?"
If looks could kill, she's certain he would have been long dead.
"You are aware that it's below freezing outside, are you not?" She questions, "What sense would it make for me to keep my house at anything less then warm?"
Gibbs snorts, "You know it's healthier to sleep in a cold room."
She could strangle that man sometimes. She really, really could.
"I know you of all people are not standing in my own study trying to give me health advice," She bites back, "And sleeping in a cool room is healthy, sleeping in a frigid one however is not."
The first time it happened he hadn't thought much of it. It probably got colder out while she was at work, or she forgot to turn the thermostat up before leaving that morning. She hardly gave it a second thought.
The second time she came home to a cold house she knew she had turned up the heat before she left. It had begun flurrying before she even walked out the door, and she was more than certain she would have thought ahead. But when she got home that night - later than expected, so she hadn't been surprised to find Gibbs waiting there for her - she was greeted with an unpleasant chill. It flummoxed her a majority of the evening, and she had begun to think she was going crazy. She was convinced the stress and lack of sleep was finally getting to her, so much so she hadn't even thought to ask him if it was that cold when he arrived.
They stayed at his house two nights before. A rare occasion, but a welcome change of scenery. She had sat on his staircase and perused through files she had been neglecting while he scribbled new measurements along the skeleton of what would one day be a boat. She hadn't ever thought it, but she had become surprisingly content to sit in silence with him. It was another slice of life that continuously surprised her.
It was a basement. Of course it was cold. She didn't like it but she was more than happy to sit alongside him at the expense of her own discomfort. That was surprising to her too; just how willing she was to compromise her own comforts for the sake of his company.
It wasn't until that night as she struggled to sleep from the cold that the revelation came.
"Anytime you arrive here before I do, my house is suddenly colder. You slip out of my sight for five minutes and suddenly my house is twenty degrees colder."
Gibbs rolls his eyes, "Not my fault you keep it like a sauna in here all the time."
There's a fleeting moment where she realizes just how ridiculous it is for them to be arguing over something as trivial as a thermostat. Normally their fights were bigger, more explosive. Usually work related, but at times more personal. They used to fight about her choice to leave him all those years ago, or his reluctance to share his past with her. Trust was a big topic. It was better now, they ran that river dry. For once they were on the same page about things and didn't bring up the past like they did before.
And now they were arguing over a thermostat.
"So you think it appropriate to come into my home and adjust the temperature when you know I like it warm." She says, almost more annoyed now that he admitted to it.
"Better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission."
She hated when he did that.
"Do not throw your rules in my face, Leroy Jethro Gibbs." She huffs, "I despise when you do that."
Gibbs scoffs, "You do the same thing to me when it suits you."
He had her there, admittedly. Not that she was willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
"You do realize you don't have to lower the temperature in here to freezing." She tells him, "For starters, you could simply ask. And secondly, had you asked, we could have found something suitable enough that neither of us were complaining."
She waits for him to protest - as he likes to do with her - but he does something rather unexpected.
He laughs.
Its the first time she's seen him laugh so genuinely in years, and it infuriates her.
"You want me to commit murder tonight, don't you?" She growls.
It takes a moment for his laughter to subside, but the smug look on his face remains.
"You know," He begins, "The last time we argued was in your office, over some bureaucrat I pissed off, and you were screaming at me. Tellin' me how it reflected poorly on you when your agents step out of line-"
" - It was Senator Johnson, and it does reflect poorly-"
" - and you didn't speak to me for two days, all because you were that pissed and we fought that bad. And now we're standing here arguing about a damn thermostat."
It was laughable. They had somehow gone from arguing life or death matters as agents to bickering about the temperature of their home as a couple.
She chuckles softly, unable to help herself.
"We're domestic," She says, reaching out for his hand, "When did that happen?"
Gibbs shrugs, but there's a smile gracing his features.
"Not so bad."
The anger she had been feeling fades almost instantly, and is ironically replaced by a warmth she only ever gets when he's around.
"No, it's not." She moves a little closer to him and lays a hand on his chest, "Not at all."
It really wasn't.
