Jenny Shepard was built to handle a lot of things.

Her father had said once, year before she had even fathomed joining NCIS, 'that's why we have broad shoulders, so we can carry that weight'.

Being director made good use of that talent. The discipline for multitasking, balancing her duties as director, delegating her subordinates, being a working woman in a mans world, they were all things she could handle when stacked on top of each other.

Almost two weeks had passed since the night they fell into bed together; and another full week was on the horizon from when their stunt in the elevator had occurred. They hadn't seen much of each other since. He was wrapped up in a particularly grueling case and she had spent most of her time delegating their foreign faction units. Despite all the work that came along with it, it had been a blessing in disguise. She hadn't had the time to wade through the mess of feelings she was entangled in, and it was strangely comforting.

Of course, all good things eventually come to an end.

The proverbial straw that broke the camels back came in the form of Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

He had came storming into her office that day, door slamming so hard behind him she's certain it must have rattled the whole building. They hadn't even made it five minutes before they were screaming.

"You know damn well that case should have stayed under NCIS, Director."

This man was one big headache for her.

"The FBI presented substantial evidence," she retorts. She's trying her best to keep her voice level but she can't help but raise her voice back at him, "That case fell under their jurisdiction, I can't undermine their director."

"Can't, or won't?" He challenges.

She doesn't even entertain answering the question, "And now I'm going to have to get my ass chewed out by not only their director, but SecNav and whoever else decides to take a stab at my agency because my agents can't follow orders."

He should count himself lucky he didn't decide to bring her a cup of coffee today, because she most certainly would have hurled it at his head by now.

"Cracked it, didn't we? The FBI wouldn't have that solved for months, but that doesn't matter does it? We caught the perp and all that matters is that some hotshot Director is going to step on your toes." He yells, hands balling into fists as he tries to contain his anger.

"You just don't know how to leave well enough alone do you?" She fires back, "Or do you just like making my life hard?"

"I make your life hard? I'm not the one playing games."

It hit her full force what he was turning this into.

"No," she steps closing to him, staring straight into his eyes, "This is not about us."

"Isn't it?" He challenges, "Do you give all your agents this kind of shit, or just the ones you sleep with? I made a call that put a killer in jail, that's it. I doubt you would pull this with anyone else in your agency that did that same thing."

It's taking every once of her self will not to hit him in that moment.

"This isn't about us," she says again, conviction in her voice faltering some and she mentally kicks herself as she hears it happen, "That is not the conversation we're having."

He snorts, "What conversation? You sure don't want to talk about it. I've pissed off the FBI more times than I can count, so tell me Jen, why now are you so keen on pulling me in here to reprimand me? You can't stop thinking about what happened and you're too much of a coward to acknowledge it."

She wants to scream, or cry, or perhaps a mixture of both out of the frustration this man causes her. She was a lot of things, but cowardly was not one of them.

Right?

"Get out."

There's a part of her that's immensely satisfied when she sees the look of surprise wash over him. He clearly wasn't expecting that.

"What?"

"Get. Out." She repeats, "Of my office. I'm going to go clean up your mess and hope that I don't get punished for it."

He shakes his head, "Yeah, fine, whatever Jen. That's all you've ever cared about. You care about your job so much that you can't care about anything else. I get the memo, Director."

There's a momentary halt on her anger as she realizes what he's implying.

"Jethro-" she tries, but he cuts her off by slamming the door.

An ache spreads through her chest as the realization that he may just truly believe she didn't care about him overtakes her. How could ever think that?

Damn it.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.