A/N - so thanks for the reviews. There seems to be more Jen angst here than I had really anticipated and I wanted the case to start to get to Gibbs too I am sure that this would never happen - but that is the beauty of fan fic

Seeing Red – part 3

By early afternoon things had started moving. Tony's connections had come through with some information about the Serbian, Metro PD found a witness who'd seen a car close to the place where Chloe Standing's body had been left and Abby and McGee had found out one of their other suspects had studied computing while in prison. Suddenly they were everywhere at once and while the team was enthusiastic about progress Gibbs couldn't shake the feeling that they were looking at this from the wrong angle. Jen's observation about the Serbian rang in his ears and he couldn't help but remember that there had been a time when he had trusted her judgement almost as much as he'd trusted his own.

Actually, when he didn't think about it too much, he still trusted her judgement and it was because of that he decided a little research of his own might be called for. The information he found wasn't exactly what he was expecting, but he did have access to someone who could confirm or deny what he'd found out. He looked across the bullpen, Ziva was leaning over Tony's desk, hopefully discussing the case.

"Ziva – who is Adam Peres?" Her expression went blank, when just a moment before she'd been animatedly debating a point with DiNozzo.

"Adam Peres is dead."

"You sure?"

"I should be – I killed him." Her eyes were dark and empty, soulless even and he remembered how Jen had reacted when he'd mentioned that name. There was history here; maybe even some of the emotion that could produce a crime of this nature.

"It says here he was a Mossad officer?" he gestured to his computer screen and she crossed to his side, dropping to the seat beside him.

"Does it also say he was my friend?" He could see Tony and McGee exchanging worried looks now that they could no longer hear their conversation. "He was a good man; brave," she frowned for a moment and then found the term she'd been searching for, "he had a heart of a lion. He was a friend of my fathers, I grew up around him."

"So, what happened?"

"He was killed acting on some intelligence I brought in, turned out the intelligence was wrong." Gibbs winced, knowing how painful that must have been, "so believe me when I tell you there is no doubt that he is dead." She frowned and he could almost see the effort it took for her to leave the memories behind. "What does Adam Peres have to do with the Director? They didn't get on – they were as different as chalk and…?" He didn't bother to tell her that the rest of the idiom she was searching for was cheese. They didn't have time for the explanation that would entail. Instead he said,

"My information is different." Ziva's eyes went wide she shook her head,

"There's no way – she would have told me."

"Apparently not."

Control, that was what was important and with every moment that passed she could feel more of it slipping through her fingers. She exhaled, eyes narrowing and moved her hip marginally before barely flexing her finger on the trigger of the gun. Three rounds pumped into the target – hitting it squarely in the chest. That was better.

As she reloaded her weapon and took up her stance again a voice in her head, one that sounded irritatingly like Gibbs, told her that the key to this was there waiting to be uncovered, that this was just another mystery to be solved. She squeezed the trigger again – letting off more rounds and then rotated her shoulder carefully.

Gibbs had taught her everything she knew about investigations, along with some other things it would be prudent not to think about right now. She knew he had no choice but to go through her life as though it was the crime scene, as though it belonged to someone else. That didn't mean she had to like it.

She holstered the weapon – feeling slightly better because she could still exercise some authority over this investigation. To prove the point she had already made some calls and by now other agencies would be reviewing their records, looking into the details of some of the operations she had worked on that did not quite fall within NCIS' jurisdiction. Gibbs wouldn't approve, but she knew she could stand toe to toe with Jethro and not blink.

She glanced up and realised that her shooting practice had attracted an audience, of one. Ziva was watching her from the small observation deck and she realised this meant they were about to have a conversation she had been avoiding for four years and given the choice would have preferred to continue to avoid.

"Why didn't you tell me about you and Adam!" Ziva wasn't angry, yet, but her face had taken on that bleak look she wore when reminded of her losses.

"Come with me!" Jen ordered, determined not to have this conversation where they could be overheard. Just at the moment she felt as though her every move was being watched, her life a subject of discussion and debate. She was relieved when Ziva followed her into the elevator and, just after it had started moving she flicked the switch, suspending its movement.

"Now – do you have something to say to me Officer David?"

"You didn't tell me, I had to find out from Gibbs!" She sighed and thought about what she was going to do with Jethro, which didn't really solve her problem with Ziva. "Why didn't you say something?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. We had a job to do." It wasn't the truth, or not all of it. But long ago she had learnt that at times the truth was an overrated virtue. She tilted her head and looked at the woman before her, knowing she would require a more personal explanation. "You were mourning him and I didn't want to intrude on that. Not when whatever was going on between he and I had scarcely had a chance to begin."

"How long?"

"Just a few weeks – we were together the last weekend before you and I left."

"I wish you had told me, it would have helped me to know that he was happy, that he had someone." Privately Jen didn't think that it would have helped at all, she didn't share her feelings easily and she wasn't someone who allowed her private life to become public.The very small number of people who knew what had really happened with Gibbs was evidence of that.

"Ziva – don't run away with the idea that I was the love of his life. He was a good man, but he lived a dangerous life, we both did and I'm fairly sure a big house and a couple of kids wasn't in our future."

"He really was great though, wasn't he?" Just for a moment Jen let herself remember. It had been another time, another part of her life she felt, disconnected from now. She knew things about Adam Peres that Ziva never would, but she smiled and agreed with her description if him and it wasn't entirely a lie. She flicked the switch again, not sure if Gibbs would be happy if he discovered that she had 'borrowed' his office for their conversation.

Ziva crossed her arms and leant back against the wall of the lift, "so," she said, "Gibbs is checking our your former lovers, in case any of them could be involved in this. The question is, did you tell him the truth?"

"You know better than to expect me to answer that." She was marginally surprised when Ziva followed her out of the elevator – they hadn't been socialising recently and no matter how closely they'd worked together over the years, they had never exactly been friends. But she felt, indebted to Ziva and while Gibbs tutelage might not be everyone's idea of re-paying someone who'd once saved your life, in this case it had probably been the right thing to do.

"It's because I know you that I am asking." Despite the sudden burst of camaraderie she still had no intention of answering. And anyway, when she got to her office she saw Cynthia's face, the two men in dark suits waiting just inside the doorway and stiffened, recognising trouble when she saw it.

"Find Gibbs," she said.

Gibbs couldn't remember the last time he had been this angry. This wasn't like being angry at a witness who he knew was with-holding vital information. This was different; the anger he reserved for the arrogance and stupidity of other agencies – unwilling to admit the mistakes their hubris had caused. This was anger that burned through him, he could taste it, like bile, in his throat.

The Secret Service officer was trying to wriggle out of this, he was just the messenger after all, but letting him off the hook wasn't really on the cards – the mistake had been, spectacular and there was a distinct lack of willingness to take responsibility in his demeanour.

He met Tobias' eyes across the table and knew that Fornell was relieved that it wasn't the FBI who'd screwed this up. Playing politics for no good reason, risking the life of the woman they were supposed to be protecting, allowing 3 women to be murdered in her stead.

Before him were at least 20 or 30 letters; copies, because Jen had sent the originals straight down to Abby – the first sensible thing anyone had done in this whole damn mess. He'd only glanced at some of them, but their message was crystal clear; he wasn't looking for an ex-lover, or someone she'd put away. Instead he was looking for a stalker, a complete stranger who'd become obsessed with her. And who, if the letters were any indication, believed that they were meant to be together. He'd filled pages with his 'love', with his need for her and his desires and then, finally, when she didn't respond he started to get angry and the pages became filled with demands and threats. The last letter had been sent a month before the first death – it's message chilling and simple, "give yourself to me – or face the consequences."

Six months worth of obsession finally descending into threats and murder and only now were any of them hearing about it. The Secret Service had determined that there was no need for the Director of NCIS to know that she had a stalker, that there was no need to do anything – except to continue to intercept the letters.

"Three women are dead," he said through gritted teeth, "and all we are getting is this crap."

"As I've explained Agent Gibbs, it's Secret Service Policy only to reveal specific threats to the person concerned if there is an imminent danger to them, from an identified source. The Director has hardly been left unprotected – as a result of the letters we increased her detail and improved our surveillance."

"And did nothing to investigate."

"In our experience…"

"Spend a lot of time actually investigating crimes do you?" It was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack and they had wasted 24 hours because the connection hadn't been made until Jen had started calling in favours herself.

"We had no reason to anticipate this turn of events, we intercepted the letters and kept your Director safe – we did our jobs." Gibbs opened his mouth to argue some more, but this time Jen got their first,

"That's enough Agent Gibbs." She didn't shout, her voice was almost quiet – but it stopped him and pulled his gaze back to her. Her expression was unreadable, while he'd got angry she had stayed frighteningly calm – and she was the one person in the room who had every reason to be raging. Only someone who knew her well would have had any idea what this was costing her and he just about remembered being that person.

Their eyes met and he sent her a small nod – an acknowledgement that he'd let it go, for now. They did after all have more things to worry about.

She dismissed the meeting with some meaningless nonsense about the agencies working together to resolve this – as though she was discussing a jurisdictional question and not a serious threat to her own life. Gibbs followed Fornell towards the door, but looked back over his shoulder in time to see Jen turning towards the windows. For the first time since all of this had begun, she actually looked vulnerable and fragile.

He hesitated, torn between wanting to make sure she was OK and knowing that the new direction of the case meant he didn't have a second to waste. But she took the decision out of his hands when she turned slightly and caught sight of him watching. Her expression changed again, to become carefully blank once more and instead of retreating to the windows she sat down at her desk and reached for a file. He decided she would find it easier to maintain the fiction that this wasn't bothering her, if he left her alone.

"How's she holding up?" Fornell asked as they walked out together.

"You saw her, what do you think?"

"Honestly? I think she's doing surprisingly well – you I'm not so sure about."

"I'm fine Tobias." His friend snorted derisively and shot him a look that spoke volumes.

"Of course you are."

It was late and she was tired. Her head was buzzing with a tension headache, her limbs heavy and stiff. What she needed was to go home to a glass of wine, a hot bath and finally sink into her own bed for some much needed sleep – but it wasn't going to happen.

She felt dirty, soiled by the content of the letters, by the outpouring of destructive and corrosive emotion that their author would probably describe as love. Her history with relationships might not be one big happy ever after, but she knew this had nothing to do with love and everything to do with power, anger and madness. Her skin was crawling and she thought that probably a shower would help; though there might not be enough hot water to truly make her feel clean again.

She took off her reading glasses and set them aside, rubbing at her temples and wincing at the sharp pain. She was digging through her desk drawers looking for painkillers when her office door was pushed open and Gibbs walked in – as always he looked as though it hadn't even occurred to him that he ought to knock.

As he'd done once or twice before, he crossed to her couch and started to unpack the bag he was carrying. "You have to eat," he pointed out as though expecting her to protest, when in fact it was the furthest thing from her mind. The growling of her stomach was a salient reminder that it had been a long time since she had eaten last. As he poured them both a glass of wine she abandoned her desk, slipped off her shoes and curled into the armchair.

"Thank you," he nodded and concentrated on heaping her plate with grilled chicken and salad. She took a mouthful and smiled, "you remembered the dressing I like."

"I like this dressing as well." She was privately amused by his refusal to concede that he had carried a memory from their time together for all these years. She took a sip of wine and looked at him over the top of her wine glass.

"I appreciate the food Jethro – but what do you want?" The look he gave her said he'd been hoping to get further through the meal before getting into this – but verbal fencing, especially with him, took more energy than she had right now.

"Abby and McGee have been going through the letters – there are references in them, places he saw you. They think if they can tie up the references with actual events they'll be able to look for names that keep appearing on guest lists or employee lists, find him that way. We have a description from the wig maker, though it's not a great one, and a partial plate from the car seen near where the third body was found."

"And they want to compare my schedule with the letters?" She started to get up, but he waved her down,

"Finish your meal first." But she couldn't be still, couldn't sit and enjoy a meal while her life was slowly unravelling around her. Couldn't stop thinking about that final threat, the one no one had referred to but everyone understood – that he would carry on killing women and making them look like her, until she gave herself to him, surrendered to someone who was undoubtedly a monster. She wasn't about to do that, just as she wasn't about to let him kill anyone else – so they were going to have to catch him.

Gibbs didn't comment when she went to her desk and returned with her schedule, in electronic and paper form. They pushed the plates away so he could spread out the papers and copies of the letters. She didn't want to touch them; the contents were too much under her skin already, the words she'd read the first time had bruised her, abrasions marking her skin.

He must have noticed her reluctance, though he didn't remark upon it. Instead he took the task out of her hands – literally. Leafing though the letters to give her the date the first one had arrived, leaving her the task of cross-referencing the dates with her schedule. And then she found it.

"Two days before the first letter arrived I gave a lecture at the Naval War College." She remembered the sea of faces looking back at her as she stood at the lectern, "there must have been 200 people there." He sighed,

"Of course there were – first female Director of an armed federal agency – I'm surprised ZNN didn't run it live." A lengthier study of her schedule revealed other correlations – one a visit to the opera, which had Gibbs rolling his eyes, either at her choice of entertainment, or at the number of people who'd been there on the same evening. There were other, subtler indications as well – enough to give them something to go on.

She leant her head back against the chair and closed her eyes, resting just for a moment. She could hear Jethro moving around beside her, shuffling papers, clearing away the remnants of their meal. "You OK?" he asked, more quietly than she'd expected.

"Tired, today has been – well, a lot has happened."

"I asked Ziva about Adam Peres," she wasn't expecting the confession and she opened her eyes, turning her head towards him, though of course he wasn't looking at her, his gaze was fixed on the almost empty wine glass he held and she knew that was as close to an apology as she was going to get. She might have asked him why he'd done such a thing, but asking the question would mean having to deal with the consequences of his answer – and she didn't want that.

"I know – she came to me, we talked about it." This time he did look at her, his eyes searching her face, looking for something.

"Did you tell her the truth?"

"Some of it," it was disturbing that he knew her well enough to ask her that question, even if he couldn't be sure what the truth was. "It's need to know,"

"It always is," she could just hear the trace of bitterness in his voice and her nerves were a little too frayed to let him get away with it.

"And you don't keep secrets? Your life is an open book?" She remembered that six months ago she'd stood on a stage at the Naval War College and begun her lecture by quoting Sun-Tzu and the axiom that 'all warfare is based on deception.' She'd thought it appropriate because she was familiar with warfare, or at least the modern version of warfare, and because she knew a lot about deception. But she was not the only one.

"You should go home Jen, get some sleep." She wasn't surprised he'd let the subject drop, they did this; too familiar with each other to do anything else, too distant to get any closer.

"No." Her voice didn't sound entirely calm, but it did sound completely certain – almost anyone else would never argue with that tone.

"Jenny,"

"I'm not going home – not tonight." His eyes widened and she looked away. It was fine to be scared; she'd be a little crazy if this situation wasn't scaring her. But that didn't mean she was ready to let Gibbs see that.

"You could come home with me." The offer was made quietly, hesitantly; she tilted her head to look at him and couldn't quite stop herself from smiling. He looked back and she read the question in the slight movement of his head, the raising of his eyebrow, the curve of his lips that might have been a hint of a smile.

Once they'd been able to have whole conversations using very few words – the jumble of intimacy and familiarity had given them a connection that had made them a lethal combination professionally. Now, it was an echo of a time long past and though sometimes she found it comforting, she also knew she couldn't afford to depend upon it. His eyes were sincere and it would have been so easy to say yes, but it was because of his eyes and the way they made her feel, that told her that doing so would be very unwise.

"I'll be fine here."

"If you're sure."

"I am." He nodded, standing up, getting ready to take his leave.

"I'll let the night shift know you're here."

"Thanks." God, she hoped this situation wasn't going to continue – she was already fed up with being grateful to people.

"Goodnight Jen." Finally alone she let out a shaky breath, there was a blanket and a pillow in a cupboard that would be enough for her to get some sleep – it wasn't the first time she'd slept on a couch in her office and it likely wouldn't be the last.

But sitting here on her own she reflected on just how tempted she'd been to accept Jethro's offer. Would it really have been so terrible to let him take her home with him and then sit drinking bourbon, watching him work on his boat until she fell asleep? Would it really have hurt to let him keep her safe, if only for a few hours?

But she knew the answer to that; the ghosts that swirled around her tonight were proof that she could make mistakes and that those mistakes had consequences. So here she was, sitting in the fading light, scared and alone. She'd forfeited the right to have Jethro Gibbs take care of her a long time ago – and there was no going back from that.

TBC