A/N - again, thanks for the reviews. I have to say, it was surprisingly difficult to get them into bed.
Seeing Red – part 7
There was something different about them, something Mike Franks couldn't quite put his finger on, though he could hazard a guess as to its cause. It wasn't sex – at least not yet; though he could see the possibility lingering between them, more pronounced now than before. The chemistry was apparent with every glance they shared, flickering like a beacon every time they came just a little too close.
He'd returned from his trip to town to find them on the deck. Gibbs had been on a ladder, repairing the roof that had remained untouched since his last visit, while Sheppard had been curled into a chair reading; though Mike suspected she was more involved in watching her companion. They didn't seem to be talking much, but the change was obvious, if you knew what to look for. The tension between them was still there – it was just entirely different.
It should have made him uncomfortable, it should have earned Gibbs a smack to the back of his head. But actually he was curious to see how the game would play out; which of them would make the final, decisive move.
He might not like or trust the woman but there was no doubt that Sheppard had investigated as many interesting cases as any of them. As the day slipped into night they ate, drank bourbon and shared the equivalent of war stories. He hadn't expected her to be such a good storyteller, describing her exploits with Jethro and Ducky with dry, well-observed humour. Listening to her he could picture the young investigator she'd been, struggling to learn from Gibbs while all the time he moulded her into a more unconventional agent than she would otherwise have been. The woman who emerged from the stories had a surprising willingness to find creative solutions to problems and a talent for talking her way out of trouble; it was an ability he was quite sure Jethro had nurtured.
They all told stories. Mike described his early attempts to teach Gibbs how to investigate a case. Jethro talked about his current team and they all wondered how it was possible for DiNozzo to be such a magnet for trouble and at the same time so good at what he did.
When Sheppard started to talk about some of the cases she'd been involved with on her own and about her attachment to Mossad, Gibbs' body language changed. It took Franks a moment of watching them, of wondering what the subtext was, before he realised that Jethro was hearing this for the first time as well. He didn't understand why – obviously they'd been out of touch for years, but after they'd started working together again it seemed Gibbs had done nothing to find out where she had been and what she had done. Which would be fine if she were nothing more than a casual acquaintance – but the evidence said that was the very last thing she was.
Eventually they lapsed into silence; he watched with interest as Shephard finished her drink, cradling her glass for a moment, looking as though she was trying to reach a decision. Finally she stood, "I'm going to bed." She didn't bat an eyelid when she looked up to find Mike watching her, but as she turned to head inside she trailed her fingers across Jethro's shoulders - her invitation clear.
Franks watched her exit, impressed despite of himself. Either she was supremely confident of what the response to her gesture would be, or blithely unconcerned. It was interesting that he was not entirely sure which of the two it was and wondered if Gibbs had the insight he lacked.
Jethro didn't move, though he acknowledged Mike's scrutiny with a wry smile. He reached for his glass cradling it for a moment in an unconscious echo of the woman who had just left them, before finishing the drink in a single, long swallow.
"You'll be out here for a while?" He asked.
Mike looked towards his shotgun, left within reach. "I can be out here all night." He watched the other man push himself to his feet. "Probie," he began, about to ask Gibbs if he knew what he was doing; but then thinking better of it. They were both adults and it was none of his business.
Gibbs tilted his head, raised an eyebrow and didn't say a word as he followed her inside.
"Jen," she was standing by the window in the small room, looking out into the night, but at the sound of his voice she turned. He crossed the room to her side and she tried to interpret the look in his eyes. It had, she reflected, been a lot easier to read him a couple of hours ago.
"What are you thinking about?"
"You, on the beach this afternoon." It wasn't the answer she'd expected from him and it was far too close to her own thoughts for comfort. When it had occurred to her that he might have played her, she'd pulled away from the kiss. She'd been angry, aroused and so damn confused. It had taken several hours and a couple of shots of bourbon for her to realise that their encounter had demonstrated that he wanted her. Since she knew she wanted him, the only question was whether or not they were going to take this chance to do something about it.
She stiffened when he put his hands on her shoulders, knowing that he must be able to feel the tension in her muscles. She'd been getting by on anger since this had all begun, using it to hold the fear and vulnerability at bay. She wasn't ready to let go of that yet, despite the temptation of his touch – she wasn't sure she was ready to let anyone get close to her and in many ways letting him in was the biggest risk of all.
Earlier, when she'd questioned who it was he wanted his answer had been characteristically ambiguous; but his actions now seemed to belie that. He'd been watching her all night, his expression speculative but affectionate and he'd followed her. She knew there was nothing wrong in losing herself in a willing body for a few hours – it was the only type of refuge available to her. She wasn't worried about him, certain there was no danger of Jethro reading too much into this; she just wasn't sure she had the strength to protect herself.
But her doubts and questions drifted away as he pulled her a little closer, one arm sliding around her waist, his fingers toying with the buttons of her shirt. Her mind went blank, surely she was the one who was supposed to have control of this situation? "What are you doing?"
"Following my gut." Well, that was an answer of sorts. She relaxed, leaning into him a little more, letting him slowly unfasten the buttons and then slide the shirt off her shoulders. When she tilted her head she could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on the task.
Hours before their passion had been a heady moment that had carried them away – though it had only carried them so far. It was easier to rouse a second time, easier to recognise the desire for what it was. She turned and touched his face, her eyes searching his; she had no idea what she was looking for, or whether she would find it. When he started to speak she shook her head, silencing him; there was nothing he could say that she wanted to hear.
It was amazing to be standing here; recognising that this was a moment when things were going to change between them. Even if there was never anything more between them than this night, still it would change things; bring turmoil in its wake. It might be the situation, it might be nostalgia – but he was here; warm and real and touching her as though he knew exactly what she needed.
She didn't turn away and neither did he. There was enough she couldn't control in her life - she was done with analysing this.
What would Gibbs do? It did seem to be the question of the hour – and Tony wasn't at all certain that he knew the answer.
He was standing in the hallway of an empty house, perfectly aware that if he went outside into the driveway and squinted a bit he would be able to see the Director's driveway. The owners of this property were on a round the world cruise, the caretaker they had left in charge was missing – though a group of agents were currently investigating a suspicious patch in the garden. Of Fraiser there was no sign, but there was no doubt that he had been here, recently. Somehow Tony didn't think they had missed him by much.
There were pictures of the Director here as well – but unlike the ones they'd seen in Fraiser's apartment, these weren't displayed in an orderly fashion. They might have been at one point; but they'd been torn from the wall and now lay in pieces across the floor – someone who was very, very angry had evidently ripped them to shreds.
From the conversations he'd been privy to DiNozzo knew that Sec Nav was considering releasing Fraiser's details to the press and at the very least linking him to the attack on the Director, the deaths of a NCIS agent and a civilian employed in Sec Nav's own office. But Tony wasn't sure – he knew there was a value to warning the public, he understood that it might help them find a man who had a habit of disappearing from sight. But, on the other hand there would be sightings and false alarms that would need to be followed up and there was no guarantee that at the end of it they would be any closer to stopping him.
For the first time he was realising just what it meant to be in charge of this case without both Gibbs and the Director. When Gibbs had been gone he'd grown to handle the role of team leader, every day knowing he couldn't possibly fill the shoes of the man. But, Jenny had handled the politics and her confidence in him had somehow pulled him through. It was small comfort to know that if Gibbs had been here he'd likely be going crazy with the extent of scrutiny and interference in this investigation and the Director would be fully occupied in keeping him from destroying their relationships with other agencies. But neither of them were available and he knew he didn't have the Director's ability to handle politicians, which was why he was standing here trying to work out how Gibbs would react in this situation.
"This is where he brings the women when he abducts them," Ziva's arrival disturbed his reverie – which was probably a good thing. "We've found hair from several different woman and there's red lipstick in the bedroom." Tony winced, remembering the slash of red on the lips of the dead women.
"It's quiet here, the driveway is secluded," he agreed.
"And he'd like killing them knowing that Jen was close by." The slip surprised him; normally she was scrupulous about referring to the Director by her title. It occurred to Tony that they'd all pretty much forgotten that the two women had known each other before, had worked together. He was never really sure how close they'd been, and this wasn't the best time to indulge his curiosity. So he concentrated on Ziva as she took in the shredded photographs and concluded, "something has made him angry."
"Or someone. I don't think he is reacting well to the Director's disappearance."
"Then he's more dangerous now, yes?"
"Yes," he agreed. "But he still wants her." His phone rang and he opened it, recognising the number, "McGee – tell me something I don't know."
"Fraiser's mother died six months ago and left him quarter of a million. He closed the account and didn't redeposit the money." Well, that was a question he wished he hadn't asked.
"You're sure?"
"Yes boss,"
"Boss?" He queried, amused despite himself – he could imagine the McGeek kicking himself over the slip, "I didn't know you cared probie." He flipped the phone closed without waiting for an answer, knowing that this information would likely be enough to persuade Sec Nav to go public about Fraiser. "He's got a cool quarter of a million about his person," he told Ziva, "you might want to check to see if any luggage is missing – and get someone to run a check on vehicles registered to this address. If he's helped himself to their house I doubt he'd hesitate at stealing a car."
"You OK?"
"We don't know where Fraiser is, we don't know where Gibbs & the Director are. I don't think he's found them – but I'd feel happier if I knew where they were and what they were doing."
Gibbs woke when she slipped out of the bed. It was hours before dawn; too dark to see properly. But his eyes adjusted quickly and he lay still, not wanting her to realise he was awake. His stomach tightened as he realised she was dressing, slipping her holster around her waist. Everything he knew about her told him she was about to leave – he should have expected this.
They'd made love and slept, then woken, made love and fallen asleep again. They'd been good together – rediscovering each other with ease. When they'd slept she'd kept her distance, shifting out of his embrace, close but not too close; her own woman even in this.
If this were any normal witness he was protecting he'd suspect they were running away, but he knew Jen and he was fairly sure she was about to do the absolute opposite. Either way, he couldn't allow it. For a moment the memory swam before his eyes – the last time they'd been lovers she'd left without explanation as well
"If you're planning to go looking for Fraiser, you'll need back up," he said just as she reached the door. "I know you work best on your own Jen – but not this time." It was hard to tell for sure, but he thought she leaned her head against the door and in the silence he heard her sigh.
"I told you I couldn't just sit here and watch the body count rise."
"And I told you to trust me." The realisation that she didn't was sobering, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Until he remembered how few people he trusted – they were much more alike than either of them wanted to admit. "What were you planning to do, shoot Mike if he got in your way? Will you shoot me if I try to stop you?"
"They can't catch him without me," it was not arrogance that enabled her to reach that conclusion, "I'm the bait."
"I know." He could tell that she was considering what he'd said, he could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind.
"So, I'm out of sight for a couple of days; long enough to panic him. Then we go back and hope that he's rattled enough to try to get to me - is that the plan Jethro?" When she put it like that he was aware just how risky it sounded.
"Didn't say it was perfect."
"Just out of curiosity, when were you planning to tell me?" He felt her movement – knew that despite her need to be doing something, she was actually edging closer to the bed. He could have answered that it was need to know, but this wasn't a good moment to incur her anger. And the truth was, he had been waiting for her to work it out for herself.
"I'm telling you now," he could feel her hesitation, "Jen – I want to catch him just as much as you do."
"And we'll go back tomorrow?"
"The day after," he bargained – knowing that she needed the rest, even if she wouldn't admit it.
He heard her footsteps, the rustle of her clothing as she undressed and then the bed dipped under her weight. He reached for her, letting out a breath as she came willingly into his arms and he stroked his fingers up and down the length of her spine.
She kissed him, moving over him fluidly, their bodies surrendering to what was already coming naturally to them once more – yet somehow a little of his frustration leaked out. He hadn't intended to hurt her, but he knew he'd held her just a little too tightly, that he'd likely left bruises. And she'd read his emotions far too easily, breathing "I'm sorry," into his ear at a moment when he was in no position to remind her that apologies were a sign of weakness. He had no idea what she was apologising for.
Afterwards she slept, once again not quite in his arms. He lay awake, watching her, the first rays of light casting shadows across her skin that his fingers itched to trace. He knew he'd never ask her if she'd done this deliberately – whether she hoped her seduction would make him tired enough to allow her sneak out. It was a question he didn't need to know the answer to and the truth was, she hadn't had to try to seduce him.
Suddenly he was reluctant to allow her the distance her sense of self-preservation craved – but it wasn't a feeling he was prepared to analyse. He pulled her towards him until her back was against his chest and their legs were tangled together - ignoring her sleepy murmur of protest. What mattered was that if she was planning to escape again, she was going to have to find a way to disentangle herself without waking him. He was fairly sure she didn't stand a chance.
TBC