A/N - thanks for the reviews. On reflection I think this story is more about Jen than I intended it to be. But that's OK. There's less relationship angst and more of the case in this part.

Seeing Red – part 8

The weather was terrible in comparison to Mexico – grey and dark, it had rained all night and showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. Gibbs sat at his desk, leafing through the papers that had accumulated in his absence, including the updated notes of their current investigation. DiNozzo had done a good job – finding Fraiser's hiding place had been particularly smart; but he wasn't planning on sharing that.

"Boss. You're back!" Tony came to a dead stop when he emerged from the elevator and saw Gibbs. Ziva's sharp as cat reflexes allowed her to sidestep her partner; McGee was less fortunate and crashed into Tony sending them both off balance.

"Well observed DiNozzo." His expression was a mixture of chagrin and relief and Gibbs couldn't say he blamed him. It was a hell of a case to get stuck with, the politics were already giving him a headache.

"Weren't you with the Director when you left?" Tony asked,

"I still am, she's in her office." At least he hoped it was still her office. The plan to draw Fraiser out depended on Jen's ability to persuade her political patrons to let her risk her own life – in a good cause. Normally he wouldn't doubt her skill in getting what she wanted, but she'd returned home to find her face splashed all over the media; the story of the vicious stalker who was targeting her being discussed everywhere. They both knew if she'd been here she'd never have allowed that to happen – the question now was whether she could regain enough control to put in place the plan they'd devised.

"Is she all right?" Ziva asked, Gibbs shrugged in response to a question he'd been giving a lot of thought to over the last few days.

"She's the Director," he responded, getting to his feet and collecting his coffee cup, "I want Fraiser found."

When he arrived at her lab Abby was deep in thought, chin in hands, gazing at her computers as they'd processed something – as though she was communicating with them, and perhaps in her own way she was. He set the Caff Pow by her elbow and kissed her on the cheek.

"Gibbs! You're back." She hugged him and then held him at arms length, "how's the Director?" For the second time he avoided the question, though it was harder to do so with her.

"What do you have?" She pouted for a moment and then fixed him with a gaze so clear and wise he was certain she'd seen some of the things he would much rather keep hidden. "Abs," he chided gently.

"It's going to be all right."

"Good." He wasn't sure their definition of 'all right' was the same, but he'd take all the confidence he could get. She nodded and switched topics.

"OK boss man – so, I know everything there is to know about Captain Bradley Fraiser. I know his date and place of birth, I know his favourite foods and where he does his grocery shopping. I even know where he buys his underwear and what type – in case you're interested,"

"I'm not."

"We know he has a large amount of cash with him, so he's not using any cards, he isn't using his cell phone or email account - but he hardly did before he vanished. This is a guy with no friends, which probably explains how he had time to become a really good stalker. His activity online was minimal – no chat rooms, no online gaming, no purchases."

"You're telling me you can't find him?"

"I can tell you where he's been – I can't tell you where he is, except…" She bit her lip and looked a little frightened, "chances are – he's wherever the Director is, or close by." There was no arguing with that conclusion, "maybe you shouldn't have bought her back Gibbs – he's really angry, we found more photographs of her, they'd been ripped to shreds."

Fraiser was in the wind – and Gibbs didn't like it. He was a highly organised, highly intelligent criminal who knew exactly what he wanted or, in this case, who he wanted and he was single-minded in that pursuit. He didn't just want to snatch Jen – he wanted to force her to capitulate and he'd already proven that he was prepared to kill for that. Abby was right she wasn't safe, but what choice did they have?

"Gibbs – you OK?" He was about to tell her that he was fine, but someone else got there first.

"He didn't get much sleep last night." Her voice was laced with humour and when he turned to look at her Jen raised an eyebrow, daring him to respond. "Protection duty isn't exactly fun, is it Jethro?"

"Depends on who you're protecting, Director." He guessed she'd got her own way, she didn't look like a woman who'd just resigned, or was about to be forced into protective custody. Abby was watching their interaction with interest, but she didn't seem to see anything unusual or out of the ordinary about it – which was either reassuring or alarming, depending on how you looked at it.

They looked at each other for a moment longer, a communication without the need for words and he felt a curl of unease because he recognised the expression in her eyes. "Something you need to tell me?"

"ZNN has asked for an interview, I've agreed. I'm talking to them this evening – but they are going to trail it all day."

"No," she raised her eyebrow at his unequivocal response, "this isn't what we discussed."

"This is better,"

"Who for Jen?" It was too dangerous, she knew it and she was going to push for it anyway. They'd reviewed the appointments that had been in her diary for a while, ones Fraiser would likely know about; they'd discussed controlled environments and calculated risks – this wasn't what he'd had in mind. "It's a bad idea."

"I need to do this." He knew what it was about of course, knew the moment Sec Nav released details of the investigation she'd have find a way to manage the story. She spoke with finality and there was little point in arguing with her, though that wouldn't necessarily stop him. He couldn't say her actions were a surprise; she was doing what she had to do to survive – he could see that. But he didn't have to like it.

"You're taking a risk Director," he said, not doing a very good job of hiding his irritation.

"Your objection is duly noted Agent Gibbs," she responded with almost the same amount of anger.

He was struggling to remember that only a few hours had passed since they'd broken their tacit agreement that what had happened between them in Mexico couldn't happen here. In truth, they'd barely put up a token resistance. They'd returned to his house late the previous night, after a roundabout journey and he'd taken her to his bed as though they'd been lovers for years. There had been a message from Hollis on the answer machine, but even that hadn't been enough to make him to hesitate. At some point one of them, possibly him, had said "are you sure?" but by then it had been a strictly rhetorical question. They'd stumbled up the stairs, shedding clothes as they went, too wrapped up in each other to notice that the message had still been playing as they tumbled onto the covers.

But they weren't long term lovers, they couldn't be and he knew he had to remember that. It was the kind of lapse that could easily get someone killed.

"Talk to Abby about what you need," he said, not wanting to argue about this any longer. "I have to go and arrange security for your publicity tour."

He was still annoyed with her hours later – though this was hardly anything new. Trails of her live interview were all over ZNN – it seemed that every time he looked at a screen her image was on it. He knew there was no chance at all that Fraiser would miss the interview, that even if he didn't use it as a chance to get to Jen he would read signals and signs into whatever she said. And they'd have to deal with the consequences of his interpretation of her words.

Resources to protect her weren't exactly thin on the ground, but co-ordinating across agencies was a complex task in itself and not something he enjoyed. He knew who he trusted, who he could rely on and apart from a small group of agents hand-picked by Fornell, they all worked for NCIS.

"Everyone wears vests," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. Around him the assembled group of agents nodded, but he looked over his shoulder – knowing that only one person was likely to ignore that instruction, "including you Director." She raised her eyebrow and he knew what she was going to say, "take it off during the damn interview if you must, but otherwise you wear it."

He was still worried about the woman herself – about what she might do if pushed. This was very, very personal and the only strategy they had for ending it involved dangling her out in front of someone intent on her subjugation. There was no way this ended well and he had yet to work out how she would deal with the fall out. He didn't think there was much chance she'd let him get close enough to help and he wasn't sure he'd be much use to her anyway.

"Boss," DiNozzo looked up, his cell phone jammed to his ear, "we've got something – a sighting of Fraiser, in a car but the partial plate is a match."

"Get your stuff," he instructed as he turned towards Jen. She was due to leave for the interview shortly. Even if this turned out to be a false alarm there was no way they'd make it back in time to go to ZNN with. "Could be a trap," he said quietly, "lure us to one place, get us out of the way."

"Leaving me with just a small army of agents to protect me? I'll be fine Jethro." Still he hesitated, working the odds – he could send some of the team, but if it were a genuine sighting he needed to be there to bring Fraiser in. On the other hand, he hadn't intended to place her in harms way without being there to watch her back. "Go," she said quietly, "I'll be careful." He nodded, then turned to his team, scanning their faces; expectant, intent on the hunt – they wanted Fraiser too. He might be just about to deny one of them that opportunity.

"Officer David, stay with the Director," Ziva nodded, her expression unreadable and dropped her stuff back onto her desk. He didn't miss Tony's smirk – which earned him a slap and the comment, "you should worry why I didn't pick you, DiNozzo."

Everyone was looking at her – but then she did come with her very own armed entourage and an Israeli assassin for a bodyguard. It could be that was the kind of thing that gets you noticed, even in the offices of ZNN.

It was just possible she was feeling a little paranoid – and while, under the circumstances that was entirely justified, still she wouldn't want anyone to recognise it. Live interviews were pressurised at the best of times, live interviews where you try to simultaneously rescue your career and reach the person threatening your life fall into a special category of hell. But there were very few other options.

She knew she'd squandered political capital just to get here. In her world Gibbs, Ducky and Mike Franks were not the only chauvinists around and there were undoubtedly people whispering that she couldn't take the pressure, that it was not her fault – but she couldn't be Director of NCIS and the victim of a dangerous stalker. If this desperate gambit failed she might as well resign and go and sit on a beach somewhere because her career would be as good as over and, despite some possible advantages to no longer being Director of NCIS, she wasn't ready to become Mike Franks yet.

Would anyone care if this mess cost her the career she'd sacrificed far too many things for? Would Jethro tell her she was too good to walk away, the way she'd once told him – or would he just let her go?

This wasn't a good moment to think about Jethro – she'd been taking refuge in him too readily and she couldn't afford to get used to it. She shouldn't have stayed with him last night – shouldn't have crossed the line they'd drawn. But it was hard not to reach out for comfort when everything else was so messed up, especially comfort that came with so few strings.

She was playing a cat and mouse game with someone who squandered life as though it meant nothing. She'd counted on Gibbs being within sight when she made this move, but in the moment when she could have asked him to be here she'd agreed he should investigate the possible sighting. Had she done that because it was the right thing to do, or because she wanted to prove to herself – and him, that she could face this alone?

"The interview went well," Ziva said as they stood watching the bustling studio. Jen considered, not sure what the success criteria was for an interview that involved talking to two audiences at once – the killer who believed he was in love with her and the politicians waiting to see if she'd survive the fire. There was no doubt who was the most dangerous – but her political masters could still cause damage. The agency was small, easily swallowed up amidst intense competition for resources and prestige. In this game, being good was only enough for so long. "Do you think he saw it?"

"Unless Gibbs has picked him up." She accepted her vest and weapon from Ziva, "he won't be able to stop himself from watching and when he does see it, he won't like me appearing calm and in control."

"You sound sure,"

"Some things you just know."

"Did you just know they were going to ask about your personal life?" Jen frowned; remembering the question Ziva was referring to. A researcher had talked her through the content of the interview in general terms and in that conversation a question about whether she was seeing anyone had definitely not come up.

"My life is in the spotlight – suddenly complete strangers think it's legitimate to ask if I'm single at the moment."

"You handled it well, but then you always lie well – when you have to."

"I wasn't lying," she was almost sure Ziva was on a fishing expedition, there was no way she knew anything for sure.

"If you say so." Now she knew she was being baited and she stamped down on the impulse to defend herself, to point out that she'd been a little too busy to meet anyone recently. She didn't want to give Ziva any excuse to wonder what she and Gibbs might have done while they were out of sight, together. Her cell phone rang and she answered it with relief, hoping it was Jethro calling with good news.

"Sheppard,"

"Director Sheppard? My name is Paige – we met earlier, I talked to you before the interview,"

"Yes, is something wrong?" Ziva had turned away, no doubt scanning the area for possible threats, letting her take the call with some modicum of privacy – but Jen caught her arm, drawing her attention back.

"There's someone here who wants to talk to you," she curled the fingers of her free hand into a fist, nails digging into her palm. She wished she was wrong about what this was, but as soon as she heard the man's voice she knew she wasn't going to be.

"She has red hair Jenny." She remembered the researcher now, pretty, friendly, with bright auburn curls cascading down her back. She couldn't have been much more than twenty.

"Please don't hurt her." Ziva was speaking into her own cell, no doubt ordering a trace on the call.

"I don't want to hurt her, it's up to you. You know what I want."

"Where are you?"

"Just you, not your friends."

"I can't do that – they won't let me come alone, you know how over-protective they can be. But I think we need to talk, don't you? Face to face?"

"That's all I want – we're in the car park across the street; basement level." He ended the call and she looked over at Ziva.

"Director?"

"He has a hostage – he wants to speak to me."

"What are you going to do?"

"Give him what he wants."

Ziva was beside her as they reached the basement, the rest of the detail fanned out around them, looking for some sign, some movement. She and Ziva saw it at the same moment and Ziva unceremoniously shoved her behind a pillar. The shot went wide, by quite a lot.

"Hold your fire!" The order was hers, her tone making it clear where the authority lay – for now anyway. She was very aware that she was just about to place herself in a situation where she would be effectively powerless, with only her wits to keep her alive. She shivered.

"I know you're here Jenny," his voice echoed in the cavernous space and she took in their position. There were six of them, they had numbers on their side, but the young woman with Fraiser, his gun touching the side of her head, put the outcome of this situation in question. Only she could change the ending.

Ziva's eyes widened as she shrugged out of the vest and bent to place her weapon on the ground. She unfastened her ear wig as well and then turned to the other agent, "I'm going to try and get him to release her, take me instead. As long as Fraiser has a hostage I am ordering you to let him leave. We don't need a shoot out here." And then before Ziva could argue or stop her, she stepped out from behind the pillar, into his line of sight.

She wished he looked more like a monster. But Bradley Fraiser; tall, angular, with rather sharp features and piercing blue eyes was actually good looking – in an austere kind of way. His bearing suggested the aloof, intolerant man she'd read about in personnel reports and she was suddenly very glad that she and Jethro had become lovers. It was messy, complicated and there was very little chance that things would work out between them, but it was warm and all too human.

"Hello Jenny." His greeting was commonplace – as though there was no death or violence in the background to this meeting, as though armed men and women weren't following their every move.

"If you let her go, I'll come with you. They'll let us leave."

"You can just expect me to forgive you – not after all the terrible things you've made me do." In her head she heard an achingly familiar voice telling her that an apology was a sign of weakness – and never thought she'd be glad of the advice.

"I'm sorry." She didn't embellish, didn't overplay it, but she hoped it sounded as though she meant it. Everything depended on her ability to make him believe her words, despite his anger and obsession. "I wasn't expecting this to happen," she said carefully, searching for a flicker of an expression that would tell her she was on the right track. "I didn't think anyone would love me this much."

She was closer to him now; close enough to see that the young woman he held was white with fear, trembling in his grasp. She wished there was a way she could reach out to her, offer her a small crumb of reassurance – but it was too risky.

"I killed for you, I'm the only one. No one has ever loved you the way I do." God she hoped that was true; she'd gladly spend the rest of her life alone if this was the only other alternative.

"I'm sorry," she breathed again, borrowing the words and the feelings behind them from when she'd whispered them to Gibbs, in a bed in a small cabin in Mexico. Already it seemed like a lifetime ago. "I understand now, I'm ready to be with you. I'll give up everything if that's what you want."

"We'll be together for all time," his words were a pastiche of every romantic dream from her adolescent years and she there was something very sad about how tarnished those dreams had become. But she wasn't a child or a hopeful adolescent anymore – she knew love was not about losing yourself and did not demand surrender. Whatever he took from her, whatever the cost, Fraiser couldn't do nothing to change that.

"I want that." She looked towards the girl, "but I don't want you to hurt anyone else because of me. Can't you let her go?"

"I'll let her go when we're safe." He nodded towards the dark SUV, "get into the car."

"No one is going anywhere." The fragile connection between them was broken when Ziva stepped into their path, her gun pointing directly at Fraiser, who responded by tightening his grip on Paige. He might not be a sniper – but Jen knew he wouldn't miss that shot; even if Ziva did shoot him, he'd still pull the trigger and kill her. She couldn't allow that to happen.

Her movement put her between Ziva and her target, "Officer David, I'm ordering you to stand down." She took a few steps closer, just far enough for Fraiser not to be able to hear everything. "It's all right Ziva," she whispered a few lines in Hebrew – her fluency a little rusty, hoping she was getting through to her.

A muscle in Ziva's jaw tightened and Jen recognised the battle that raged within her, a battle in which the past fought with the present. Everything Ziva had been taught before coming to NCIS told her to shoot, while everything she had learnt from Gibbs told her there might still be a way. It was a battle Jen knew she had no further influence over. But then, slowly, Ziva lowered her weapon and took a step backwards. Her final words were soft, full of meaning – the only thing that she could give in this moment.

"Shalom Jen."

TBC