1. Wake Up Call
He hated this. He had been poked and prodded at for the past two months, had his fashion sense(or lack thereof) ridiculed, and he was sick to death of Marcel and his so-called "fashion consultants".
Fucking Directorship.
Fucking SecNav.
Fucking Jenny.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs sighed heavily and tried not to kill Marcel as the Frenchman appeared in front of him again and forced him into another goddamn stuffy suit and tie for yet another public appearance as the new Director of NCIS.
He didn't want to be Director.
"You're the reason she quit."
That one sentence played on constant repeat in his head since the meeting with SecNav two months previous. Edward Davenport had probably appointed him as Director in penance for scaring away the best thing NCIS had.
And, to be honest, he thought, he probably deserved it.
Gibbs sighed and adjusted his tie to fit Marcel's stipulations as he came out of his thoughts, grimacing at the image of the sharp dressed man the mirror presented him.
"Très magnifique!" Marcel clapped quietly as he stepped back with a flourish, smiling at Gibbs in the mirror.
"I look like a goddamn monkey in a suit."
"Ah, Monsieur, but you look like a very well dressed monkey in a very nice suit, no?"
"Yeah, sure." The man's enthusiasm was grating, but he was under order by SecNav to let Marcel make sure he "represented NCIS well" in every form and function of his new Directorship.
"Director Gibbs?" Cynthia Sumner poked her head around the door to his office, her smile a little diminished.
"Yes, Cynthia?"
"Agent DiNozzo on line one for you."
He grimaced. "Is it urgent?"
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "He didn't say, although I saw mention of NCIS on Channel 13 about ten minutes ago, sir."
Ah, wonderful, DiNozzo had probably spouted his big mouth off to the press and got caught on camera, again.
Gibbs sighed, his hand already massaging at his temple in an attempt to stave off the headache he knew was coming. "Tell him to meet me in my office when I get back from this briefing."
"Yes sir." She paused halfway out the door, a ghost of her old smile on her face. "And, ah, what office should I tell him? Your, um, conference room, or here?"
"Here is fine, Cynthia. If need be, we'll move to the other one."
"Certainly, sir. Melvin and Hector are downstairs with your car."
"Thank you."
Gibbs sighed and shot his cuffs, checking that the Marine Corps emblem embossed on the cufflinks was straight one last time. "Presentable, Marcel?"
The Frenchman grinned. "Oui, Director. Go get 'em."
By general rule, Senators were usually expected to be long winded and thus Cynthia scheduled an extra block of time whenever he had meetings with members of the Senate, but Senator James McGovern seemed to be a man of few words, and he found himself with a blessed half hour of free time before he had to go back to the Navy Yard and attempt to repair whatever damage DiNozzo had wrought.
He checked in with Cynthia and made his way down to a small deli with Hector to grab a bite to eat, sinking down in the back corner of the restaurant with a pronounced sigh.
"Your sandwich, Director." Hector slid into the booth with two plates, setting the pastrami on rye in front of his boss. "And the migraine pills Doctor Mallard prescribed, sir. He said they are to be taken with food."
Gibbs grunted vaguely, picking halfheartedly at the sandwich one-handed as he kept the other steadily massaging at his throbbing temple. He dry swallowed the pills after managing a few paltry bites of the sandwich, ignoring the silent stare of his companion until the tension grew to a breaking point.
"You have a problem, Hector?"
"No, sir, but there's someone here who would like to speak with you."
Gibbs bit back a groan and leaned back in his seat, loosening the tie at his neck fractionally. "If it's a reporter, you should know better."
"Stop badgering the poor man, Jethro."
Blue eyes widened as a voice he hadn't heard for months—except for a few interviews on ZNN—washed over him. "Jen."
"Well don't sound so overjoyed to see me."
Hector took his clenched jaw and tensing hand on the tabletop as signal to vacate the premises, sauntering away to guard unobtrusively out of earshot.
Gibbs stared darkly at the half empty plate in front of him, the fingers of his left hand still moving in a habitual massage of his forehead. "What can I do for you, Ms. Shepard?"
"Looking at me when you speak might be a nice start."
He glanced up, tired eyes taking in her appearance calmly. She'd grown out her hair again, letting it fall back to nearly shoulder length, with a light dusting of strawberry blonde highlights dancing throughout. Jenny looked good, great even, with a casual and relaxed air about her.
"Looks like the private sector is working well for you."
Jenny nodded. "Donovan Enterprises is a nice place to work." She eyed him shrewdly. "I heard about your appointment. Congratulations."
He huffed out a short laugh. "No congratulations are deserved. It wasn't by choice."
"Choice or no choice, you're doing a fair job running the agency."
The compliments, coming from her, abruptly made his anger boil over. "What do you want, Jen?"
She blinked, taken aback by his gruff tone. "I was just in the area and saw Melvin, thought I would stop by and see how you were doing."
Gibbs stood, his shoulders stiff. "Yeah, well, it's patently obvious I'm not doing very well at your job, which, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to doing." He stalked off and brushed past Hector, leaving her sitting there in the middle of a deli, alone.
"Look, Boss, we've got it under con—."
His voice, sharp and irritated, cut across Supervisory Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo's argument rapidly.
"Stop calling me that."
"I—what?"
Gibbs growled under his breath and leaned across his desk, getting in DiNozzo's face. "I'm not your goddamn Boss anymore, so stop calling me that, before you find yourself out on your ass without a job." He sat back just as quickly, returning his gaze to the report in front of him. "And, while we're on the subject of your job, Agent DiNozzo, why don't you explain to me how you managed to misconstrue a few simple questions from a reporter from Channel 13 as tampering with evidence?"
The Italian paled under the onslaught, his normally exuberant smile absent. "She was trying to snoop in on the crime scene, Bo—er, Director! I simply removed her from the scene."
"Removal from the scene usually means politely asking the person to step back, DiNozzo, not slinging her bodily over your shoulder and dumping her in a pond."
"My grip slipped."
Gibbs smiled without mirth as he made a note in the file he was holding, letting out a long drawn out sigh. "Yeah, well, that's the second time this week your grip has slipped. I'm putting a note in your file."
"What? You've gotta be kidding me!" Tony jumped up from his chair, slamming his hands down on the desk. "She's horning in on my crime scenes because she wants some goddamn sensational story, and you're reprimanding me?"
Blue eyes darkened in anger as he stood, mirroring the Agent's posture. He spoke calmly and evenly, his voice deadly cold under a façade of polite indifference. "I'm reprimanding you because you know the agency policies regarding the press and the expectation of proper decorum at crime scenes and you signed off on them when you became team lead. I'm reprimanding you because you refuse to follow said policies. Your antics are making it even more difficult for me to run this agency without bowing and kowtowing to everyone because you think it's fucking funny to throw the redheaded news girl from Channel 13 in the pond twice a week. If you don't get your act together, I'm taking your team lead away and sending McGee and David to work with Balboa in cold case while you take a mandatory two week suspension. Are we clear, Agent DiNozzo?"
Tony scowled, his temper flaring. "Look, just because Jenny lef-."
"Are we clear, DiNozzo?"
He backed down with a mutinous look, his hazel eyes angry. "Almost crystal, Director."
"You're dismissed."
"Yes, sir."
He waited until Tony got to the door, his voice ringing out one last time. "DiNozzo."
Tony stopped, his shoulders tense.
"You ever talk to me like that again, and it'll be a lot more than two weeks suspension."
The Italian nodded shortly, slipping out of the office in the ensuing silence.
"You're going to ruin that suit if you came down here to sand, you know."
She was waiting in his basement when he finally got home four and a half hours after reprimanding DiNozzo. The paperwork he had hated as an Agent perpetually stalked him as Director, ensuring he didn't leave the office until well after normal closing hours.
He ignored her pointedly and made for the workbench, emptying one Mason jar and sloshing a heavy measure of bourbon inside.
"Aww, poor baby, can't mess with his precious boat." Jenny laughed, teasing him gently. "Aren't you going to pour me one?"
His already fragile temper snapped in a split second. "Shut the fuck up."
He hadn't cursed at her in years, not since Positano.
"Jesus, Jethro, take a joke." Jenny frowned, watching as he stood with his back to her, one hand clenched around the jar, the other digging into the soft wood of the workbench, his shoulders stiff with tension.
Abruptly, he sighed, all the tension leaving his frame. "What do you want, Jen?"
"I came to talk."
Jethro snorted as he reached into his pocket, fishing out a small pill box, a necessity forced on him by Ducky after the appearance of the chronic migraines that plagued him soon after taking on the office. He extracted two capsules and tossed them back, dry swallowing without even a grimace. "About what? Why you left, again? Because we both know the bullshit reason you gave when you walked out of your office isn't true. You sure as hell didn't give a damn about me in Paris, and I know you don't care now, so tell me, Jen, why did you leave?"
"You think I don't care about you?"
He chuckled this time, darkly. "I know you don't care about me. Your letter-on-the-plane stunt made that quite clear."
Jenny huffed out an exasperated sigh, changing tact fluidly. "Men are idiots."
Her abrupt change in subject left him stunned. "What?"
"You honestly thought I don't care about you."
He had the distinct feeling he was missing something. "Yes…"
"Why the hell would I spend three nights by your bedside in Portsmouth if I didn't care about you?"
He considered briefly, deciding to go with the childish route. "You didn't want to lose an agent."
"I didn't want to lose you."
Gibbs set the Mason jar down with a muted clink and turned around to face her, tired of the avoidance and the strange dance they perpetually played around each other. "Yeah, so you say. What are you doing here, Jen?"
He attributed the next ninety seconds down to bourbon fueled fantasy.
Her eyes flashed, and suddenly she was up in his face, one petite hand wrapped around the lapels of his expensive suit, shoving him back against the workbench. And, then, she kissed him.
Ninety seconds of kissing like they were back in Paris and she'd never left.
Just as suddenly as she attacked him, Jenny backed off and disappeared from the basement before he recovered his mental faculties.
He didn't see her again for a month after that.
A/n: Yes, I'm evil. Yes, I enjoy leaving cliffhangers.
This will eventually be Jibbs, in case you didn't figure that out from all the hints I've been dropping.
Reviews are appreciated, as always.