OK - so, twice I asked Elflordsmistress to talk me out of writing this. She encouraged me to write it - which wasn't what I had in mind And it wouldn't quite leave my head - so, here we are. Please don't yell and allow me the slight license over ages.

Minor Ailments – 4

The Director of NCIS was not answering her cell phone and Leroy Jethro Gibbs knew this because he'd rung her 4 times in the last 10 minutes. Normally he'd just assume that she was in a meeting – but he'd checked her schedule carefully and he knew that she wasn't supposed to be in a meeting right now, which was why he'd called her in the first place.

She'd been gone for a week, visiting US based field offices and he'd deny that he was missing her; except that he was missing her. She was on the last lap of the trip now, only in New York and she'd be back tomorrow morning. A phone call was probably not necessary, but they'd managed to talk every day so far, even if some of those conversations had been mostly about business with just a few moments snatched for themselves.

He was acting Director, again; something she was finding particularly amusing. Though since she wasn't out of the country this time she was pretty much managing things from whichever field office she was in. But her office was a quiet and private location to make a call that sometimes became personal and if that was the only reason he'd was using it this week, well that would teach her to leave him in charge.

He could try her again later – but he knew she was due to attend a dinner for women in media or something along those lines and he'd wanted to catch her before that.

He looked at the cell, debating whether to call again and leave another message – trying to ignore the feeling in his gut that something was wrong. But then he remembered that he didn't ignore his gut, particularly when it came to Jen.

"Get me the Director's detail," he said to Cynthia as he emerged from the office, "she isn't answering her cell phone." Whatever Cynthia saw in his face was enough to persuade her not to comment, she nodded once and dialled – moving out of his way when the line connected without even suggesting that she transfer the call.

"Where's the Director?" he demanded at once.

"Agent Gibbs?" Even over the phone he could hear that the agent sounded just a little panicked. "The Director's lying down – she was taken ill a couple of hours ago and…"

"Taken ill?" He exchanged a startled glance with Cynthia, "what's wrong with her?"

"A migraine. The hotel called a Doctor – she left some medication and told the Director to rest. Do you want me to get her, I could…" He fought back the desire to say yes, because the very last thing she needed was for him to disturb her rest; she'd been tired lately and the trip hadn't helped.

"No. Tell her to call me when she wakes up." It was frustrating not being there; not being able to see for himself that she was all right. "Send Cynthia details of the medication," he added as an afterthought, "and have someone run a check on the Doctor – just to be sure."

"On it now."

"It's a migraine," he told Cynthia, who was still looking worried, "the Doctor told her to rest and the detail are sending you details of the medication she was prescribed; let me know as soon as they arrive."

"Of course. I'm sure she'll be fine Agent Gibbs." He wanted to nod and smile and agree with her – but it really wasn't that simple.

In autopsy Ducky was talking to a cadaver – a quiet, sympathetic conversation that was, of course, one way. Gibbs watched him from the doorway – marvelling at the care and delicacy in his movements, knowing that he'd be treated in the same way.

"Duck," he said, coming further into the room. "Got a moment?"

"For you Jethro, I have several," Gibbs took a breath, knowing that Ducky would see something in his eyes, certain there was no point even trying to hide from him. "What's wrong?"

"Jen's ill – a migraine."

"Poor thing," Ducky tutted, "I didn't know she suffered from them."

"She doesn't – normally. She saw a Doctor, who gave her some medication. I need you to check it," he pushed the file towards him. "I need you to check it to make sure it's safe to be taken, during pregnancy."

At his words Ducky looked up, his expression surprised and then all at once compassionate. "How far along is she?" He asked carefully.

"About 10 weeks, she's been OK – tired, a little sick. We haven't said anything."

"No, of course not." Ducky looked at his old friend – seeing the worry, knowing it wasn't just because of the migraine; that this had to be almost impossible for him. "I know someone at Bethesda – I'll put in a call. But I'm sure Jen told the Doctor she was pregnant."

"Never take anything for granted," Gibbs replied, knowing that Ducky was probably right. "She was sleeping – I haven't been able to talk to her."

"Give me a few minutes."

It felt longer. Gibbs watched Ducky make the call, speaking quietly into the phone – presumably to whomever he knew who could answer the question about the medication. He'd been trying so hard to hold things together, trying to pretend that he wasn't scared – but he suspected Jen knew what he was feeling, even when he tried to hide it; she just hadn't said anything. Given that she was the one with the hormones running wild in her body, the one who's job could be at risk she'd been spending a lot of time making sure he was all right.

She'd needed to, he admitted to himself. He wasn't at all sure that this was a good idea – he'd never intended to have another family. But this was the only thing that she'd ever asked of him and even then, she'd only asked that they try. And it turned out that he cared about making her happy. So here they were, both quietly terrified.

"Jethro," Ducky touched him carefully on the shoulder, "the medication should be perfectly fine for her to take – and, apparently it's not at all unusual to get migraines during pregnancy, even if you aren't normally susceptible to them."

"OK," the moment of silence stretched and he knew that his old friend wouldn't ask – except that he found himself wanting to tell him. "We know we've pretty much got one shot at this; she wanted…" He shrugged, seeing Ducky nod.

"And what did you want?" Well, it always did come to down to that he admitted ruefully.

"I want her – happy," he paused, not sure he could risk saying the words aloud, as though the fragile spell would be broken if he risked it. But the smile in Ducky's eyes told him he'd already seen it. "I want the baby as well."

Despite Ducky's reassurance the residual anxiety didn't leave him until early evening when his cell phone rang.

"Stop terrorising my security detail," her voice was quiet but he could hear her amusement and the knot in his stomach relaxed just a little more.

"You OK?"

"Feeling better."

When he'd realised the identity of his caller he'd started upstairs and now, with her office door safely closed behind him he said, "And you're still going to this awards thing?"

"I have to go. I'll pick up the award, give a speech, do a little glad handing and be back at the hotel in time to have a early night." He couldn't disagree with her plan, knew how careful she'd been about her working hours so far. She'd even given up caffeine – which hadn't been easy, on either of them.

"I talked to Ducky," he said breaking the silence. "I asked him to check the medication, make sure it was OK for, well you know."

"You think I didn't check that?"

"I wanted to double check. He talked to a friend, said it was fine."

"I know – but I didn't take it." He frowned, not altogether surprised but now wondering if she'd been completely honest about the migraine being gone.

"And the migraine's gone?" She didn't reply at once, "Jen?"

"Almost, I'll take the pills if it gets worse."

He let the silence stretch, knowing that she knew what he was worried about but not willing to talk about it like this. Hearing the rustle of movement on the other side of the line he asked, "you about ready to go?"

"I've got an hour – I've just had a shower."

"Oh," he knew his voice gave him away, but it was all too easy to imagine her sleek, flushed and not wearing a great deal.

"Jethro…"

"You've been gone a week," he pointed out – defending himself. He wasn't ready yet to give into the possessive, primitive tug at his senses when he looked at her, knowing what he knew. But it was there; so close he could almost breathe it in.

"And I'll be home tomorrow, think you can stay out of trouble until then?"

He had a plan about meeting her at the airport – but that was pretty much dead in the water when they picked up a case in the early hours of the morning. He was still at the crime scene when her plane landed and when he caught 5 minutes she was in MTAC, briefing SecNav. With one thing and another it was late afternoon before he breezed past Cynthia and into her office.

He stopped short at the sight of her curled into the corner of the couch with files scattered around her and Ducky sitting in the chair beside her. They were talking, both smiling. "Working hard I see," he teased.

"Taking a break from repairing relationships after a week of your particular brand of charm," she shot back, her eyes drifting to the second cup of coffee he was holding. "But it seems you're forgiven."

"It's decaf," he said, reading the question in Ducky's eyes as he handed her the coffee.

"I think I'm getting used to it," Jen wrinkled her nose.

"And that's why you begged me for a couple of sips of mine last week," he reminded her. She looked fine, better than fine actually and he leaned against the table watching her and knowing that Ducky was watching them both.

"I was just telling the Director about the time I had my fortune told, in Marseilles." Ducky looked over at him, "Do you remember Jethro? We'd met up there after the two of you had been on that surveillance operation. There were a lot of us out that night, I don't know that I remember exactly how we ended up having our fortunes' told – or how the two of you got out of it."

"I don't remember," he said his eyes meeting Jen's, because even though it had been years ago he knew exactly how they'd avoided it. They'd only recently become lovers and had still been far too drunk with each other to want to be around their colleagues. After a few drinks they'd snuck away to do what they had already discovered they were very good at.

"Well, it was a very unsettling experience – she knew that I worked with the dead, that I talk to them and then as I was leaving she touched my wrist and told me that I shouldn't worry about only having mother; because my family would find me. At the time I thought it was nonsense but now, I'm not so sure." He got to his feet and then, surprising both of them and perhaps even himself he leant over and kissed Jen on the cheek. "Everything is going to be all right," he told her, glancing back over his shoulder at Gibbs, including him in the reassurance.

Left alone they were silent until he settled on the couch beside her, stretching out a hand to carefully rub the back of her neck. "How's the head?"

"Better – the nausea is a little worse." He sighed and carried on touching her gently, knowing that the contact was soothing both of them.

"Apparently massage and gentle exercise can help prevent migraines," he said – smiling broadly when she looked up at him, "I checked on the Internet." She raised an eyebrow at that and since he knew he'd surprised her he thought he ought to go for broke, "and I got some of that ginger tea you like."

Her eyes fluttered shut and they stayed like that for a few minutes longer, until his cell phone rang and Abby announced that her test results had turned up something interesting. He paused in the doorway, seeing her slide back behind her desk and reach for her glasses. She looked up, smiling over at him before turning her attention to a file. His breath caught, thinking about the changes they stood on the brink of and he hoped that Ducky had been right; that everything was going to be all right.

The End