Jenny slammed the door to her office, without thought for Cynthia at her desk right outside. Throwing her briefcase onto the sofa a little harder than was necessary, she leaned her back against the door, defeated but still angry.
She clenched her hands into fists as she thought about his smug face. Jethro, you asshole. The nerve he had shocked even her.
Suddenly her phone rang. She walked slowly over to her desk, trying to take the anger from her tone as she answered, "Director Shepard"
"Director, there's a man here to see you." Cynthia's voice came over the headset. Jenny rolled her eyes, knowing she had just stomped past whoever had been waiting to see her – Jethro had a way of making her so angry.
"Send him in, Cynthia." She said, and sat at her desk, trying as much as possible to not appear to be angry – the last thing this man needed was to see her angry twice in the span of two minutes.
A short, young man walked into the room carrying a folder in his hand. His confidence was something Jenny wasn't used to – most people felt some kind of hesitancy at entering the director's office. But he walked quickly over to her desk, and asked, "Are you Jennifer Shepard?"
Confused, because he had come to see her in her office. She said, "Yes."
He extended the folder for her to take from him, and when she reached up to take it from him, he looked right into her eyes, and said, "Jennifer Shepard, you've been served."
When she took the folder, stunned, he turned and left just as quickly and confidently as he entered. Jenny just sat there. Stunned.
No idea what this could be involving, she tore open the folder, to find legal papers. Legal papers with her name on them. Hers. And Jethro's.
Her hands started shaking. So badly she could barely finish reading the papers. Her breathing escalated, and her eyes began running down the page.
Custody papers.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs was suing her.
For custody of Kyrie.
It took a moment for that to register. He's trying to take her away from you. She thought, and immediately she went into mother mode. Without thought, she reached into her desk and expertly took her gun and holstered it to her hip, thankful she had worn dress pants to work instead of that dress she had originally tried. She grabbed her coat from off of the chair, her briefcase from the couch, made sure her keys were in the case, and ran out the door, yelling something she hoped Cynthia would understand about an emergency. She ran down to the bullpen, and she just knew he wouldn't be there. She caught the elevator, down to the parking garage. And she sped out of that garage faster than she would have ever imagined.