"Damn it Jethro. What the hell were you thinking?"
Gibbs looked at the newpapers that the Director pushed across the table at him.
"USA Today, The New York Times, the Inquirer, and that's just the ones I've seen so far. And that's not to mention this ..."
Vance picked up the remote control. ZNN was replaying key moments from the night before.
"What's your take on the Senator's upcoming position in the cabinet?"
"I don't care."
"Give me a break Leon – I wasn't even asked that question."
"You're saying they did a hatchet job on you? This doesn't sound edited to me" Vance said, indicating the next part.
"The people have a right to know."
"I don't care. I don't care about her professional capacity."
"That is not what I said."
"Part of our job is to make sure they don't creatively edit our interviews, Jethro."
"No, that's maybe your job, Director. My job is to catch dirtbags – like the one who put that petty officer on Ducky's table at three o'clock this morning."
"The Marine Corps does not need any more bad publicity at this moment. And neither does Senator Shepard."
"Are we done here yet? I have a dead petty officer donwstairs, and an investigation to run."
"I've got an entire agency to run, and sound bites like this do not help."
Gibbs rose to his feet.
"What exactly is it that you want from me, Leon?"
Vance rose to his feet too.
"I want an assurance" he said slowly "that you will not have any more run ins with the press. I want an assurance that you will keep a low profile. And I want an assurance that I will not be receiving any more visits from the transition team. For your information, after your little spetacle last night I was up all night with two of its members."
"What'd they want?"
Vance rolled his eyes.
"You're all over the news Jethro. At eleven o'clock this morning the President-Elect was due to announce Senator Shepard's nomination. On the eve of her nomination she was caught on camera with an armed federal agent who has been married four times, and just happens to have been a sniper for the military. It's their job to vet everyone in her life to make sure her confirmation doesn't get derailed. You popped up. And you're asking me what they wanted?"
Gibbs looked at his watch. It was half past eleven.
"And?" he asked.
"Nothing. Yet."
Gibbs met his stare head on.
"Jethro if there's anything you want to tell me, now would be a good time."
"You fishing for information, Leon?"
"Preparing myself in case I need to do more damage control in the near future."
"We done now?" Gibbs asked irately.
"We're done for the moment" Vance said as he settled behind his desk again. "Make no mistake, Jethro. The press will hound you."
"Got any recommendations, Director?"
"Find somewhere else to stay till this blows over."
He cringed slightly as the door slammed behind Gibbs.
____________________________________________
Gibbs was at his desk an hour later, steadily working his way through all the paperwork he could lay his hands on; ignoring the whispering that seemed to be going on all around him. When he couldn't ignore it anymore he tossed the paper in his hands aside and pulled his badge and gun from his desk.
Going for coffee" he muttered as he headed for the elevator.
"Boss, are you sure that's a good i-" McGee called after him, but Gibbs was already out of earshot.
As soon as he was gone Tony exhaled and rose from his seat. Abby bounced into the bullpen as he stretched, and she looked at all of them quizzically.
"Aren't you watching?" she asked, literally bouncing up and down.
"Watching what?"
"Duh! Senator Shepard!"
She grabbed the remote control from the top of the filing cabinet and turned the TV onto ZNN.
"Nice suit" Tony said appreciatively as they watched the press conference together.
Abby was just about to say something when the remote control was taken from her hands.
"Gibbs ..." she whined. "It was just getting to the good part."
"Thought you were going for coffee, Boss" Tony said carefully.
"I was. Press is camped outside."
Tony backed away slowly, but nobody missed the way in which Gibbs punched the buttons on the remote control – trying to find something other than the press conference to no avail.
"I'm going to see Ducky" he said, tossing the remote onto his desk after the fourth or fifth attempt to find a channel that wasn't broadcasting Jen's speech.
Tony shuddered.
"What?" Ziva asked, as she stepped up next to him.
"The idea of being holed in here with Gibbs who can't get his caffeine fix is not something I want to think about."
"He doesn't look too good does he?" said Abby, turning the TV back to ZNN as soon as he had disappeared into one of the back elevators.
"The Director called him up to the office earlier" Ziva offered. "He wasn't too happy when he came down."
"Do you think there's more to this than he's telling us?"
Tony gave McGee a withering look.
"This is Gibbs we're talking about. Of course there is. Although that would only make sense if he were talking at all, probie."
He headslapped him lightly.
"Hey!" McGee protested.
"Things on the surface are not always the same as when you put them in context with the way they actually developed" Abby said, coming to Tim's defence.
Tony stared at her.
"I have no idea what you just said."
"Neither do I. But the intent was sincere" she said as she turned her attention back to the screen.
"Anyone else have a bad feeling about this?" Tony asked.
When the others mumbled their assent he pulled his jacket off the coat hanger by his desk.
"What are the odds I'll be able to slip past the press?"
"Slim" replied McGee. "Where are you going?"
"To get Gibbs his coffee."
"The last time you got Gibbs coffee he was not pleased" Ziva reminded him.
"I'll go" offered McGee.
"Oh that'll go down well with the press" Tony scoffed.
"What do you mean?"
"I can already see the headlines. Author's secret life revealed. Thom E. Gemcity in love triangle between Senator and Federal Agent. Book sales would probably double though."
"I'll share my Caff-Pow with him" Abby said, without taking her eyes from the screen.
And then it was Ziva who shuddered.
"I will go" she announced.
"I think the last thing the Senator needs is to be linked to Mossad."
"So who's going to go? Because Gibbs without his coffee is not something I want to live with either."
They deliberated for a while, and when the decision was unanimous Tony pulled out his cell phone and punched in a few numbers.
"Black Lung" he said seriously into the phone, "we have a mission for you, should you chose to accept it."
___________________________________________________________________________________
The crisis had been handled, though she refused to term it as one when there were things happening in the country and abroad that genuinely merited the term. Her staff had slipped seamlessly into incident management mode, the transition team had been thorough and in the end the nomination announcement had been delayed just over ninety minutes.
Apparently the President-elects nominee to the position of U.S. Permanent Representative, or "Perm Rep", to the United Nations was permitted to have a private life – as long as she gave advance notice of it and it didn't involve anything that could affect the chances of her nomination being confirmed by Senate.
She'd handled the questions at the press conference about her 'relationship' with Special Agent Gibbs and managed to re-focus attention on what the new administration hoped to achieve at the UN. It had helped that the truth was so innocuous; there was very little scandal in the fact that she had set eyes on the man for the first time shortly before the flight and had spent the rest of her time in the hospital – surrounded by medical personnel and her detail. She wasn't worried that the story would die a natural death – because there really was nothing else to uncover.
She was used to speculation about her personal life; had grown accustomed to the way the press linked her romantically with any single man she was seen with more than once. If she was honest that, and the fact that the men she met were often more interested in her position than in her, had led her to be careful. Reluctantly she had concluded that dating, or trying to date, was simply too complicated.
There was a small voice in her head pointing out how unfair it was that all of this fuss was happening when she hadn't been to dinner, or even been kissed. But this wasn't a time for levity because the damage had already been done – and she hadn't been the one who'd borne the brunt of it. The vetting had been rapid but effective – and largely unnecessary given that everything salient about the man had been splashed all over the press within 12 hours of their being photographed together.
Peg had made a valiant effort to dissuade her from reading the newspaper coverage, but of course she had insisted. As soon as she saw it she realised what her aides had been trying to shelter her from. It wasn't the scandal – it was the knowledge that things in his life that he undoubtedly wished to remain private had been splashed across the pages of newspapers for anyone to read – and it was because of her.
The coverage wasn't even negative – how could it be when he was a decorated former Marine who'd seen action in the Gulf? According to the gleeful reporting his reputation for being difficult did nothing to undermine that he was known for getting the bad guy – sometimes by unconventional means. And the personal tragedy in his past led pathos to the whole story. Even his three ex-wives had refused to dish dirt about him. No wonder the press was so intrigued by the possibility of a romance between them. And from the way some of the, female, journalists seemed to be writing about him she wasn't the only one drawn to those blue eyes. But she doubted that was of any comfort to Jethro.
She had never intended to cause him pain and knew that seeing the details of those deaths in print must have done so. At least now she understood the look she had seen in Abby's eyes when she'd told her she had wondered if she could be Jethro's daughter. God what a mess.
She'd been advised not to contact him, but if she could work out what to say it was a piece of advice she would ignore in a second. She knew that if such a conversation were to take place she would have to tell him that she regretted the way his life had been splashed across the papers, that a fleeting moment of contact with her had brought that down upon him. The one thing she knew she wouldn't be able to tell him was that she was sorry that their paths had ever crossed at all.
But there were no quiet moments in her day to find the words that needed to be said. Even now her car was taking her to another function, where yet more people would congratulate her on the nomination. Some would want to talk about the real issues, while others would look for an opportunity to push their own agendas and interests. People would tell her she looked well and make veiled illusions to the publicity surrounding her private life – and she would smile, find the people she needed to talk to, negotiate on what needed to be done and be every bit the diplomat. All very appropriate really and by no means as taxing as the diplomacy that would await her if her nomination was confirmed.
As the car slid to a stop at their destination her expanded security detail moved swiftly and seamlessly into place. Jenny fixed a smile on her face, knowing that she needed to concentrate and be at her best for the next few hours. As she stepped out of the car she smiled graciously to the assembled press, ignored a question about her lack of an escort tonight, before slipping indoors and out of their reach.
____________________________________________________
The press had decided to leave him alone. Apparently they were no longer outside, waiting – but it wasn't enough to persuade him to head home for the night.
His pursuit of the petty officer's killer had possibly been more than usually relentless, with his team bearing the brunt of frustration that had very little to do with the case. Palmer going out to get him coffee just might be one of the signs of the coming apocalypse. He'd sent his team home when they'd finished their reports, the victim's brother in law already charged with his murder. The bullpen was almost deserted now, he could see a cleaner moving quietly between the desks and some distance away a couple of agents were hunched over desks. For the first time that day no one was paying attention to him.
As grateful as he was for the peace and quiet, he was a little daunted by it as well. He gripped the heavy silver flask, eyes tracing the engraving for a moment before he drank deep from the contents. It wasn't just the painful memories the burn of the alcohol was keeping at bay tonight.
ZNN was on mute – but he'd given up trying to change channels, given up trying to deny the way he felt when he saw her on the screen. He reached across for the remote control and turned the sound back on. Finally ready to listen to the press conference announcing her nomination.
She was a good enough politician to handle the event with consummate ease. He listened to her, recognising that she was sticking to the truth – making no attempt to spin, or dissemble. She acknowledged the press interest in her personal life but refused to allow herself to be defined by it. Her statement was well-informed and entirely focussed on the many international problems that the UN was involved in.
She was a class act.
He knew that the newspaper reports had left very few of his secrets unexposed. He had refused to read any of the trash that had been written, but he'd seen it in the sidelong glances from his colleagues, heard it in the whispered conversations that halted when he was within earshot. His life had been stripped bare – the terrible losses he'd experienced fodder for water cooler discussions all over the country. But all he cared about was one woman, and the possibility that she would read about those losses and conclude that it was a very bad idea to have any contact with him again. He could hardly blame her for that and the differences in their lives remained an obstacle that he was almost afraid to surmount. But yesterday there had been just a little hope in his life. He hadn't wanted to name the feeling, but now he recognised it for what it was. It had been a very long time since he had allowed himself to feel hope and he wasn't sure he was ready to just let it go.
He took another sip from the flask, his greedy eyes drinking in the sight of her. On the screen her beauty was almost ethereal, but in person he knew that it was warm and real and all too human. From under a stack of papers he removed a card with a scribbled number on it. He toyed with it for a moment – before deciding to take the plunge and dial.
"Senator Shepard's office," he recognised the voice on the other end of the line, but it wasn't her aide that he had been hoping to speak to. "Hello?"
Abby lingered in the shadows. It was hard to watch his fingers hover over the buttons before punching them in deliberately. Harder still to watch him end the phone call without speaking and hold the receiver against his mouth for a moment before returning it to its cradle. She didn't need to guess who he had been trying to call, but it hurt her to see that for whatever reason he had decided not to go through with it. When he turned the card over in his hands, placed it firmly in his desk, and went back to his paperwork, she sighed.
"Oh Gibbs," she whispered, her heart breaking for him.
_______________________________________________________
Peg looked at the phone when the abrupt sound of the dial tone told her that whoever had been calling had hung up.
"Melvin called, they're on their way back," Rob said coming into the office. "What?" he asked when he saw her expression.
"I think that was him," she said, "Agent Gibbs."
"Seriously – what did he say?"
"Nothing – he hung up as soon as I answered. I don't think I'm the one he wanted to talk to."
"You don't know it was him."
"How many people have this number – and how many people would hang up when I answered?" They hadn't talked about this – they had been far too busy and were far too discrete. "Do you think that I should tell her?"
"Tell her what?" Rob shook his head and sat down opposite her, "Peg – you don't know it was him, it's nothing to do with us. My advice is to stay out of it."
But Peg shook her head, knowing that she had spent more time with the Senator at the hospital than he had – and that crucially she had been the one to interrupt when things had seemed to be heating up between them.
"You didn't see them Rob, they looked amazing together – as though they fitted. I've never seen her look that relaxed, or happy."
"You're romanticizing," he told her. "He's a three time divorced, ex-Marine with an incredible loss that has probably defined every moment of his life since. He's been in two comas and it sounds as if he has a bit of a death wish. And you think that makes him the perfect date for a woman who is joining the cabinet in January?"
"That's enough," a low voice said from the doorway and they both looked up, horrified at the realisation that the Senator and Melvin had overheard at least some of their conversation.
"Senator, I -"
"It's all right Rob," she flicked away his proffered apology and crossed the room picking up the messages Peg had collected. "It's been a long day and we still have a lot to do tomorrow. Why don't you go home, both of you? We'll reconvene tomorrow at seven."
She didn't wait for their response, slipping into her study without looking back at any of them.
"How is she?" Peg whispered to Melvin, who shrugged in response. "I think he tried to call her, a few minutes ago. But he hung up when I answered."
"Maybe he'll try again," Melvin said – his eyes resting on the closed door of the study, his thoughts on the woman behind the door who needed someone to come home to as much as any of them did – perhaps more.