a/n: I really wasn't expecting the response I got from this story. So much so that I was half tempted to drag this out and make it a full fledged story. But then I thought about how I'm the WORST at updating and figured I might as well keep this short and sweet. (Well not really sweet-more like angsty)

I appreciate all of my readers and reviewers. I don't do this often enough, but thanks!

DISCLAIMER: I Don't Own NCIS

She didn't sleep that night.

Didn't even try to.

Instead-on autopilot-she went back to her study, and grabbed a full bottle of bourbon. Then with her new acquirement she made her way to the entry hall, her back sliding down the wall opposite the hole.

The hole in her wall that had been made with Jethro's fist.

Jethro had punched a hole in her wall.

After he'd told her...

She drank steadily all through the night. Surrounded by the ghost of the fight that had taken place hours before. One thought steadily echoing all around her...

Did she know him at all?

At 0600 hours sharp (a consequence of not sleeping) she was sitting behind her desk in her office.

Her head was pounding, and her tongue felt thick furry. There was dark smudges under her eyes (another consequence of not sleeping) that makeup couldn't of covered.

The ever present overflowing pile of dull and tedious case files on her desk was godsend today.

Signing her name on dotted line after dotted line was comforting. It was one of those repetitive motions that you became lost in over time; open file, flip to the last page, scan to make sure that no one's suing, sign, shut, repeat. She didn't look up to notice her surroundings until the moment when reaching to her left didn't produce a new file.

That was when she first turned bleary eyes to the clock on her computer...

0900 hours-she'd spent three hours immersed in case files.

Cynthia's voice crackled to life over the intercom, informing her that her meetings in MTAC where about to go down. These meeting were with multiple people; the SecNav, Director of the FBI, and the Director of the CIA.

Apparently these meeting were 'mandatory pleasantries'.

She sighed, rubbed the back of her neck, and straightened her shoulders.

All the way across the catwalk she kept her eyes facing forward. Holding firm in her position that she wasn't going to look down into the bullpen.

She tried to ignore the way her skin shivered when she didn't feel the familiar gaze at her back.

There was a stiffness in her shoulders and upper back that she couldn't shake. And, well-a slight tremor in her hands that she couldn't stop.

Those meetings had really taken it out of her.

Or, maybe...it was the same words that she kept hearing over and over again.

She almost hadn't cared about those meetings, the ones she had come to realize were more aptly titled 'sit silently and glare at Jenny' rather than 'mandatory pleasantries. After spending so many years working beside a man who all he did was sit silently and glare at whomever he was 'speaking' to-a little glaring didn't bother her.

Still, having to spend four hours enduring it? That was pushing her patience.

Her nerves were shot, patience obliterated, and there was the matter that her hand wouldn't stop trembling...All of that combined made her..tired.

Of course that also could've been because of the fact that she hadn't slept last night.

Re-crossing the catwalk had gone the same way as the first. And she was okay with that. Really, she was-MCRT probably had a case right now.

She made it all the way to her office in silence. It only took her exactly one minute to gather everything-just her briefcase-that she'd brought into work with her this morning. And before Cynthia could process that she'd even walked past her the first time-she was walking past her a second time.

"I'm going home early today," she threw over her shoulder-halfway out the door already.

There was no head of silver head peeking over the divider. There was no steady glare from icy blue eyes boring into her back. Point blank period there was no MCRT in their little section by the stairs.

She made it all the way across the catwalk, into the elevator, and down to the garage. She just left, and no one-not one single person tried to stop her.

It was a silent ride home.

Yes, her driver had originally exclaimed surprise at the fact she was going home so early. But, at her glare-he'd quickly shut his mouth. And her security detail had simply followed silently-like they always do.

'Big Brother's watching,' she couldn't help but snort at how ridiculously accurate that was. It was stifling-being watched all the time, why she'd ever wanted this job was beyond-...

Oh...Yeah.

She spent the rest of the ride still and quiet. Her forehead was resting against the cool glass of her tinted bulletproof window, and she remembered that she would need to call DiNozzo later.

Wait-no, she didn't need to do that anymore.

Tony DiNardo wasn't in service anymore, and yet Rene Benoit wasn't rotting six feet under.

Her hand clenched reflexively around her door handle. Mildly curious as to her uncontrollable reaction, she eyed her white knuckled fist lazily.

'Well, at least the shaking's stopped.'

"Ma'am, we're here."

Surprised, her head jerked up. Low-n-behold they were sitting in the gravel driveway in front of her brick house. She really did need to get some sleep because it took another polite reminder from her driver before she collected her head enough to open her door.

Apparently her driver was happy with the early night off she'd given him. Because as soon as she was clear from the car, she heard the squeal of tires as her car peeled out of the drive.

Taking her front steps slowly in her heels, she fumbled with her keys until her front door popped open silently. Revealing...a dark and empty house spread out in front of her.

'You're being foolish,' she told herself sternly. Reaching around the doorframe she groped for the light switch, flicking it up and grimacing a bit as bright florescent light flooded the hall. Getting her wits about her she closed the door behind her, and made her way to her study...a glass of bourbon was calling her name.

She almost missed it.

Almost...but that instinctive feeling that something was out of place prevailed when she realized that out of the corner of her eye all she'd seen was solid uninterrupted wall. Spinning on her heels, her mouth and briefcase hit the floor at the same time.

If she hadn't seen a hand go through her wall. If she hadn't seen her drywall smashing in and crumbling. If she hadn't seen the guilty bloodied knuckles-"

The she never would've known that there had been a hole there in the first place.

Keywords; had been.

Now, here she was in the same place she'd spent all night trying to drink herself in an oblivion. Yet, instead of staring at a hole in her wall, she was staring at a patch-up job that was near perfect.

Her cellphone was in her hand before she had consciously made the decision to grab it. Fingers dialing the familiar number, she raised the phone to her ear. He answered on the third ring.

"Hello," a Scottish accent greeted her.

"Ducky."

"Director," in an instant his voice went from a warm greeting, to a cool question, "what are you doing calling this number. The autopsy extension is working just fine."

"I didn't want to talk to Dr. Mallard. I wanted to talk to Ducky," her voice was hollow-thinly veiled anxiety barely held at bay.

"Really? That's a first," most people would've been shocked if Donald Mallard-the polite elderly doctor had talked to them this way. But, and even though he held out longer than most, this was how Ducky had addressed her ever since the diamond 'incident'.

Something she had never apologized for.

"Ducky, we can go through this later. Did Jeth-the MCRT have a case today?" She hastily corrected herself, and prayed for the answer she wanted to hear. She hadn't heard that they'd had a case today, but she wouldn't put it past Jethro to hide one from her. Plus, her head hadn't exactly been there today.

"Fine. No, I don't believe so. But don't you know?"

"Know what?"

"He didn't call you?!"

"Ducky, know what?!" She wanted to yell, scream the words through the phone. But her intentions were in naught, because the only thing she could manage is a controlled whisper.

"Jethro didn't come in to work today. Apparently Mr. Franks is in town today, and Jethro decided to spend the day with him."

She couldn't breathe.

"He didn't call me."

"Anthony said he called him in the wee hours this morning. Said he'd sounded a bit like he and his mentor had indulged in a little too much bourbon too early..."

He had called Tony, his own form of poetic justice.

'Need to know, and you don't need to know.'

A numb feeling was spreading out to her fingers, and her toes. She couldn't move-rooted to the spot, her eyes stayed locked on the medium sized discolored spot across from her.

"My dear," she bet Ducky hadn't even noticed that he'd reverted back to the old endearment, "what's wrong?"

Her 'controlled' voice lost in the wind, she admitted in a shaky voice, "last night we had a fight, Ducky."

'YOU THINK I DON'T UNDERSTAND?!'

"...How bad of a fight?" And suddenly she remembered that she had in fact seen Jethro that mad before. Though...then it had also been at her hand...

"...Paris...," she rasped.

"...Dear lord...what about?" When she thought about it, Ducky wasn't sounding so good himself. And she was pretty positive that they were both on the same page of doubt about whether or not Mr. Franks was really in town.

"...I...um...do you know anything about Jethro's parents?"

"HIS PARENTS?! What do Jethro's parents have to do with anything?"

"Everything, Ducky. Everything." Her anxiety wasn't so thinly veiled anymore. In fact that veil was ripped and torn to shreds by now.

"Well-no. I know he's got a father somewhere in Pennsly-"

"What about his mother?" She interrupted hastily.

"He's never mentioned his mother!" Ducky protested defensively.

She was gasping, her heart was beating fast...And...for once...in her lifetime...Jennifer Shepard didn't know what to do.

"His mother-she...uh. Oh god, Ducky" She moaned in despair.

"This is bad isn't it?" Ducky was intuitive already, but today her mind was screaming 'Oh really?! What gave it away?!'

"Do you think he'd do anything stupid?" She croaked, and she hated every fiber in her being for having to ask that. Usually she would've been able to answer it herself, but in light of recent events...She was no longer sure in her conviction about anything.

'WHEN MY MOTHER...'

She wanted Ducky to tell her that she was being stupid.

But the one time she wanted Donald Mallard to talk, and he was silent.

"I'm goin-" he started.

Jenny cut him off, "let me go. I'll call you if...something is wrong."

"Jennifer, you make this right." Ducky ordered sternly.

Yet, Jenny was already moving. Phone tossed carelessly back in her pocket, and briefcase abandoned in the hall. This time she didn't take the front steps in a walk.

No, she was running.

a/n: Maybe a little mean to leave it at this, but-well *shoulder shrug* what can you do? This will be my last update for today. There will only be one more chapter to this, maybe an epilogue. They should most likely get posted tomorrow.

OKAY SO I've gotten that other chapter written and the epilogue written. But, me and my tendency to ramble took over, and I honestly believe that if I were to post it-it would take away from this story. And I think I did well with these two chapters-got the point I wanted to make across.

If people want it, maybe I'll put a link in my bio to the chapters on tumblr. But for now this story is finished, and I like how open ended it is.

THE END