Disclaimer NCIS is not mine

Authors note I'm so sorry for the delay, college is really leaving me very little time to write. However i hope you like this chapter, and i'll try and update more soon.

Enjoy!

Turning Heads

'There're angels watching over me, they're here to shield you,
So you don't yield to the devil, when your soul gets weak,
But they're hard to hear when you're jamming gears.
And they're always hanging back,
If they wanna save me, they better step on the gas.'

-Eric Church, Faster Than my Angels can Fly

She walked off of the flight desperately attempting to walk with her head held high with confidence. She'd booked about seven or eight flights into Moscow, all departing from a range of different airports just to cover her tracks. The flights were in the name of Julietta De Sauveterre; Jenny Shepard had not left America. The NCIS agent had been left back at her brownstone last night. She'd been left in the squad room after she had said her goodbyes. A hug for Will, and the look that told her he was there for her. William Decker was one of the best that side of the Atlantic when it came to overlooking Covert Operations and not getting seen. Jenny was pretty sure that he would know more about just what she was doing that she herself would know. And although it was a slightly strange thing, it was reassuring. Knowing that someone had her back, someone with whom her relationship was not on scarily thin ice.

Jenny Shepard had been left in the bullpen of NCIS headquarters as she chased after Stan Burley – like two high school children or a bickering brother and sister. He'd stolen her passport and had been dead set on flaunting the typically terrible picture to the entirety of NCIS. However the entire of NCIS had simply consisted a few agents sat finishing work at their desks, most of whom had simply laughed at their antics and rolled their eyes as oppose to sneaking a peak at the troublesome picture. But after she'd tacked him to the floor and retrieved the object that was causing such mayhem, they'd sort of locked eyes – Jenny wasn't entirely sure how to describe it – they'd just . . . had a look. Like the way she was able to have a conversation with Gibbs without speaking, they just looked at each other and knew that they cared about one another. That whatever happened, their arms would be open, and there would still be a place in their hearts.

Jenny Shepard, the agent, the partner . . . the pain in her boss' ass had been left looking awkwardly at the man who had always been beside her side. The man who had always supported her and guided her through the storms so that she became the woman who stood opposite him - not knowing what to say or how to act. As it turned out, for once Gibbs made the first move, he just hugged her, and she buried her scared face in the crook of his neck. She let the smell of coffee; sawdust and his cologne assault her senses, and relax her body. Jenny then pulled back and looked at him, and he just mimicked the words she had said to him not even a week ago, and it was all she needed to hear to know that when she came back they may just be able to repair the damage the last few months had caused. "Semper fi."

Her hair was almost dead straight, with just the ends curled under ever so slightly and the feathered sides framing her face. Her makeup was heavier than that of Jenny Shepard, and she'd tried to revert back to her old style, the style she had created for Julietta De Sauveterre back with Gibbs in what now seemed like the comfort of Paris. But at the same time, she knew that the odd change would just show how her alias had changed – just as the woman playing her had done so. The red head had her eyes lashes covered with mascara and lids with grey shadow. Her lips were covered in a dark pink lipstick that tasted softly of strawberries. Jenny wore skinny legged black trousers, a deep pink blouse which was tucked in and black suede Louboutin boots. Her coat was a light camel coloured, thick woollen trench coat with a belt; the whole ensemble was sophisticated and had an air of money. It was just the look she had wanted. Mixing the French chic of Julietta's heritage with the American sophistication that came with her job.

The red head walked over to the small coffee shot she spotted, carrying a large pale pink overnight bag over her shoulder. Jenny was to be staying in a small apartment in the city, one which was secure, had large open rooms, views over the river and was modern. The whole thing screamed understated wealth – just what she wanted. Some of her clothes and things had already been moved in, she just held the few remaining items with her. She smiled at the man behind the counter but his face remained expressionless. "Un Café, s'il vous plait." She said, smiling before slipping into an accented English to clarify her order. "Désolé, a coffee please." The man behind the counter nodded, and she smiled once more before handing over the money and taking the cardboard cup and walking away.

It scared her ever so slightly when she realised how easily she had slipped into the role. How easily and seamlessly she had slipped out of living as Jennifer Shepard and become Julietta. It made her wonder how much of Jenny Shepard she had never regained after going undercover the first time around with Jethro. Wondered if there was a piece of that woman who had been left in a hotel room somewhere is Paris, waiting to be reclaimed.

The red head pushed the thoughts from her mind and slipped into the back of one of the taxis which were waiting outside of the airport in order to get trade. She smiled politely at the driver before telling him the street that she needed. "Moskvoretskaya nab, please." Her Russian was more than a little rusty, which considering it had never been good caused her great surprise when he actually understood where she wanted to go. The only advantage with Russia was that most places spoke reasonable good English, and those that didn't would understand a mixture of English, French and random hand movements as she tried to explain what she wanted.

Sitting in the back of the old car as it drove manically through the streets, she watched out of her window as the city passed her by. The weather was wet, the streets were dark, and it was absolutely freezing! As Jenny watched all she wanted to do was go home, suddenly it dawned on her just what she had let herself in for. When Stephanie had said how beautiful Moscow was meant to be in the spring, Jenny had just brushed the comment off. But that had been how she had been last time around, meanwhile Gibbs had done the worrying – after all she'd only been the lover of one of the main players, she hadn't been the player.

This time around it was her freaking out, and yet she had no one to distract her.

Jenny got out of the taxi and paid the money, as soon as she had removed her arm he was gone, and she was left standing there opposite the river. On the other side the rest of the city spread out. The water took on the colour of the grey sky, the building that looked like toy town across from her held little colour either. She was pretty sure the entire scene could be created from one palette of colour. Taking a very deep breath of the bitter air, she fished the key out of one of the pockets in her bag, and as she made her way up to the apartment she felt just numb.

Stepping into the apartment she placed the keys on the nearest surface and closed the door behind her. The place was reasonably open plan. As you walked through to door you walked into the main large space, the kitchen on the left and then there was the living room to the front. It was painted in a very pale pastel lemon. The furniture consisted of primarily white washed wood in the living area, the seats were covered in a coral like colour and the whole collection had a sense of French grandeur. The kitchen cupboards were once more whitewashed, but the working top was a stained hard wood. Jenny thought it looked a lot better than some of the places they had stayed in last time around. But it was cold.

She walked over to the thermostat and turned it up before grabbing her bag and taking it to her bedroom which was decorated in the same colours. And as she sat down on the bed she looked around the room, it felt dark and cold . . . pretty much like the city she was in. Her stomach churned with nerves, and all she could do not to run away was try and occupy herself. So she began to unpack, taking each individual item out of her bag and placing them all into their specific draws and hangers.

It wasn't long before she was finished though, after all most of her items had been bought for her and placed in the room. A few of the clothes she gave a distasteful look to – short skirts and clingy dresses. But she wouldn't throw them away – who knew what hand she was about to be dealt; It was all still up in the air.

The red head then walked into her kitchen and flicked on the kettle, deciding to make some coffee – and mentally praising Decker for the decent coffee that was in one of the cupboards. And once she was sat down on of the surprisingly comfortable sofas she mentally planned out what she was to do next. Jenny wasn't one for sitting back and doing nothing, so it was time to get started, and get her presence recognised – it was time to make a stir in Moscow.

"Will I need some clothes for spring summer? Or should I just pack for winter and buy things over there?" Stephanie asked as she walked to the top of the basement stairs with a pile of freshly ironed clothes in her arms. But the red head was beginning to think she was talking to herself. Since Jenny had left her husband had been in a terrible mood – he'd barely said two words. And whilst she understood that he was worried, she only had so much of a temper.

"S'up to you." He mumbled as he stood there sorting out a box of nails. Not even looking over at his wife who was desperately trying. Deep down he knew he was being a pain, and that he was out of order. But all he could thing about was whether Jenny was safe or not, whether she was managing or not. She'd been gone a week, and it wasn't long until they were due to fly out. But Gibbs knew that even when he was out there he wasn't going to see her – and if he did then he might well just blow her cover.

"What is the shopping like in Moscow?" she asked him, trying once more to start a conversation.

"Wasn't really there to go sightseeing Steph." He stated before turning to look at her and seeing the annoyance in her eyes.

"No, but I thought you might have paid some damn attention Jethro! God knows you do to everyone but me!" And with that she walked off, leaving him to wallow in his own self pity in his basement. But the silver haired marine ran a hand down his face before head slapping his head. He knew that if he didn't sort himself out, he was going to lose her. And she would be just another notch on his bed post - another name to add to the ever growing list.

So he made his way up the basement steps two at a time, and then the stairs, so that he could reach their bedroom. And when he got there he found his wife sat looking at the half filled suitcase that currently resided on their floor, slowly being filled with their clothes – by her. HE walked over and sat next to her, to say he loved her would be too much, but he knew she loved him and he cared for her – that was true. "Steph I-"But she just shook her head and looked at him.

"I'm trying Jethro, god knows I am trying. You don't want kids, but I do, and I'm willing to not have that. You want us to go to Moscow and I haven't objected. You've been a damn b-pain in my ass recently but I've let it slide. I know you're worried about her, but I'm your wife, and I . . . I need a bit of give and take Jethro. I can't do all this-"

"I'll try Steph, I'll try." He said, before hugging her tightly. And naively she believed him. "Take winter clothes, we'll buy anything else over there." Still with her head on his shoulder she nodded, before separating herself and standing up.

"Have you heard anything from her?" The red head asked as she began to take out some of her husband's clothes and fold them ready to be packed away. Stephanie looked over at her husband to see him running a hand down his face.

"She got there safely, but other than that . . . Decker hasn't said anything." He looked over at her, as she packed his things away and felt a wave of guilt. She hadn't signed up for this, she hadn't signed up for any of this. But there she was, trying so hard to make it work and with every brick she put up he just knocked it back down.

"No news is good news, isn't that was they say?" She asked rhetorically as she placed the clothes in the case. Gibbs just took he hand and squeezed it before pulling her over to him and kissing her softly. When they parted she rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. There was nothing she could say, his best friend and partner was on a covert operation and for the first time he wasn't by her side. It was something she believed she would never be able to fully comprehend to the extent that he did.

Jenny was perched on a barstool in the city. A bar in which she knew that if she tried just hard enough she would get noticed in. so that was why she was perched on the stool, a glass of vodka in front of her (watered down so that she would be able to stay longer and increase her chances of being noticed) looking like a sin. That was something the red head was well aware of. She'd spent every night in the past week there, subtly flirting and making just enough of a stir. Jenny was dressed in a dark Navy dress with a slash neckline and an A line skirt. Her feet were clad in those same red metallic heeled shoes that had done so much good on the night she had gone on the pull. Around her neck was a string of pearls and an individual pearl in each ear.

Jenny's hair was straightened but tied up into a messy bun, emphasising her bright red lips. Jenny sat there, listening to the music of ABBA playing softly in the back ground. She wore a smirk on her lips, and kept glancing around the room. But she had been half heartedly watching the game of chess which was taking place on a table in the corner when she realised someone had sat down beside of her. Turning around she found herself face to face with a man whom she recognised.

He was well built, muscled and she guessed toned – however no attractive. His hair was jet black whilst his skin was almost white in paleness. His eyes were dark and didn't shine or sparkle, they were deep set and his eyebrows resembled to caterpillars on his forehead which was creased with lines. A white scar stood out on his left cheek, a scar she remembered making one night when he'd tried it one with her.

The man in question was Yakov Koslovsky, one of the men whom at the time of her last op with Gibbs had been slowly working his way up the ranks in the arms dealing circle. But who now she had got wind was one of the big boss's footmen. And she was not surprised to find he'd made something of himself – if that was the right expression to use. Yakov had always been good with both his fists and his brain. Although he had tried it on with her – and she had responded violently – she knew that he was by no means the worst out of all of the men she had met. In fact she'd always believed that given the right woman he would make a husband.

But until then, he would remain being the dark, violent and gruff man who he was today.

He watched her, a smirk of his face as he took in her image: sitting there, legs crossed and lips beautifully sinful. That was the reason she had taken the time she had with her appearance. Whilst in her NCIS career she had not used her looks, in her alias' world it was very different. In arms dealing you used what you had, and if that was how you looked then so be it.

"Where is your snake of a lover tonight?" He drawled, as though looking for an opportunity. But if it came to it then Jenny's switch blade was strapped to her thigh and gun in her bag.

"Leo could be anywhere in the world for all I care." She said, smirking beautifully at the man opposite. Gibbs' name had been chosen because o the way it sounded like an American name – hence his father's heritage – but derived from the Russian name of Lev which was his mother's heritage. "I fly solo now, and I'm a hell of a lot more dangerous that way." She then grabbed the remainder of her Vodka, slugged it back and stood up. Gracefully in one moment she pulled on her coat and left with a wink.

Just mysterious enough to get him to look into her. And soon, she'd be in. This was a dangerous way to play, one she knew Gibbs would disapprove of, but Gibbs wasn't there. She was playing by her own rules now.