Disclaimer NCIS is not mine

Author's note I can only apologise for the delay! It really is unacceptable but I hope you stick with this. Just a note also, I have never been to Moscow and my only knowledge comes from Google maps, and the tv show 'The Americans'. So, sorry if it is not right.

French Seduction

'I never wanna be the one
Who kept you from being free
But girl I've gotta know what you want
'Cause I've taken all I can take
So just go if you wanna go
Stay if you wanna stay'
-Keith Urban, If you wanna stay

"You honestly think I can hide a weapon in this dress?" Jenny asked with an evil smirk falling over her bright red lips whilst hands roamed her body. The dress in question made men go wild whilst still managing to appear professional. It was black, fell just above the knee and was pulled in at the waist. The skirt was tulip styled and hugged her curved whilst the top was clingy with cap sleeves. Her long red hair was straightened and fell down her back, contrasting boldly with both the dress and the royal blue coat she had had on before they had hung it up for her. On her feet were her favourite red stilettos, the ones she had worn the night she got her man whilst Gibbs was on honeymoon. The ensemble did exactly what she wanted – that had been obvious since the moment she had stepped into the vintage building.

The outside was well maintained, the cream stonework frequently cleaned to prevent the exhaust fumes from greying it. The windows were reflective, meaning no one could look in. Not that they would dare to anyway. This was where she was to meet with the man in charge of the European arms ring. A man whose name no one knew. Who simply was to be called 'sir'. And as she had walked in, she had known she was in the right place. Everyone inside was male, each dressed in a sharp black suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie with a simple silver tie pin, each held one large black machine gun, yet she had spotted a smaller handgun each and every one of them – concealed at the base of their spine – and she guessed there was a third somewhere else on their person in addition to numerous knives.

But she, however, was completely unarmed. She had nothing on her, bar the gun in her handbag which had been taken away. So as she stood there being patted down by the security – a little longer than she needed to be patted down for – she was unarmed and defenceless. Stood in front of large white double doors each one wooden delicately decorated with carvings done to a standard that even Gibbs would approve of. She knew for a fact that he would touch the wood, admire the handiwork and no doubt make her feel like he needed a moment alone with the door. But to her, it simply reminded her of the man whom was somewhere else in the city. The man who was currently going about his life with his wife by his side. Who she had sent away over a week ago now, and not heard from since.

Finally they stopped their search, satisfied that she really wasn't hiding anything under what was almost a skin tight dress. And so she stood there, with her arms folded, waiting to be permitted into which ever room she was to be lead into. This was about to be the meeting which she knew most agents would kill to get. It would make or break this mission – but if she got it right, then the whole mission was about to slot into place. Was about to slip perfectly into uniform and she'd be able to walk right out of it when he trap had been set. And never step in Julietta's shoes ever again. Something, which was an incredibly pleasant thought right at that moment.

Jenny watched with a detailed precision as the men whispered to one another. A mass of men in black suites and white shirts, all black haired. One wore glasses, thick rimmed and harsh against his pale skin. Another had hair which seemed to be a little longer than that of the rest. Each one could be identified as a different person – but only just. They looked like soldiers, all moulded so that they were matching. She watched as the man with the glasses placed his finger in his ear, and listened to what she guessed was an earwig. Then he turned to two other men, one who was slightly less well built that the rest.

It those two men to walked over to her, and walked her through the double doors opposite, and then through a second single door. Then she found herself in a room that she guessed must look out over the rear of the house. It was decorated to match the old European fashioned white door; however all the furniture was made from dark stained wood with varying shades of blue fabric and cushions. The walls were painted in a colour which looked to be a mixture of baby blue and a light grey. The whole ensemble screamed male, it seemed like she was most likely the first woman to step foot in the room for a while.

It smelt like expensive cigar smoke, mixed with vintage scotch – which considering everyone in Russia only drank Vodka surprised her. But it was warm, and over on one of the walls was an open fire, logs stacked high in a copper drum next to it. The fire was lit and she wanted to walk over to it, curl up in a ball and fall asleep shrouded in warmth. But then she heard the sound of clinking as two glassed met, and her eyes were drawn to a man who was sat in one of two chairs which were separated by a dark wooden table. Topped with a cut crystal decanter of liquor, and four cut crystal tumblers to match.

"Personally I avoid Vodka at all costs, it's just so plain, it has none of the complexity that Scotch has." He said, but what surprised Jenny was the fact that he spoke French, and when he looked up, she found herself looking into the eyes of a man who was much older than she had thought he would be. She guessed in his late fifties to early sixties. He too – like his security – wore a black sharp tailored suit; however he wore a pale blue open neck shirt instead. His hair was died brown; however Jenny believed he would look a lot better if in fact he accepted the grey that was no doubt natural instead. All in all the man she was looking at was attractive for his age; he looked to keep in good shape. Jenny's agent skills allowed her to notice his lack of wedding ring, yet she did notice that on his right hand there was a gold band – one which resembled a wedding ring. Making Jenny wonder whether he was divorced but had not accepted the fact, or whether he was just trying to hide his personal life. Something that she believed would probably be a good idea in his cut throat world.

"Je suis d'accord." Jenny agreed in flawless French as she smiled over at the man. He nodded towards the seat and she accepted the offer to be seated. Both seats matched the style of the room. They were roll back chairs, covered in a blue fabric which was ever so lightly patterned. The feet were a dark stained wood, other parts of the chair was accented in the same choice. Once she sat down he handed her a generous dose of the Scotch, and she smiled in thanks. Pleased that for once she would not have to drink what she considered fire water.

"Salut." He said, holding his glass out towards hers, and she smiled once more replying with the same French greeting, and chinked the two glasses together before taking a sip and being hit by memories. Because it was the same scotch that her father had drunk when he was alive. The same one that had been kept in his glass decanter, in his liquor cabinet, in his office. The one that he had drunk whilst doing his paperwork, and the one he had allowed her to try for the first time on her eighteenth birthday when he handed her her present. That very same deep, strong and slightly spicy liquid just reminded her of him. "Now, I would like to congratulate you on the impression you have made. Especially on Yakov, he seems slightly smitten by you." He stated in French once more. The man's voice was deep, and gravely, but soft and gentle at the same time. It was a voice that she was pretty sure would manage to effectively make a child fall asleep in his arms, and yet could make a 13 stone man quiver in his boots if used in the right way.

"I met Yakov when Leo was still around; thankfully the sins of that man have not made others judge me on their behalf." She replied, once more in French.

"Now, I do believe that you have quite the distributive business. And my sources tell me that I would be stupid if I were not to make use of that." With that he placed his glass back onto the table, and refilled it, but chose to leave it there for the time being. Jenny was beside of him, contemplating her words carefully – not wanting to blow this rare chance.

"All the weapons I deal with are military grade, anything currently used by the military – in most said countries – I can provide, and as for slightly older weapons, I can make equerries. I did have a list however it seems that they thought that I may cause you a paper cut and kill you." She states, smirking slightly in her usual way. The man opposite, 'Sir' as he was called, seemed to contemplate what she was saying. And Jenny chose then to down the rest of her liquor, and place the glass down. Then she moved her long fiery red hair over her shoulder, and smiled. Her sinful red lips causing him to notice her. "I may not be a man, sir, but I do business a hell of a lot better than half the amateurs in this city."

"I do not doubt that." He said, eyeing her cautiously. But Jenny did as she always did in this role, she got up and left him wondering and contemplating the woman he had been sat with. Getting up and leaving was something that no one ever did with this man.

However Jenny did.

Standing up, she smiled and began to walk towards the door. "You're men have my portfolio. I hope to hear from you soon." And with hat she left, adding a seductive sway to her hips she left the way she had entered. She walked out, grabbed her coat from where it had been left and grabbed her bag from the hands of one of the men who had kept guard of it.

And she went. Leaving 'Sir' sat with a smirk on his face. There was something about her that just blew everyone else out of the water.

A nock on the door made him look up, and there stood one of his men. He too thought they all looked the same, so much so that he could barely tell who was who – but with his position no one would be any the wiser, because no one challenged him. Maybe that was why he liked Julietta, because she didn't care about his power, about the number of men he had at his beck and call. He knew that if she didn't agree with him then she would very well tell him. And if she didn't like his offer, she'd probably walk away from it.

"Yes?" He questioned in rough Russian. The man walked over, placed a wad of papers down and left the room without saying a word. 'Sir' picked them up, and smirked at the sight of the papers – guns, grenades, RPG's. Flicking through then he was pleased to see she had not exaggerated. Each weapon held a price on them, and the likelihood of availability. She was a lot more organised than most of the men he dealt with.

So picking up the scotch had took a sip and set about making a mental note of what was of interest to him. Analysing the papers with detailed drawings of each and every weapon on them, analysing the prices and deciding what he wanted to pay. The older man with his dyed hair stayed in that room for a couple of hours and a few more glasses of Scotch before he stood up. Softly he grunted at the feeling of his legs being stiff at the movement after being asleep for so long. But he made his way over to the door with ease, and opened it. He was greeted by a man with longer hair than the rest, and another who looked exactly the same as twenty other men who were in the building.

"Get me Yakov now." And with that he returned into the room, grabbed a pen and paper and set about writing down what his order may be. He might only have met her once, but that didn't deter him. Something in the eyes of that woman made him want to do business with her. Straight to the point, but at the same point there was a mystery. Like she didn't want to do this life, but did it anyway. So he sat there making his order, meanwhile Jenny Shepard walked down the streets of the city feeling quite pleased with herself.

Jethro sat in the living area of their accommodation, eyes once more glued to the screen desperately trying to catch sight of the red head whom was his partner. The redhead he hadn't seen since the fight, whose life he had nearly put at risk. Who he owed a hell of a lot when he thought about it. Stephanie was in the kitchen cooking their dinner, but he didn't say a word. In fact recently their relationship had become even more strained than it had before. She was scared and doing her best to be a wife to him and love him yet give him the space that she knew he needed.

"Jethro." She said from the door. Dressed in a pair of leggings and a long oversized jumper, her figure was only show by the apron she wore which caused a jumper to be pulled in tighter as it tied around her back. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail from cooking. She knew she didn't look amazing, but that didn't mean that he should not notice her. Stephanie was beginning to get infuriated by her husband, she had tried everything and yet nothing seemed to work. She was stuck in the house, barely leaving it.

She'd thought that they'd take time out, at least venture into the city. But whenever he went, she didn't. The red head was well aware that he was scared of losing her – especially if someone noticed him and remembered that he was the man who had been beside Jenny the last time their aliases were active. But it was beginning to grate on her more than a little bit.

"Will you tear your attention away from that thing for just a minute and actually acknowledge your wife?!" She shouted, throwing a tea towel at him. Then he turned around and looked at her, his eyes wide with shock, he obviously had not heard a word that she just said. Something that was confirmed when he spoke.

"Yeah?" He questioned, and she just rolled her eyes, and was about to walk away, let it slide and stew in silence, but then something snapped inside of her. She decided that she couldn't remain quiet any longer.

"You know what?! I came here for you! I didn't want to come, I didn't need to come, but I did. I'm here. And you're more damn bothered about Jenny the whole time. I get that she is in danger, but if you wanted to be with her then you should have damn well said!"

"Steph-"But she cut him off, tears were streaming down her face, she'd finally reached her breaking point, and she couldn't cope anymore.

"You know what? I'm sorry that you married me, I'm sorry I'm your wife. But if you wanted to marry Jenny then you damn well should have done!" And with that she walked back into the kitchen and slammed the door closed behind her as she did so.

Gibbs placed her head in his hands and sighed. Then he rubbed his eyes and ran a hand down his face. He knew he had been an idiot, knew that he had to sort things out before they escalated. But still he was thinking of Jenny. Out of the blue he mentally head slapped himself, turned off all the he turned off the security cameras and went into the kitchen. She didn't want him around – she'd admitted it. So he started to do just as she had said, he'd let her get on with the mission in her own way now. He'd save his marriage instead…

Reviews are welcomed with open arms!