Disclaimer NCIS is not mine

Desert-ed

'You know I've had close calls,
When it could have been me,
I was young when I learned just how fragile life can be,
I lost friends of mine,
I guess it wasn't my time,
Timing is everything'
-Garrett Hedlund, Timing is Everything

"Who the hell even is she? You were meant to get to get 'sir' – we could have profited out of him! Instead you get some leggy redhead who we will get nothing but a couple of hours of fun out of!" His voice was brisk, stern, and the words came out in harsh Hebrew laced with venom. The man speaking had dark olive skin, eyes which were deep and mysterious; his hair was hidden by a faded scarf which was wrapped around it and his neck to protect his skin from the glare of the sun even in late winter. His clothes were sand coloured to blend in with the monotonous scenery which shrouded them. He wore warn, dirty and creased clothes which matched those of all the other people who were busying themselves around the unfurnished room.

"She is a federal agent; we hacked the server and found her undercover as an arms dealer in Moscow."

"You have not answered my question!" The other man was younger, probably only in his late teens, his eyes were wider and more prone to fear, naivety. But his appearance mirrored that of the older man, the only different was that the younger ones clothes hung loser as though they had never even belonged to him.

"Jennifer Shepard, NCIS-"

"The agency building relationships with Mossad?"

"Yes, she's the one who they nominated to be the head of relations." The Hebrew had softened now, it was no longer sharp and hurtful, instead it was hushed and whisper like as they discussed the matter at hand.

"Maybe she isn't completely useless after all."

He hadn't checked his phone all evening, partly because he had been trying to resurrect his marriage and partly because he couldn't find it. Something he was reasonably confident in blaming his wife for. So by the time he discovered just what had taken place at the meeting that Jenny had had, it was morning, and all hell had broken lose on both sides of the Atlantic.

The sun was peeking through the window, reflecting off of the frosted country outside and into the room through a gap in the curtains. Inside, Stephanie and Gibbs lay curled up in the bed, covers resting around their waists. She was asleep, but something woke him in a startle – his gut churned. In the same way it always did when he knew something was wrong.

The silver haired fox looked at the mass of red hair that was sprawled across the white of the pillows. Each corner of her mouth was turned up a little, as though she were having a pleasant dream whatever it may be. He reached across and moved a stray piece of hair away from her eye, watching as she scrunched her nose up at the feeling before turning over and facing away from him.

Jethro sat up, placed his bare feet on the soft carpeted floor before noticing his mobile was sat on the bedside cabinet. He smirked his signature smirk, before picking it up, tapping a few buttons before realising that it was turned off. It took him a moment, but eventually he found the red circle which turned it on, and just as he had been taught he held it down until the screen came to life.

As soon as he saw the number of missed calls and text messages he knew that something was wrong, knew that something had not gone right. Standing up he grabbed his pants and jeans before walking away from the bed and into the bathroom as not the awaken Stephanie. Then, he looked closer, and saw Decker's number take over the screen. "Gibbs." His voice was gruff as the silver haired fox answered the call, it was filled with tiredness and wariness as to what he was about to get told.

"Jesus Gibbs! We've been trying to get a hold of you all night-!"

"What's happened?" Will knew that if Gibbs didn't answer then he was busy, so the fact that he hadn't stopped trying to get a hold of him meant something had happened. He sighed, leaning against the cold sink so that it dug into the base of his spine and running a hand through his bed ruffled hair.

"How long before you can be in Moscow HQ?"

It took the agent a moment to think, realise where he was. "An hour, maybe two?"

"Get your ass in Gibbs."

"Will, what the hell is going on? Is Jen okay?" He hadn't been able to help it, her nickname had slipped in. The memory of his red headed partner waking down that alley all those weeks ago, heading off on her own out into a foreign city – it haunted him.

"We don't know Gibbs. Our cameras say she got away clean, the car left on schedule-"

"-Will!"

"She never checked in at the hotel."

"Are you positive?"

"A whole team went Gibbs! Checked every damn room, we found her car this morning. There was blood on the seat but other than that nothing."

"Dammit!"

"Get in Gibbs, that's an order from the top." And with that William Decker hung up, leaving her partner stood in the bathroom of the hotel, his sleeping wife on the other side of the door, not knowing what to do. The only thing he did know what that he should have been there, he should have been watching, waiting for her. To congratulate her, then maybe she would have been fine, maybe . . .

"What did he say?" Tom Marrow stood next to William Decker in MTAC, both had not left since the mission was due to be resolved. Will had been in charge coordinating the search whilst Marrow informed everyone that he needed to. As he began to call in favours all in the hope that it would help to find the red headed agent. To them she wasn't just another agent. Sure, she had been told that she'd be on her own if it went bad, but no one would let her go down without a fight. Jenny was the kind of person who without even trying managed to worm her way into their hearts.

The SecNav was even on their side, it was a case of find Jenny Shepard – at any cost. And that was what they planned to do. Stan Burley was on a flight to Moscow; Gibbs was on his way back to Moscow. And the pair of them stood there, knowing that there were a lot of people who would not cope if she didn't return.

"He'll be in Moscow in just over an hour." Will ran a hand down his face and made his way over to the seat he had previously been occupying. When he picked up his cup of coffee he found it empty, and chucked it in the bin with aim that a basketball player would be proud of. "He blames himself, we all blame ourselves."

The director sighed, and looked at the satellite view of Moscow once more. When her car had been found earlier, it had been the only confirmation that something had gone wrong that they needed. But both Will and Tom had decided that there may just be more to this than the op. Jenny had gotten out clear, hell she'd hugged one of the men. So where did it all go wrong? When did it go from a clean exit to whatever this was? Was it a jealous business partner? A last minute screw over?

"We'll find her." The Director meant to sound reassuring, but instead his tone mirrored a prayer. He'd seen this happen so many times, agents getting abducted, held hostage, kidnapped, but only a handful of times on foreign soil, and never to this degree – or under these circumstances.

"It's been too long already."

"Agent-"

"I need coffee." And with a Gibbs like swagger, he walked away, out of MTAC and into the brisk winter air of the city. Coffee was an attempt to keep him awake; the fresh air was to sharpen his senses. But instead, all he could think about was Jenny, was how long she'd been in Moscow for. He and Stan had been over the moon when they heard she was coming back. They'd planned to have a party, to celebrate her return with drinks and stories – nothing special but special.

And now, that might not come, he might not-

The door to the bathroom slammed closed behind him, he didn't care if he woke Stephanie. The shower had been nowhere near hot enough, even if it was as hot as he could stand it. The water had done nothing to clear his head, even when he'd turned it to cold. His only though had been Jenny. It was too long since the last sighting, too long since they found the car.

She could be anywhere, and they were not even off of the start line yet.

"Mmh, Jethro!" He voice was soft and laced with sleep as she rolled over and grumbled. However his lack of apology as he unzipped his bag to get a shirt out must have caught her off guard. She sat up, rubbing her face and pulling the covers up around her top half so that she remained modest even in front of her husband. She watched as he pulled his polo shirt on; saw the tenseness in his muscles. "What happened?"

"Get up, we need to get back." He was already packing away everything, checking his phone every other second as though it would unlock the secret to whatever was going on. But she wasn't going to do anything until she knew what was happening. Her long fingers ran through her tangled red hair, and then under her eyes to remove any black smudges left by her makeup.

"Jethro, what is going on?" Her voice was soft, but there was a sharp undertone to it that made him stop and look at her. That was when she saw his eyes, the blue that she so loved was cold, yet his irises were abuzz with emotion, he looked like his heart had been shattered. No matter how much she had hated the other women in the last few months; she knew that there was only one person who could do that to the hard as nails marine. "Jenny."

"She never checked in-"

"maybe-"

"They found her car, there was blood, and she is nowhere to be seen."

He turned around after that, and Stephanie didn't need to hear anything else. An hour later they were nearly at headquarters, and barely another word had even been muttered. Stephanie sat beside her husband, her stomach churning, and hands shaking. Even though Jenny held a place in Jethro's heart and not hers, it didn't mean that she was any less scared for her.

But it was partly on a selfish note, because if Jenny didn't come back alive, then she knew that she would never get Jethro back. He'd change; distance himself even more until he barely spoke to her. Jethro wouldn't be the man she had married; he'd just be the shell of a great man who had lost too much. And as much as she loved him, she wouldn't be able to live with that.

So, as she sat in the car, she prayed. Stephanie prayed that Jenny would turn up unscathed – for everyone's sakes.

They pulled into the roadside parking space, and he killed the engine. NCIS Moscow HQ, was nothing much more than a terrace house. And as they sat there, neither one moved. Jethro looked down the street which consisted of ground floor shops and cafes; all with upper floor flats for the owners or lets. Their headquarters was one of three residential looking buildings on the street. Gibbs sighed, thinking of what Jenny must have had to have deal with lately, being in this city alone.

"Jethro?" Her voice was soft and hesitant, her hair was a mass of tangles all tied up in a bun, still damp from her quick shower before they'd left, whilst her face was free of makeup due to lack of time over preference. He didn't answer, instead he just looked at her, but his blue eyes looked a million miles away. She took his hand off of the steering wheel and wrapped her own smaller one around it. "Just remember I'm here, okay? I'm here to help you Jethro."

The silver haired agent never answered though; instead he just turned and looked across the street, bombarded with memories of a different city, on a different op, sat next to a different red head. Memories of him and Jenny getting coffee from street vendors, laughing and joking-

-he'd been a different person back then, or at least he'd felt like one-

-Memories of them talking, acting like a couple. Their act had been so good most people were never sure whether it was an act, or whether they maintained being a couple even behind closed doors. No one would have blamed them either, because when they were doing what they were doing . . . But however hard it had been, it never was anything more than an act. Sure, from time to time after a hard day and a harder night on the drink there are been more than a couple near kisses. Yet they were only ever near kisses.

She hadn't even had her meeting with Marrow yet, hadn't even gotten past the agency security when she first saw him. In fact she was stood there moaning at the man behind the desk, as he once more asked just how 'Shepard' was spelt. And she once more told him with not even a hint of frustration in her voice. When the pass was slid across the desk she took it gratefully and was planning on speedily walking away. That was when she saw him.

Salt and pepper hair, coffee in hand, dressed in a way which managed to be just as professional as was required whilst seaming completely and utterly relaxed. He walked with strength, superiority almost. And the way everyone looked at him, it was a look of respect mixed with . . . fear?

"Where you heading?" She was stood next to him, the salt and pepper man.

"Directors office." She answered, watching as he took in her appearance. The startling red hair: constrained in a partial French plait, tied on her shoulder and then cascading down one shoulder in natural curls. A pale blue blouse and a pair of fitted black jeans all finished off with a pair of heels which he was pretty sure she would break her ankle in if she were to walk up the stairs. Then there were those green eyes-

"Get me Agent Gibbs." The director spoke into his intercom to his secretary, who replied curtly with 'yes sir'. She sat opposite the man who was her boss, and she fiddled with her fingers, twiddling her thumbs as she waited, butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she sat there.

His office was large, with a large window giving a panorama view over the Navy Yard below, from where she was sat she could see men in uniform coming and going. She could watch the goings on of their Navy from the comfort of a warm office and comfy chair.

The door banged open as it hit the wall, and she guessed this must be 'Gibbs', and from his lack of manners she guessed that this was going be a long, long, time on his team. Yet when she turned around and looked at him, she was met by familiar blue eyes and salt and pepper hair. And from the smirk on his lips – a make-your-knees-go-weak smirk – she knew that he recognised her as well.

"Special Agent Gibbs, meet your newest team member, Jennifer Shepard" But at the words 'team member' his face changed, and his eyebrow rose up, once more taking in her appearance. Then he turned around, and walked away, and she raised her own eyebrows.

"Not in those shoes she's not." And with a smirk on her own lips, she walked after him – maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Wake up!"

A pain shooting through her abdomen shook her involuntarily awake. Her first sensation was the pain, and she wondered what the hell was going on and why someone had just kicked her. Then, she realised she was sweating, that the air was thick and muggy – that the air was warm. She wasn't in Moscow, she had been in Moscow. At least, the last thing she remembered was being in Moscow, the car, and then-

The floor was hard, and her face was raw from small cuts caused by the concrete. But there was sand on it too, and it felt like she was submerged in it. Her senses were on fire, the smell of burning, of sweat and tinned food, of gunpowder. But she could hear nothing much other than muffled sounds of shouting in a foreign language.

The red head tried to move, but her legs and arms were bound with plastic, something that meant she's only cut herself if she tried to get out of the restraints. And as she tried to move, her head hurt, it stung and she felt like she was going to be sick with nausea.

"Up!" He said it in English, but it was heavily accented. Jenny didn't move though, so they grabbed her now filthy white blouse and pulled her onto her knees before dragging her out. But the sheer pain of her head and now her abdomen meant she didn't even make it out of the room before she passed out.

Once more, everything went black.

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