A/N: This is a crack!ish story Alivia asked me to do. I tweaked it a little, as we decided that Gibbs (after so many wives) would be totally unfazed by the purchasing of tampons. However, if you threw a monkey wrench named "Timothy McGee" into the situation...

*Not to be taken too seriously; also, I'll ask you to forgive me: Gibbs kind of came out to be a little bit LBSF-ish.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was trying to ignore the fact that his lover was sprawled out facedown on the bed next to him. She hadn't passed out, so he wasn't concerned about her safety—though he was beginning to question her sanity.

Because Jenny Shepard was generally not prone to throwing herself facedown on beds next to him and just laying there like boring dead road kill. If she was trying to make some kind of point, he was too dense to get it.

She was only succeeding in making him suspicious.

In fact, he was starting to consider sneaking out of the room before she did something crazy like attack him or tell him he had to put pants on.

He glanced at her cautiously again, attempting at the same time to look as if he were completely absorbed in the FBI file she'd asked him to look at. He had just decided he was going to give in and ask her if she was okay when she twitched—she pushed her hair back, lifted her face, and grimaced at him.

"Jethro," she moaned pitifully.

He stared at her guardedly, still suspicious. She was not moaning in a nice way; not in the way he liked to hear. She sounded like she was in pain. Which meant—

"I need you to do me a favor," she said, her eyes soft and sweet.

He didn't buy it for a minute. Jenny was never soft or sweet. He narrowed his eyes at her, waiting patiently.

"I need you to go buy me some tampons."

Gibbs glared at her. He knew it. He knew she was going to come out with that. It explained the melancholy laying around she'd been doing all day and it explained the ridiculous amount of sex they'd had all week.

"No," he decided, turning back to the file.

"It was not a question," she said. He didn't react, and she frowned. "Let me rephrase. Go buy me some tampons."

He glared at her.

"You go buy them," he retorted bravely, perfectly comfortable and unwilling to go out in the freezing cold.

She gave him a narrow, terrifying look and he backed down a little.

"I can't," she said through gritted teeth.

"Why?" he provoked rashly.

He questioned his own sanity. Why the hell was he provoking Jenny when she was looking at him like a hungry hyena looked at a helpless baby caribou?

"My supply has run out."

He shrugged at her brazenly.

"Doesn't answer the question," he retorted.

It didn't. He didn't understand why he had to go get them. She was perfectly capable of driving herself to the damn store. He had never understood why one wife or another was always ordering him to go buy feminine products, and now Jenny was doing it.

And he had thought Jenny was the better alternative to The Wives.

Jenny bestowed a vicious, wild look on him.

"I'm hurting," she said aggressively, giving him a pointed look. "In case my laying facedown and unmoving on the bed wasn't a glaring indication."

"Take a painkiller."

"Jethro, I've taken six," she said dully. "It's a bad month. I have run out of tampons. I cannot get them myself because if I stand up, gravity is going to work against me, and I'm going to make you clean it up," she paused, staring straight at him, relishing how his features morphed from smugness to distress in seconds. "Not to mention," she continued graphically, "my uterus is currently trying to claw its way out of my va—"

Gibbs stood up, smacking the file down on the bedside table.

"Jen, stop," he threatened. He glared at her, annoyed at the graphic description. "I'll get 'em," he relented.

She sighed in relief and collapsed flat on the bed again, her hands covering her head.

"What ones do you want?" he asked.

"," she mumbled into her arms.

He glared at her; uncomprehending, and figured he'd just get her the ones he usually got her. Marching across the room stubbornly, he glared at her morose figure again. Gibbs yanked his jeans off her floor and scowled.

He should have known this was going to result in him having to put his damn pants on.

Gibbs wasn't bothered by this kind of trip. He didn't particularly like shopping for lady products, but with four wives and three female co-workers under his belt, he had been in this position before, and it didn't embarrass him. It wasn't as if any cashier would dare smirk about the stoic, steely ex-Marine checking out with only a box of tampons, anyway.

Annoyed with Jenny and reluctant to return too quickly, Gibbs strolled leisurely through the aisles until he found the one he was looking for. He ignored the pads because he knew she didn't like them. He knew this because he had unwittingly bought them once and Jenny had thrown all of them at him and refused to speak to him for the next two hours, which he didn't think he deserved because he had just come out of a marriage in which the Wife used those kinds.

Gibbs stepped around a display advertising a new PMS drug and turned towards the shelves. He was scrutinizing the choices, looking for the familiar one, when somebody stumbled backwards into him, apparently having lost his balance as he bent over to look at the lower shelves.

Gibbs turned to glare at the guy, assuming it was some poor, inexperienced bastard.

The other guy straightened up and turned pale, brushing off his shoulder with a stricken look on his face.

"Boss?" the guy squeaked.

Gibbs groaned inwardly.

The poor bastard was McGee.

McGee flushed and spluttered for a moment, muttering some sort of apology and reaching up the scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. He averted his eyes from Gibbs and then looked back at him.

"What are you doing here?" McGee asked dumbly.

Gibbs gave him a look.

"Enjoying the scenery," he drawled, deadpan. He gestured at the products on the shelves. "What's it look like, McGee?" he growled, narrowing his eyes.

McGee spluttered incoherently some more. He turned dejectedly towards the shelves again, a confused, frustrated look on his face. Gibbs turned to the shelves, too, ruefully wishing this had not occurred.

He spotted the tampons Jenny used and picked them up, grabbing two boxes for extra security. McGee glanced at him and sighed, covering his mouth and looking around hesitantly.

Taking in the absolutely lost look on the Probie's face, Gibbs mentally prepared himself for what he was about to do and turned to McGee sternly. In the most manly, indifferent tone he could manage, he asked:

"Do ya need help, McGee?"

McGee turned to Gibbs with a helpless, thankful, slavish look on his face.

"You have no idea," he said desperately. "She just told me to pick her some up on the way home, but I don't know—"

"Which ones?" Gibbs interrupted roughly.

"Huh?"

"Which," Gibbs asked pointedly, gesturing to the pads, "Ones," he repeated sharply, pointing then to the tampons.

"Oh," muttered McGee. He looked around. He pointed. "These stick ones."

"Tampons."

"What?"

"They're called tampons, McGee."

"Yeah. I know."

Gibbs glared at the younger agent. McGee needed to learn his adult words, particularly if he was in a relationship that was intimate enough to involve late-night feminine product runs.

Gibbs tucked his boxes under his arms and nodded.

"What," he paused; suddenly deciding he didn't know how to phrase his next question. "Er," he faltered, glaring even harder so he looked scarier and more macho. "What sort of…size," he forced out through gritted teeth, flinging his hand around at the boxes.

McGee turned bright red and stared at his feet.

He muttered to himself and took a deep breath.

"She's, uh, you know," he cringed, shaking his head. He refused to look at Gibbs. "She's kind of, like, average, but really in shape…" he trailed off, obviously at a loss.

Gibbs just glared at him. There was no way in hell he was going to help McGee out with the words he was trying to find. It was painful enough to be helping with this sort of thing.

"I'll just get these and go," muttered McGee in defeat, reaching towards a medium sized box directly in front of them.

Gibbs smacked his hand.

"No," he said, pointing at the label. "Not scented ones," he reprimanded.

"Why?" asked McGee.

"They get mad—"

"Who gets mad?"

"The women, McGee, Jesus!"

"Scents are bad?"

"I think," Gibbs fumbled again. "Uh, think it's bad for 'em," he mumbled seriously, still managing to look pretty formidable and Gibbs-ish.

McGee stood staring at Gibbs, blushing still. He frowned and looked back at the myriad of choices, stumped. Gibbs looked over at the choices, too, and grabbed a box, nodding as he shoved them at McGee roughly.

"Here," he said. "Jenny likes these."

He winced. He couldn't believe that had come out of his mouth. McGee went back to not looking at Gibbs and shuffled his feet. He mumbled a 'thank you'. Gibbs, suddenly amused by the pitiful state of McGee's psyche, provoked him a little in a rare moment of mockery.

"You got yourself a girlfriend, Tim?" he asked.

McGee looked up and blushed again.

"They're, uh, for Abby," he said.

Gibbs didn't even think. He turned towards the shelves and picked a different box, handing them bluntly to McGee. And then, just when he'd thought this entire ordeal couldn't possibly get more awkward, in a moment of complete mental deficiency, Gibbs said:

"She uses these," he said, and then he froze, for the second time that night, unable to believe what had come out of his mouth.

McGee stared at him.

Gibbs glared back.

"Boss, how do you—"

Gibbs head-slapped him before he could finish the question—and Timothy McGee was fairly positive he'd just received the mother of all head-slaps.

Even Tony DiNozzo couldn't have garnered one of these.

Gibbs did not feel like he should have to explain to McGee why he knew what he knew about Abby. Gibbs had worked with Abby longest out of any of them, before DiNozzo, even—he'd done her a few favors.

He understood McGee's chagrin, though.

He figured it was like that one time DiNozzo had the nerve to refer to the Director as 'Jenny', and Gibbs had barely managed to keep from knocking his lights out.

Still perturbed and irritated and uncomfortable, Gibbs barged into Jenny's room (after stomping loudly up her stairs) and dumped the goods he'd returned with on the bed, where she was still curled up piteously.

"Mmmmm," she sighed happily, shifting and looking up at him.

She sat up a little, pushing her red hair back, and leaned over, her arm wrapped around her middle.

Jenny reached for a bar of chocolate, smiling fondly.

"Jethro, you're so sweet."

Gibbs smacked her hand away and snatched it up, throwing himself onto the bed next to her in much the same way she had been moping earlier. She stared at him, offended, and slightly amused.

"Not yours," he said snippily.

"Oh really?" she asked, arching her eyebrows dangerously. "It's to soothe your menstrual cramps?" she mocked.

He ignored her and ripped open the comfort food, chomping off the edge moodily. He turned and glared at her.

"I'm taking a sick day tomorrow," he said seriously.

He refused to go into work and stand in the same room as McGee. He couldn't do it. He needed a few days.

Jenny glared at him, but he noticed that her eyes were sparkling wickedly. He did a double take and looked at her suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. She puckered her lips and inched over to him, giving him an impish, mock-sad look. She tilted her head and smirked, putting her lips to his ear.

"Does this have anything to do with the phone call I got from Abby?"

-I seriously think I'm only capable of two genres: angst, or total fucking nonsense.