Jeez Louise! Almosy 2 months? I know. Bad Monkeys. Well, I have no other excuse other than the fact that my writing was depressing me, so I stopped for a bit. Then I thought of a way to make it happier and I picked it up again. A Redhead, A Boss, & A Gibblet is in the works as well. Internet pinky promise. :D

Jethro strolled into Jenny's study with his usual air of 'I own everything' but paused in the doorway and raised his brows at seeing her cleaning her gun. It looked odd, seeing as she had her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her face was sans of all makeup, and she was dressed in her pajamas.

She spared him a brief glance before she returned to her task. He wrinkled his brow, eyeing her suspiciously.

"You alright?" he asked, and she looked up at him again, this time with confusion.

"Fine," she assured him, but he was less than convinced. "Why?" she murmured as her eyes returned to her gun.

"You planning on taking out the Sand Man or something?" he quipped dryly, nodding at her weapon.

She smiled, and a soft laugh escaped her lips.

"It's calming," she said, starting to reassemble it. "Something I picked up from spending too long around Ziva."

"You need calming?" he asked, squatting in front of the fireplace to poke the flames; and she sighed, slamming the cartridge into the gun and set it down before crossing her arms on the desk.

"I'm fine, Jethro," she insisted with an small smile. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly at his distinctly un-assured expression. She set the safety on her weapon before setting it back in its drawer. "Are they asleep?" she asked, referring to their children as she set her glasses on her nose.

He gave a grunt in the affirmative; and she nodded before she laughed again in disbelief as he stared her down from his place in the chair by the fireplace.

"What?" she sighed impatiently. He just kept staring at her silently, the warm, flickering firelight dancing over his features. "I'm fine," she insisted.

"Would you tell me if you weren't?" he demanded, and she narrowed her eyes reproachfully. She snatched her glasses off to look at him.

"I beg your pardon?" she demanded reproachfully, her growing agitation at his line of questioning evident in her expression.

"The only person Ducky would stick his neck out for is you," Gibbs growled, pushing himself out of the chair to walk toward her; and it became abundantly clear that he had not come in to tae her to bed. "The only person Ducky would run blood samples for under Jane Doe is you."

She leaned back into her chair, the light of the fire dancing in her eyes as she looked up at him when he leaned over her, resting his hands on either side of her chair.

"Are you sick, Jenny?" he asked bluntly, the catch in his voice almost indiscernible as he searched her eyes.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out for a moment until she finally answered him.

"I don't know," she whispered truthfully with glassy eyes.

His clenched his teeth and his jaw jumped before he stood to his full height again; and backed away from her. She watched him pace back and forth.

"Jethro?" she murmured with uncharacteristic tentativeness.

He lunged forward, swiping her glass of bourbon across the room in one movement; and she jumped in her seat.

"When the hell were you going to tell me, Jen?" he demanded of her, his blue eyes flashing.

"When I knew for sure," she shot back. "I didn't see any need to bother you with it until then."

"Bother me?" he barked in disbelief at her choice of words. "You are the mother of my kids," he growled irately. "It's not a bother to know what's going on with you."

"I didn't mean it like that, Jethro," she snapped. "And keep your voice down," she hissed. "I-" she broke off and sighed heavily, pursing her lips before she spoke again. "I don't know," she stressed, shaking her head.

"I do," he bit back hoarsely. "If those are your test results, then you are sick, Jenny," he said.

A flash of shock crossed her face before She bit down on her lip hard, and she looked back at him with a myriad of emotions: helplessness, apology, devastation.

He shook his head as he went back to pacing.

"I can't have this happen again, Jenny," he said with more emotion in his voice than she'd ever heard from him. "I can't lose…" he trailed off, swallowing thickly. "You have to fight this," he almost begged of her.

"It's not something you can fight, Jethro," she murmured softly with apologetic, watery eyes. "You just know." She paused. "You have to prepare yourself for the idea of losing me," she said, bewilderment at the situation she was now in coloring her voice. "For Leilah, and Jacob, and Ava," she impressed upon him. "They will need you to be prepared. I need you to be prepared, Jethro," she ground out as a lone tear finally spilled over onto her cheek.

She was crying not because of the confirmation of what was happening to her. She had always known it was a possibility since her father; and she had prepared herself. She was crying because she thought she might break the man in front of her. He'd already lost one family.

She watched him shake his head as he ran a hand over his mouth; and he walked from the room running a harried hand through his short cut.

She watched after him a moment in internal debate: let him go and think on his own or continue their conversation and try to find some way to bring him comfort herself.

"Jethro!" she finally called after him helplessly before the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the otherwise silent house and she exhaled shakily, holding a hand to her abdomen with tears clinging to her lashes.

She walked around to her desk and yanked open the top drawer, grabbing the somber looking funeral invitation she had received several days prior. Will was dead: heart attack. At the forefront of her mind she was glad. She had always known her mistake could come back to bite them all. Then, there was a nagging voice in her head that said his death wasn't from natural causes; and it had come back to bite them.

She wasn't supposed to be faced with this. Her mistake all those years ago shouldn't have affected anyone but herself.

She caught sight of her father's proud face staring back at her from the photo on the desk and her face darkened. She let out a strangled cry of frustration and pitched the photo across the room, watching it shatter as it hit the wall. This was all his fault. She wouldn't have been so damn ambitious if it weren't for him and his death. She didn't even know what she thought about her father anymore. For years she had thought he wasn't capable of what he had been accused of and she had spent her entire adult life going after the man who soiled his name. Now though, she wasn't so sure.

She dropped into her chair and let her forehead fall into her hands; and her shoulders shook in quiet sobs.

Her children, Leilah, and Jacob, and Ava: all three of them surprises she had never known she wanted, were in danger because of some stupid decision she had made ten years ago. She would never see them grow up, but she would sure as hell make sure they did grow up; and she'd make sure Jethro was there to see it. They wouldn't pay the price for her pride.

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When Jethro walked back into the townhouse, shutting the door quietly behind him, it was pitch black aside from a warm glow from the light in Jenny's study.

He found her there, with her head on her desk. Her eyelids and nose were red and her cheeks were blotchy. He immediately felt guilty. Jenny needed him; and he had been too absorbed in his own emotions to think about it. He'd been so angry though: first at her for keeping it from him, and then at himself for all the time he had wasted, and then at God himself for taking her from him again and this time for good. It felt like he had only just gotten her back. This wasn't how they were supposed to end: with him loosing her like he'd lost Shannon.

"Jen," he murmured, brushing her hair out of her face; and she gasped, shooting upright with a start until she realized who it was and she relaxed with a weary sigh.

She laid her head back on her desk and closed her eyes a moment before she opened them to look back at him. She held his gaze for a minute before she spoke.

"I'm going to die," she said bluntly as if the realization was finally weighing on her mind.

"No, you're not," he replied confidently; and scoffed in disbelief.

"Yes, I am, Jethro," she whispered as she sat up. "I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "I'm sorry I ever left you."

He pulled her to him and she clung to his shirt in a rare moment of bare intimacy between the two of them.

"Stop apologizing," he murmured into her hair.

She pulled back from him, pushing her hand back through her hair; and a mirthless laugh escaped her lips.

"How am I going to tell my mother and my sister?" she demanded rhetorically. "This isn't fair," she whispered. "I didn't want kids," she admitted with a far off look in her eyes. "It's part of the reason I left you. I never expected to have a family, Jethro." She looked back at him with the most anguished look in her eyes. "Now, I think about things I never thought about before. I think about their graduations and-" she laughed. "I think about you warning some boyfriend of Leilah's or Ava's that you don't have to get close to shoot them." Her face fell once more; and she bit the inside of her lip. "I won't get see any of that anymore."

"You don't know that," he insisted; and she scoffed with a mirthless laugh.

"What's more definite than some terminal disease?" she demanded; and he rubbed his eyes with a grimace.

"Stop, Jen," he said with a sharp edge to his voice; and she eyed him incredulously.

Why didn't he understand? The sooner he did the easier it would be. She needed him to understand. She couldn't go knowing that her death was going to shock him like it had with Shannon and Kelly.

"There is no 'maybe you can make it past this.' I am dying, Jethro," she impressed upon him further. "I need you to understand that. I need you to be okay. I can't-" Her voice broke. "I can't leave you not knowing that you'll be okay. You can't hit rock bottom again like you did with Shannon and Kelly. You have three children to take care of. I need you to live with losing me."

He finally met her eyes with a stormy expression of his own: his icy blue eyes had gone dark with ire and anguish and pain that was years old.

"I'd rather not lose you at all," he shot back with a wild look about him. "Jesus, Jenny, did you ever think for one goddamn second that the only time I'm going to believe you're gone is when you're really gone. I-" He broke off, looking as if he were struggling to form words. "I love you," he finally admitted with uncharacteristic, raw emotion. "You can't expect me to let you die and be okay with that."

She tugged her lip between her teeth and simply stared at him in silence because she didn't know what to say. She knew that he was right. Asking him to just forget about her would mean that he had never loved her at all; but she needed him to forget just enough because she loved him too much to let him suffer after she was gone.

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The bedroom was pitch black save the faint glow of the hall light peeking under the door as Jenny woke early the following morning, and the realization dawned on her that a familiar pair of arms were missing around her waist. Her eyes shot open and she looked around blearily as her eyes adjusted to the dark.

She sat up in bed, leaning back on her arms as she scanned the room for any signs of Jethro; and she knit her brows at the sound of a repetitive dull thud echoing outside her window. She crawled out of bed and covered the room in three long strides, yanking her curtains open.

Jethro stood outside in an old, grey USMC t-shirt and a pair of over-washed jeans swinging an axe into logs in the backyard. There was a fairly large pile to his left, meaning he had been at it a good while. How he hadn't woken her or the entire neighborhood for that matter she didn't know.

"Jethro," she growled , grabbing her robe from the chair beside her; and slipped it over her arms as she strode from the bedroom.

She walked down the stairs and through the ground floor hallways, not knowing what she was going to say to him when she got outside. After his initial explosion and later admission the night before, he had been quiet. Jethro didn't do quiet: brooding, yes, but not quiet.

She pushed the backdoor open slowly, wrapping her arms around herself at the unexpected, pre-dawn chill. She shut the door behind her with just enough noise to announce herself without startling him; but he made no indication that he had heard her.

She sauntered down the three steps off of the porch and stopped at the foot before she spoke with her steady, alto voice.

"It's four a.m., Jethro," she said.

His jaw jumped as he brought his axe down heavily to split the wood and he threw the piece into the pile angrily before he grabbed another log.

"I think that's enough wood to keep the fireplace going for at least a year," she bit out, her words more forceful.

"Then I'll make it two years," he shot back as he brought his axe down again.

"Jethro," she sighed, but he stopped her.

"Go back to bed, Jenny," he said, splitting another piece of wood with a swift swing of the axe.

"Like I can sleep," she grumbled under her breath and sat down n the steps with a heavy sigh, rubbing her hands over her eyes and down the sides of her face wearily. She lifted her head to look at him: his shirt was by then soaked in the same sweat that coated his skin, and he looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Should I have lied to you?" she asked suddenly, her eyes boring into his back. "You said no more secrets," she reminded him and paused. "But I feel like I should have lied to you."

"Were you going to write me another letter," he ground out as he swung the axe down with more force than before. "Dear, Jethro," he spat mockingly; and the moment he said it he felt guilty. He dropped the axe and turned to see her looking like he'd struck her: angry, and, shocked, and hurt. "Jesus, Jen, I didn't mean it," he sighed, and tugged the corner of her lip between her teeth.

"How long are you going to hold that against me?" she demanded lowly with her face set in stone, her eyes dark and flashing in anger. "You say that it doesn't matter anymore, but every time we have an argument you throw that back in my face," she spat. "How long, Jethro? Are you still going to hate me when I'm six feet under?" she laughed mirthlessly; and he blanched.

She pursed her lips tightly, rubbing her forehead to hide her glassy eyes as she turned away from him, yanking the door open before she slammed it behind her, leaving him there in a state of shock.

He stood in his spot only a moment before the common sense to go after her dawned on him and he threw the axe down.

"Jen!" he called, letting the door slam behind him only to hear the shattering of glass against linoleum and her prompt curse in response. He found her in the kitchen, standing over what looked like the remnants of the coffee pot.

She held a weary hand over her eyes before she yanked her hands away from her face and shook hem like they were falling asleep and balled them into quick fists as if to try to regain feeling in them. She sighed heavily; and moved for the broom by the refrigerator.

"I'll get it," Jethro said, staying her with a brief hand on her waist. "Let me see your hand," he instructed, grabbing her hand only to have her yank it away.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I didn't cut myself."

He looked at her a moment with her glaring back balefully.

"You know I didn't mean it, Jenny," he said; and she laughed wryly.

"Yes, you did, Jethro," she contradicted him. "You wouldn't have said it if you didn't think it. You just didn't mean for me to hear it." She cast a brief glance to the mess on the floor before looking back up at him with weak gratitude. "Thank you," she said simply, waving her hand at it before she turned away from him, presumably for the bedroom.

He knew she was right. There was always a part of him that would be angry with her for what she did. Hell, he thought he was going to marry her. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad one: if she would have been like Shannon and they'd still be together now or if she would have been like Diane and the others; and they'd be ready to rip each other's throats out every time they saw each other. Actually that was more or less already true.

When he walked into the bedroom ten minutes later, she sat on the bed with Leilah, the latter entertaining the both of them in gleeful giggles as she pulled herself up with her mother's hands and launched herself back onto her bottom back only to do it all over again.

"Are you having fun, silly girl?" Jenny laughed, eliciting a shriek of delight from her daughter in response; and the elder redhead smiled indulgently at the baby.

"I have to go to California next week," Jenny said, clearly speaking to Jethro; but her gaze stayed on the baby.

Jethro looked to her abruptly, having been watching his daughter and her mother contentedly until then. He narrowed his eyes, knowing she had likely brought it up because Leilah was in the room; and she knew he would make some semblance of an effort to keep his temper under control.

"What do you mean, you have to go to California?" he asked tersely, clenching his jaw.

"I mean I'm going to California," she deadpanned, smiling when Leilah grabbed Jenny's face between her tiny hands. She looked up at Jethro and then back at Leilah when the child's hand dropped to her shoulder and the other went to her mouth. Jenny followed her gaze to see her staring curiously at a baby bird outside the window. "Bird?" Jenny murmured; but Leilah simply continued to stare with fascination; and Jenny looked back at Jethro. "Will Decker's funeral."

"Decker?" Gibbs asked with a tinge of regret in his voice. He hadn't really spoken to the younger man in at least three years when they had crossed paths on case; and hardly before that since Decker had gotten his own team in the L.A. office over a decade ago.

"Heart attack," Jenny said before a twinkle of amusement flashed in her eyes. "Apparently he was involved in some extracurricular activities with his blonde, twenty-three year old girlfriend. The poor girl is traumatized," she laughed.

"Damn good way to go," Jethro said before the intermittent lightness of their conversation was gone again. "Take Tony and Ziva."

Jenny scoffed and looked up at him incredulously.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "I am not taking Ziva away from her baby, especially now. I don't care how much she hates maternity leave. My normal security detail will do fine."

"Either they go or I go," he said with a firm finality; and Jenny looked up at him. Call it women's intuition-or paranoia-but she had the feeling that Jethro should stay as far away from California and whatever it was that had made Will Decker make sure his mother personally called to invite her to his funeral in the event of his death.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'm your boss," she reminded him. "You get that right?"

Jethro snorted. As if that had ever deterred him from doing what he wanted. If anything it made his being so ornery that much more satisfying.

"I will see Jethro," she acquiesced. "But you are not going."

"I'm not sacrificing your safety because you're pissed," he shot back; and she went slack-jawed.

"My being angry with you has nothing to do with me not wanting you in California," she bit back in a hiss. "I just can't have my most senior agent gone while I am. I'd rather not have my agency burned to the ground in my absence if that's alright with you," she snapped.

"Me or them, Jenny," he repeated simply before he turned from the room, leaving her there in annoyed shock as she watched him go.

"Ma-ma," Leilah whined in discontent, perplexed as to why her mother had stopped paying attention to her.

"Yes, baby," Jenny sighed, giving her daughter a weak smile as she turned back to her.

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Ziva walked into Jenny's office the following morning with purpose in her step, her wild, curly mane falling over her shoulders. She was dressed in the casual cargo pants and fitted t-shirt that had become her uniform since having the baby.

"Ziva?" Jenny greeted her curiously as Cynthia ducked out, shutting the office door behind her.

"You are traveling to California?" the Israeli asked, though she phrased it as more of a statement. "You need a security detail."

Jenny pursed her lips as she removed her glasses and set them aside.

"Gibbs," she deduced with a growl."He told you."

"In so many words," Ziva agreed, unaffected. "I will accompany you," she offered.

"Ziva, I have no intentions of taking you away from your son," Jenny impressed on her; and Ziva threw her shoulders back, with a false mask of strength on her face.

"I thank you," she assured Jenny before a brief flash of pain crossed her face. "But I must accustom myself to being without him. There is no such thing as maternity leave in Mossad, and I fear as my father has pointed out, that I have become to comfortable with my position at NCIS."

"Ziva," Jenny started, but Ziva cut her off.

"Jenny," she whispered with glassy eyes, cursing the ineffectiveness of all of her training in stoicism. "I need this assignment."

Jenny's gaze lingered on her a moment before she nodded slowly.

"Okay," she sighed. "Whatever you need. You have it," she promised. She felt she owed her that much.

"Thank you," Ziva said with a curt nod before turning on her heel; and she left the office with haste, not bothering to shut the door behind her.

Jenny looked after her in sympathy before anger bloomed across her face at the thought of Jethro.

"Cynthia!" Jenny shouted; and her assistant was at her door in an instant, eyeing Jenny with wary surprise.

"Yes, Director?" she asked hesitantly.

"Get Agent Gibbs up her please," Jenny requested, and Cynthia gave her boss an apologetic look, hoping the redhead wouldn't shoot the messenger.

"Agent Gibbs and his team are out on a case, Director," she reminded Jenny; and the redhead took a deep breath.

"Well," she breathed, sounding slightly insane. "Have him see me the minute he's back," she snapped.

"Yes, Director," Cynthia agreed; and Jenny nodded tightly.

"Thank you, Cynthia," Jenny said in dismissal; and the young, African-American woman nodded before retreating and shutting the door back behind her.

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Three hours later, Jenny had barked at Cynthia at least once for every hour, nearly bitten off the head of her NCIS Executive Assistant Director for Combating Terrorism for nothing more than a small mishap in one of their operations, and she had sent a young analyst crying from her office only minutes ago.

The man who was the cause of her newfound foul mood threw her door open, letting it bang against the wall with Cynthia at his heels as usual.

"You called, Director?" he asked with the normal hint of a patronizing tone on her title.

"Director, I-"Cynthia tried, but Jenny cut her off.

"Not to worry, Cynthia," Jenny assured the younger woman; and Cynthia nodded in acquiescence, leaving the two of them alone.

"Shut the door," Jenny instructed; and she said it with such acridity that he actually did as he was told. "Explain to me where you get off telling Ziva to accompany me to California," she hissed, practically spitting fire.

"I never told her that," he insisted, advancing on the fire-breathing dragon that Jenny was steadfast becoming.

"Well you certainly didn't keep your mouth shut," she shot back. "I told you no, Jethro."

"And I told you-"

"I don't care what you told me!" she barked, with wide eyes flashing in hungry anger. "I am your boss. We agreed to seperate work and home; and you are not my head of security, so who I do or do not take on a trip to the damn Al-Qaeda headquarters for all I care is none of your damn business; and you had no right."

"You are my business," he growled, leaning over desk. "Knowing that you are safe is my business."

"Ziva-I owe her, Jethro. I will always owe her; and because of you she feels like she needs the time away from her son. She should be spending every minute with him, not spending two days with me for a funeral."

"Ziva isn't you, Jenny. Let her decide what she needs," he said.

"She wouldn't even have the idea in her head if you hadn't put it there," she snapped.

"Ziva told me I looked pissed off. She asked what was biting me. She made her decision, Jen," he assured her, but Jenny shook her head.

"You didn't have to tell her," Jenny said, staring at him with disappointement and resntment. "I don't have time for this. We'll talk at home."

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Regardless, Jenny sat on a plane the following weeks with Tony next to her and Ziva two rows back. She braced her back against the seat and wrapped her hands around the armrests as the engines whirred to life.

Tony eyed the normally fearless redhead in amusement as she swallowed thickly; and took an intentionally inconspicuous deep breath. He could practically invisible beads of sweat forming over her brow.

"You alright there, Jenny?" he asked; and she nodded.

"Fine," she ground out, closing her eyes as they started to move.

Tony grinned.

"Don't like planes?" he asked with an inquisitive brow and a chuckle.

Jenny glared at him. They were on much better terms as of late. He had almost forgiven her for her bat-shit-crazy stage; and she felt she could call him something like a friend again.

"I'm fine," she repeated, though her small intake of breath and the way her whole body went rigid as the plane's wheels left the ground was rather contradictory of her statement.

Only when their ears popped; and the plane leveled out did she relax with slow, soft exhale of breath. She slid her hair tie off of her wrist and held it in her mouth while she gathered her hair up and she pulled it back into a messy ponytail. Her short cut was growing out; and it brushed her shoulders now, but it was still an awkward length. Jenny looked up as the pilot came over the intercom telling them that it was alright to use any electronics; and she reached down to grab her book from her bag. When she sat back up, she laughed softly at seeing Tony with a portable DVD player in his lap; and a pair of headphones.

The sound caught his attention, and he looked over at her curiously.

"Good book?" he asked; and she peered up at him over her reading glasses.

"I don't know. I've only just started it," she replied, quirking the corners of her lips up into a small smile.

Tony nodded.

"What's it called?" he queried; and she marked her page before setting the book in her lap and removed her glasses to look at the Italian.

"Tony," she said with her emerald eyes dancing in amusement at his attempts to avoid what he assumed could be an awkward silence.

"Yeah?" he asked, seeming genuinely inquisitive.

"Watch your movie," she whispered, giving him a clear pass.

"Okay," he agreed with a curt nod, relief coloring his voice; and she grinned before setting her glasses back on her nose, returning to her book.

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When they exited the plane, Tony in front, Ziva in back there were a few reporters hanging around the entrance, obviously having been tipped off to Jenny's arrival. Tony spotted them before Jenny or Ziva and alerted her to them.

"Creepy kid with the camera, looks like a kangaroo on speed," he murmured; and Jenny looked up from her Blackberry abruptly, smirking when she saw the jumpy, wide-eyed, eager looking photographer. She ducked her head; and they tried their best to blend into the crowd,. Although, her red hair wasn't exactly inconspicuous and Tony and Ziva's movements practically screamed 'cops.'

"Director! Director!" the young man called over the crowd, waving her down with a pad in hand. Other people looked around at him in confusion and annoyance as Jenny, Tony, and Ziva sped up leaving the reporter to get lost in a sea of passengers rushing to their respective destinations.

"That happen often?" Tony asked once they were sure they had escaped the jittery little creature.

"Too often," Jenny sighed as they made it to 'Luggage.'

"What is the play plan?" Ziva asked, looking around impatiently-or warily-perhaps both. The need to move quickly had never left her, especially with the Director of NCIS under her watch.

Both Tony and Jenny turned to look at her abruptly: Tony in surprise and Jenny in confusion. It was the first real sentence she had uttered since they had left Washington.

"Game plan," Tony corrected, and Ziva nodded with a shrug, waving her hand dismissively.

"Yes, well, what is the game plan?" she inquired.

"The service is at four," Jenny supplied, and looked down to check her watch before she spoke again. "It's two now. I suppose we can stop at the hotel and still have plenty of time to make it there."

"Sounds good," Tony agreed, and shot forward when he caught sight of his bag on the belt, leaving Jenny and Ziva alone.

"How are you?" Jenny asked, looking over at Ziva out of the corner of her eye.

"Well, and you?" Ziva replied, intentionally avoiding the redhead's inquiry.

"You know what I mean, Ziva," Jenny said, eyeing the younger woman intently.

Ziva was silent a moment before she inhaled deeply through her nose.

"I miss him," she said as if it was pulling teeth to do so; and she looked off to the side in a sub-conscious attempt to distance herself from the conversation even a little bit.

"You should call," Jenny advised; and Ziva looked back at her skeptically.

"He does not speak," she pointed out.

"Trust me," Jenny said, with a small knowing smile as Tony came back lugging all three bags.

"What are we talking about?" he asked a little breathlessly as he set the bags down and popped up with his trademark grin.

"Breast pumps," Jenny replied with a straight face; and his grin was gone as fast as it came, replaced by a slack-jawed grimace.

A short laugh escaped Ziva's lips; and his smile slowly returned.

"Very funny, Madame Director," he said, shaking his finger, more mortified still than amused as he lifted the bags off of the ground and set off after Jenny and Ziva.

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The California sun was setting in front of them and a soft breeze caught the trees hours later after Decker's funeral. Tony and Ziva stood off to the side while Jenny grudgingly albeit cordially spoke with a couple of reporters.

"I have always considered Agent Decker my friend," Jenny said to the reporters who had practically attacked her the moment she stepped out of the church. "Even after his retirement I knew that he was never more than a phone call away."

It was true. Decker had been like her older brother on Gibbs' team and during the Paris op. He had always been someone she could confide in; but she hated to admit, she felt as if she had never returned the favor. Once she had become Director, with the whole Frog mess things had changed. She wasn't the fun, sharp-tongued probie Jenny Shepard he had always known. She hadn't been able to afford to be.

"My heart goes out to Agent Decker's family, and his beloved girlfriend, Sasha," she continued. "I know that William loved her very much."

That much she did know. When they had spoken, all he talked about was a twenty-two year old little thing, but she could tell that there was something real there. And who was she to judge? Gibbs was almost thirteen years her senior.

"See something you like, Tony?" Ziva teased with a smirk as the teary-eyed blonde, Sasha got into the back of a car.

"I only have eyes for you, sweet cheeks," he quipped back with a look of mock worship. She snorted, but grinned at him nonetheless. They stood in comfortable silence a moment, watching as guests headed to their cars until Tony spoke again. "You doing alright?" he asked, and Ziva snapped her head in his direction abruptly.

"You too?" she demanded, and he assumed Jenny had already spoken to her. "Stop asking," she insisted. "I am fine."

"Ziva, you know-" he started again, but she cut him off.

"Fine, Tony," she ground out with sudden and biting acerbity. "Do you not understand simple English?"

Their conversation fell on deaf ears as Jenny finished up her interview and climbed the steps to the church again, looking at Will's picture. Again, there was the nagging notion in the back of her mind that this was a far cry from an accidental heart attack. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth regretfully as she bent over to sign the guest book.

"Though I do not see that our presence is exactly necessary," Ziva murmured. When she had requested the detail assignment, this: waiting around, was not what she had in mind. She needed a distraction, not extra time to dwell.

Tony started in on some well rehearsed spew; and her expression grew increasingly skeptical behind her sunglasses as he went on.

"NCIS Code of Conduct, paragraph one, subsection 'B': any inner and state travel made by the NCIS Director must be accompanied by-"

"Shh!" Ziva finally cut him off, making a 'zip it' motion with her hand; and he stopped mid-sentence. "You're making this up."

"Yes," Tony admitted, and she giggled. "But, she always is accompanied by two senior agents for security purposes, and if it's not a rule it should be," he decided.

"She is accompanied by two senior agents because our Director is rather adept at giving her regular detail the slide," Ziva laughed.

"Slip," Tony corrected automatically.

"Whatever," Ziva sighed in exasperation. She really did hate American idioms. "Jenny cannot be trusted thousands of miles away with a regular detail. You were not her partner, Tony. You know a very different Shepard than I."

Tony chuckled; and looked over to see Jenny still standing over the guest book.

"What was that name again?" the coordinator asked behind the redheaded Director out of either Tony or Ziva's earshot.

"Mr. Oshimaida."

Jenny stood up straight as a rod. Just like that she knew that her gut had not failed her; and she had never been any more right about anything than keeping Jethro away from California.

Next chapter picks up right where this one left off. Hope you enjoyed it. :]

Xoxo- Monkeys