Disclaimer NCIS is not mine

Authors note okay, so this is set around maybe season 1 of NCIS:LA and Season 5 of NCIS, it might not be fully accurate but I hope you enjoy.

Two women, both polar opposites in appearance. One leggy red head, one petite brunette. One ever fighting for respect in the world she's head of. The other can silence even the tallest of men with the smallest and quietest of words. Neither at the meeting out of choice, neither having the conversations they were out of choice.

"Hand the case over to the FBI within the hour-"

"Do you realise how this will end-?"

One running her hand through the thick red locks highlighted with blonde, closing her eyes and breathing deeply to maintain calm. Ignoring the throb caused by the sky scraper Vivian Westwood suede turquoise heels which cost her a chunk of her paycheque. Trying so so hard to keep her agent in line as she ignored the glances of inferiority she received from the men whom walked past and the smug smirks that she would fail and hand in her notice by the end of the month.

One sat on a hard black leather chair, seemingly unbothered by the strain of her job. Speaking in a well mannered tone as her eyes rimmed by thick black glasses took in every detail the hallway she was in had to offer. Unlike the other woman, she had not title to envy to her name, and par consequence received not a look for her conversation, but one for her obscure appearance.

"This is an order Gibbs, you hand the case to the FBI-"

"Mr Callen, this is not a topic for debate-"

The director of NCIS gave into the burn of the heels and sat down. Two seats away from the other woman. Leaning back against the wall she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. The bangs ticked her cheekbones and she roughly fought them to remain where the had been placed earlier in the day.

Beside her Henrietta continued her conversation, her eyes moving from the decoration of the hallway to the shoes on the woman beside hers feet. Of course she was aware as to who her boss was, however even after three years of being under her command she had never seen more that a computer image of the woman via a video conference. The brunette listened to the ramblings of G Callen on the phone and softly examined the seam of her tweed jacket as she did so.

"Jethro so help me god if you do not hand over the case I will have your badge on my desk before the sun sets."

"Mr Callen, if you wind up under a car and ruin those Levi jeans then I will be deducting that thousand dollar meal your alias had from your account before evening sets on Paris."

Both women hung up in sync. One groaned through her dark lipstick and the other sighed, whispering under her breath. Both took a moment to compose themselves before Henrietta broke the silence in what was now a deserted marble entrance hall. "Vivian Westwood Anglomania Skyscraper Heels, elegant, not a patch however on the unfortunately named Prostitute Stilettos which have become one of the most rare fashion finds in recent years."

The brunette turned to director with that small smile on her face which told the whole world that she had a pair of those very shoes tucked away in LA. Jenny opened her eyes to look at the head of the LA field office, and smiled back, flicking her gaze to the shoes she was currently modelling.

"Unfortunately I've never been able to acquire a pair, I always said I'd wait for my wedding day." Jenny said, remembering the time in Paris when she had seen a pair in a high end vintage shop, back when she was wearing rose tinted glasses in regard to her relationship with Jethro.

"No no no! Christian Louboutin's Cinderella shoes are the wedding shoe, the lace is simply flawless and the butterflies would be sacrilege to wear at any other occasion." Jenny smiled at the thought of her wedding, an event she had long since given up hope of experiencing. The thought of wedding dress shopping and shoe shopping had almost always excited her more than the actual ceremony had.

"I'd always wanted an outside wedding, and the thought of ruining what is almost artwork . . ." She let the sentence hang. Truth be told she had only thought about her wedding in Paris, and back then all she had wanted were Vivienne Westwood shoes, the bank of the Seine and Jethro beside her. Now she knew if she ever got married it would be some massive media parade.

"If only I could get Mr Callen to have to same mind set." Jenny smirked as she listened to the other woman. "The threat of the cost is more a deterrence that the thought of the sacrilege of ruining the item - despite my best efforts."

Jenny smiled at the thought of the agent that Henrietta was referring to the man who she had worked black opps with in Europe. "Callen learnt to be obnoxious from the best I'm afraid. And the best is still as obnoxious as ever."

"You knew Mr Callen?" The brunette turned ever so slightly to look at the red head, always intrigued by new bits of information she could use to build up the mans past. A past he was so resilient as not to share.

"Yes, he worked intelligence amongst other things on a black opp I worked. He, erm, he was always very ... Nosey in regards to other peoples business but never cared to divulge his own."

"He is still the same, never one to let sleeping dogs lie." Jenny smiled, nodding as she remembered the times he'd badgered her for information - mainly on her love life or Gibbs. Her eyes caught sight of one of her detail eating by the door, and she knew it was time to go. There were meetings with agency heads, and the SecNav to be had, dinners with senators and ass kissing up the hill to be done. It wasn't often she got time to remember the old times or meet a new face.

So standing up she made her apologies and began to walk away, but when she reached half way she turned around, and the brunette raised an eyebrow. "Next time Callen won't leave something, tell him he doesn't want a repeat of Serbia." The smirk that formed on the directors lips and slight blush that covered her cheeks was enough to intrigue the other woman. But, there was little chance in prying, because it was obvious that there was no more informations to be leaked. Henrietta nodded, and stood up to walk in the opposite direction, filing the information away for another day.

Three weeks later ...

"Come on Sam, are you not just a little bit interested as to where she is going?!" The agent questioned, sat on a chair with his feet on the table, crossed at the ankles. The other man was sat on the other end of the table, cleaning his weapon.

"No G, I'm not following Kensi! She'll kill us!" The other man said, as he carried on with his task.

"Mr Callen I think you will find that to be a table and not a foot stool." Hetty said as she made her way into the room. The agent quickly moved his feet, nearly falling off of his chair in the process. "Gunpowder surprisingly does improve taste either." She commented, looking at Sam who began to pack away the weapon.

"Hetty, will you tell G we're not following Kensi?" Sam questioned, smirking at his partner, knowing once Hetty said it it was law.

The woman simply smiled, remembering the piece of information a red head had told her in a hallways a few weeks ago. "Mr Callen, do you need to be reminded what happened when you refused to leave it alone in Serbia?"

Callen sat there looking shell shocked for a moment; "How do you-? How does she-?"

"I have many sources Mr Callen, including those at the top of the food chain." And without another word Hetty left the room, feeling more than a little please with herself. As she walked out she heard the agent's mind clicking, until one name rang out through the building.

"Jennifer Shepard!"

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