A/N: I've decided to designate this as a crack!fic. I haven't done one of those in a while, and as I wrote this it went from being slightly amusing to actually more along the lines of crackish! and insane. It was originally going to be just Jenny and Gibbs, at which point it's fairly tame, but I couldn't get the idea of Ziva and her potato chips out of my head...

so: You've Got Tail or, How the Entire MCRT and Director Jenny Shepard ended up watching porn together.

The only up side to prolonged, overnight protective detail for the Director's boring, pompous conferences was the fact that Jenny Shepard always managed to procure the most high-end hotel setups. Probably due to the fact that when she'd been a probationary agent she'd put up with sharing rooms with various male members of her teams in run down motels, she spared no expense when it came to ensuring that her security detail boarded in comfort and ease.

This particular conference had required a three-night stay in New York for a terrorism summit near the former World Trade Center. As per usual for long weekend events such as this, Jenny enlisted the services of her major crimes response team rather than her lower-level protective agents; she claimed that way her detail could have a few days to spend with their families, but a certain former partner of hers was convinced she just liked feeling like part of their team.

She had managed to get three rooms in a five star hotel—which meant she bunked with Ziva in one room, DiNozzo and McGee occupied another, and Gibbs was set up like a king in the last one, all by himself. He figured he could only be more satisfied with the arrangement if there were a couple blocks of wood for him to carve on while he kept sleep at bay.

He had to settle for flipping through mundane television channels. The hotel had a relatively extensive cable package, and as a man who didn't even pay for the basics himself, Gibbs was slightly fascinated by all the crap that seemed to be available these days.

There were entire channels for people to run around half-naked in big, fancy beach houses and scream at each other.

He rubbed his jaw and yawned, blinking his eyes alertly. There was a difference between being tired and wanting to sleep; he could recognize when he needed physical rest, but it had been years since he'd found himself wanting to lie down and close his eyes. Sleep brought too much—pain.

He flicked through a few more channels until he got into the higher numbers. He paused for moment on the Spanish channel, snorted as he picked up a few lines, and lazily flipped on through some more. The next channel he paused on was showing pornography. Unsurprised, as most hotels did offer a complimentary adult channel, he stopped channel surfing for a split second and squinted his eyes, mildly curious.

He was male, after all. He just wanted to see what colour the girl's hair was. He certainly didn't expect his door to burst open right at the very point in time he happened to be watching porn.

(and not even watching, really, just causally investigating—)

He stared at her, frozen in shock, and it was when she shut the door with a loud click that he realized the television wasn't just a visual object; the Director of NCIS could probably hear with her very sharp ears just what was going on.

He fumbled the remote so violently that Jenny stopped in her tracks, afraid he was having a very literal seizure.

He jammed his thumb down on the remote and changed the channel down one, forcing his face into a stern mask and glaring at her from his reclined position on the bed.

It was too late; she was already smirking at him in a knowing, maddening way.

He immediately regretted insisting on rooms with connecting doors; she never would have been able to barge in through the key card access main door.

She prowled forward, tilting her head primly and looking at the television for a moment.

"Evening," she greeted sweetly, pursing her lips. "Enjoying a little adult cinema, are we?" she mused.

"No," he retorted gruffly.

Her eyebrows lifted thoughtfully.

"No?" she repeated. She touched her ear with her index finger, toying with the earring. "I thought I heard," she paused, and shook her head. She lowered her hand. "I must have been imagining it," she sighed. "You wouldn't watch such naughty things?" It was a leading question, but he answered anyway.

"Nope," he growled.

"Certainly not on agency dime?"

"It wasn't on agency dime; it was on cable," he fired back.

She grinned triumphantly, and he could have shot himself for falling so easily into a completely obvious trap.

"Ah, so it's the trashy, low-rent, complimentary porn you're interested in," Jenny drawled.

He glared at her.

"Jen—"

"You're caught red handed, Jethro," she interrupted, rolling her eyes.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" he demanded angrily.

"Interrupting your personal time, apparently," she answered loftily. "I was thinking of sending one of your goons for pizza, as I can't sleep and Ziva stormed out to answer a challenge of DiNozzo's involving poker and screwing McGee out of fifty bucks…but since you seem to be otherwise occupied—"

"I was just flipping through the channels!" roared Gibbs, abandoning his silent attempt not to rise to her provocations. Screw not protesting too much and all that bull—he really didn't want Jenny to think this is what his life had come to since she ditched him.

She shook her hair down her back and smirked, striding forward. She picked up the remote he'd chucked to the foot of the bed and tossed it into his chest.

"Okay, Jethro. Sure," she patronized. She cocked an eyebrow and perched on the bed next to him, reaching for the black hotel room telephone. She picked up the mouthpiece and gave him a wry look. "Well, flip back," she suggested mildly. "I'll order room service."

Gibbs stared at her like she'd grown a second head. She opened the drawer on the table and slapped a room service menu against his chest, tapping it with a long nail.

"What sounds good?" she mused, examining the phone's instructions for how to call down. "Pasta? We used to do pasta a lot in Paris. They're probably got pizza, but cheap carry out is always better than gourmet," she grinned at him. "What goes good with porn?"

He glared at her more violently.

"Don't know why you're askin' me," he growled.

"You seem to be the expert," she retorted.

Her comment provoked a bloodier glare, and he shoved the menu back at her. She tapped the remote, pointed at the television with an insistent look, and then flicked through the menu, her lips moving soundlessly as she read their options.

He narrowed his eyes at her profile, trying to discern if she was really serious about this. He shouldn't doubt her; he seemed to recall Jenny being rather daring when it came to—well, anything regarding sex. This was the woman who had decided to push him into a corner in the Notre Dame cathedral and—

"Jethro," she broke into his thoughts curtly. She grabbed the remote. "Up or down?" she asked.

He cleared his throat, still a little stuck in Notre Dame.

"Uh," he stuttered, trying to figure out what she meant. "Oh. Up."

"I'll just get the house pizza," she decided, as she clicked the television back onto the porn and hit the volume a few times, making it quieter. She pressed the button to call down to the room service desk and turned her back, holding the phone to her ear.

Her tone was crisp and professional as she ordered and he just stared at her in disbelief—she must have taken a little peek into the mini bar in her room. Why else would she decide an appropriate use of the rest of her evening would be to invade his room and force him to watch porn with her?

Well, force was a strong word, because if she was going to lie down next to him, maybe he wasn't so indifferent to the idea of leaving this channel on—

He snapped himself out of that reverie, too. She hung up the phone loudly, and nudged him.

"Scoot."

"No," he retorted. "My room. My side of the bed."

"My agency's checkbook," Jenny replied saucily.

"The federal government owns this agency," Gibbs pointed out.

Jenny leaned closer to his face.

"Do you want the federal government to know what you're watching?" she whispered.

He glared at her for a moment, and then rolled over to the far side. He placed himself on the edge of the bed, far from her, and stubbornly refused to look at her. Instead, he glued his eyes to the television—which wasn't exactly productive.

Jenny grabbed the remote, and turned the volume back up.

"Oh, look," she said breezily. "The leading lady is a redhead," she observed.

Gibbs said nothing.

Jenny sighed heavily. She clicked her tongue.

"She looks like Diane a bit," she remarked.

Gibbs held his tongue.

Jenny gasped.

"Ooh, did Diane ever do that - ?"

"She doesn't look like Diane!" he barked. He shook his head, and mumbled something that sounded highly offensive and very insulting to the onscreen woman's breasts.

Jenny smirked.

"Well, I was referring to her face, but honestly, Jethro, her breasts aren't really that small," she said coolly.

Gibbs turned and looked pointedly at Jenny's chest, then the screen. He cocked an eyebrow and his lips turned up slightly. Jenny rolled her eyes good-naturedly and leaned her head back.

"What's this called?" she asked.

"I told you, I wasn't watchin' it on purpose," Gibbs snapped.

Jenny ignored him and hit the menu button. Gibbs tilted his head—he hadn't even know the remote could pull up a guide, much less inform them that the name of the porno was—

You've Got Tail.

Jenny snorted.

"Aw, the original film is so sweet," she cooed, a sarcastic edge touching her voice.

Gibbs glared at her. He turned on his side and watched her watching the movie—she was seriously actually watching the movie. He raised his eyebrows slightly, glancing over her outfit. It wasn't the business attire she'd been in for the day, but she had always looked good in shorts and a t-shirt.

"You really want to watch this together?" he asked gruffly.

She ran her fingers along her bottom lip.

"Why do you think I ordered a couple bottles of Corona with the pizza and wings?" she retorted simply.

He relented and edged away from the far side of the bed a little, inching closer. He put one hand behind his head and took in the film for a minute. The cheesy pun of a title didn't seem to inform the plot in anyway; it was as base and blatant as pornography could get.

He rubbed his jaw with one hand and Jenny looked over sharply.

"Hand check," she announced loudly.

"What-?"

"Where's your other hand?" she demanded.

He showed it to her, and she smirked wryly.

"Keep 'em above the covers at all times, Agent Gibbs," she said mildly.

He gave her an outraged stare.

"Really, Jen. You think—with you in the room?" he growled.

She shrugged her shoulders, biting a nail.

"I don't know what kind of twisted kinks you're into these days," she returned silkily. She pursed her lips and tilted her head, sucking in her breath. Her eyes widened slightly and she thrust her hand out at the screen. "This is like her fourth fake orgasm and he's not even inside her yet."

"How d'you know it's fake?"

Jenny scoffed primly.

"Once again: fourth, not even inside her."

Gibbs watched for a minute.

"Sounds pretty convincing."

"Most men are easily convinced."

"I'm not," Gibbs decided to brag smugly.

"On the contrary, I can point out six nights in Europe when you seemed completely convinced and I was faking it."

He grinned and shook his head.

"Nah, I knew. You've got a tell even in the sack, Jen," he revealed.

She looked at him narrowly, her lips pursed.

"Why'd you let me get away with it, then?" she goaded.

He shrugged.

"I was tired," he said.

She rolled towards him and smacked him with the back of her hand.

"Lazy bastard," she accused with a laugh. He had cheated her—known she was faking and let her continue so he wouldn't have to work any harder!

He smirked and grabbed the remote, dodging another slap from her. He pushed her away gently.

"You plannin' on sleepin' in here with me after the show's over?" he asked bluntly.

"No," she snapped primly, giving him a wicked look.

"Stay on your side," he growled. "Don't touch me."

She held up her hands.

"Fair enough," she gloated, flattered by his need for her to have restraint. She flicked her eyes down over him—below his navel, and her lips curled up in a smile. He held the remote to his chest.

The couple on the screen switched positions, which necessitated some maneuvering, and Jenny sat forward, tilting her head.

"Jesus," she murmured. "He's hung like a horse."

Gibbs thought he might—for the first time in a very long time—blush. It wasn't that he had never seen pornography (he had been deployed and away from his wife for a very long tour at one point, after all) but he had never watched it with company and certainly not with a woman who wanted to engage in a running commentary.

"Damn," Jenny hissed appreciatively. She winced as things got a little more personal, and made a hissing noise. "Oh, no, she's such a little thing—"

"It's not that big," Gibbs interrupted loudly, glaring at her.

Jenny waved her hand at him.

"Shhh, I want to hear how she takes it."

Gibbs widened is eyes at her. Jenny bit her lip, sensed his glare, and turned to him impatiently.

"You don't have anything to worry about, Jethro, it's not like you're walking around with anything to be ashamed about," she complimented, giving him a pointed look below the belt.

He made a strangled noise and still stared at her, unable to decide if he was jealous she was so amazed by the male specimen on screen or flattered that she held his…manhood in high regard.

He didn't have very long to ponder his mixed feelings, though, because to his absolute horror, the connecting door opened again and the only other female agent on the team waltzed right in.

Ziva stood there, a bag of potato chips in her hands, and looked him dead in the eye.

"The Director is missing from her—oh," she said, catching sight of Jenny. She shrugged and looked back at Gibbs. "I was mistaken. She is safe."

Jenny waved at Ziva breezily. Caught somewhere between mortal embarrassment and rage, Gibbs sat up straight and glared daggers at Ziva.

"You don't seem too concerned that you'd lost her, Officer David," he snapped loudly.

"I did assume she would sneak into your room," Ziva answered brazenly. She munched on some potato chips and then turned her head, looking blankly at the television. "Am I interrupting?" she asked.

"Yes," Gibbs barked.

"No," Jenny said cheerily.

Ziva stopped chewing and stared.

"He is hung like a buffalo," she remarked.

"Horse," Jenny corrected. "Although—buffalo—"

"Ziva," growled Gibbs. "Go back to your room."

"My assignment is to protect the Director," Ziva retorted. "She is not in her room; she is in yours. I am surprised you did not check in with me, Gibbs," Ziva said loftily.

To his dismay, she marched to the edge of the bed and sat down on the floor, eyes on the television. Gibbs could hear her crunching on her chips, and he watched in horror as she tilted her head and looked upwards.

"This woman is not very flexible," she scoffed.

The slight hope and interest Gibbs had experienced by Jenny walking in on him was ruined by the addition of Ziva. She may be a grown woman and he highly doubted she was inexperienced but she was still his—his agent and he thought of her very innocently, almost as-

Jenny and Ziva both burst out laughing.

"Why do men think they can do that?" Jenny asked.

"It is not just Israeli men, then? American men, too?"

Gibbs hadn't even seen what the problem was. He was too busy staring at the ceiling praying to whatever God was listening to send a lightening storm that struck out the cable.

"It's like a universal right they think they have—"

Finally, Gibbs couldn't resist:

"What did he do wrong?" he asked dumbly.

"If you have to ask," Ziva piped up—and Gibbs winced, because he didn't want Ziva to talk to him about anything involved naked people ever again.

There was a knock at the door, but all three of them were too absorbed to consider it for a moment. Jenny was still chewing on a nail, Ziva was eating chips abnormally loudly, and Gibbs was trying to plot his escape without seeming obvious.

The knocking escalated, and Gibbs finally realized that was his way out—he'd open the door to answer, and then just bolt as far away as humanly possible. He started to get up and slink over when the connecting door to the other side opened and McGee poked his head in.

Gibbs resisted the urge to let out a strangled shriek of despair.

"Uh, the room service guy is knocking for…you…guys," McGee trailed off slowly, his eyes widening. He pushed open the door and stepped in, looking moonstruck at Ziva on the floor, and then the porn on the television. "Uh, what are you guys-?"

"Watching porn," Ziva answered starkly, without looking at him.

"Fine, I'll get their damn room service," DiNozzo groused, his voice muffled from behind McGee.

Gibbs locked eyes with McGee, attempting to look completely stern and foreboding, as they listened to DiNozzo go and grapple with the guy outside Gibbs' door. Jenny leaned over and smacked Gibbs' shoulder.

"Go get the food," she ordered.

In a state of shock, he got up and dragged his feet to the door.

His luck tonight was so unfortunate that he was not surprised to find that DiNozzo had already chased off the staff and was standing there with a cart full of pizza and a bucket full of bottled corona. He barged in with a mild glare at Gibbs.

"Jesus, Jen, how much food did you order?" barked Gibbs, just as DiNozzo was asking: "I don't know who you're feedin', Boss, but the Director is gonna be…" He trailed off, catching sight of Jenny. "Oh. Um."

"Going to be what, Agent DiNozzo?"

"I was, uh, gonna say pissed, but since you seem to be, uh, cool with it," he blushed and looked at Ziva, his face changing. "Hey, you said you'd be right back after you checked on Shepard, you sore loser!" he accused.

"I found something more interesting," she retorted, standing and taking a beer from the cart.

She slipped past DiNozzo and shut the door, matter-of-factly passing beer around and throwing pizza boxes on the bed. She removed a slice and pointed DiNozzo to the screen. He turned around and went slackjawed, staring.

Gibbs sank back on the bed, defeated, and chose to stare at the ceiling. No amount of beer would take the edge off of this; he was condemned to confinement in a hotel room where his entire team and his ex-girlfriend were having an x-rated slumber party.

He threw himself onto his stomach and closed his eyes determinedly.

"McGee!" DiNozzo barked, annoyed. He held out his hand. "This guy's—that's—it's fake, right?"

McGee cocked his head—and for the first time in his life, one-upped DiNozzo.

"Looks average to me."

DiNozzo squealed.

"What are you—are you kidding me? He's not—"

"Tony, perhaps you are forgetting we have all seen yours," Ziva remarked, sitting back down on the floor. She drew her knees up and smirked at him in a catlike way.

DiNozzo's face flashed through a few different shades of colour, and then he dropped down on the edge of the bed near the Director's feet. McGee stood holding the beer Ziva had given him, and then chose to sit in an armchair and lean forward.

Jenny crossed her legs and selected a piece of pizza.

"Jethro?" she started to lean over and offer it to him, and then stopped short, raising her eyebrows. "Seriously?" she hissed.

DiNozzo and Ziva turned to look. McGee leaned over.

"Is he-?" Ziva began, curious.

"Asleep?" DiNozzo finished, eyebrows going up.

"Jethro," hissed Jenny.

He either ignored her, or was actually that completely asleep—not exactly unheard of for a Marine.

"Uh, how can he fall asleep during this?" McGee asked, gesturing with a flush at the very vigorous, loud pornography they were currently watching.

"Probably why he's divorced," Jenny mocked loudly.

She swore she saw him frown at her, but he didn't react. She glared at his supposedly slumbering figure.

"Who's idea was this little adult get together?" DiNozzo asked wryly.

Jenny smirked wickedly.

"Gibbs'."

That did the trick.

"I was flipping through channels!" he bellowed, waking up from playing possum instantly.

DiNozzo snorted.

"Yeah, same excuse I give my girlfriends, boss," he drawled.

"What girlfriends?" Ziva ribbed. She tilted her head back to sip her beer and then sat forward. "What is he doing?" she demanded warily, eyes on the screen.

Jenny suddenly stopped smiling as well.

"Where's he think he's gonna put that?" she asked, echoing Ziva's concern.

The men—somehow—seemed completely unperturbed by this turn of events.

"Pretty obvious to me," DiNozzo said, nonchalant. "You, McGee?"

McGee shrugged, boyish eyes still wide.

"Ah—uh, well, yeah, looks pretty, uh, straightforward."

Gibbs grabbed the remote and pushed the menu button, showing them the name of the porno again.

"You gonna act all innocent, Jen?" he demanded. "You've Got Tail?" he reminded her.

"I wasn't entirely sure it was that literal—" Jenny began, and then her eyes widened and she threw her hand out, blocking her view.

She and Ziva screamed at the same time—

"TURN IT OFF!"

Instead, Gibbs relished the moment of revenge, and chucked the remote to DiNozzo and smirked at Jenny's sudden desperation not to watch the scene—and he couldn't resist embarrassing her just a touch further—because she had put him through hell, making him watch porn with the team—so he said:

"That redhead sounds like she likes it."

If you've never considered watching/actually watched porn with a bunch of your rowdy friends you're a liar.

-Alexandra
story #148