Ruminations

It hadn't gone exactly as she had planned, as she had hoped. She'd thought she could make it happen, but it hadn't.

She'd been thrilled when she was offered the position. She knew what the women of 35 years before, the pioneers, had gone through, trying to break into the old boys' club and meeting testosterone-fuelled resistance at every step. There still was a lot of that, but here she was—after years of solid field work, followed by the requisite ass-kissing, finally where she knew she fully deserved to be, at the top of an important federal agency, with complete responsibility for a multi-million dollar budget and almost 2,000 personnel.

But it wasn't what she'd expected.

She sat in her nicely appointed office—considering that it was a federal office—looking at the view of the capitol city through the picture window. Evening was falling; the sky was that particular blackish blue of twilight, punctuated with the orange and yellow glows of streetlamps and lit office windows. It was a beautiful sight, colored by her pride at being here, in this place.

The brush with possible personal annihilation that day was nothing she hadn't faced before. The one thing about the agency that you could count on was that its people were damned good at what they did, and if someone was planning something nasty for one member of the team, the others would walk through fire and water, go to the moon if need be, to halt the threat. Reason to be proud of how that determination had been demonstrated earlier today. There'd been a few moments when things got a little tense, but she'd never doubted that *he*, and *his* team, would save the day—hell, save her. And they had.

She'd occupied this office for several months now, and what she'd hoped would happen now that they worked together again on a daily basis was no closer to being realized than ever. She'd always admired him, his strength not merely of body but of moral commitment to the cause of law and justice, his courage in even the most dangerous situations, his warmth despite his maintaining strict control of his emotions and seldom letting that side of himself be observed. She even loved his propensity for breaking the rules when he thought he needed to. She loved his eyes, the intense blue that could be steely and hard one moment and flashing with amusement the next. She loved him, in every part, in every way. She had since they'd met, and she suspected there would always be a room in her heart for him, no matter what the future might bring.

She had tried to let him know that she was still interested. She had revamped her wardrobe, become the model for "dress for success" while still maintaining her femininity. She had cut her hair, hoping to get him to notice, to remind him that she was a redhead too.

She knew that at one time he had loved her. He had told her so. In the throes of making love (not just merely having sex), he had said it over and over. "I love you." But then had come the time when he told her he was not cut out to be a lover, especially not a husband, and most especially not for the fourth time. He loved her too much to do that to her. And then he was gone

As the man who had kidnapped her today was led away, she had hoped that *he* would say something, anything, to let her know that he was happy she was still alive, to tell her that her continued existence had meaning for him. She had finally had to concede that he was no more thrilled by her survival than he would have been had she been, say, just another petty officer rescued from a bar brawl.

She had to acknowledge the sad fact that he had stronger feelings of love and loyalty for his team members than he did for her. Well, maybe not for Ziva. She, after all, had forced Ziva onto his team, with a specific brief to make the case for herself. But he resented that greatly, and although he was doing a great job of teaching Ziva to be an investigative field agent, he had not forgiven her for pulling rank on him in her first days in the new position.

No, he felt more for the other members of the team—DiNozzo, McGee, Sciuto, and Mallard. DiNozzo. An overgrown Peter Pan, someone had called him, and it was true. A skirt-chasing, chauvinist pig. He thought he could float through life using his shit-eating grin as both a weapon and a shield and as an excuse for when the shield failed. Well, he was indeed devastatingly attractive, if you liked that kind of flashy male prettiness. And he had a knack for coming up with the very piece of information needed to solve a case, even though it seemed like, most of the time, he was just sitting in his chair with his feet up. One couldn't truly call him a layabout. He had his place on the team, and whether she liked him or he her, *he* trusted and relied on DiNozzo to do what needed to be done, and DiNozzo reliably repaid that trust every time.

As for McGee, he was growing up on the job. Not the best place to do it, but his tech skills were outstanding, and he was showing promise as a field agent as well. He was basically inoffensive, might be intimidated by his boss, but, like DiNozzo, when the effort was needed, he came through. She knew he would resist any effort to replace McGee.

Abby Sciuto. She had deeply resented the new dress code, and he had fiercely gone to bat for her. And as with DiNozzo and McGee, her work was effective and professional, at times even brilliant. *He* relied on her to provide answers when no one else could. No hope there.

As for Dr. Mallard, he was eccentric and old. By rights, he should be retired—he was, in fact, two years past the agency's mandatory retirement age. She would be well within her rights to insist that he go. But the two of them had known each other, worked with each other, been each other's friend not merely for years, but for decades. He would see any move against Ducky as a threat to himself, and there would go any chance she might ever have had of re-establishing their relationship.

She sighed and shifted her position in the chair slightly. Without question she was between a rock and a hard place. His team was sacrosanct. If it were not for them, she might have a chance with him. But there was no way to dislodge the team. Any move she might make would be interpreted as being hostile—which of course it would be.

That left the man himself. It was an almost universal rule among employers of all kinds that on-the-job fraternization had negative consequences. And most workplaces had rules about romance between supervisor and subordinate. She was blocked by that. But, Christ, she wanted him and needed him so much. Together they could do so much for the country and for the world. But likely not within the walls of NCIS.

He had more than twenty years in. He could retire with full honors and a substantial pension. But she had a feeling that was no more likely than trying to get rid of his team. He loved the work; forcing him to retire would be no more effective than with Ducky.

"Your mind's going in circles, my girl," she told herself. There was no way in the current alignment of the universe her continued feelings for him would end well. She couldn't have him, especially under the existing circumstances, and anything she might try to do to change those circumstances would only alienate him further, or possibly even end one or the other of their careers. That was not thinkable.

Slowly she stood up. Thinking about it further would do no good. It was late, and although she had told everyone she was fine after the terrifying events of the day, she was both physically and emotionally exhausted. Time to go home, take a long, hot bath, and curl up with a cup of hot tea. She would really prefer curling up with a nice, warm man to provide some stress relief for her, but....

What she could do, though, was stop in the squad room on her way out of the building. If he was still there, she could invite him to have a drink with her. Who knows where that could lead. She could still hope.

Smiling slightly in anticipation, she turned off the lamp and walked out the door.