NCIS Director Jennifer Shepherd stood at the rail of the third floor, looking down over the bustling activity in the bullpen. People moved about their tasks with efficiency, their feet making no sound on the carpeted flooring, their voices a murmur combining with the thrum of electronic machinery and of the ventilation system. She fancied she could hear the ticktock of someone’s watch, or of the bank of clocks along the far wall, each marking a different time zone.
-What you hear is the ticking of your biological clock,- her inside voice told her.
Shepherd—Jen to her friends, and even to a few of her agents off-hours—sighed a bit. As she had once told one of her agents, her career had been on the fast track ever since she joined NCIS 14 years previously, after having been recruited from the FBI’s academy at Quantico. She spent far less time than most agents in postings overseas and across the States before being tapped for the job as director.
But that hasn’t come without a high price. The one serious relationship she had—with a fellow NCIS agent—imploded because of her driving need to go further up the agency food chain. And since that time, six years ago, there had been only a series of casual, shortterm relationships. Jenny was an attractive woman—she knew that, with her trim figure, lovely face and cascade of rich red hair—but she intimidated men.
Most men, that is.
This job could take it out of you, though, any semblance of a normal life. Small wonder that there were so many divorces, broken relationships, and so few children at the yearly picnics and Christmas parties. Most women—hell, most men—wouldn’t want to be involved with a person who might not come home at the end of the day. Like any law enforcement agency, it took a special breed of person to become a federal criminal investigator. Swearing an oath to protect and serve the country didn’t just give the swearer a decent salary, a gold shield and a Sig Sauer handgun. It opened a door into a world where most people would never want to go—never dare to go. A world of investigating crimes from drug smuggling and sales to domestic violence in naval/Marine families to terrorism threats at home and abroad.
At the cluster of desks in the dead centre of the room, the main team of field agents were bent over their computers, finishing up the paperwork that signified the wrapping up of a case. Senior field agent Tony DiNozzo was doing his hunt-and-peck routine at his keyboard, occasionally guzzling back a long draught of water and stealing a quick glance at his coworkers. Field agent Timothy McGee’s fingers were rattling over his keyboard in a staccato rhythm, while Mossad’s exchange agent Officer Ziva David was on the telephone, her right hand busily jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad.
Shepherd let her eyes drift to the last desk, feeling a tightening in her stomach as she did so. She expected to see the leader of this little group of agents, one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, reclining in his chair glaring at his monitor, drinking coffee and occasionally smacking the computer in an effort to make it work faster.
…Gibbs. Where was he? A quick scan showed him nowhere on the second floor. Perhaps he was down consulting with Dr.Donald Mallard (-call me Ducky…everyone does-!) Maybe he’d ducked out to refill on coffee and to get a Caf-Pow for Abby Scuito, the Goth goddess of the forensics lab.
-Mmmmm, Gibbs-, commented her inside voice. He sure lucked out in the gene department. Tall and muscular, able to defeat any of his agents in the training gym—even Ziva, who regularly bested both McGee and DiNozzo, couldn’t out-fight or out-train her boss. Chiseled, drop-dead handsome looks, with sea-blue eyes that could either warm the recipient’s heart with their compassion, delight with their dancing humour or chill with their frigid disapproving gaze. Didn’t matter that he was pushing fifty, and the once-black hair was now silver. He turned women’s heads wherever he went, although he seemed oblivious to how he looked. Whereas Tony, an attractive man in his own right, spent delirious amounts of time and money on his appearance and wardrobe, Gibbs was well groomed and immaculately dressed but in an understated way. He didn’t need 500 dollar shoes and silk suits and metrosexual grooming tips to turn heads.
-Although in evening dress, he was devastating,- that saucy inner voice of hers remarked, -but even more devastating OUT of it-…
Shepherd frowned internally, scolding that voice for wandering out of professional commentary on her colleague. Still, she reflected, he WAS a dish…always had been, and a few years had only made him more handsome.
Beyond the looks, however, was the real Gibbs: moody, sarcastic, secretive, fiercely loyal to those he cared about and to his country, quick to come down hard on his agents when they needed it, but equally quick to commend them for their work. The only person anyone ever saw him completely relax with these days was Abby, who fondly referred to him as her “silver-haired fox.”
More like a silver tiger, Jenny thought to herself with a rueful grin. Foxes were quick on their feet, cunning and clever, and Gibbs was certainly all that. But like a magnificent big cat, his strength was coiled and powerfully restless—and deadly when it erupted. You couldn’t cage such energy and power, but you could certainly—
“Keeping watch over your fiefdom, Director?” rumbled a husky, mocking voice behind her.
To give her credit, Shepherd didn’t jump. She’d known Gibbs too long, and too well, not to expect his presence to silently materialize near her when he needed to communicate with her. She turned slowly, tilting her head and flashing him a grin.
“Looking for you, actually, Jethro,” she returned lightly. “You must have been in MTAC—I didn’t check there.”
“What’s on your mind, Director?” Gibbs stressed the title slightly, one side of his mouth crooked upwards a bit in amusement.
Damn. Why was it sometimes, when he looked at her, she had the irrepressible feeling he was remembering Paris? Maybe because he was; he told her, not long after she became Director, that he had missed her—and she, too drunken on the heady euphoria that came with her promotion, had missed out on the chance to regain what they had once shared.
Story Notes:
This website is new to me, and i'm having trouble making sure the story gets its chapters up in order. Please bear with me!
disclaimer: I don't own anything, not even my computer. In another universe, however, I'm owned by Gibbs.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Director Shepherd hears a clock, and watches a blooming relationship...with regret.