“Where’s Gibbs?” Director Shepherd greeted Ziva and Tony with a frown. Ziva took one look at their boss’s attire and automatically smacked Tony’s head, “on your behalf, Director.”
“Gone to pick up his ‘date, whoever he’s borrowing for the evening,’” Tony said. “You look terrific, Jenny…I mean, Director. You too, Duckie.”
Shepherd smiled at her two agents, who certainly looked the part of a military couple. Tony was wearing the evening dress uniform of a Marine lieutenant, and carrying it off very nicely. His glasses gave him a look of maturity, and also provided camera surveillance for McGee, on watch in MTAC. Ziva’s hair was piled in an elegant updo with just enough curls hanging down to effectively cover her ears (and her earwig). An ornate silver and moonstone comb held the do in place and provided a second camera feed for McGee. Her long burgundy halter dress set off her exotic colouring perfectly, hugging her in all the right places, but also left her able to move quickly if she needed to. Shepherd hoped none of them would need to do anything more than dance, chat and eat canapés over the course of the evening.
The NCIS director had gone to a great deal of effort with her own outfit. To compliment her rich auburn hair, she was wearing a close-fitting gown in celadon green, with tiny spaghetti straps, asymmetric gathers in the bodice and down to the skirt, and a coordinating bolero jacket. Duckie had a matching puff in his tuxedo pocket, and his bow tie, although of a more subdued black, was at its usual rakish angle.
“Don’t we all look like a bunch of penguins, we men?” Ducky mused as he looked around the room. “Our dates, on the other hand, look like rare flowers, orchids I’d propose. This reminds me of the time I was at Opening Day at Ascot Downs…”
His voice trailed off, as he spied someone familiar.
“Oh. My.”
Suddenly wordless, he stared across the room in bemused silence.
Ziva, Tony and Jen followed his gaze, to spot one Leroy Jethro Gibbs striding across the room towards them. His white tie and tails were immaculate, his demeanour as ramrod straight as when he was a Marine, but he was smiling and relaxed, gazing at the woman on his arm. A woman with black hair, flowing loose and silken over her very white skin, wearing an elegant amethyst-purple silk dress with a plunging décolleté and flowing fishtail hemline that showed her long, elegant legs. A black lace shawl caressed her shoulders and trailed scalloped edges from the trimly muscled grace of her arms. Her deep red lips were curved into a smile and she had eyes only for the man she was walking with.
“Abby!” gasped Ziva. She glanced at Jenny, who looked nonplussed.
“Wow,” was Tony’s only comment.
“Wow indeed,” said Duckie.
Shepherd didn’t say anything, but she felt a sour knot curdling her stomach.
Gibbs and Abby reached the group, and Tony found his voice. “Hey. Who knew that either one of you would clean up so well?” He ducked his head to avoid the inevitable Gibbs-slap, but when it came, it was Ziva’s hand again that delivered it, yet again.
“Be nice, DiNozzo, for once?” Ziva looked at her boss, and smiled. “You both look wonderful.” She turned to Abby. “That’s a Vera Wang, isn’t it?”
“Good eye, girlfriend! Bought it last time I was home in Charleston,” Abby said proudly. “It didn’t come in black, but I figured deep purple was close enough. For this evening, I figure I’d best keep the shawl on, so this crowd doesn’t get overwhelmed by my back.”
“Your back?” Ziva looked confused, while Duckie, Tony and Jethro all grinned in anticipatory appreciation. They knew what was coming. Abby pirouetted and dropped the shawl down her back. The dress back dipped out in a complete scoop right to the small of her back, showing off her beautiful ornate cross tattoo to perfection.
There was a momentary silence before Ziva said, “Wow. That’s amazing, Abby, I didn’t know about that one.” She glanced at her male colleagues and added, “Obviously you did.”
Gibbs said, “Okay, Ziva, Tony, Abs, let’s just keep our eyes open and let the Director and her date enjoy the evening.”
“A moment, Jethro, please?” Jen was smiling, but not with her eyes. Gibbs looked at her with his mouth quirked in that half-grin, and followed her across the ballroom to a set of French doors leading out to a balcony. Jen closed the doors quietly behind them, then turned to Gibbs, her mouth hard and her eyes dancing with anger.
“What in hell are you doing?” she flashed at him. “Bringing Abby to this event? Besides the fact that she’s a Goth, Jethro, she’s not an agent, and she’s not trained for doing surveillance. I won’t even go into the fact of her age—”
“Her age, Jen?” Gibbs was calm, too calm actually. She looked at his face, which was impassive, and then she noticed the spark in his eyes. “She’s thirty-four years old, Jen, with double masters’ degrees in forensics and criminology—she’s not a child.” He studied her for a few seconds, then added. “Does she look like a child to you tonight, Jen? Or a Goth?”
“Well, no…”Jen trailed off. She realized now that Gibbs’ calm, quiet demeanour was just how he got just before he did lose his temper or uncoil at an enemy. This was like the seconds between the end of the ticking and the exploding of the bomb. In for a penny, in for a pound, though, and she wasn’t going to back down. “But it’s really not appropriate—”
“Where do you get off dictating to me who’s appropriate for me to take to an event where I need a date?” Gibbs’ eyes were cold blue ice now, and his voice matched that ice. “Abby happens to know sign language. So do I, and we talk to each other using it regularly. She’s capable of chatting with people around the room and telling me what they’re saying—or what they’re doing—while I’m across the room from her. She is smart, sociable, and a wonderful woman, and your jealousy is neither becoming nor professional!”
Jen blanched and took a step back from him as if he’d struck her physically. “I’m not jealous, Jethro…don’t be silly.” She looked away from him for a second, then back at him.
He moved closer to her, and lowered his voice. He was still angry, but he gave her a cool, wry smile. “Director—as my boss, you can of course offer concerns, suggestions, criticisms regarding work. But you have no place in my personal business. You forfeited that right in Paris, and again when you slammed the door shut on a conversation, that night when we were staking out Haswari. Hell, I even was foolish enough to try once more, that night in MTAC when I asked what La Grenouille had done to you, and you shut me down,”
He looked her up and down. “Otherwise, maybe it would be you on my arm tonight, and not Abby. But that’s how it is. I learn after the third time.”
“What about rule 12?” Jen found her voice, but it was shaky. She felt like seventeen kinds of a fool, but she had to ask. “Is this a for-show date or are you seeing her outside of work?”
“If you can’t tell, Director, then you don’t need to worry.” He opened the door for her with a little flourish, and she went out ahead of him, head high, but knowing there were two blazing spots of red on her cheeks. Instead of returning to the rest of the team, she headed for the ladies washroom to compose herself.
Author's Chapter Notes:
No surprise, really, to anyone..except the director