The Manual
- Chapter 4: When I look at you with doubt...
... Back yourself up -

He had surprised himself by going home that night. He certainly didn't think she would offer him her guest bedroom but she had. It had taken a lot of will power to say no, but he had pointed out that if his team had bugged his wallet, who knew what else they'd gotten to and so it would be best if he took his car home. She'd nodded, thanked him for dinner and watched him leave. He'd thought about kissing her cheek but restrained himself not sure exactly how well that would be taken. She seemed impressed by his curious little doings lately and he wanted to figure out what else he could do to impress her. It was certainly a bizarre concept for him, but one he attempted to understand on the short drive home. He finally abandoned the thought process when he reached his house and wandered down into the basement pulling out the journal again. It was difficult only reading one entry a night and he wondered if maybe he should just read it all quickly and get it back to her before she realized Abby and Ziva didn't have it. Then again, he figured she wouldn't let anyone know about and would try and find it herself and since he wasn't a likely suspect he knew he could keep it. Those thoughts aside he poured himself a glass of bourbon and opened the journal again.

Men are impossible. You say one thing and their mind is in the bedroom. Admittedly most people would probably think that of DiNozzo, but Jethro is just as guilty of it. It's irritating. I tell him I'm flashing back to Paris and he gets this ridiculous smirk on his face and the rest of the conversation will end in innuendos or a fight. This one ended in a fight. Almost.

McGee had managed to get himself in trouble this time and while I didn't want to believe that he had shot a cop the evidence was a little hard to ignore. Now given Jethro's sense of Semper fi loyalty, I was expecting a fight. He's covered for an agent before and I expected it of him again. So asking him about it was two fold, one I could support him and two remind him that he couldn't cover for McGee for forever. Instead I get a lecture in loyalty and honor and supporting my agents. Thank you very much I do know how to do that!

And just when I thinking I'm winning the fight and he's gone silent long enough for me to get a few sentences in, that ridiculous smirk comes back and when I ask him what he's thinking about, he replies. "Paris." Grant it that word has a whole lot of extra meaning and he could have meant anyone of the many exploits we got into I was pretty sure that wasn't what he was thinking. So when I tell him to get his mind out of the bedroom, I get this glare. You know if he wasn't thinking that, all he had to say was not what you were thinking or back himself up. Instead he just goes on his ‘gut' instincts and expects me to follow along. I don't doubt him professionally, but I'm supposed to have doubts. That's my job, to make sure nothing happens to the agency or the agents and instead he expects me to just go along with everything he says. Do as I say not as I do type thing. So even if I trust my own instincts, it's not worth anything.

Well then perhaps I'll ignore the instincts to buy him a dictionary for Christmas. Maybe just get him an index card with the word semantics written on it.

Ouch. He considered the words she had written. Her stream of conscious style was sometimes pretty hard to follow but he was almost positive he knew what she was talking about. He would admit to using some knowledge against her, the fact that they shared a very passionate past could be useful. She was oblivious to the effect she had on him, or if she wasn't she certainly didn't act on it. He didn't have such ability, and there was always something about her that would be a huge turn on. First it was the hair, then when she cut it, it was the fact that he could study the back of her neck in detail and contemplate the ideas he had for that part of her, once the hair started to grow out it would be her eyes, or her mouth, her hands (she really had lovely hands), or her shoes, or they way she wore her glasses. It was a very long list and he had found absolutely no ways to counter act the effect. Even when he had been dating Hollis, and both women had been right there, it was a constant comparison. The one time he saw them in the same color, he knew he was in trouble because Jen pulled off that shade of green in a way that probably had males in the building staring at her as well.

So if she doubted that he was actually thinking innocent thoughts about her (which was probably a good thing to doubt), he knew he was going to have to be a little more explicit. He figured that the next case they had, he try and include her, and back up the fact that she had good instincts and he was having a bit of trouble with it. That if anything would at least remind her that he did value her instincts and she should trust them. Of course it could totally backfire because he could remember a time when he'd asked her whose side she was on, and she had told him to give her a hard question. He put the journal down and picked up his sander moving to work on the boat while he considered this further. Maybe if he asked her to do something with him, like go see a movie, or go to dinner or a play, she would have enough doubt for him to back himself up with some superfluous reason that she would hopefully buy. Then he could accomplish two things, one show her he could back himself up, and two spend time with her. He wasn't quite sure when two had become so important, but as he read this journal he found he really missed the way they used to be. Not just the lovers' aspect, but also the friends. She had been his best friend, or at least the closet thing he'd ever had to a best friend, not counting Ducky or Fornell. He missed her friendship and he missed her. She seemed to uphold this Director façade more and more lately and he kinda missed her carefree, devil may care attitude she'd once had. Besides, he thought, even Directors are allowed to do something fun every now and then.

---

When his phone buzzed early the next morning he glanced up from his place underneath his boat and stared at his phone. Saturday morning, he was off and here he was lying on his boat in his basement. He glanced up and spotted the journal next to his glass of bourbon and alongside that a white envelope filled with tickets Ducky had given him weeks ago, and an idea hit him. Why wait till Monday to work on the journal entry? Director's had days off too. He glanced at his phone again, 9am, if she's not up, she should be. He opened his phone and hit speed dial three, her home number. It rang twice before he heard her tired voice.

"Shepard."

"Morning Jen."

"Jethro?" She sounded surprised.

"Yea...who'd you think it was?" He inquired.

"At this time, probably Cynthia telling me the world is over. It's my day off," she informed.

"What a coincidence, its mine too," he replied.

"You don't believe in coincidences," she reminded. "So what is it you really want?"

"Well I was thinking of going to that breakfast café before the rush, and since it's in Georgetown, I thought you might like to tag along." He could hear her yawn over the phone. "They have good coffee."

"You better not be sitting outside my window," she warned tiredly.

"Nah just getting ready already went for a run."

"Oh really," she commented. He nodded before realizing she couldn't see the nod.

"Yes, every morning."

"Hm, hm," she murmured. "I can remember exceptions to that, I'll be ready in ten minutes." He heard the dial tone and smiled ten minutes would be fifteen and so he bolted upstairs to shower and change. Ten minutes later he was out his door in the car dressed in jeans and a button down with a pull over fleece and his boots. He pulled up outside her house five minutes later. He went up to her door knocked, but didn't hear anything.

"Jen?" He said loudly trying the handle and finding it open. "Jenny?"

"Upstairs, I'm just getting my shoes. I left the door...open," she said as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

"You shouldn't do that," he reminded. She disappeared into her bedroom and appeared again her boots done up. She had on jeans and one of those sweater tops she liked. She grabbed her jacket out of the closet and followed him out the front door. He glanced behind them as they pulled out of her street. "You neglected to tell your security detail you were leaving."

"Opps," she said. "Knew I forgot something."

"You used to be much better at remembering things," he sighed.

"Oh I am, but you never said you were asking the Director to tag along. You asked Jenny and Jenny doesn't have a detail."

"You do realize you're talking about yourself in the third person."

"Yes."

"You've been spending to much time with Abby." They got out at the café, and walked into the quiet restaurant finding a back corner booth.

"Always the federal agent," she teased as he helped her sit beside him instead of across from him.

"Chocolate chip pancakes?" He asked as he watched her eyes brighten slightly. Chocolate had always been the magic word.

"Sure," she answered nonchantly; happy that at least he remembered to order her coffee. "So why the breakfast invite?"

"I told you already," he said.

"No, you gave me some crappy story about wanting to eat breakfast at a café that we've been to a grand total of three times, including this time," she explained looking at him one eyebrow raised, eyes very suspicious. All he had to say was not what you were thinking or back himself up, he could hear the words echoing in his head.

"Well...I...see Ducky gave me these tickets to the ballet, and I would go, but I'm not going to go by myself and I thought...since you're a girl you would like a ballet."

"Since I'm a girl?" She echoed. He cringed, wrong choice of words.

"Well you like Swan Lake," he said shrugging his shoulders and tried to come up with a more in depth explanation, a time of little ballerinas came to mind and he half smiled. When he met her eyes again she was starring at him curiously. "And Kelly wanted to be a ballerina, and so did Mattie, I was kinda going on the assumption that all little girls at some point want to be a ballerina, even when they grow up." She was silent a moment taking a sip of her coffee.

"When's the ballet?" She asked.

"Tonight, at seven."

"At the theatre?" He nodded. "I would love to go," she agreed.

"Really?"

"You trying to get me to change my mind?" She taunted.

"No, no, just double checking," he assured.

"You do know we can't wear jeans."

"Oh well yea, suits and dresses and a tie, got it," he answered. She smiled, he was trained well, and she was glad he had learnt his lessons about the ties. She wasn't quite sure why this invite was making the butterflies in her stomach, but it was definitely an interesting quandary. The breakfast invite had taken her completely by surprise and after the little bit about Kelly there was no way she could turn him down. She hated it sometimes. All the time she'd been together she would have given up anything to have him open up to her and the pain upon realizing that she barely knew after the coma was more than she thought she could take. Any little bit of him opening up, especially after the last year and her stunt with Tony was a miracle and something not to be scoffed at. Tickets to a ballet also fell into that category and when he bought breakfast, well, that's what she called a date. Although there was no way in hell she was saying that out loud.

After breakfast they'd gone for a walk around the small part of town just looking at the shops and talking about the team. He was trying to be amusing, and it was working slightly but he could hear the hesitancy in his voice and wondered if she had caused it or any of the women after her had. He had seemed surprised that she hadn't asked further about Kelly or Mattie and she wondered if that was in part the reason Hollis hadn't stuck around. He dropped her off at her house around one in the afternoon and said he'd be buy at five to get her for a quick dinner. She said nothing, he had the look that said argument was futile and when she inquired if he would actually stay awake for the whole show, he smiled enigmatically and said he'd see her later. It was now ten to five and Jenny was rushing around the house looking for her heels and the right shade of lipstick to go with her wine colored dress when the phone rang.

"Shit!" She shouted as her toe connected with the table the phone was on. "Shepard."

"Jenny, Abby."

"Hi Abby, everything alright?"

"Oh yea, its fine, Ziva and I were going to have a chick flick marathon, she hasn't seen any good ones and we thought you might want to join us," Abby said.

"Oh that does sound fun, but I have plans for tonight, I'm sorry."

"Oh," Abby sighed. "You're not doing work are you? That's not allowed on the weekends!"

"No, no, actually I'm going out. First night out in... god I can't remember when."

"Ooo...are you going out with anyone special?" the young Goth pressed.

"I'm going to the ballet if you must know and I promise to tell you every detail about it."

"You're going to the ballet alone?"

"No not alone."

"So instead of giving details about the performance, how about you give me details on the guy and his performance?" Abby tried.

"Abby, for the fifteenth hundredth time I'm not seeing anyone."

"Except Gibbs."

"What does he have to do with this?"

"Only everything." Jenny looked up, as there was a knock on the door.

"It's open!" She watched Gibbs walk in the door and held up her hand for silence.

"Oh is your mystery date here?"

"Abby for the last time..."

"I know, I know, not dating anyone. Still he must be pretty special if you're willing to miss chick flick marathon."

"I happen to like the ballet."

"Well that too," Abby assured. "Goodnight Director."

"Good night Abby," she responded ending the call. "Sorry, she called unexpectedly. I was just about to put on my shoes," she told him as he stood beside her.

"I didn't know you and Abby were such good buddies." She went into her study locating her heels.

"Something wrong with that. You were the one who said I had to get to know her."

"Yea...I didn't think you'd become a sisterhood."

"Abby needs a female perspective every now and then."

"There's Ziva."

"A non-violent female perspective."

"Cynthia."

"Cute Jethro, cute." He helped her into her coat and out the front door into the car. "Abby is a good friend, I can see why you're so fond of her."

"Between you and Ziva she actually does girl talk again."

"That's a good thing, I know it was hard for her to loose Kate, but I think this is helping and its nice that Ziva has someone else she can consider a friend, a real friend, not just someone willing to use her."

"You don't consider yourself her friend?"

"I do. I just don't always think she considers me one. Abby's a nice balance for both of us."

"Girls."

"You have your boys club, it's about damn time there were more females in the building."

"You know you were the second woman I had on my team."

"Yes I know and you complained bitterly about it for a month and a half," she recounted. "And now look you've had Paula, Kate, and Ziva on your team. Three very good agents, and Abby has been there for years now."

"Yea."

"So see women aren't all bad."

"Never said they were," he assured. She nodded sharply. "So about this chick flick marathon I heard about."

"Just something we do every so often."

"Wait this is like a normal thing?" Gibbs questioned.

"We try to do something together over the weekend, it started...I guess about the time you went to Mexico."

"Oh." She said nothing more not sure if this was a discussion they were going to table or just ignore completely. It was hard to tell sometimes. When they got out of the car, he tossed his keys to the valet and walked around to meet her. He almost unconsciously put his hand on her lower back guiding her into the theatre. They'd come in early, before the press had showed up so that she wouldn't have to deal with the press, because really she didn't have her detail, and cameras and flashing lights made spotting a gun difficult. He had his spare clipped to his ankle and if the larger dress bag she carried was any indication she had a gun as well. Thank god there aren't metal detectors in this place, he thought but he spotted the guards checking the women's purses.

"Jethro," she called gently turning to face him, keeping her wallet in between them. "I'd rather not get arrested." He nodded placing the wallet gently in his breast pocket.

"Not a problem," he assured having done this numerous times with her. She smiled sweetly at the guards as they passed and they kept their focus on her, not him. They passed through and into their box area.

"That works every time," she remarked as he handed her back her bag.

"What are you carrying?"

"Thirty-eight," she answered turning her attention to the stage. "It's light enough but effective."

"Very true."

"You actually going to stay awake through this?"

"You already asked me that."

"And you didn't answer."

"Oh well then yes, I'll be sure to stay awake." She nodded doubting it, but he insisted and she was surprised when by the end of the show he was still awake and nursing his only glass of bourbon. They drove back to her house, him quietly, her gushing about the costumes and the dancing. He admired the work it took to get there and he was sure it could be painful, but he just didn't understand it sometimes. When they got to her house, he checked it completely before meeting her back at the door, she offered him a nightcap but he said no, he should probably get home. She nodded understandingly and held the door open.

"Jethro," she called hesitantly not entirely sure what her mouth would spew out since her brain had apparently turned off.

"Hm?"

"I had a lovely time, thank you for taking me, and for telling me about Kelly and Mattie," she said gently. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek barely before pulling back and trying to keep the blush off her cheeks.

"Glad you had a good time," he replied his eyes still a bit wide. He turned to leave and just as he got to the car turned back and spotted her leaning in her doorway, high heels hanging in one hand. "Hey Jen?" She looked up at him. "Thanks for listening."

"Anytime Jethro, anytime," she answered waving as he did, he called back to lock the doors and she again nodded closing the door just as he pulled away. She leant against it and smiled before bolting up her stairs and throwing herself on her bed. She was in very big trouble with herself.

---

Gibbs leant against his workbench starring the boat, his tie undone alone with a couple of buttons on the shirt. He replayed the whole day over and over in his head. The brief kiss, it was still on the cheek but it seemed every time her skin came in contact with his, his heartbeat skipped. This time though he felt like he could still smell her perfume and see her lip print. He glanced at the journal again and asked himself for the hundredth time if he was doing what he thought he should be. Parts of him said yes and parts said no, but the no parts were slowly being converted as he read further into her journal. He picked it up and leafed through it again; rereading the entries he'd gotten too. The next one was a bit longer so he figured he'd save it for the morning. He'd want the whole day to sort through this and figure out his next move, cause whether he knew it or not, his focus had changed. He glanced at the entries upcoming and read the titles smiling slight at some of them. He was going to get Ziva and Abby whatever they wanted for their birthdays this year.

Chapter 5