A/N: If it's not one thing, it's another. Either the plot-bunnies run away with my story cackling maddly as they alter it beyound recognition or the characters themselves gang up on me and expand a chapter beyond my original intentions or twist it into a new direction. *sighs* I suppose I have to deal with it. But I'm putting out bunny-traps! I really don't need more of those stupid bunnies hopping up and down and waving shiny new story ideas in front of my face. *shakes fist at bunnies* Take a number and be quiet or go away, already!

Anyway...yeah. Tell me what you guys think via that review button down there. You know you want to...

--

Jeanne didn't know how long she sat crying and staring at her shattered pictures. She didn't know how long she had been sitting on her floor amid the fragments, trying to understand why her life had suddenly turned upside down.

It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours, but she slowly wound down from her crying fit, only occasionally letting a sob out as she gently scooped the broken glass into a small pile on her bedroom floor. She tugged the pictures out of their shattered frames, and placed them atop the bookshelf once more, to ensure they were not stepped on. The wooden frames, slightly cracked, but unbroken, she left on the floor.

Swiping at the tears on her face, Jeanne hiccuped and shook her head vigorously, as if the motion would shake away the turmoil of the day.

"I should clean that up…" she whispered to her empty apartment. The young woman headed for her hallway closet, where she stored her cleaning supplies. She refused to look to either side as she moved through her apartment, afraid of seeing another lie captured on film.

She needn't have bothered being so cautious. The lies followed her to the closet anyway.

To reach her dustpan and broom, she had to shuffle her laundry baskets aside. They were made of a material Jeanne couldn't identify, some type of plastic, and were far more durable than the ones she had started with when she moved out on her own.

"Honestly, you're a doctor!! Shouldn't you be able to afford better things than this? And I should be getting you more romantic gifts than laundry baskets, Jeanne. I should be taking you out for an expensive, Italian meal or something similarly posh!"

"'Posh'? Are you serious? And besides, my laundry baskets weren't that bad…"

"It creaked when I kicked it the other morning on my way to the bathroom! They were definitely past the expiration date."

"Laundry baskets don't have expiration dates, Tony!"

"Oh, these do! Trust me."

Jeanne's hand clenched on the topmost basket as fresh tears surged to her eyes. Tony had been so adamant about the new baskets, she hadn't had the heart to refuse them.

"Why am I being so stupid?" she growled to herself, angrily brushing away the tears. But no matter how quickly she wiped them away, more always seemed ready to jump in. "This is…just…i-it's not right!"

Sobs shook her again, but this time Jeanne was able to control them to an extent. Her neighbors had probably had quite enough of her hysterics today. Jeanne's hand unconsciously ran back and forth along the edge of the laundry basket, as if trying to recapture something she had lost.

She stood there for some five minutes before she heard the knock on her door. One hand flew to her mouth as a voice followed almost immediately after it, and the sound of her door clicking open came hard on the voice's heels.

I gave him a key. Jeanne's half-stunned mind groaned.

"Jeanne?" came the call again. She couldn't stop the sob that came out, and two sets of footsteps sounded on the carpet of her main room, heading her way.

"Are you…alright?"

His voice was hesitant as it had never been before. Jeanne stood frozen in front of her closet, one hand on her laundry basket and the other over her mouth, sobs finally stilled. Her confusion and hurt started to seep away, replaced by a growing feeling of anger.

How dare he? How dare he come here…after what he did!? And ask me if I'm alright?!? He has no right!!

Jeanne could feel the heat rising in her face, but no angry flush would be distinguishable from the splotches her crying fits had already marked upon her cheeks.

Maybe that was why Tony didn't even duck the basket as it flew at his head as she screamed at him.

"Get OUT of my apartment!!"

--

Well, a laundry basket straight to the forehead wasn't the first thing he'd been expecting, but it could hardly be said he didn't deserve it. Absently rubbing the new ache, Tony felt his professional mask slip ever so slightly before he was able to slam it back up.

Jeanne looked horrible.

Her hair was a tangled mess. Her clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, and for some inexplicable reason, Tony could see small shards of glass caught in her scrub pants. Tear-tracks glistened on her red-splotched cheeks, evidence of long crying sessions. Her eyes were blood-shot; the result of her crying combined with her exhausting shift at the hospital. She seemed to be standing through force of will alone.

None of that had impaired her aim or her lungs.

"Jeanne…" he started, before quickly backtracking at the almost tangible rage he saw flare in her eyes. "Ms. Benoit, I know I'm the last person you want to see right now, but my partner and I need to speak with you."

"I have nothing to say to you, Agent Dinozzo! Get out of my apartment!!!"

It was becoming harder and harder to keep up his professional mask. He was having to sit on the impulse to run to Jeanne and hold her tightly, apologizing for every insensitive thing he had ever done to her, up to and including deceiving her in the first place. Tony felt his mask slipping again, and knew his face was starting to show his anguish. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, though, he felt a hand on his arm. Looking down, he saw Ziva tilt her head backwards ever so slightly. Mouth tight, he stepped back and let her take the lead again.

"Ms. Benoit? I am Officer Ziva David." Ziva smoothly started, deftly stepping closer to the furious woman, blocking most of her view of Tony. "Perhaps we could sit and talk? We have some things to discuss with you."

Tony waited with baited breath. From the narrowed eyes, Jeanne didn't seem to be taking any better to Ziva's attempts to calm her down than she had to Tony's.

"I told your partner already, Officer David, I have nothing to say to you. Leave now."

"I am sorry, Ms. Benoit, but that is not possible. Your life is in danger. We must speak with you."

Jeanne blinked and her anger melted slightly, confusion creeping in. "My life? Why should my life be in danger?"

"The bomb in Agent Dinozzo's car was not meant for him, nor for your father. It was meant for you."

Jeanne paled and wobbled slightly. "Me?" she asked faintly. "Why me? What have I done?"

"Let us sit, and I will tell you," Ziva said matter-of-factly. She shot a look at Tony over her shoulder, and he took the hint, backing out of the doorway and into the kitchen, out of Jeanne's line of sight. "You are safe right now, Ms. Benoit." Ziva continued, carefully guiding the stunned woman into the front room. "You are protected. It's safe here."

"I don't understand…"

Jeanne's voice faded into the background and Tony leaned against the kitchen doorway, heartbroken.

He'd hoped she wouldn't be so affected by his deceptions. He'd hoped she would pull through and move on with her life. He'd hoped…

Who was he kidding?

He hadn't wanted her to hurt, but he hadn't wanted her to not hurt either. Because that would mean she had never really loved him and he couldn't stand the thought of Jeanne not loving him.

A disgusted sneer crossed his face. "God, DiNozzo, how low can you get?" he snarled at himself. "It wasn't enough you seduced her and lied to her? Now you want her to spend the rest of her life in pain because she can't stop loving you?"

He slowly slid down the wall, shaking slightly.

What was wrong with him?

He wanted to apologize to Jeanne, but his guilt choked him every time he attempted it.

He wanted her to be able to move on with her life, but he didn't want her to stop loving him.

He wanted to be near her, but the best thing for her was for him to keep his distance.

Jeanne had every right to hate him.

He was truly a bastard.

--

Ziva tried very hard to control her impatience with the woman before her. Jeanne Benoit had just had her world turned upside down. Her perfect, neat little world where the worst thing she had to deal with was losing a patient had imploded in front of her very eyes. There was every reason to feel sorry for her and no reason to be so frustrated.

But Jeanne was an assignment, nothing more and nothing less. Tony was her partner and he needed her support right now.

Her inability to satisfy both obligations, both needs, was making her rather more short-tempered than usual.

"But…why would anyone want to kill me?"

"You are the daughter of an international arms dealer."

Jeanne flinched away from her and Ziva sighed internally. That could have been said with far more tact. But it was the truth and no amount of self-denial would change it.

Tony loves this woman, remember that. He would not want you to inflict more hurt upon her. Ziva reminded herself. She had to at least try to be more sensitive. For Tony's sake.

"It is not your fault. There will always be men and women who seek to gain through violence."

"They lied to me."

Ziva very carefully said nothing, counting to ten in Hebrew, and then in French and Turkish when her temper still seemed inclined to get the better of her.

"Yes, they did."

Jeanne regarded her with wary and hurt eyes, withdrawing slightly. Ziva sighed. Tact was not and had never been her strong suit.

"You don't understand," Jeanne said. "They lied-"

"Tony was undercover," Ziva said curtly, restraining the snap that wanted to express itself in her voice. "He was unable to tell you the truth without compromising his cover. Your father was trying to protect you by concealing his true occupation. You can accept those facts, or you cannot." The arms dealer's daughter stared at her, eyes wide. Ziva continued on relentlessly. "Your father is attempting to retire. Certain people do not wish this and so you have become a target. My partner and I have been assigned to protect you, and we shall."

"I never wanted any of this."

Ziva felt some of her annoyance melt as she saw Jeanne's weary resignation. The other woman already knew everything Ziva had told her. She had not wanted to face it tonight. Perhaps not for a long time, not until she had obtained some distance from the pain today had brought her.

Time would not permit her that luxury, just as it would not permit Tony the luxury of dealing with his conflicting emotions.

"No one wanted this to happen," Ziva murmured, feeling the rest of her annoyance diminish to manageable levels as she saw – allowed herself to see – the true anguish in the other woman's face. "But it has happened. None of us can change that."

"…I know that."

Jeanne was silent now, and Ziva allowed her a moment to think. When the other woman looked back to her, she was composed once again.

"So what happens now?"

"You will be escorted back to NCIS headquarters. You will be guarded at all times. An appropriate safe house will be found for you while the threat is dealt with. You will need an overnight bag."

"I…I have one mostly packed already. I was…was going to leave for a while. To get away." Jeanne said haltingly, looking vaguely disturbed at how close she had come to running off without any protection while there was a target on her back. Ziva carefully kept her own reaction concealed. She had known it was likely Jeanne wouldn't want to stay in the D.C. area, but she had not anticipated just how quickly the woman would move. They had truly arrived just in time to prevent disaster.

She did not think she would tell Tony that unless he figured it out for himself.

"Finish your packing, then," was all she said aloud, standing. Jeanne stood as well, still mostly in shock.

"I need to clean up the glass…"

"I will do so." Ziva said. "Where is it?"

"My bedroom. I broke a couple picture frames."

Picture frames? A drinking glass might have been understandable, but picture frames? But once more, all she said aloud was, "The dustpan and broom are in your closet?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Finish packing," Ziva reiterated, using one hand to turn the woman by her shoulder, directing her back towards the interior of the apartment and her bedroom. "I will clean the glass."

Jeanne left without a word and Ziva allowed her shoulders to slump slightly as she returned to the hallway.

The laundry basket Jeanne had thrown at Tony leaned forlornly against the wall it rolled to a stop by. Ziva sighed as she recalled the furious expression on Jeanne's face upon seeing Tony and her partner's sudden paleness as he took in her disheveled appearance and tear-streaked face.

This was going to be an awkward drive back to NCIS headquarters.