Title: Minor Ailments

Author: Morgan72uk

Rating: T

Summary: Sometimes, happily ever after involves picking up a few bumps and bruises along the way.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, don't have any money - and I probably shouldn't be doing this.

A/N - This is a series of linked stories, focussing on either Gibbs or Jen and minor ailments. You'll see that each story is complete and can be read alone - but they also fit together (or they will when I've written the next 3). And, surprisingly - they aren't all that angsty.

Back to Basics

Throughout the conversation in her office she'd been watching him out of the corner of her eye. Tony and Ziva were buzzing from the conclusion of the case; the big finish clearly an adrenalin rush. Even McGee was obviously proud of the way he'd handled himself in the fight they'd got involved in as they detained their suspect. But Gibbs was quiet.

It was scarcely noticeable, he was letting them tell the story, while somehow reining them in by his very presence. She knew that if they got too out of hand he'd be able to call them to order by a well-placed reprimand. Yet, there was something just a little unusual about his stance, about the way he was leaning against the wall watching them. And she was concerned.

Even so she almost missed it, almost didn't catch his grimace of pain when he pushed himself into a standing position to follow the rest of the team out. The others did miss it, too busy bantering and comparing the bruises and scrapes they'd picked up. Which was probably a good thing.

The report in front of her and the struggle the team had described was enough to tell her that he could easily have been injured, though of course he wouldn't say anything. They'd gone straight into an interrogation after bringing the suspect in and so he wouldn't have stopped for anything as prosaic as treatment.

"Agent Gibbs – a word?" The team looked as though they were trying to work out how the boss could possibly be in trouble – especially having just closed a fairly big case. But they left him to it, retreating quickly as though they feared she'd find a way to reprimand them too. But that was fine, because it was preferable to them realising why she'd really called him back.

When the office door was safely closed she pointed to the couch, "sit down Jethro, before you fall over." He wavered, looking mutinous, as though he was preparing to deny that there was anything the matter. She met his gaze, refusing to budge and finally he caved in, moving across the room and lowering himself onto the couch in a way that made her think he doubted his ability to get back up again.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs showing signs of human frailty – it had to be some kind of sign, could hell be about to freeze over she wondered?

She reached for her phone and dialled autopsy, keeping her eye on the man sitting on the couch as she waited for an answer.

"Yes Director?"

"Ducky – do you have the file on the Tyler autopsy?"

"I'm just finishing with it now – shall I send Mr Palmer up?"

"I'd like to discuss the findings in person. And, if you should happen to bring some medical supplies up with you that would be helpful." She heard the sigh on the other end of the phone.

"You, or Gibbs?"

"Jethro."

"I'll be there shortly." There was silence in the office while they waited for Ducky to arrive. Gibbs had leant his head back against the couch and now he didn't have to pretend for his team she could see that his face was etched with pain. She narrowed her eyes in concern but decided making him speak was probably a bad idea. Worry clawed at her but she kept it under control – if he'd been shot or stabbed there would be blood and if he'd been seriously injured the team would have noticed.

Ducky knocked but didn't wait for permission to enter. He held out the file she'd asked for and then fixed his attention on his reluctant patient. He flicked his gaze back towards her, giving a slight nod to indicate that she'd been right to call him.

"Jethro," he said quietly, "what have you done to yourself this time?"

"I'm OK Duck." Their colleague rolled his eyes and dropped his medical bag onto the table.

"Oh, I can see that."

Deciding to give them some space she collected a couple of files and slipped out to speak to Cynthia. When she returned a few minutes later it was in time to see Jethro slipping his shirt back on – the sight of the livid bruises on his chest and torso was enough to make her gasp, though she swallowed the impulse.

Instead she crossed her arms and looked at the two men, waiting for one of them to say something. Ducky packed some supplies back into his case and said, "the bruises are not as bad as they look – but his back muscles were in spasm. I've given him a muscle relaxant – it should start working soon."

"What happened?" She asked, this time looking at Jethro.

"You know what happened, it took four of us to subdue the suspect and his friends." He gestured towards the bruises, "that was an iron bar."

"I suppose it's useless telling you to be more careful next time?" He shot her a look which she didn't respond to. But which clearly indicated he didn't want to discuss this anymore – typical Jethro. Considering her options she decided on a more oblique approach and crossed to the drinks cabinet, grabbing the bourbon and three glasses. She poured a generous amount into the glass she slid across to Gibbs and smaller amounts into the other two glasses.

"Thanks," he took a swallow and she saw the tension in his body ease slightly as the warmth of the alcohol washed through him.

She could remind him that he wasn't getting any younger, that he needed to be just a little more careful. But she doubted he wanted to hear that and she was quite certain he didn't want to think too much about his injury. He was in good condition, he could take care of himself – but he didn't bounce back from injuries the way he had done ten or twenty years ago. None of them did.

She slipped out of her shoes and curled into the other corner of the couch, taking a sip of her bourbon. Ducky had settled into the chair opposite, watching them with what might be amusement. She shut her eyes, just for a moment – acknowledging that it was late and she was tired.

"This reminds me of that time in Dubrovnik," she smiled at Ducky's voice, placing the memory without difficulty.

"I thought we'd decided never to discuss that," she said, without opening her eyes.

"I can think of a lot of people who'd love to hear about the night the Director of NCIS started a bar brawl." He was being deliberately provocative - a sign that he was feeling better. She tilted her head towards him and this time opened her eyes,

"Jethro – you know very well I did not start that brawl, didn't even throw the first punch. In fact I was the one who talked the local Police Chief out of pressing charges." He grinned,

"He didn't press charges because you gave him your room number."

"I didn't tell him that I'd be sleeping in there." She didn't need to look at him to know he was remembering what she had been doing when the Chief of Police came to call and with whom.

"As I recall – the brawl started because Jethro decided that however much that smuggler was offering for a night with you wasn't nearly enough. I believe he was insulted that you weren't prepared to negotiate." She directed her attention back to Ducky – enjoying the memories of a time when they'd caused more trouble than Tony, Ziva and McGee put together.

"Actually Ducky, it wasn't me he was negotiating for a night with." Her gaze returned to Jethro, "he had a thing for former marines."

"I still think it wouldn't actually have turned into a brawl my dear, if you hadn't offered to arm wrestle."

"It wouldn't have turned into a brawl Ducky, if she hadn't beaten him."

"This is the thanks I get for defending your honour," she hadn't thought about those days in a long time. Only occasionally in the last three years had any of them made reference to their adventures – which was probably just as well. Having Ziva here was enough of a hostage to fortune. Between them Ducky and Gibbs could do a lot of damaged to her reputation – not to mention revealing why she hadn't been sleeping in her own hotel room when the Chief of Police came to look for her.

So, it was just as well she had plenty of ammunition of her own – and that both of her companions were very aware of the fact.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, three people who had, once, spent a lot of time together and grown comfortable in each other's presence. It hadn't all been drama and adventure as they'd worked their way across Europe. They'd made an incredible team and she'd learnt so much, from both of them. Though it was impossible to forget that she had undone all of that as well – severing their partnership for her own reasons.

"Better?" she asked as Jethro finished his drink and placed the empty glass back on the table. She could see the difference in his movements but she was still worried. The bruises meant that he had taken a beating, whether or not he was prepared to acknowledge it.

"Getting there," she rolled her eyes and glanced back towards her desk. Inevitably there were reports waiting for her attention, a diary full of meetings the following day to prepare for. But, it was late and despite her concern about Gibbs she was enjoying just sitting here, relaxing, with two people who she didn't have to worry about maintaining her Director persona in front of. Going home and having an early night suddenly seemed an incredibly attractive option.

"Jethro, you need to take it easy for a day or so," Ducky got slowly to his feet. "In fact I don't think you should be on your own tonight – just in case. I assume that won't be a problem?" He looked her dead in the eye and Jen was aware that with his assumption he'd managed to throw her off balance.

They'd been so careful, so discrete and she'd been almost certain that no one had realised. She glanced over at Jethro who looked as surprised as she did.

"It won't be a problem," she responded, confirming his suspicions.

"Good – I recommend a hot bath, a massage and an early night." He smiled to himself, "and not just for you Director." She didn't blush, but she did raise an eyebrow and try to look stern - though it had no real effect. He was enjoying himself far too much at their expense.

"Don't you have somewhere to be Duck?" you had to know Jethro very well to hear the amusement in his voice. Though it wasn't clear what he was finding so funny since he had agreed with her that they needed to keep this quiet.

"All in good time. You need to make sure your back doesn't stiffen up – I recommend gentle exercise." Ducky's gaze strayed between them and she definitely hadn't imagined the emphasis he'd placed on the word gentle.

"I'm sure we'll manage Doctor Mallard," she said, using her Director's voice.

"If you're wondering how I knew…" he paused in the doorway, "it was the bite mark on your shoulder Jethro."

"Anyone could have left that," Gibbs pointed out, Ducky smiled.

"I trusted my instincts that it wasn't just 'anyone'." As the door closed she glanced over at Gibbs, whose eyes were closed again.

"Shall I have him killed?"

"Messy," he responded.

"And a dangerous precedent." She sighed, having Ducky killed did not seem to be an option. As an alternative she closed the distance between them and curled carefully into his side. She was trying to avoid his injuries but, since he was the only person who didn't knock before entering her office, she decided to risk the contact.

He sighed and pulled her closer so her head rested against his shoulder. They sat in silence for long moments. She tilted her head to watch him, certain that he wasn't asleep, though he looked more peaceful now that the pain had eased. He proved her point a moment later, when she reached out to stroke his face and he intercepted her hand without even opening his eyes, pressing a kiss to it before letting go.

There weren't many moments like this – when she had leisure to reflect, when he was close and they weren't arguing about something, when she decided that she didn't care about the rule that said this was a bad idea. Their conversation with Ducky meant that the past was more on her mind than it had been for a while. Her feelings about that time were conflicted, so it was easier not to remember. But sometimes she could think back with affection. The past was a nice place to visit – but the present was looking pretty damn good at the moment.

"So," she said, toying with the button on his shirt, "about that massage…?"

The End