A quick one-shot that has been rolling and rattling around in my head for a while. Hope you enjoy...
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, don't own NCIS or the characters.
The Guardian
"Have her home by 11," where the only words he muttered, as he stood on the porch watching them walk hand-in-hand into the night.
Now, he stands, surly expression firmly in place, as they tip-toe up the stairs at 12.24am. Her barefoot, sandals swinging lightly from her date's fingers.
The porch light flickers on. He yanks open the door. Taps his slippered foot impatiently. Arm crossed tightly over his tartan print robe.
Sheepish expressions: green meeting brown.
The firm line of the older agent's mouth says it all. He gruffly states: "Early morning, need I remind you?"
And her date bends, lightly, chastely, kissing her on the cheek. Hands her back her shoes, his green eyes glint mischievously: "See you at work in a few hours, Partner. Boss." Jauntily struts down the pathway.
She turns and follows Gibbs inside.
"My house, my rules," he grumbles.
Ziva kisses him. Gently. On his weathered cheek.
"Thank you," she responds softly, as he looks surprised.
"Never had anyone care before. It feels good."
She closes her bedroom door behind her; oblivious to the small tear that slides unbidden down his cheek.