Disclaimer:I don't own these characters. Sadly, they belong to some other people.
AN: There's another chapter to this story, which I'll post in a few days. Enjoy! Also, thanks for the likes/follows/reviews on my other two stories. Feedback in any shape or form is much appreciated! :)
Thursday, 0830:
Silence has fallen over the NCIS headquarters in Washington, DC. Not even the scribbling of reports or the incessant tap tap tap of typing suspects' names in NCIC perturbs the status quo. No one is at their desk, not even Kate, especially not Tony. Gibbs? Gibbs is like the Queen of England that way. He is never late; it's just that other people are early.
Thursday, 0930:
"You have got to be kidding me," Kate murmurs, out of breath, fingers running over a blank page. Her morning had gone terribly wrong. After realizing that her sketchbook was missing and turning her entire apartment on its head, she had rushed to work only to find it on her desk, with a sharpened pencil by its side.
"You're welcome, Kate," Tony grins from the opposite desk.
Her eyes snap up at him, but only for the duration before another thought strikes her. A chill runs down her spine as she leafs through the sketchbook, but there is nothing there. All her sketches are gone.
"Tony!" and with that she is standing in front of him, ready to engage in yet another screaming match.
"Yes, Kate?" he asks, an innocence that is fooling no one, seeping through his silky murmur.
"Where is it?"
"What? Where is what, Kate?"
"You know what, Tony. Just – give it to me."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Kate."
"Tony! My sketchbook, give it to me, okay?"
For the short span of this conversation, her anger has turned to desperation because she knows he has it and that's Tony. Unless she wants to find copies of her sketches posted on the public message boards around the office, she needs to stand her ground.
"There you go, Katie. All you needed to do was ask," he smirks, handing her the desired object. Feverishly, she opens the sketchbook, just making sure, going through every page until there are none left and –
"Oh, by the way, I needed paper, so I took some pages out. Hope you don't mind. Bought you another one," he is grinning again, pointing at the sketchbook she had found on her desk earlier.
With a shake of her head, she goes back to her place, finally starting to work on that report for Gibbs.
Thursday, 1100:
"There you go, boss. My report is ready," Tony announces smugly, much to Kate's annoyance, who is finishing off her work.
As he walks to Gibbs' desk, his eyes are on the paper, still on the lookout for errors, and it doesn't strike him as unusual when he doesn't get a reply. Because that's Gibbs – you get a crooked smile, a casual slap, and only on occasion, a verbal response. To his surprise, though, once his gaze finally extends to Gibbs' workspace, there is no one there. Imagine that. Absorbed in his work and in the frequent glances at a certain magazine, Tony – just like the others in the room – hadn't noticed that Gibbs was absent.
"Hey, Kate. Guess what –"urges Tony, aware that he is a disturbance, yet decidedly invades her personal space, hovering over her head.
"I'm working, Tony," Kate objects, knowing that it's probably in vain. Reasoning with Tony is like reasoning with a 5-year old. "No" is not an answer and her growing irritation is proportional to his persistence.
"No fun, Kate," he murmurs with a feigned sigh to top his disappointment. Yet, he continues soon after,
"Okay, I'll tell you. Gibbs is late. Can you believe that?"
"He's probably in a meeting, Tony, I wouldn't – "
"Of course you wouldn't assume anything, Kate. You never do, but I am telling you, he's late. Hope he's getting coffee. We don't want him here if he's not had his morning dose yet. We really don't, Kate. Grumpy Gibbs, nuh-uh. It's like in that 70s movie where the main character kills off his colleagues 'cause –"
Having noticed Kate's stare, panic settles over Tony. He is behind me, isn't he? he mouths to Kate, who giggles in response, an utter affirmation of his fear. With a grin that could turn milk to honey, he turns to meet his fate, but in the subsequent instant his smile drops. Gibbs is not there.
"What, Tony? Was that not fun?"
Kate barely contains her laughter as she walks past him to leave her report on Gibbs' desk.
Thursday 1230:
With no one to bark orders at them, Tony and Kate have fallen into a 'blissful' state of boredom: Tony, throwing bits of food in the air and trying to catch them, unsuccessfully, and Kate, rolling her eyes at him, in the meantime tapping her fingers on the desk to a set rhythm. McGee, on the other hand, is still – like always – cracking some code. Kate wouldn't admit it, but she is a little worried. Gibbs' absence is inexplicable, if not plain shocking. By this point, they should have received a call, a message, anything.
"Hey, guys. Where is Gibbs?"
Abby's question has caught their attention, yet it hangs in the air for a moment.
"He's not here," McGee answers, finally, casting a glance at her over his computer screen.
"I can see that, McGee. So…where is he?"
"We don't know, Abby. He didn't show up this morning."
The minute Kate hears her own words she realizes how naïve it all sounds. They should have just called him. But while everything else is a competition, getting to call Gibbs wouldn't score them any points. In fact, it might only disturb his contentment, which is never a good thing.
"Didn't show up? I need him, Kate! Call him. Now!"
And we were missing Gibbs, Tony thinks, while Kate raises an eyebrow at Abby's unusual crankiness. McGee is quick to whisper an explanation, "No Caf Pow for her today."
"McGee! I can hear you. Anyway, one of you – call him! Tell him to come downstairs ASAP. Turns out we have the wrong guy. You see, in identical twins, fingerprints are 96% alike. When I lifted of the prints, they produced a match in AFIS with a 95% certainty, but after DNA analysis – "
"Abby? We'll call him," Tony interrupts her, almost regretting it, though, when he meets her glare through squinted eyes.
"Fine. I'll tell Gibbs."
With this, Abby goes back to the lab, leaving three special agents, determined not to pull the short straw, if they can help it.
"You call him, Tony."
"No, you call him, Kate."
"But he already doesn't like you."
"Ha-ha. Funny, Kate."
"So, you're calling him?"
"No. Probie, call the boss. NOW."
"Oh, no, Tony. Abby wants me to help her – you saw how she is today – I don't wanna piss her off even more."
McGee can't afford to wait for Tony's response – he'll sure pay for that later – and he only mumbles a set of Sorrys before heading for the elevator.
"It's you and me, Kate. Just you and me."
"You and I, Tony," Kate retorts, a smirk on her face. "I say, you call him."
"Ah, Kate. Remember how I said I deleted that precious photo of yours." A dramatic pause, though Kate can feel what's coming up next, and it feels like a knot in her stomach, which is bound to grow even tighter. "Well, I didn't."
She struggles to say something, but picks up the phone instead. It seems that she's lost to Tony's manipulative ways, yet a sense of relief settles over her – a paradox on its own. Maybe that knot in her stomach has had a different origin; and just like that she gets a glimpse at the submerged part of the iceberg that is her subconscious. Perhaps she is worried because Gibbs is not there. As she waits for him to pick up, the sensation returns. Or maybe she doesn't want to enrage her boss. Add to that Tony's pointed smirk and his feet propped up happily on the desk, and she is back to ground zero. To hell with that Spring Break photo. To hell with my insecurities. Lost in her mental pep talk, she is shocked to hear the low voice on the other end of the line.
"Gibbs? Uh – it's Kate. Hi."
She stifles the urge to leave her place altogether, and only shifts in her chair as not to face Tony.
"Kate. Hi –"
The way his voice trails off betrays no anger; rather uncertainty and something else which she has yet to decipher. First, she needs to give him a reason for her call, to tell him about Abby.
"I'm sorry, Gibbs. It's just – uh – we were just –"wondering where you are? No, this doesn't sound right. It's as if he is taking the day off to go to Disney. And that would be Tony.
"Abby was looking for you. Are you coming in today?"
"No."
"Uh, well then. What should I tell her?" Damn them former Marines. Extraction of information, denied. Authority over phone line, established.
"That I'm not coming in today. Look, Kate –"
She doesn't have time to filter her next question.
"Why, Gibbs?"
To her surprise, the words are light, barely above a whisper, and there is no accusation whatsoever behind them. She just wants to know.
He's been getting impatient, but something about the tone of her voice, – open, concerned even? – keeps him from lying.
"I called in sick today, Kate. I'll see you tomorrow."
By this point, Tony has turned to playing WoW and can't possibly hear what she's saying.
"Are you okay, Gibbs?"
He's never taken a day off, which means it's serious. There is no façade to her concern now and Gibbs is struck by the gentleness of the enquiry. And by his subsequent revelation. He doesn't want her to worry.
"Yeah, Kate, I'm –"
A cough breaks his words and by the sound of it, he's definitely not okay, if not worse than that.
"Gibbs, let me –"
"DiNozzo there? Tell him I'm in a conference in Norfolk today."
"Okay." Right. Back to orders and compliance.
"I'll be fine, Kate. See you tomorrow, okay?"
He hangs up before she can hear his next cough, which shakes his whole body and leaves him gasping for air. Great, coughing out my lungs now. She must have heard the question in his voice. Will he feel better tomorrow?
"He's in a conference, Tony. Says you should stop playing that game – or he might slap your face next time."
Kate is a skillful agent and she is good at lying. But even the satisfaction of seeing Tony's guilty expression does not outweigh her anxiety. No, her worry is still there, unaccounted for.
Thursday 1730:
At the end of the day, everyone is out of the office far earlier than usual. The afternoon had passed in relative peace – no hot case demanding their attention – and aside from renouncing, loudly, Tony's sexist views, Kate had focused primarily on paper work. Anticipation, this is what Gibbs has always taught them and by now, she has internalized the feeling, having learned that if you're sitting at your desk idly, you're doing it wrong. But even "anticipation" has its borders. At the point where 1730 and "no work" meet, Kate leaves the NCIS headquarters with no shame, finally having the time to run some errands.