.

He sat heavily on the work bench, staring down blankly at the scrawled out script of the note he held in both hands. His jaw clenched tightly as he meticulously went over in his mind how he harshly told her to watch her six, instead of just being honest and telling her of the unwelcome, unwarranted, and unimaginable threat that he firmly held between each thumb and forefinger. Gibbs squeezed the paper until it tore. The slight sound snapped him out of his troubled and guilt-ridden reverie; he roughly crumpled the note, balling it tightly in one fist as he leapt from the workbench and landed on his feet. He heatedly tossed the crumpled up words of thick and threatening sarcasm onto the wood where he previously sat. There'd be no mistakes tonight.

It had been weeks since the terrorist had dared him; had openly presented him a shot at ending their nightmare in a spontaneous quick-draw showdown. And he had missed. He missed… He'd tell anyone who asked him, who asked exactly how long ago the one that got away had tore into their lives, that it was a few weeks. Give or take.

But Gibbs knew the day, and could count them easily. Down to the hour— down to the last few seconds of haze as he collapsed into that black fog of injured incoherence. He'd be damned if he let anything like that happen again-- even if it was only empty threats. There'd be no mistakes tonight. Not with her. Not again.
---

He showed up at her apartment in a dizzy fit of uncertainty. He forcefully pounded his fist against the door, roughly yelling her name when she didn't open it instantaneously. He took out his key pick from his inside coat pocket and gracefully picked her lock; with a hand at his waist, hovering over his sidearm, he entered her darkened apartment. He scanned the room, randomly remembering her telling him how she always kept a hall light on ever since the night she tripped over her knapsack and damn near killed herself. He heard her words echo off his inner walls as he moved quickly through the apartment, realizing everything was black. Taking his gun from his side, he cat walked down the hall to her bedroom.

Gibbs hip-checked the door and scanned the room with his firearm drawn. Kate bolted up in bed with a violent start, gasping and breathing heavily, as she too held her gun stealthily aimed at her darkened intruder. They stared at one another for a tense and heat-filled moment before he lowered his weapon to his side and put it back in its place at his hip. Kate caught her breath in slow, shallow swallows of air, finally dropping her mark and placing her gun on the nightstand. She swallowed heavily and let out an exasperated huff as she squinted her eyes in fierce aggravation.

"What.. are you doing?" she said in disbelief, slow and deliberate.

"Why didn't you answer the door." Gibbs gruffly mumbled as he shut the bedroom door, confining them both in her close quarters. Her eyes widened slightly as she trailed off in a perplexed rant:

"How did you even…? What's going.. I mean… what are you doing here?" She shook her head animatedly, forcefully bringing her hands down on the bed with confused emphasis. Kate cautiously watched as he walked to her window, separating her blinds with two fingers as he peered out to the street below.

Gibbs looked over to her quickly, "Get dressed." He walked back to the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed, "Pack a bag."

"Gibbs…"

"You have five minutes, Kate." Looking at her with all the seriousness that rode on his shoulders, his lips formed a firm line as his eyebrows rose. He held up his palm, spreading out his five fingers in a simple illustration of her time frame. His tone and his flashing eyes made her sit up and take notice.

She got out of bed in her tank and underwear and immediately became fully aware of herself; as well as his awareness of her. She nervously ran her hands over her thighs, unsuccessfully trying to hide herself, but effectively drawing and averting his eyes to the edgy travels of her hands.

"Do you mind..?" she bit out softly.

He shook his head and planted his feet, crossing his legs at the ankles as he propped himself in the doorjamb. "No. I don't."

She sighed as she'd recognize that stance anywhere. She grabbed at the jeans that were slung over the back of her desk chair, jumping into them as quickly as she could—hopping on one foot as she maneuvered her other foot into the pant leg. Gibbs smirked softly, but quickly erased the fleeting enjoyment as she pulled on a t-shirt and shoved handfuls of fabric and bathroom bottles of nonsense into her duffel bag.

Shaking his head, he reached his hand to stop her and to hurry her along, "I have all that." She looked up to him with dark, worried eyes and nodded her head faintly as she zipped up her bag and slipped on her shoes. Her demeanor was very different from the looks-could-kill bearings of the moments prior— she wanted to know what in the hell was going on; and if her rapid compliance was what it took.. then she'd oblige him.

He led the way out of her bedroom and to the apartment's exit; he peered out the door, scanning the hall before leading her out of her home. She swiftly closed and locked the door behind them as he placed a firm, kind hand on her lower back, gently pressing his fingertips into the soft line of her pant-waist. He unintentionally let his fingers ride beneath the hem of her t-shirt, as skin resolutely pressed against skin; she swallowed, and kept her eyes forward towards the elevator doors.

.