Continues on in the same AU as "He Worries About Her" and "Around 2AM." Kibbs all the way. I own nothing, reviews are love.
His fingers gathered the chocolate strands, drawing them from her face and tying them into a loose ponytail as she gagged again. About a week and a half ago, when this had all started, Kate had grumbled at him about hating when he had to watch her be sick. "It's not the first time," he had reminded her, smiling, no doubt, at the memory of Kate running for the head on Air Force One.
"Probably won't be the last time, either," she had tossed back before being sick yet again. If he had thought that holding back a reply would keep him from getting into trouble with her, he had been wrong. She had still glared at him. It was touch and go in the mornings, usually turning into a scramble to go when she tried to sit up in bed. Frankly, even if they were pretty excited about why she was getting so sick, Kate knew he was concerned that this was happening so often.
"I really hate you right now," she finally spoke, her hand shaky as she wiped her mouth.
Gibbs pressed a cup of tepid water into her hand. "You'll feel better when you rinse."
"I'll feel better when I'm not puking out my guts." Kate accepted the cup anyway, rinsing and spitting out a mouthful of water into the toilet before flushing everything down. She took a much smaller sip next, swallowing experimentally and barely breathing as she waited to see if it would stay down.
He draped his winter robe around her, knowing better than to try to help her up just yet. Experience had taught him that she would say when she was ready to move, and wisdom said it was good to let her be still until then. Her sister would say she was training him well. Kate knew it had nothing to do with training. Her husband was actually very attentive and always had been, going back to the first days they met. At the moment, however, he was pushing it with her.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, one hand reaching out and warding him back. "If you come any closer to me, and I catch a hint of your coffee breath…" She wasn't sure it was possible for to feel any more washed out than she already did, but about the time she spoke the word coffee her face paled even more.
"Staying over here," her husband quickly stepped back. "Can I call Ducky? He's going find out sooner or later, and he might have some suggestions."
Dark eyes slid shut for a moment, her head resting against the cabinet behind her. "I should probably call the doctor."
"They won't be open for another three hours at least, and the best you'll probably get is the answer they gave you at your appointment—crackers, ginger ale…"
One small hand was waving at him again, as if to shoo him away as her eyes closed. "Me. Going to be sick again if you don't… Just… stop. I swear, one of these days I'm going to shoot you. Probably when I go into labor."
It made him smile when she used that irritated voice with him. It made her feel even crankier to see his smile. She had already considered what those long hours, months from now, would be like. Her plan was to push for drugs early on, and maybe break his hand from squeezing it so hard if labor ended up sucking as much as morning sickness.
He twisted the faucet open and began to rinse his face before pulling out shaving cream and spreading it across his chin, cheeks and neck. The scent of the cream filtered down to her, and she was relieved to find it wasn't unpleasant. Maybe she would let him live long enough to give her a back rub later. "I'm glad you stopped sleeping with that gun under your pillow," he answered dryly.
"You should be glad I'm afraid to get up right now or you'd have a few rounds in you already. This is your fault, you know."
The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. "Half my fault, Katie. Did Catholic school skip over some of the anatomy textbook?"
"Three-quarters your fault. You were the one that talked me into extra shots that night." She draped an arm over her stomach, toying with the plush fabric of the robe. She had given it to him last Christmas and had promptly stolen it this fall when the chill of October set into D.C.
Secretly she hoped he wouldn't buy her a robe of her own because she liked his too much. She never, ever thought she would be one of those girls—one of the ones who stole her husband's t-shirts and robe and occasionally his house shoes that he never wore but she loved because they were thicker and warmer than her own.
"You want to go back to sleep?" he finally asked, using a wash cloth to whisk away the last remnants of shaving cream from his face.
Kate sighed. "I would love to, but I'm too awake. Might as well go in early. I might have to go ahead and tell my sisters-in-law and go ahead and get their lectures. Ducky might be a good coroner, but he's not an OBGYN."
"You never know with Ducky." He offered a hand, to her, no doubt realizing that she felt well enough to move now.
She took it, slowly rising and waiting a moment before she let go. Although she was still in the middle of her first trimester, Kate could tell her belly was already starting to round a little, her sides thicken just a bit. Her center of gravity was off just enough to feel weird and sometimes slightly off balance.
He nodded to the sink and dropped a kiss in her hair. "Bathroom's all yours." It was one of their agreements early in their relationship—the bathroom was her established territory in the morning. Before he slipped out the door, he glanced back over his shoulder. "Give Ducky a chance."
Her eyes narrowed, and she read what he wasn't saying. "I'm not stubborn," Kate protested, her bottom lip pouting ever so slightly.
Gibbs shrugged. "Didn't say you were," were his last words before giving her the space to finish getting ready for her day while he tried to figure out what he could make for breakfast. She could smell just about anything he cooked from all the way upstairs, and it rarely agreed with her. Weeks ago, he could make pancakes, eggs, or nearly anything else and she ate it up. Now… well, this morning would be interesting, wouldn't it?