A/N: One-shot. Rated "M" for sex scene. This is a continuation of a future Alternate Reality with an established relationship between EJ Barrett and Gibbs. (For back story, check-out "A New Set of Rules".) This is a classic "bad day at work - sex fixes all" plot. Not humorous, more of a serious mood. Intentionally experimented with NO dialogue in this story. Reviews appreciated. Disclaimer: I own nothing, no profit or gain.
Finding a Lover's Rhythm
Her face is hot and her pulse pounds in her ears. Tears fill her eyes, threatening to spill out. They are not tears of sadness or fear. They are tears of frustration; the tears of a really rotten day at work. The harder she tries to fight them - knowing they are her body's response to the stress of the day - the more frustrated she becomes. But she is really pissed-off now and refuses to let them fall. Neither does she reach up to wipe them away. Her hands clench the steering wheel, knuckles white, as she maneuvers through evening traffic.
As traffic moves along slowly her body goes on autopilot, her subconscious taking over driving duties while scenes of the day play across her thoughts like a bad movie.
Things start to go wrong from the moment she opens her eyes and realizes she had not set her alarm the night before; an absolutely unheard of lapse for NCIS Special Agent Erica Jane (EJ) Barrett who is known for an almost fanatical penchant for punctuality. In the rush to get out the door a shower is abandoned, replaced by an extra splash of jasmine fragranced perfume and putting her hair up into tight bun at the back of her head.
She knows the day is a lost cause when the sound of the elevator bell and her exit onto the floor catch the attention of Tony DiNozzo who looks up from his desk and meets her eyes. She cringes. She knows Tony well and it is inevitable he will soon accost her with some snide comment about her late arrival. But she is beyond frustration now and won't put-up with Tony's usual sarcastic crap. Plus, she isn't sure she can hold it together and not snap his head off if he starts a verbal jousting match this morning. Anticipating his need to tease her she frowns and turns to face him.
Tony's face has broken into a typical DiNozzo smirk as he stands, clears his throat, opens his mouth and prepares, what she knows will be, a snarky rebuke. But the instant before he can speak she stands up taller, squares her shoulders and sends him her most menacing 'laser-bitch-eyes' glare while shaking her head and lifting her hand, jabbing her index finger at him as if she were poking him hard in the chest. She knows he got the message as he sputters for a moment, then pushes down a hard swallow past his adam's apple and sits down, all without uttering a syllable.
She glances toward Ziva David and Tim McGee, both staring at her after witnessing her victorious non-verbal battle with Tony. Their puzzled smirks tell her they are dying to know what had driven her to shut Tony down without the use of a single word. She is not shy about going toe-to-toe with DiNozzo. After all, she had a romantic relationship with the man years before and she knows the inner workings of his mind better than most. Even on a bad day she can easily put him in his place. But today is already worse than a bad day and she is unwilling to put-up with his immature antics. Right now she feels it's safer to avoid their questioning gazes, not trusting herself to keep a civil tongue.
She turns into Major Case Response Team 2's bullpen, immediately adjacent to the MCRT 1 bullpen and closest to the elevator. Walking over to her desk she glances at Tony out of the corner of her eye catching his astonished expression at her dismissal of him. The hint of a smug grin pulls at the corners of her mouth.
Reaching her desk she drops her backpack and looks around the bullpen - her team's bullpen - and sighs at the empty desks. Two of her team are out on medical leave after having been exposed to small amounts of toxic gas when they raided a warehouse in their efforts to track down a homegrown terrorist group threatening to build a poor-man's gas bomb. Though successful in capturing the perpetrators and neutralizing the threat, their exposure to the gas puts them out on medical leave for eight weeks. She is thankful neither has been permanently harmed and that both are expected to recover fully.
Her other team member recently transferred to the NCIS field office at the naval station at Bremerton, in Washington state, taking the lead position for the MCRT there.
In the three months since she accepted the transfer and promotion to Agent in Charge of MCRT 2 it has been hard to get her feet on the ground. It's always difficult to get a team to gel around a new leader, though this is not the first time she assumed a lead position and brought a team together. And getting to know the MCRT 2 members has been easier than other situations she has experienced because the team members have welcomed her enthusiastically. But now, with two of her team out and the other transferred, she feels like her leadership karma is on the fritz.
Pulling her thoughts back to the bullpen her skin grows clammy and cold. A hard sigh escapes her lips. Her mood grows darker.
She drops her Sig-Sauer and badge in a desk drawer and spies a note sitting on top of her computer keyboard. The message is from Director Craig requesting her presence in his office ASAP. She rolls her eyes, asking herself how much more can go sideways in just the first hour of her day.
The answer to her question is - a lot more, which becomes clear after her brief meeting with the director. Craig informs her that because she is the only active member of her team he is temporarily assigning her to work with MCRT 1 until her team is back-up and functioning, meaning she will work under the supervision of DiNozzo who is MCRT 1 Agent In Charge. Despite her brief protest accompanied by her threat to cram Tony's thousand dollar suit down his throat the director stands his ground and dismisses her back to the bullpen.
Her mood, now more foul than she thought possible, must be visible on her face because when she reports to Tony he seems smart enough to curb his sophomoric wit so as not to piss her off any more. She's relieved when he has McGee brief her on their current active case and sends the two of them to interview several persons of interest.
McGee, thankfully, doesn't try to initiate conversation with her, but instead, focuses his attention on driving. She knows he is smart enough and respectful enough to recognize her horrid mood and that nothing he can say or do will result in anything other than compounding her frustration. She makes a mental note to do something nice for him.
After several hours spent questioning a half-dozen people resulting in no valuable information, the two agents pack themselves in the car and head back to the Yard.
As McGee drives, her thoughts drift to her new apartment - and its complete disarray. Transferring back to DC from her post at the naval base in Rota, Spain, has been hard enough when it comes to work issues, but the transition has, so far, been a nightmare concerning her living situation. Finding an adequate apartment has been surprisingly difficult, while the arrangements for utilities, furnishings and other basic services have proved even harder. She is still living out of a suitcase because her personal belongings, shipped from Spain on an Air Force C130 cargo plane, have been lost. The Andrews Naval Air Facility Quartermaster has assured her that her belongings will be found - eventually - and delivered to her. But as of yet, she has had no luck on that front.
As if some malevolent universal force has decided to rub her face further into her misfortune her phone rings and MTAC operations patches a call through from the Andrew's Quartermaster. He has good news - he found her personal belongings. He also has bad news - her belongings are at Joint Base Lewis-McChord, the combined Army and Air Force base in Tacoma, Washington, clear across the country. The young soldier sounds proud of his success in tracking down her items and is even more excited that it will only take three weeks for her personal effects to make it to Andrews. Three weeks, of course, is not what she wants to hear. Despite her growing irritation she surprises herself at how polite she is to the man, knowing he is doing his best to help her. As the call ends she exhales a defeated groan and slumps down into her seat.
She shoots a look over at McGee. She knows he heard the conversation. He glances at her, a compassionate look on his face, nods and returns his eyes to the road. She can tell he understands and is thankful he says nothing. She will definitely be doing something nice for him and makes a mental note to checkout when the next comic or science fiction convention will be in the area. She knows Tim will appreciate a couple of tickets. She smiles envisioning his enthusiastic response as she hands them to him. Yes, definitely something nice for McGee, soon. They drive back in silence.
It's a little after 1 pm when they arrive at the office. She's famished and as they enter the building she makes a bee-line to the cafeteria. The food tastes as dry and bland as usual and she chuckles to herself at the irony that, so far, the best part of her day has been the terrible cafeteria food.
Returning to the bullpen she begins writing the reports summarizing her and McGee's fruitless efforts earlier in the day. As her fingers skim over the keyboard she glances at the tall stack of personnel files needing review in order for her to make a recommendation to the director for the replacement of her reassigned team member. Issuing a curse under her breath, she shakes her head and rubs her temples, fighting off the headache trying to gain a foothold just behind her forehead.
The rest of the day passes in a haze. Mercifully, Tony stays away. McGee must have clued-in Ziva because the Israeli doesn't bother her either. A little after 5 pm Tony, in a patronizing tone, tells everyone to head home for the day. She heaves a sigh of relief, grabs her gear and heads directly toward her car.
And that's where the movie playing in her mind ends, bringing her back to her current situation - in her car, driving home, eyes rebelling with tears as the stress and pressure of the day catch up to her. She is ... truly ... seriously ... pissed-off!
The realization hits her that she needs major stress relief, now! Exercise, massage, alcohol - none of these will do the trick. But she knows what will - and she knows the exact man for the job. Bringing her conscious mind back to driving duty she adjusts her course, setting a vector for the home of retired NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
It's been three months since she and Gibbs rekindled their brief, but intense relationship of ten years prior. A relationship which had never received closure when Gibbs broke it off. She had confronted him at his home three months ago, declaring her love and her desperate need for that closure, one way or the other, in order to make the decision whether or not to take the reassignment from Spain to DC. He had come to her as she was about to leave his life forever, the confession on his lips that he, too, was still in love with her and wanted to pursue what they had shared those many years ago.
With his departure from NCIS a year prior, Gibbs felt free to pursue their relationship. And pursue it he has. He traveled with her back to Spain, spending a month helping her with the logistics of her relocation during the day, while they reveled in each other's company at night. Since her return to DC two months ago, they have spent almost every free moment together. And it has been wonderful. He is wonderful.
Tonight, however, is one of those evenings where they agreed to take a short time-out from the relationship to provide each other some alone time and space. She doesn't need or want the space, but Gibbs, always the traditionalist, wants to take things slow. She knows, of course, that space is Gibbs' way of dealing with his transition from being a moody old man who lives and spends most of his time alone, to having a young, energetic lover, 20 years his junior, involved in almost everything he does. She happily agreed to his request for space knowing it for what it was - a positive and intentional effort on his part to change his old manner of doing things so he can include her fully in his life.
But tonight's plans have just changed, although Gibbs doesn't know it yet. Her car continues on toward his house with a renewed purpose.
Descending the basement stairs she stops several steps from the bottom, looking over at Gibbs. She watches his back as he works the sanding block, deftly sculpting the surface of the wooden rocking chair perched on his work bench. She catches the brief pause of his hands on the wood, knowing he has recognized her footsteps coming down the stairs as she has so many times over the past two months. He doesn't turn, nor does she expect him to. She knows he is pondering her reason for coming this evening, but she also knows he will remain silent, allowing her to speak when she is ready. He returns his attention to the chair and she continues to watch him, mesmerized.
His hands caress the wood, gently here, roughly there, teasing out the beauty of its texture and the strength of its grain. They are lover's hands, appreciative, adoring, gentle; absorbing the beauty of the object of their affection, but giving back so much more in return. Hands and wood, moving together in a lover's dance, each reflecting the beauty of the other, basking in the other's sensuality. She knows these hands intimately, has experienced their power and gentleness. The thought of them turning their attention from the wood to her fuels the smoldering heat inside her.
Her eyes embrace the rest of him. Hands driven by muscled arms which tighten and ripple with each stroke. They, in turn, are powered by square shoulders set on a strong back. His narrow waist tapers to a tight rear and thighs, well defined by his faded blue jeans as he thrusts his hips while he works the wood. His silver hair reflects the glare from the harsh light overhead and she knows his blue eyes are sparkling, even though she can't see them. She sees the strength of his masculinity and knows the gentleness of his experience.
She feels her breath catch as she is overwhelmed - one more time - by the flood of gratitude that he is her lover, her partner; something she had given up hope for not so long ago. Yet, here he is, belonging to only her, no one else. And the love he is making to the wood will soon be given willingly to her, just for asking.
She descends the remaining steps and softly walks up next to him, pausing for a moment to brush his shoulder with her hand as their eyes meet for only a heartbeat. Stepping in front of him, facing the same direction as he, her attention focuses on his hands as they gently guide the sanding block back and forth. She places her hands on his and begins to match his movement. He raises his right arm and she steps directly in front of him, within his embrace, her back to his chest. Bringing his arm back he places his hand on top of hers and rejoins the block's movement. She presses her back against him, both sets of fingers intertwined, caressing the wood together, finding a lover's rhythm. She feels his breath ghost across her cheek, her arms and spine tingle, the warmth in her stomach spreads outward, her mind relaxing. The smell of him, his arms around her, the feel of his chest at her back, the entirety of it is intoxicating. She releases a long, deep sigh as she closes her eyes and settles her body and mind into his embrace, allowing their rocking to lull her into bliss. She marvels as she finds contentment in his arms once more.
Time slows as her bliss flows over and through her. She sways back and forth, lost in him, cherishing the peace that is hers in his arms. As another wave of gratitude washes over her she stops their hands, leaving their rhythm behind as she turns to face him. He says nothing, but she can see his love for her reflected in his eyes, while his half-smile through parted lips tells her that whatever she asks of him - whatever she needs - it will be hers.
Her eyes lock with his as she raises her mouth to his lips, visiting the softest whisper of a kiss, never breaking her gaze. His eyes grow dark and she hears a telltale gasp as his breath hitches for a moment, the desire sparked by her kiss, obvious. Grasping his hands she turns him gently so his back is to the old, armless wooden chair sitting just a few feet away and begins to slowly guide him backward toward it. When the backs of his legs touch the seat of the chair he realizes her intention and his eyes grow wider and darker, his awakened passion reflected on his face.
She leans against him, placing another fleeting kiss on his lips and feels his arousal, confirming what she already knows, that his desire is for her and her alone. Her own arousal fans the intense fire burning inside her. She needs this, needs to lose herself in his body, to abandon the day and let his love wash her clean. Though intense, her desire is focused and controlled, as will be its eventual release. And she sees in his eyes that he understands.
His hands are on her shoulders, his eyes still locked with hers. Her hands slowly make their way down, finding no resistance from the button and zipper of his jeans. Without thinking she slides both jeans and boxers down over his hips and when her arms can go no lower without the risk of breaking their gaze he takes over and pushes them the rest of the way, kicking them aside. Her hands find their way to her own button and zipper, releasing them with the same ease, pushing pants and panties down past her knees and stepping out of them, never looking away.
She reaches out placing both hands on his hips and gently pushes him down onto the chair. She can feel the wetness of her core as she reaches out to caress his length. She slowly moves forward, straddling his lap, pausing over him. His calloused hands grip her hips with need and his eyes are dark with lust. But his body waits for her cue and she can see in his face he knows this is for her need, her healing, and that recognition steals her breath. Her love for him swells, escaping in a single tear. And where her earlier tears were of frustration, this is a tear of gratitude.
She guides him to her, slowly lowering herself to sheath him. He engulfs her senses and she relinquishes his eyes by closing hers, her head tilting back. As she moves slowly he matches her and they both rediscover the rhythm of the wood left behind just moments ago. No words are spoken, their labored breathing the only sound as the pulse of their bodies follows a crescendo upward to an inevitable summit. She feels his body tense, hears his breathing stagger, but he refuses his surrender in deference to her own. The swell of his body in hers, the surge of hips against hips, the knowing of his devotion finally pushes her over and she crashes down upon him, body and soul.
Their bodies continue in sync, never breaking their rhythm while her head rests against his neck for the briefest of moments before rising again in front of him. Their eyes lock. His body moves harder against hers. Understanding the gift she has just received and knowing he is close, she nods ever so slightly and without hesitation he surges forward to complete their union, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her chest, his breathing ragged.
Minutes pass as lovers stay wrapped in each other. Breathing calms. Pounding hearts slow. Senses return. Eyes meet again and she is lost in his; soft now, speaking to her of understanding, commitment and adoration. And she can no longer remember the day just passed as her cherished contentment washes over her once more.
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