He was an arrogant, womanizing, stubborn, childish, annoying, obnoxious, juvenile, horrible… man.
She dated lawyers, and doctors, and bank managers. Men who opened doors for her to be polite, not to look at her ass. Who didn't assume that because she was being quiet, she was in a mood, and didn't spend the rest of the day trying to get a rise out of her only to cheer triumphantly when she snapped and say smugly, 'you are in a mood!'. Men who treated her nicely.
Of course, they didn't always treat her all that nicely. Some of them were jerks.
Like Graham. Who shouted at her all the time about things that she couldn't possibly control – like the fact that it rained on his sister's wedding day, and that his kitchen door creaked even after he oiled it. As if, if she would ask them nicely, the weather and his door would suddenly start behaving how he wanted.
And after him there had been Simon. His response to 'does this make my butt look big?' had been a shrug, and 'big enough to block my view of the football game, and you've got eyes in your head and a mirror in the bedroom.'
Then there had been Brian, who had 'forgotten' to mention that he actually had a wife. A pregnant wife. The fact that he and his wife were 'probably getting divorced soon anyway' and that the baby 'most likely wasn't his' was supposed to calm her down when she confronted him about it.
And Nick. He had claimed the blonde in the photo with him was his sister. She definitely wouldn't let her brothers grab her like that, and if they did, she certainly wouldn't grin inanely at a camera while they did it. Her brothers wouldn't want to grab her like that. So she'd decided he was either a cheating, lying scumbag, or a little too friendly with his own sister. Either way, she wasn't planning on sticking around.
But they were only a handful of guys she'd dated. The others were gentlemen.
Chris had fixed her tap for her when she'd moaned that it kept her awake at night dripping. And Derek had sent her flowers every single day when he was in Boston for a business conference. Kevin had painted her living room for her, and he even cleared up after himself. Ryan bought her expensive jewellery. David made a point of waiting with her for a taxi after every date, to make sure she got home okay.
The relationships hadn't worked out, but that wasn't their faults. Most of the men she dated were genuinely nice guys.
They were all handsome, and they were all polite, and they were all gentlemen.
Until you got to know some of them. Then… then they weren't always so great. But still.
None of them, ever, not even in college when she'd gone oh-so-slightly out of her mind, had been anything like him. They didn't poke her, or throw things at her, or tease her and ask her personal questions about her sex life. They certainly didn't put their hands between her legs 'looking for a fork'. And if they had, she'd have reported them for sexual harassment.
Funny, she thought, how she never reported him… She could, she was pretty sure. She was pretty sure that half of what he did in a single day could get him written up – add everything together, and most likely she could get him fired. She'd thought about it, often enough. Working without his constant interruptions for annoying questions or ridiculous jokes. Then he'd call in sick, and she'd get twice the work done in half the time. She'd feel calm – well, as calm as you could ever feel in her job – and she wouldn't be constantly looking over her shoulder or checking her desk. It was exhausting, working with him. Working without him… wasn't the same. She'd find herself wanting to throw her arms around him when he got back and beg him to live in a giant germ-free bubble, so he never got a cold or the flu again. So then she'd decide to give him another chance.
And the next day he'd look down her top when she was at her desk, or look at her ass when she bent over at a crime scene, or 'accidentally' spill water down her shirt so it went see-through. And she'd shout at him and call him a pig and tell him to get lost.
But she still wouldn't report him.
And sometimes, when she caught him looking at her like that, with that big 'I know that you know that I'm thinking and you can't do anything about' grin on his face, she'd like it.
But then she'd remember that it was him, and she'd throw something at him. Or physically assault him, if Gibbs wasn't looking.
But she still liked it. Just a little.
He wasn't sweet, or polite, or considerate. But he was kind, and charming, and very, very handsome. And that time when she got a migraine and felt like her head was splitting open and Gibbs wouldn't let anyone leave until the case was solved, he had snuck out and gone to the pharmacy to buy her some painkillers. And when they were on a ship, and she was the only woman on a boat full of hundreds of men who hadn't seen a non-marine female for nine months, he'd make sure she walked between him and Gibbs, and he'd shadow her so nobody could 'accidentally' jostle into her, and he'd take her the long way to get somewhere if it meant going a quieter route, so she hopefully wouldn't realize that the sailors were looking at her like that.
When it counted, he could be very sweet, and very polite, and very considerate.
And even though she pretended it didn't, every morning he came to work bragging about Hannah or Lauren or Sophie or whoever he was in love with this time, it hurt. Just a teeny tiny bit. Even though she made out like she was appalled or she didn't care or she found it extremely annoying, it hurt. She wondered if he was sweet and polite and considerate with them.
Half of her wanted him to brag about her like that.
Half of her was afraid that he would. Because the name he bragged about next week was always different to the one he bragged about last week, and she didn't want to be the girl he loved 'last week'.
Her longest relationship had lasted three years and five months.
His had lasted five weeks and three days.
(She wasn't counting Paula Cassidy. What they had didn't count as a 'relationship'. It was a prolonged obsession. He had clearly gone temporarily insane, and Paula Cassidy was being an evil witch and taking advantage. If it was the other way around, it would go to court. Besides, if you add up the days they actually spent together, actually in the same city, it was only something like twelve. And most of that was working.)
She knew how long his longest relationship was, because she counted. When he came in after the first week was up, and 'Angela' was still the name spilling from his lips every five seconds, Kate had teased him. She had bet with McGee – she had said twenty nine days. He had said twenty five. They both thought they were over-estimating him. It had been thirty eight.
She didn't know if she was happy about this or not.
She knew on the first Monday that Angela wasn't good enough for him.
She knew by the second Wednesday that she hated her.
She knew by the third Friday that she was pure evil.
She had felt smugly satisfied when he came in on day thirty nine and announced that he was in love with Phoebe. Partly because she loathed Angela, and partly because thirty eight days of 'Angela thinks…' or 'Angela said…' was more than enough for anyone. And partly because constantly thinking about Tony made her think about Tony With Angela. And that made her mad. Being mad all the time sucks.
She had a list of things she hated. Not a real list, just a list in her head. Somewhere near the top - just under Tony With Angela, actually - was Rule 12. Gibbs' horrible little Rule 12 that she was sure, deep down, he made up because he was bitter and just plain mean, and wanted to watch people suffer.
But she loved the rule, as well, because it meant that the little niggling devil on her shoulder that taunted her all day with whispers of 'Look, Kate, look at the pretty boy sitting opposite you, breathing near you, touching your shoulder…' could be silenced – for a while, at least – by her shoulder angel frowning and shaking it's halo-clad head and saying 'It's against the rules'.
And if she tried, really, really hard, she could ignore the taunts of 'Chicken!' that echoed around her head.
He did this thing with his head, sometimes, when he was concentrating. He'd tilt it to the side and shake it the tiniest bit, really fast, over and over, like he had an idea in his head that he to shake out of his ear.
Occasionally, it made her want to slap him.
Mostly it made her want to kiss him.
But she knew she wouldn't. Partly because he was a playboy. She did not date playboys. She was not a teenager, she was not a slut, she was not in college. She dated nice men. Not playboys. They were not her type. Her type was not annoying, cheesy, over-grown frat boys. Her type was sensible, sophisticated adult men.
And when she was giving serious consideration to changing her type, or at least extending it, that annoying little angel would pop up again and remind her that it was against the rules and therefore Bad.
She had been brought up not to be Bad.
Throwing temper tantrums was Bad, colouring on the walls was Bad, pushing your older brother into a pond was Very Bad, even if he was annoying you first and he deserved it.
Most things that were fun were also Bad. By this logic, dating people like him was probably Very Bad Indeed.
Breaking the rules was Bad. Even if the rules were ridiculous, and made up by your grouchy boss. Just because he was jealous that someone else might be capable of having a real relationship actually getting married.
She knew that was bitchy, but she didn't really care.
Gibbs was pretty near the top of her hate list too, because as inventor of 'The Rules' he was the one who was putting her through this misery.
She was sure he was doing it on purpose.
And then there was Tony. If it wasn't for him being so damn… Tony-like, she wouldn't be in this situation.
And even though he wound her more than anyone else, and probably ought to be right up there above Angela The Skanky Bitch, he never ever seemed to get anywhere near the list of things she hated.
She wondered, some days, why not. He was pretty high on her list of things that annoyed the hell out of her.
One time, he said she was pretty. She'd gone around in a state of mild euphoria all day, grinning her face off at anyone and anything. After she hugged McGee for no reason at all, Gibbs sent her to Ducky for a blood test to prove she wasn't high.
When she accidentally brushed against him, she felt all warm. Not where their skin touched, but inside her. In her stomach and her chest and… all over really.
And when he asked her questions about what she did on her dates, she didn't reply. She never had. But before, she didn't reply because it was personal and nothing to do with him. Now she didn't reply because she wasn't sure what he'd think.
Sure, he wasn't her type. And sure, he made her want to shoot him more often than he made her want to hug him.
He was a pain in the ass.
But for some reason, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why, she was utterly, head-over-heels in love with him.