Title: At the End of the Day

Author: MindyHarmon

Rating: K.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Spoilers: Nope.

Summary: Gibbs drives Kate insane – not in a good way.

A/N: Inspired by a scene from "The West Wing" (one of the Mark Harmon episodes). Those who've seen it will know. (Also, I know nothing about guns or special agent things but what I get off the show. Excuse my ignorance.)

Dedicated to: My posse at Friends of NCIS; chickbay, deescee, Sundance and Sugcat. Thanks guys for the support and all the fun.

Gibbs had been riding her ass for three long days.

That's his phrase, not hers. Ordinarily she would never use those words but they're the only ones that capture the exact spirit of what he'd put her through.

She'd often had the urge to slap, smack or tackle the man, but never had she come quite so close to actually considering the logistics of it. The man was infuriating. Unbearable. Incorrigible.

And her boss unfortunately – so body-slamming him, however satisfying it might be, was not an option.

Usually she quite liked being alone with him, despite these off-putting qualities. He was surprisingly funny, intensely fascinating and unremittingly exciting.

And if he just happened to be the most attractive man she'd ever encountered in her life – well, that's something she simply had to get over and learn not to notice quite so much.

At least, that's been Kate's plan for the past two years – it hasn't worked yet but she lives in hope. She's that kind of girl. Unfortunately for her, Jethro Gibbs is exactly the kind of guy that drove her kind of girl insane – certifiably nutty.

The last few days had sent her particularly nutty -- and not in a good way. Usually there are others around to bear the brunt, ease the burden and dissipate the vigor of Gibbs' demanding attention. The last few days – there was only her; and she was nearly ready to scream for help.

When she'd turned up yesterday for work, early as usual, she'd had no idea what she was in for. She never did at NCIS – but, that was one of the main reasons she loved her job. There had been no active cases yesterday morning though. McGee and Abby were at a course on something computer-related that apparently they wouldn't understand but would greatly benefit from. Tony was out with the flu, giving the rest of the team a break from his highly-stung presence.

So while Ducky coached Palmer in the more obscure procedures of autopsy, Gibbs took her under his wing and decided to introduce her to a new level of exhaustion. Kate never thought she'd see the day that she would happily trade places with Palmer and be elbow-deep in blood, guts, and Ducky's anecdotes.

Now she thought of it, the last two days were a treat compared to today. The first day had just been crammed with paperwork from the previous case. Neither of them enjoyed it but it did have to be done. The task made Gibbs pushier and grumpier than usual and they'd spent most of the day locked in intractable silence at their respective desks, battling their respective eyestrain and their respective backaches.

On the second day, he'd locked them away in the evidence locker going over old unsolved cases, some from even before her time at NCIS. It had taken her a while, even for the ones she was familiar with, to grasp the facts and get straight in her head who was who and what was what. Gibbs however talked about each case as though it had only happened a week before.

He'd pushed and pushed, butting both of their heads against a brick wall, examining every piece of evidence, re-visiting every witness statement, and discussing every alternative. They hadn't achieved much in the end except confusion.

By mid-afternoon her head hurt and she gratefully escaped to find them some lunch, dawdling in the bright, beautiful day existing above their underground lair.

When she'd returned with two lunches, two bottles of water and two industrial-strength coffees, Gibbs was as she'd left him, bent, intent over a pile of files, deep in thought. She almost felt guilty for punishing with one of her veggie-tofu wraps. Almost.

But if she'd gone home with a sore head yesterday and a sore back the day before, a lot more was going to be hurting tonight – including her pride.

They'd started with "a quick run" which by Gibbs' definition meant a long, hard race to the death. Kate was a good runner and for the most part had been able to keep up with him, her youth matching his greater build, but her shorter legs giving out at the end.

They'd returned, drenched in sweat, her face burningly red, and not just from too strenuous exercise.

After only a brief respite and drink of water, Gibbs had led her to the gym. He'd introduced her to some new moves that for the most part had left her severely winded and flat on her back. Her innate competitiveness and natural fitness fought back though and in the end she was able to master what he taught her, over-power him and plant herself squarely on his chest, blatant pride exuding from her every pore. The achievement had scored her a grin from her hard-to-please boss but in no time, he'd easily reversed their positions and she was once more looking dazedly up at him.

The hot shower afterwards had made her sleepy and done nothing for her tight, sore muscles. And the brief lunch they'd had – this time Gibbs punishing her with his choice of junky cuisine – had made her feel ill.

Her arms ached now as she gripped her gun and aimed at yet another target. They were the only people left on the entire firing range. She'd lost track of how many targets she'd squared up against and of how many tips Gibbs had bellowed, commanded and murmured in her ear.

At some point, he'd given up using words and simply started to mould her with his hands – encouraging her shoulders to relax, palming her hips with a confident touch so they were in the position that pleased him, kicking her feet further apart and running his hands over her forearms and elbows to make sure they were loose but unyielding.

His more tactile approach had not helped her strike rate, throwing her completely off-kilter, and making her insides jump, melt and spin.
She couldn't concentrate with him so close and she couldn't aim for wondering where on earth (on her) he might chose to touch, adjust or inspect her next. Her consistency and competency had plummeted – making him only more silent, more dissatisfied and more determined.

The sun was beginning to set and the cavernous firing range was bathed in yellow light, signaling the end of a long day and hopefully the start of a quiet night. Their light was going fast and she hoped Gibbs would take the hint and call it quits.

Instead he set up another target for her and strode back to join her, his face fixed in an expression of grim determination.

"Augh! Gibbs!" she moaned and he looked up to meet her tired eyes: "Give me a break! – we've been at this for nearly three hours."

"Practice makes perfect, Kate," he rat-tat-tatted, matter-of-factly.

She rolled her eyes at him: "Too much practice makes exhausted, Gibbs," she answered: "I can hardly see the target at this point."

She hated to complain – she hated to appear weak, or uncooperative or not up to the challenge.

Sometimes, she felt like she lived to please this man.

Sometimes, she felt like she did nothing but fail him.

The last few days had worn her out – she longed to go home, curl up on her sofa with a cup of tea and call her Mom for an unequivocal and uncomplicated hit of love and acceptance.

Gibbs simply dismissed her tiredness and leveled her with an uncompromising glare.

"You think that's the best you can do?" he asked skeptically, pointing at the line of used targets laid out behind them in the dirt.

She sighed, and thought that maybe she detected a wicked flicker in the blue of his eyes. He knew exactly how attached she was to his approval -- she couldn't resist a deliberate dare like that and he knew it. But two could play that game; so she decided to lay down a dare of her own.

"Fine," she huffed, glancing at the new target momentarily: "But let's make it interesting this time."

She watched his mouth lift at one corner, his eyes twinkling interestedly. She felt her own amusement rise to the surface, despite her current irritation with him, and felt her eyes twinkle in reply.

He took a step towards her, tipping the rim of his cap up with his thumb: "What did you have in mind?"

"Well…" she nodded towards the target and took a breath: "I get three in the center," she began, thinking as she spoke: "…and you – have to give me… one compliment."

She turned to him brightly, delighted with her own inspiration. She didn't like fishing for praise, but felt she needed deep down just a touch of reassurance from him -- and this was the only way she could see herself getting it.

She didn't think it was too much to ask for. She wasn't sure she'd ever witnessed it, but Gibbs must be capable of being nice and normal. He'd been married three times after all; he'd have to possess some charm and sensitivity.

Gibbs greeted her proposal with incredulity: "A compliment?" he repeated, doubtfully.

"Yeah," she nodded, feeling her cheeks redden a little: "Gibbs, it's when one person says something nice about another…"

He gave her a sarcastic look but Kate continued impervious:

"Something like -- I don't know…" she shrugged and searched her brain for examples: "Um…You're a good person….I like your hair….Nice shoes…"

"Alright, alright," he muttered impatiently, taking her by the shoulders and turning her towards the target: "Quit talking and start shooting."

"O-kay," she agreed, testily: "But I get three in the center--"

"Five," Gibbs stated, elbowing her side sharply.

"What?" she snapped, rounding on him.

"Five in the centre, Kate," he ordered, pointing at her mark: "Remember what I told you."

She grimaced and pulled her ear muffs down over her ears, trying to concentrate and ignore him standing directly behind her.

She heard him mumble something, right by her ear --

…it sounded like 'I like your eyes'….

-- but she really couldn't be sure.

"Huh?" she asked, a little too loudly because of the insulation over her ears.

He lifted the cup off her right ear: "Nothing -- Fire," he ordered and replaced it.

She looked at him suspiciously then turned her mind to the task. If she got five dead center, then perhaps she could get him to repeat that.

She reminded herself mentally of the tips he'd given her and focused in on the target. She always worked much better with a reward in mind. She parted her legs and planted her feet firmly in the dirt. She corrected her arms and squinted to block out the bright light. She held her breath and before she even pulled the trigger, she knew she'd won.

In simultaneous motion, she and Gibbs took off their protective gear and headed for the target. Her stride matched his confidently, and she could see before he could, the perfect cluster of holes in the middle. She turned to him in triumph, a smile lighting her face, as he leaned in to closely examine her handiwork.

"Knew you could do it," he muttered, satisfied.

"Well?" she prompted, eagerly.

He looked at her blankly: "Well, what?"

She stared at him for a moment in hopeful, expectant silence, while Gibbs shifted under her gaze, uncomfortable and reluctant. He knew what she wanted but seemed unable to give it to her; even a tiny bit of personal feeling seemed too hard for him. She looked away dejectedly.

She ducked her head and stepped up to remove the target, heading back across the dirt, as twilight's chill began to descend. She heard Gibbs follow after her and tried for both their sakes to not be quite so hurt at his emotional distance.

He was just her boss after all – he didn't owe her any kindness, he didn't owe her any sensitivity. And she hadn't gotten this far in her career by expecting it.

She clipped her gun into its holster and threw her coat on as they began to pack up their equipment in silence. It was only when she stepped over to him, to hand over her protective gear that he finally spoke.

"I like your handshake," he said simply.

"What?" she asked, meeting his eyes but not quite catching on.

"Kate, you wanted a compliment – that's my compliment," he told her, exasperated.

She paused and raised her eyebrows: "That's it?" she asked, skeptically.

"Yeah – that's it," he nodded, sounding slightly defensive.

She pursed her lips, as Gibbs studied her slowly digesting what he'd given her. She put her head to the side and he mirrored the movement, watching her lips turn up in a shy little smile. It wasn't the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, but for Gibbs, it was a fairly flattering remark.

He put out his hand and she looked up at him. He indicated that she should take it, so she reached out and slid her palm into his.

"Confident, firm, professional but friendly," he mused, studying her grip in his. "You always look a person in the eye," he continued as their eyes met and locked.

She looked up at him uncertainly in the darkening light, hoping vaguely that the darkness hid her slight blush.

She suddenly remembered standing at the foot of a flight of stairs and shaking hands with Gibbs for the first time; the wary look on his face, the grip of his palm, the way their eyes had held resolutely for one long significant moment.

"I've watched you…" he noted distantly, directing his eyes back to their joined hands.

She felt unexpectedly self-conscious thinking of Gibbs' watching her, studying her, noticing things she barely put any thought into. She wondered what else about her he could discern.

"You've got a great handshake," he finished, with a brief nod.

She swallowed, taking the time to enjoy the feel of his hand in hers as a silence settled over them. The air around them buzzed with anticipation, with expectation, and gradually Kate felt his grip loosen and retreat. Hope she didn't know she harbored evaporated, and she dropped her own hand back to her side.

"Thanks," she said quietly, looking at the dirt.

"Welcome," he mumbled, then turned to collect their gear.

Leaving the firing range, they shuffled back to the car in the suddenly cool night, with a minor discomfort attending them. Kate watched her shoes chuff in the dirt, and bit her lip in indecision. Unable to stand the tension that had been building for three days, she turned abruptly to her boss in the middle of the parking lot:

"I gotta tell you something," she blurted anxiously.

"What?"

She took a breath, opened her mouth and waited for words to arrive: "I…really… like your hair."

She rolled her eyes at herself inwardly. Of all the compliments she could think of, it was possibly the least incriminating, and probably the most ridiculous when said aloud.

"What?" he said again, his voice more confused.

Kate shook her head and continued at a pace: "I know you didn't ask for a compliment and I know it's probably a matter of complete indifference to you what I think of your hair," she shrugged as her voice trailed off uncertainly: "but I thought I'd let you know that it's, you know -- nice."

"Okaaay," he nodded. He peered at her oddly: "Kate?"

She blinked: "Yeah?"

He looked at her for a long moment, then turned on his heel heading towards the car: "Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

"Seriously?" she asked incredulously, trotting after him.

Gibbs cocked his head to one side, as if reconsidering: "Sure, why not?" he shrugged: "And then you can buy me one."

"Hey Gibbs," she said, matching his stride: "I'll shout you dinner if you let me cut your hair." She peered up at him brightly – she really did like his hair, but a decent cut would do him wonders.

"No deal," he replied, without batting an eye. He walked around to the drivers' side of the car and addressed her over the hood: "I've had too many women take to my head with dangerous instruments -- and your aim is better."

She grinned broadly: "You don't trust me?" she asked in mock innocence.

He smiled and met her eyes with an unequivocal look that told her that that was the opposite of the truth. Their gaze held again as they shared a smile over the roof of the car.

"I'm afraid, Kate," he replied amusedly: "-- you'll just have to live with me the way it is."

She watched him duck inside the car, still grinning his grin, and her smile turned slowly inward. "I can do that," she whispered to the darkness.

So maybe the man was infuriating, Kate told herself, slipping into the car beside him; maybe at times unbearable. But Jethro Gibbs could also take her breath away faster than any man she'd ever met.

And if not getting over him could feel so exhilarating, so unpredictably amazing -- then she's not sure she ever really wants to.
Perhaps she's just that kind of girl. And, at the end of the day -- perhaps that's perfectly okay.