They are friends now, or so it seems. Kate thought he would pretend it never happened because he is Gibbs, unbreakable and solid, and any sign of weakness is never to be spoken of, especially if it's his weakness. But he didn't; he smiled at her the next day, told her he was okay, didn't harrumph once when she showed concern. He even brought her coffee, and in fact, keeps bringing her coffee every now and then.

Sometimes he takes her out to lunch, for a walk in the park. He watches her sketch, and she has to school her features not to blush when he praises her work. Other times, he tells her things, stories of his past, and she listens, still blown away that he trusts her like that, that he is willing to open up and talk about it with her. It's like they are dating without actually dating, much to Abby's dismay who doesn't miss a chance to let Kate know they should get their shit together. But Kate insists they are friends – which they are – and there is nothing more to it. Right?

It's on a day in March when a storm hits DC and her apartment gets flooded. She contemplates spending the night at the office – hey, she's used to sleeping behind her desk by now – but Gibbs offers to take her home, his home. "Got a nice guest room, Kate," he says, taking a sip of his coffee. She hesitates for a moment, runs the list of reasons why this is a very bad idea, - boss! crush! do not! – yet agrees nonetheless. "Come on, Gunny, let's go."

His heart is thumping hard in his chest and Gibbs can't seem to catch his breath. Because he will soon have Kate Todd in his house, Kate who – if he has to be honest with himself – has been more than a friend to him the past few weeks, who looks at him, but doesn't see the grumpy old bastard that he is. Instead, she smiles and tolerates his silence, his gruff remarks and propensity to head slap anyone who drives him mad (and that more than anything terrifies him). He should have thought this through, damn it.

He opens the door for her, tries to act all casual when she grins up at him. "Thanks, Gibbs," she says, and he has to remember to get in his own seat, and you know, start the car. The rain is still pouring outside, and he doesn't speed – much – mostly because he is too rattled to break the law, not because he has suddenly grown to respect it. Kate turns on the radio as if it's routine, and he sneaks a glance at her, bites back a smile when he hears her humming the song.

It doesn't take long before they reach his house. It's raining and Kate has forgotten her umbrella at the office. As they walk up the steps to his door, Gibbs holding his umbrella over them both, he swallows against the lump in his throat; her shoulder is barely bumping against his arm, and that's enough to make him lose his focus. When they finally get to the entrance, he fumbles with his keys, freezes when he feels her fingers squeeze his forearm. "Okay?" she asks, rubs her thumb over the fabric of his shirt. He mumbles a response, assures her he's fine, really, and she narrows her gaze at him, not quite believing his words. He is so fucked.

Gibbs is cooking for her and Kate doesn't know if she should have takeout on speed dial or the Fire Department (or both). "Need help?" she asks, flinching when he almost hacks down a finger. His blows are irregular, hard, and oh, that was close. She is pretty sure the man shouldn't be allowed to hold a knife that sharp.

"Nope." He looks up at her, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'll take care of it, Kate."

She nods, but part of her still wants to shove him to the side and take care of it herself. The rest of her thinks it's kind of sweet he's taken the initiative. It also thinks it's yummy the way his arm muscles flex as he does the chopping, so it clearly cannot be trusted.

"What are you making?" Kate comes round the counter to stand by his side. "It looks edible." He glares at her, and she claps a hand over her mouth. Oops.

"Indian." He is still glaring at her, but there's a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Trust Gibbs to be minimally polysyllabic.

"You like it hot?" he asks, before she feels his hands on her hips – fleeting, but there – as he moves past her to turn on the oven.

"Hmmmm." She's pretty sure his touch, his words!, have left her blushing. If only she knew what he was talking about –

He chuckles. "Take that as a yes."

Just as she's about to admit she has no idea what he's talking about, he reaches for the spices. Oh, that. To Kate's surprise, the dish is in the oven in no time and he's guiding her out of the kitchen, his hand pressed lightly to the small of her back. She sighs because she can get used to that, cooking with Gibbs, staying at his place for dinner... The question's on her lips before she can think better of it. "Mind if I take a shower?"

He shouldn't be giving Kate a pair of his boxers and a white undershirt; it's not good for his sanity, and it's not good for his heart (which is threatening to beat out of his chest, and what a sight that would be). The very idea of Kate wearing his clothes, never mind the scarcity of said clothes, of Kate smelling of his shampoo, is just – too much. Gibbs still finds himself reassuring her, it's fine, and take your time, before he returns downstairs and plops down on the couch. Hopefully the blare of the TV will drown out that side of him, the shameless teenaged girl who's internally screaming. Let's see what The Boat Whisperer has in store tonight.

When dinner's ready and Kate hasn't returned yet, he has to refrain from shouting out something ridiculous like, come on, Captain, the tikka masala will get cold. He scolds himself at the very thought because it's way domestic, and that's crossing some dangerous territory right there.

But when she doesn't show after some time, instead of waiting for her – like he should have, damn it – Gibbs takes the steps to the second floor two at a time. He is standing in front of his bathroom and there's no sound of running water. Just as he is about to call out to her, the door flings open and a mildly surprised, very clean (and somewhat naked – breathe, Gibbs, breathe) Kate is standing before him, clad only in a towel. He almost groans because he's never seen that much of Kate before, that much of her gorgeous, fair skin, of her long, slim legs and –

"Gibbs!" she squeaks out, pulling the towel tight to her chest.

He bites his lip not to laugh. Oops?

Kate is all chocolate curls falling over her shoulders and rosy cheeks – is she blushing? – and he can't seem to look away, don't wanna. Which is probably why she is swatting at his arm, come to think of it. "Ouch!"

She narrows her gaze at him. "Totally deserved it."

He can't argue with that, alright. Instead, he tries to focus on why he came up here in the first place.

"Dinner's ready. Turned out extra – hot," he murmurs, still in a bit of a daze.

Kate gives him a look, and he mentally head slaps himself. What was that thing Ducky was telling him about? Freudian slip? He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair. "I mean – hope you don't mind the spicy, Kate – it just – happened. I – go clothes, I mean, put on some clothes, yeah?" Oh dear.

If anything, his little spiel has put a grin on Kate's face and he realizes he likes it. He likes that he can make her smile even if it means embarrassing himself. He likes it. He likes her.

Shit.

After dinner – which was delicious and filling and positively hot – Kate is curled up on Gibbs' couch, her feet tucked under her. They are watching TV, and she can't stop smiling. She complimented his skills no fewer than five times, and every time she did, it made him blush (which may or may not be why she kept doing it).

Now, they are sitting in silence, watching some baseball game, and she's surprised to find it relaxing, the quiet that is. Kate would think it'd be awkward, crashing at Gibbs' place, but aside from the wow he almost saw me naked-incident, it has been nice and comforting, not being alone for a change. It's odd and she can't explain how or why, but she feels at home here (even if the very thought is making her stomach clench).

"You good?" Gibbs asks and she turns to look at him, only to find his gaze trained on her. He reaches for her, and her heart skips a beat because what is he doing and why would he be doing anything, Kate?! He then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and her eyes slip shut because, because his fingers are brushing against her cheek, and his touch is soft, tender, and... too fleeting for her liking.

"'tis nice," she whispers, absent minded, before she can think better of it.

She opens one eye and sees Gibbs sporting a wide grin. It seems like he's battling with himself, whether to comment on her slipup or not.

He doesn't. He just looks at her, calm and infuriatingly knowing, really looks at her with what she would call wonder if it didn't mean she was the source of his fascination. He is quiet for some time, before he – visibly – shakes it off, and murmurs, "Ready for bed?"

Kate sighs because the way he says it tugs at her heart (for reasons she is not willing to examine too closely). He is her friend, perhaps her best friend as of late, and she shouldn't be thinking about the way his eyebrows shot up at his words, the way he, too, was probably struck by the sound of it.

She should sleep. "Aye, Gunny."

Before she knows it, he is pulling her in for a hug, and she freezes because they don't hug, they don't; she held him through his panic, but that was different.

He runs his hand up and down her back, his lips pressed to her hair, and she finds herself relaxing, melting into his touch. "Night, Kate," he whispers in her ear before he pulls away.

It's over too soon, and she tries not to look disappointed. "Night, Gibbs."