a/n: there was a time in my life when i said i'd never ever touch this universe again, and now it's starting to rival LB/SF. i'm pathetic.
January, 2004
She set the white stick in her hand down, and leaned forward, uncapping the lipstick tube in her other hand and pursing her lips. It was difficult to apply red lipstick while biting back a grin, but she succeeded – fastened the lipstick closed, blotted her lips and straightened. She tucked two long, elegant strands of loose hair behind her ears neatly.
Her wedding ring glinted in the mirror, and she brushed the white stick into the trashcan next to the toilet.
"Jen, we got to go," Gibbs called, his voice muffled.
She flicked off the bathroom light and headed out of the bedroom, grabbing a pair of mildly high heels from her bureau as she made her way to the kitchen. She stopped in the kitchen, balancing on one foot as she slipped one heel on.
Gibbs turned to look at her, and she frowned at him, pausing with one foot bare and one foot sheathed in a Miu Miu.
"Jethro, why are you eating?" she demanded.
"I'm hungry," he retorted through a mouthful of sandwich, shrugging his shoulders. He came forward – his tie was crooked, and she rolled her eyes as she brushed crumbs off his collar.
"There will be food at the banquet," she chastised.
"Yeah," he snorted derisively, "rubber chicken."
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly – they were security detail for the director tonight, at the White House banquet in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. There were to be speeches on Civil Liberties, long-suffering foreign nationals' talks about equality and the future, and after, a charity ball – and Gibbs was already miserable.
She straightened his tie, and bent to slip her other shoe on, wincing slightly as she wriggled her toes on. She swore under her breath, and then, when she straightened, made a face at him, and pushed him back.
"What the hell is on that?" she muttered.
"Sauerkraut," he answered, shoving half the sandwich in his mouth.
"Get it away from me," she requested, wrinkling her nose. She bit her lip, putting a hand on her hip, and glanced over her shoulder. "Ben?" she asked.
"He's in the basement with Abby," Gibbs answered, looking at her intently. His eyes drifted down her body, to her breasts, middle, legs – and he cocked his head, lowering his hand.
She smiled, chewing her lip a little, debating telling him now – it might put him in a better mood for the evening.
He cleared his throat and nodded at her.
"You pregnant?" he asked through a mouthful, all nonchalance.
The smile dropped off her face and her mouth fell open in disbelief. She stared at him, and then she lunged forward and slapped his arm aggressively, ending with a pinch of his wrist and an indignant look.
"Damn, Jen!" he whined.
"How did you – Jethro, I," she spluttered. She narrowed her eyes darkly, and folded her arms, fixing her eyes on him.
He looked at her blankly, and she grit her teeth.
"What makes you ask?" she asked pointedly.
He started the answer and then stopped – that could actually be an incredibly dangerous question to answer. If he said she looked, er, thicker – which she didn't, yet – he'd get his throat ripped out, and if he told her he'd been checking her calendar – which he hadn't – she'd think he'd gone completely mad. He didn't exactly know how he knew, he just – sensed it?
He cleared his throat.
"Breasts," he answered inarticulately.
"You want to try that again?"
He gestured to her immaculate white button-down with his forgotten sandwich, swallowing hard.
"You winced, last night," he grunted.
She gave him a look, tacitly demanding he elaborate on that.
"When I touched them. When we were," he paused, gesturing again, "in bed," he hissed.
"Why are you whispering?" she hissed back.
"In case Ben hears," he retorted, as if it was obvious.
She stared at him, and then placed her hand on her hip again, forcing herself to get back to the point – this had gone in a slightly off-topic, weird direction. He took another bite of his food, trying to finish it off before they left for the White House. He arched his eyebrows at her seriously, waiting.
"Are you?" he coaxed.
She sucked on her bottom lip and stomped her heel against the floor, leaning her head to the side so it rested against the wall.
"Jethro," she sighed, exasperated. "You ruined it, you," she broke off, glaring at him lightly. "I wanted to tell you this time."
"This time?" he mumbled blankly.
She rolled her eyes.
"In Paris," she reminded him delicately, "you called me on it, remember?"
He swallowed, and nodded. The memory was pretty clear, now that he focused on it. It had been different back then, though. He lifted his shoulders, looking at her intently, and she lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
"I still don't know how you knew back then."
He shrugged, and then held up his snack.
"You just told me to get this away from you," he pointed out. "You usually don't have a problem with sauerkraut." He considered her a moment. "I live with you, Jen, I know when somethin's different."
"You're a freak," she groused.
He stepped closer, and then stepped back warily, keeping his food back, but his eyes bore into hers.
"Jen?" he prompted quietly.
She looked away sulkily, biting back a smile. Her lips twitched.
"You ruined my moment," she reiterated.
He groaned, and shoved the last bit of food into his mouth. Brushing his hands on his suit pants – which earned him a dirty look from her – he took her by the shoulders and marched her out of the kitchen, standing there a moment while he swallowed.
He cleared his throat seriously.
"Take two," he said pointedly, and went back into the kitchen.
"Jen," he called innocently. "We got to go."
She smiled to herself, biting her lower lip. He was such an idiot, but he did make her glad she'd agreed to try this, back when it had first happened. She ran her hands over her black skirt, and then strolled into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway again.
He obediently stood there.
She lifted her shoulders.
"I'm pregnant," she announced.
He was silent.
He smirked.
"I know."
She rolled her eyes, grabbed him, and smacked his wrist again, annoyed with the attitude she was getting. He grinned and caught her around the waist.
"Jen," he tried to placate.
She glared at him and pinched his shoulder gruffly.
"Jen," he snorted. "C'mere," he growled, while she struggled, determined to pout. "C'mere," he muttered again, succeeding in binding her to him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, gripping her hips.
She finally, genuinely grinned, tilting her head back against his shoulder. He kissed her throat from behind, and stumbled back, leaning against the counter. She turned around in his arms and touched her toes to his, running her hands up his chest – straightening his tie some more.
He touched her chin with this thumb and forefinger and tilted her head up.
"What do ya think?" he asked quietly, brows raised. "This time 'round?"
She compressed her lips, and gripped his lapels – it was so much less stressful. Last time, she'd been about to take a promotion, about to leave him, incredibly insecure about how he felt about her – now she was married, they had a son, her thoughts weren't consumed with revenge and confusion.
He smiled back at her.
"I think," she began, crinkling her nose in amusement. "I think, this time, I'm taking maternity leave."
He leaned down and kissed her, his hands locking behind her back, hanging loosely around her hips. She pressed her nose into his cheek affectionately, enjoying the moment pensively.
"We're late," he murmured, his hands running over her lower back.
She grinned, and tilted her head back, winking.
"That's the idea."
January, 2004
gibbs is such a dork.
i hate him.
(no i don't)
-alexandra
story #198