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10

It had started to rain sometime after 10, but well before noon, and after a failed search of NCIS, there was still no sign of Kate. Gibbs tramped down the anxiety in his gut, knowing that she needed space, and not to be watched by their team under a microscope of sympathy and good intentions. He knew because he was certain he'd feel the same way, and do the exact same thing. But he also knew, even if he wouldn't have admitted it if he were in her shoes, that she should not be alone.

He had Abby place a trace on Kate's phone; but with the cell off, Abby sadly informed and reminded Gibbs that a trace was useless… but I'll keep it on the hunt Boss man… With a mumbled response he had thanked her and dropped his cell onto the passenger's seat, taking a third go around down Kate's street— with no luck.

The rain came down in such heavy volumes that Gibbs couldn't remember the last time it had rained so much, so quickly. He was soaking wet from walking in this weather, from head to toe, his clothes were clinging in wet, sopping expanses of irritating fabric to cold skin. Even his socks were completely soaked through. When a slight shudder ran through him, he made the quick decision to go home and get changed before he went to stake out and siege Kate's apartment, to wait for her eventual return. Gibbs getting sick would be good to no one.

Making a sudden U-turn in the middle of the road, he used his Emergency brake for leverage as the sedan spun in a near 180 degree clean turn, speeding off in the opposite direction. He soon flew down his own rain-beaten street and turned into the driveway, throwing the gears into Park before jumping from the car.

Heading for the house, he abruptly stopped and looked around; searching for something that he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for... almost sensing in his gut that she had been here. But with no visible evidence to back the feeling of his mighty gut, he snapped open his phone, still looking around helplessly. Another chill ran through him, but he figured wet clothes were wet clothes, and he continued to stand out in the pouring rain. He dialed Abby, who picked up within a half of a ring, maybe less.

"Gibbs! Did you find her??"

"I was about to ask you the same thing, Abs…" he muttered grimly.

"No luck here.." Abby sighed, "but, when she comes on, I'll know. And then you'll know I know, because I'll have called you right away after I do know and then we'll both know I knew—!" Abby heard a faint click closely followed by a droning dial tone. "Gibbs?"

He stood in the rain, shoving the phone back into his pocket, mouth slightly gaping between slow pants of tired anxiety— he looked around his yard, helplessly searching for some impossible clue, some unforeseeable answer— racking his brain over all the places she could possibly have gone. He noted with exasperation that she could be anywhere by now, including everywhere he'd already looked... the coffee shop, the restaurants, the bars and her apartment. He had Tony call the airports and McGee check the firing range. Ducky called the hospitals and Abby kept an eye on the security feeds for all of NCIS. With Gibbs rounding up the search on foot with aimless pursuits in the sedan, he was sure they'd have found her by now. He felt a new appreciation for paperwork, as it was a lucky thing, dare he not say coincidence, that paperwork was all they had on their plates for the day.

The rain dripped from the end of his nose and the short ends of his hair. Looking down in troubled thought, a surge of impatient determination rose from his gut. His brow furrowed as he shook his head. This was too elusive.. she was good. But she wasn't this good. She didn't just disappear, he thought to himself furiously.

With renewed vigor and wet, controlled steps, he strode up the front walk and vaulted the front porch. Pushing open his heavy front door and slinging his wet jacket to the floor by the closet, he threw his keys onto a small table in the hall. His phone started to ring, muffled in his pocket, but he ignored it as he began to bound up the staircase with Gibbs-like purpose, taking the steps two at a time. His hand on the banister, he stopped short on the third step, taken by the sight at the top of the stairs.

Kate stared at him thoughtfully for a moment before closing her phone and casually tossing it down to him. Gibbs caught it with one hand.

"I was calling you.." she said softly. He couldn't immediately tell if there was a slight slur in her words or if it was only a tremor in her voice.

He openly gazed and regarded her full appearance: the tousled hair that poured about her shoulders, her ruddy cheeks and the evidence of wiped away mascara. But what made him stare the most were the bare legs that emerged from underneath one of his over-sized, faded NIS t-shirts. Trying desperately to keep his head, he cleared his throat and brought his eyes back to hers.

"Kate.." was that his hoarse, strangled voice? He didn't have the time to check before his phone began to ring again. Digging in his pocket, he retrieved it without taking her from his sight.

"Yeah.. Gibbs." He answered.

"Gibbs! Kate's phone…!"

"Yeah… I know, Abs.." he preempted and abruptly ended Abby's rant as he pocketed both his and Kate's phones and took a cautious step up the stairs; their eyes silently warring and searching the other's.

"I've been looking for you… for hours, Kate.." he lowly drawled, his frustrated concern not a hidden thing; stopping only a few steps below the top landing, he looked up to her expectantly.

Swaggering and vaguely amused at this statement, she raised an eyebrow. "I've been here..." She slurred matter-of-factly. Truth be told, this was the only place Gibbs hadn't had mind to look. He cursed at himself for forgoing the obvious.

Nodding slowly, her legs drew back his attention, "You made yourself.. comfortable.." his voice rumbled warmly, taking time to memorize the way his shirt hung low and loose on her small frame.

"Mmmhmmm..." She raised a wine glass to her lips, never taking her darkened eyes off of him despite the faint chocolate fringe that hung in her face.

"You should call your fathe—" she interrupted him quickly and simply stated:

"I already did." Kate's voice was thick and hazy—thick with wine, thick with sadness.

Gibbs nodded, then tilted his head and eyed her glass. "You.. smell like Bourbon…" he silently questioned her red wine, as he took another step up.

"Yer out." Kate's voice sang softly as her lips quirked, giving him an unreadable expression. "And you can't smell me from there.." she chuckled huskily, laced with the wine she drank slowly. He immediately thought of the last time they were here, doing this—the deep, throaty chuckles, the drunken singing, the intoxicating and subtle way she stole little kisses and managed to steel herself permanently in that place in his heart that he had begun to keep solely for her.

He shook himself out of his Kate-ish trance, shaking his head and squinting his eyes in disbelief. "Wait. Wha— 'I'm out?'" His eyebrows rose, "You mean you drank the rest of it.." Gibbs accused her with a faintly raised pitch in his voice as he continued their odd, playful banter, watching as she leaned a shoulder against the wall, poised elegantly at the top of his stairs— embodying all that dreams were made of… if not for circumstance.

Kate mumbled lightly in protest, "I didn't drink it all…" Squinting one eye, she held up her thumb and index finger to him, signifying the tiny amount-- one corner of her mouth frowned in disappointment, "I spilled some of it."

As Gibbs took another slow step up, Kate made her first miss-step down. With her footing momentarily lost, he reached and grabbed her quick and firm; one hand gripping her upper arm as the other settled naturally around her waist. Kate's breathing hitched as she felt his warm breath on her burning cheeks. He looked over her blushing face in mild amusement before murmuring gruffly:

"I thought.. I told you, you weren't allowed to touch my Bourbon anymore…"

Kate thought for a moment, slowly wetting her lips. "Oops.." she whispered slowly, raising guilty eyebrows.

Gibbs finally became aware of his thoroughly wet attire; also becoming conscious of Kate's half-dressed body pressed up against his wet clothes. He grumbled softly to himself, "Now we both have to change.." His eyes shone at her as she felt the rumble of his voice slowly resonate from his chest to hers. "Good thing yer comfortable enough to wear my clothes, Kate. Maybe we'll even.. try some pants."

Kate murmured an unintelligible acknowledgment adding a deep chuckle, nodding in amusement, "That's.. that's good.." She began to move out of his grasp fully intending to journey downstairs, still sniggering quietly at his pants remark.

"Wait, wait wait…" Gibbs reestablished his hands on her shoulders, halting her getaway. "Where you goin' Kate.."

She held out her arm to one side, gracefully lifting her wine glass. "I am.. going to getta refill.. Gibbs." She smirked at him when he gave her a shake of his head.

"Ohhhhh-hoo noooo," she chuckled and cooed, "Yer not boss-man here.. nuh-uh."

"Kate…" his tone left no room for negotiation. And if she hadn't been in the state that she was, she would have clearly recognized that. Any other day of the week, any other time of the day, she would have known that this was Gibbs' serious voice. She fuzzily defied her logical self, and pushed that common sense down into the belly of her grief.

" 'Kate…?' Kate what, Gibbs…" her eyes looked up to his face with such pleading confusion, that he had to look away. Her voice softened a little, but her eyes remained resolute, "You.. you said it yourself.. 'You do what you have to..'.. what you need to…" she amended sadly.

Gibbs shook his head. "This isn't what you need…"

Just because she didn't put voice to thought did not mean that Gibbs didn't fully understand the "don't you dare tell me what I need" expression that flashed across her reddening face.

"It's what you needed. It's what you did..." she protested, although the fight suddenly left her physically as her arms went lax.

He blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He hadn't honestly believed his own mother would come into conversation that day, directly or indirectly, but he swallowed it down. Gibbs' eyes darted quickly about her face, lost in emotional thought at what exactly should be said to that. It was one of those rare moments of vulnerability for him, of an intimate exposure that spread across his face.

Sniffing lightly, he wet his lips before he spoke quiet and slow: "I don't want you making my mistakes, Kate."

Soothingly he took his hand and ran it over her mussed hair, brushing it away from the side of her face. He ducked his head in order to catch her eyes when she averted her gaze while she blinked rapidly against the onset of tears. They didn't come— but he didn't have to see them to know that they were there. "Kate.." he begged gently.

Kate swallowed. She brought her eyes up to his and faltered. Her lips quirked with a bare quiver before bringing her hand up to his cheek. She softly explored the side of his face in silent, ever-so-slightly intoxicated fascination. She slid the open palm of her small hand to tenderly cup his jaw as her eyes drew up to his disheveled, wet and matted hair; bringing her other hand up, she lazily fingered a damp piece of the salt and pepper mess and gave a dreamy, choked up sigh with a soft mutter of concern:

"Yer all wet…"

Gibbs paused, considering the now dampened front of her t-shirt before countering lightly, "So are you."

When he looked into her eyes, he couldn't quite tell what was taking place inside of her head— when, usually, he was so good at reading her, he felt a troubled pang of guilt for suddenly not being able to read her now. He couldn't have said whether she was going to burst into tears, or send him out for more wine, kiss him senseless, start pummeling his chest in utter, desperate grief, or ask him whether he wanted cake... chocolate, or vanilla. Gibbs couldn't pin down her single emotion, because, he realized, any one of her reactions were possible. He silently prepared for them all.

Her hands slid down and rested on his shoulders, neither pushing him away nor pressing to him closer. Kate tipped her head to one side and dropped her gaze, keeping her eyes from his as she looked to a safe spot on his soaked shirt.

"We don't.. have time to…" she softly started and stopped her train of thought, deciding first to carefully roll it around in her fuzzy head.

Gibbs tried to follow, his head bent and brow creased as he watched her face closely. He started to put a little distance between them, feeling a little uneasy with her being so close, so unclothed.. She immediately squeezed his shoulders and stopped his movement. Gibbs looked to her in confusion and saw a sudden edge of fear shadowing her expression.

"That's.. that's what I mean!" she exclaimed wildly, her eyes going slightly wider as she tried to enforce the importance of what she was trying to say. "We don't have time to be awkward. I thought we did, I thought.. but we.. We just—" she shook her head, "..we don't, Gibbs…!" Kate's lips parted in frustration, her breaths came quick and ragged, the usual precursor to the fall of tears— but still, they didn't come.

"Kate…" Gibbs visibly swallowed.

Kate's head began swimming as he eased her slowly backwards to sit down on the top step of the staircase. Kneeling in front of her on a lower stair, he brought his large hands to rest and cover her knees, his thumbs drawing small, soothing circles on the silky insides of each thigh. His brow softened and his voice lowered, "You're not your mother." Finally a tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away.

"I could be…" she whispered; the husk in her tone did little to hide the shake in her voice. Her words were a little less slurred now, but he knew that most of this raw honesty was from more than a little of the wine in the glass that he had at last eased from her hand and set down beside her. Kate's dark eyes were glassy and wide, staring at him with a sobering need and intimate concern. But she went on brokenly: "And then… I'd never.. I couldn't have the chance—" She choked on a tiny sob as she said his name, stopping it before it could escape.

At her pause, he forgot everything. His hands flexed against her knees as his mind lost touch with the fact that he was kneeling before a Kate that had no pants on; that his clothes were still dripping with rain water; or that breathing consisted of both inhaling and exhaling.

She slowly inched herself from the top step, sliding down to the next stair until the insides of her thighs were snug against his sides, his stomach fittingly flush against the valley of her parted legs. Gibbs' mind began to break down at just the thought of such contact— and he wished his wet clothes hadn't made his skin so numb. He finally thought enough to breath.

"Kate..." he began cautiously, an undertone of careful warning voiced the concern of her physical and emotional state. Gibbs couldn't imagine that she had any idea exactly how much he wanted her—but he would never take advantage of alcohol or tragedy, especially with her, even if it meant refusing his deepest dreams.

She inched her face forward, as if afraid she'd scare him away, afraid that it would all drop from underneath. She had the need to feel reality, the good and the bad… and right then, she desperately needed the good. She needed him to prove to her the good.

Kate gave a subtle, sharp intake of breath as she hesitantly pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, one hand edging up his chest while the other snuck around to the back of his neck. When Gibbs didn't react, or retreat, she slid her lips soundly over his, her mouth gently massaging and molding to his lips. His hands went slowly from her knees, under her legs and carefully slid up the back of her thighs. Even with his limited contribution, she knew: This was the good, as her eyes fluttered closed with a deep, pleasing sigh.

Squeezing his sides between her thighs, she delicately brought herself fully up against him, deepening her kiss as both hands held his face in a feathered exploration of his quickly reddening cheeks. Gibbs blushing? It only strengthened Kate's resolve. But it was the soft run of her tongue against his bottom lip that unraveled him—he could not be a non-participant. He was a man, after all. A man who loved Kate Todd; this woman in his shirt, kissing him on his stairs, drunk on his wine and making him equally as drunk with just the thought of loving her.

He softly growled out a low groan as he leaned into her, returning what she gave him and a little bit more— his hands crept over her hips and up her sides, skimming the intoxicating contours of her body, brushing against the sides of her breasts underneath the loose cotton, slowly tilting her back against the stairs. His arms entrapped her as his hands came to rest on the step behind her, supporting his weight and boxing her in as her kiss only intensified in response. This was certainly of the good… and she imparted that to him quite well, as the message seemed to be well received by Gibbs.

After drawing a muffled moan from her mouth, he pulled away slowly, tugging at her bottom lip as he went. Drawing her mouth to his once more in a quick kiss of mutual reassurance, he finally exhaled. And when he pulled fully back to look at her face, Kate was visibly dazed— eyes still closed, her mouth still slightly parted and moist. Nothing could have looked more beautiful to Gibbs. He raised a rough palm to her cheek, bringing her attention back. He stroked his thumb against her cheek and told her quietly:

"You'll always have the chance with me, Katie…"

For a moment she only stared at him, happiness darkening her eyes before her beautiful face began to crumple and fall— she raised her hands to cover her face, to bury and hide her tears. Gibbs frowned sadly as he slid a hand through her hair to the back of her head, gently pulling her to him, tucking Kate into his chest.

Murmuring words of comfort into her hair like "Breath, Kate," and "That's-a girl," "Let me help you," and "You'll be alright"— he took mind not to say anything foolish like "It's all right" or "It's okay to be sad," because he knew it wasn't alright and he knew that what she felt transcended sadness entirely— and to try and simplify that complexity by giving it a name as plain as "sad"… Gibbs knew better. But Gibbs also knew that taking too much time coming-to-terms-with-the-bad-things-that-happen easily turned into dwelling-relentlessly-on-the-awful-things-you-couldn't-change, until it changes you, and that led a person down a terribly dangerous road. He promised himself he wouldn't let her self-destruct. And Gibbs always kept his promises.

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