It's a game, Gibbs tells himself.
It's not that he's not attracted to her. Or that he doesn't care about her. It's just that he doesn't really know her.
And she doesn't know him.
And it's fine. He doesn't care. Really. The flirting is just for fun and not to see her smile, or blush, or look like she might kiss him.
It's just a game, to pass the time, to remind himself he's still alive. It's the reason he's ended up divorced three times and fucked half the redheads in the DC metro area.
That's all it is.
Except.
Except she's not a redhead. She's not just any other woman and he knows her better than his third wife already.
Definitely a bad sign, but he tries to ignore it, tries to concentrate on the game, the job, the boat.
Shannon and Kelly.
Anything except Caitlin Todd.
Except he loves making her smile, making her blush, making her look like she might kiss him.
And she definitely wants to kiss him. He can see it in the way she leans towards him a fraction, the crease in her forehead as she considers hitting him instead. How she runs her teeth over her bottom lip in a way that should be illegal.
He wonders if his own tells are as obvious but he knows he's spent too long closed off, too long perfecting his poker face since the days when Shannon could tease a smile or a kiss out of him without his permission.
He tells himself he can stop anytime. Stop playing. But he doesn't. He keeps pushing.
Eventually one of them is going to snap.
He's almost certain it's going to be him.
Xx
He breaks after she's abducted.
Kate's been shot at, hit, blown up, threatened with several different weapons and taken down more than one suspect and been taken down herself a couple of times. She's even been held hostage before but this was different.
This time he wasn't with her. Wasn't close by. Wasn't able to save her.
Kate had been out of reach, his reach and in the end, he wasn't the one to save her. He tells himself that she was never in danger (though, he doesn't trust Ari and his motivations); that she's fine to her than a split lip and a bruise she'll be wearing for a week or so. She won't cover it up, she wears her wounds like badges of honour. Displays them as proof she's as tough as Tony. As strong as Gibbs.
She's stronger though. Tougher. She just doesn't realise it and the fact that she is stronger didn't really make him feel better when Ari had her.
He felt helpless and for the first time in a long time - scared.
He knows what it means, but he doesn't really know what to do about it. He shows up at her apartment after he's spoken to Ari down in autopsy. He's never been more sure of the mans intent. Someone is going to die at the end of all this.
He feels like he needs to do something, say something, just in case it's him.
"Gibbs."
There is a hint of something on her face, like she might smile or sigh at the sight of him but is aware that it's going to hurt. He wants to reach out and touch the bruise blooming across her jaw, the puffy lip that's been stitched up. She does smile then, he definitely has a tell he realises.
"Can I come in?" he asks, looking away from the injuries and up to her eyes. They're more hazel when the hallway light hits them he notes and has to look away again.
"Sure," she says, standing aside to let him walk in. If she's surprised by his appearance she doesn't show it. "Do you want a beer?" she asks, leading him into her living room.
"Er, sure."
She nods and heads into another room, he hovers, unsure if he should sit. He feels out of place in her home, her space. It's warm and comforting though, more lived-in than his own home with the exception of his basement. She's back in a couple of moments with two beers, handing him one and curling back up on the sofa.
Warm and comforting and without asking he sits down at the other end. Another smile.
"So," she says. "Are you okay?"
He laughs then because it's so perfectly Kate to ask if he's okay when she was kidnapped and assaulted. She frowns and he does reach out then, running his thumb over her bottom lip. She gasps, but not from pain he realises.
"I'm fine," he tells her, dropping his hand.
"Are you sure?"
He smiles and nods, then takes a long drink of his beer. Kate watches him, waiting for him to continue, elaborate...something, he knows. He doesn't know what to do next but he appreciates that she doesn't push or pressure him.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
She shrugs.
"Sore," she says, then after a moment, "physically and mentally."
He's gratified that she's opened up to him, for all Kate talks sometimes (rambles is more accurate) she doesn't often tell him how she's actually feeling. Even when he asks directly she often dodges the question, tells him she's okay. She does the same with everyone, even Abby and he wonders who he talks to.
If anyone.
"Can I help?" he tries and she smiles.
"Have you eaten?" He thinks about it, but he can't actually remember the last time he had anything except coffee. Apparently, his pause is all the answer Kate needs as she huffs out a little laugh. "You can help by staying for dinner then," she tells him. "Lasagna okay?"
He nods dumbly and she grins, standing up.
"Come into the kitchen," she says.
He follows, because, most of the time he knows he would pretty much follow Kate anywhere if she smiled at him the right way and because he is both hungry for her food and her attention.
If it's still a game then he's definitely losing.
And he finds he doesn't mind.
"Have a seat," she tells him and he sits down at the little table as she places a fresh beer in front of him and a bowl of salad in the centre. He watches as she moves around the space and he's always enjoyed how comfortable she is in a place she knows well. Where she feels safe.
He hopes she feels safe with him.
She probably shouldn't though.
She plates up their meal, placing the two plates on the table and serving them both some salad before sitting down. Gibbs goes to stand as she sits but she puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
"Eat," she tells him.
He nods, unsure what to say and still hungry, does as he's told. It's rare but it happens. The lasagna is good and he's halfway through it before she's even finished her salad. She's smiling though and he pauses to take a swig of his beer.
"Did you make this?" he asks, wondering when she had time. She hadn't been home long before he turned up on her doorstep.
"Yesterday. I make a big one and reheat it, freeze it too sometimes."
He nods and starts eating again.
"I take it you like it," she says with a laugh and he nods but doesn't stop to continue the conversion. "Do you want some more?" she asks. He does, but he doesn't think it would be polite. Kate ignores the lack of answer though and gets up to get him another serving. He smiles at her and digs in when she returns, only remembering to thank her when he's got a mouthful of lasagna.
"Thanks, Kate," he says after swallowing.
"You're welcome, Gibbs."
They're silent then as they finish their meal and their beer. Gibbs has always been more comfortable with silence but he's surprised to find Kate seems comfortable with it too, given how often she can ramble into any sort of silent situation when she's uncomfortable. He hopes it's just because he's comfortable with him. When he's done, still before her even with his second helping and he's tempted to ask for dessert to delay things, delay his inevitable leaving.
"That was really good Kate," he says quietly, enjoying the faint blush on her cheeks and she mumbles out her thanks as if she should be embarrassed by her own ability to cook.
He sits and watches as she cleans up the table, puts the dishes away. She gets them both another beer from her fridge and opens them before he can protest.
"Come on," she says softly and he finds himself following her again, back into the living room and back onto her sofa. "So," she starts and he cringes, wondering exactly what she's going to say. He doesn't expect, "how can I help you?"
He stares at her for a long moment, reaching for the answer, any answer. And she waits, patiently, siping her beer until he's ready to talk or not. He could get used to that, the unpressured silence, the waiting. The way she's pulling him in instead of pushing him.
"Just you," he says finally. "Just being with you."
If the smile on her face is worth opening up a hundred times more than her kiss is worth baring every part of his soul to her. She's gentle, hesitant at first, and hisses when she applies more pressure. He pulls back then, even though he wants nothing more than to deepen the kiss and push her down on the couch. He doesn't want to hurt her.
He reaches out and cups her face, running his thumb over her bottom lip.
"Hurts?"
"Mm-hmm."
He kisses her on the cheek.
"I'll kiss you again tomorrow," he tells her, revelling in the look of disappointment on her face. "I better go."
He stands and she grabs his wrist.
"Stay," she tells him, cheeks bright red even as she says it and pulls him back down onto the sofa with her. "At least a little longer. Or you can sleep on my couch. Or in my bed and I'll take the couch or you can and we can..."
He touches a finger to her lip to stop her mid-ramble.
"I'll stay," he tells her. "Need to be here in the morning to check if your lip is better."
She beams at him, giggles even and she stands this time, holding out his hand. She doesn't lead this time, it's more like she's pulling again, through her apartment to her bedroom and out of his shell. It's not as tidy as he would've expected of her, her entire apartment is like that though, as if Kate Todd is a little messy when she's at home, when she's comfortable.
He likes that.
She directs him to stand in front of her bed and he doesn't think he's ever been this compliant for anyone, except maybe…
The thought is gone, lost when she starts to unbutton his shirt.
"Kate?" he asks, voice way lower than he expects but he doesn't have much control over it right now.
She ignores him, continuing to undress him slowly and it's getting hard to ignore the ache in both his heart and his groin. She's concentrating, he recognises the look from work and it's probably going to be distracting as hell when they're in the office again. She gets his shirt open and off, and he groans when she runs her hands up under his t-shirt and over his stomach.
"Kate," he repeats, her name a moan now and she's smirking as she pulls the t-shirt off, ruffling up his hair. She inspects him, up and down and there is a spark there he wants to investigate. She reaches out and runs her hand down his chest, through the trail of hair leading into his jeans and he groans, hand snapping out to grab her wrist before she can push her fingers beneath the waistband.
"I don't need my lips," she tells him, voice way too husky for his sanity.
He smiles, can't help it and kisses her gently on those lips. She doesn't hiss this time, but he can feel her face scrunch up in both pain and the effort of not making a noise. He kisses her on the forehead then, letting go of her wrist but taking both her hands in his instead.
"When I make love to you," he tells her, enjoying the way her harsh intake of breath pushes her chest into his, "I want to be able to kiss you when I come."
She moans, presses her entire body into his and kisses him on the lips as gently as possible. It takes every ounce of his restraint not to kiss her back, to take control.
To take her.
"Tomorrow," she promises and he's not about to argue.
When she finally pulls away he almost pulls her back to him but manages to keep his hands to himself. He watches as she grabs something from her drawer and his t-shirt from the floor.
"Be back in a minute," she tells him. He stands, semi-hard and a little dumbfounded in her bedroom, still going over the evening's events and thankful that he has something else to think about than the panic he feels when he thinks about the day's events. She's back quickly, hair in a loose ponytail, wearing his t-shirt and some plaid pyjama trousers.
"And what am I supposed to wear?" he asks with a grin.
"Boxers or briefs?" she asks, crawling into her bed and shifting across to give him room to join her.
"Isn't it a bit warm for a t-shirt and pants?" he says instead of answering, sitting down to remove his socks and shoes. Just because it's not a game anymore or at least more than a game, doesn't mean they still can't play. And he's really looking forward to playing with Kate.
"Figured I shouldn't provide any temptation."
"But it's okay for me to sleep semi-nude?" he asks and she's grinning and she knows exactly what she's doing and he loves it.
"I can restrain myself."
He almost tells her he has a hard-on that says otherwise but he figures it will be obvious enough as he strips off his jeans and turns to face her in boxer-briefs. Her eyes go a little wide, a little dark and he smirks before crawling into bed with her. She flicks off the lamp and he's not sure what he should do or say for a second but she curls up into his body, forcing his arms around her. She rests her head on his shoulder, breathing deeply and moulding her body along his.
"Better?" he asks.
"Much," there's a pause, he knows she wants to say something and in the darkness, he can sense her nerves, feel a slight tension along her body where it's pressed against his. He wants to reassure her but can't quite get the words out. "You don't have to tell me anything, say anything, I just wanted you to know."
Another pause and he finds himself pulled in again.
"Know what?" he whispers.
"I needed you today. Tonight," she says. She's not telling him she loves him and he's surprised at the disappointment he feels. "Need you," she continues and he thinks it's probably as much as either of them should say right now while they're still raw from today.
In the morning, he decides, he's going to kiss her and tell her he loves her. No more games, no more playing but for now all he can offer is a whispered, need you too, into her hair.