x...x
When she woke to find him gone, she tried not to wonder why she felt so empty, and when he returned smelling of sawdust and soap, she definitely tried not to wonder why she felt so full.
"Hope you don't mind I took your key," he said, stepping into the apartment, "didn't wanna wake ya." He walked into the kitchen, placing two finished doors on the floor. "Should've stained 'em, but we can always do that later."
She looked at the cabinet doors and shook her head in amazement. "You did these? This morning?" They were nearly exact replicas of the old ones, including the decorative design cut into the corners. Only the wood's newness gave it away.
"All of these should be replaced," he said, waving a finger at the cabinets. "Whoever did these didn't know his ass from his awl." He clearly took it as a personal offense. "But with you rentin', pretty sure you don't wanna put in the effort."
Running a finger along the top of the smooth wood, she marveled at the ease he created such craftsmanship.
"I'd love to learn," she said, surprising both herself and him.
"Really?"
"Yeah." She looked at him and smiled. "I just think it must be so satisfying to take a piece of wood and turn it into something beautiful."
He snorted. "It's just a cupboard door, Kate."
She was having none of his deflection. "Well I think they're beautiful."
He chuckled at her seriousness. "Okay. Why don't I put these beauties up an' we'll see how they look?" Pretending not to notice her scowl at his teasing, he asked, "You got a screwdriver?"
"Phillips, Robertson or slot?"
His eyes widened. "Got any other surprises, Secret Service?"
Barely stopping her lips from twitching, she deadpanned, "I have all kinds of hidden talents, Special Agent." When the amusement was too much to bear, she laughed. "Three older brothers. If you ever need your air filter switched or your oil changed, let me know." She purposely added a seductive undertone just to see him smile.
"Duly noted. Now, hand me a Phillips."
x...x
Time seemed to both stretch between them and pass too quickly, and she was getting too used to enjoying the former that she hated the latter. She wasn't sure when she got so accustomed to his presence in her space. Not her work space; she was more than familiar with his solid frame leaning into her, his calloused hands gripping her waist in the face of danger, his sly smile hiding something more than a quiet acknowledgement of a job well done. But she had always compartmentalized those moments under 'work'- if for no other reason than for her own emotional protection. To think of those as anything other than 'work' meant thinking they could mean 'more'. And 'more' only lead to 'pipedream'. And 'pipedream' only lead to, well, she hadn't cried over a man in almost a decade, and 'pipedream' only invited tears.
But the last few days were different, in a way she couldn't file away. The solid frame became 'comfort', the touch became 'care' and the sly smile- she grinned to herself. No, that still hid something under an upturned corner of his mouth. Her head said things were different; her heart dared to think these things were always this way.
"I should get goin'," he said.
Her reverie broken, she frowned, looking up from the book she was only pretending to read. "It's only 4 o'clock. And I thought you were staying?"
From his end of the couch, folded his paper and dropped it on the coffee table. "If I spend another night on this couch, I'll have to marry it."
Despite her disappointment, she laughed at the quip. "That good, huh?"
"Soft and invitin' in all the right places."
"I'll keep that in mind." She added 'playful banter' to her list of 'when did that happen?' "You sure you have to go?" If she sounded a bit needy, she didn't care.
It helped that he seemed reluctant to go. "JAG wants all the Bosman paperwork Monday morning, and I gotta get a change of clothes before then. Not sure I could show up to work in this." He looked down at his faded jeans and Marine Corps shirt that was at least 10 years old and easily becoming Kate's favourite look.
Before she could stop her mouth, she said, "I wish you would."
He looked up at her, then down to his shirt again. "This does it for you, huh?"
The 'playful' part of their banter barrelled right into something that made her face go red. "I… uh…"
Cannot admit the only thing that would look better than you in that shirt would be you out of it. The internal thought only made her face burn more. Though he couldn't read her mind- she hoped!- he must have seen something in her eyes because he inhaled sharply.
"I really should go." Maybe he could read her mind, because when she opened her mouth to apologize, he laid his fingers on her arm and said, "Don't. Just… tryin' to figure out what's goin' on here, Kate."
She wasn't going to pretend she didn't understand what he meant when she had been spending all morning thinking the same.
Though she didn't need him to clarify, he seemed compelled to explain. "I've gone from asshole to carpenter in a matter of days."
"Those don't have to be mutually exclusive."
His eyebrows rose to his hairline, and his mouth silently opened and closed at her playful jab. Finally, he found words that satisfied him. "Asshole carpenter, huh? Been called worse, I guess."
"Well, you do have three ex-wives."
Though they were still playing around the issue, she found his near-admission of something going on beyond the professional oddly liberating. Knowing she wasn't the only one wondering what the hell was going on alleviated her uncertainty and made the possibility of things between them less daunting. To hear that the otherwise unflappable Leroy Jethro Gibbs was standing on shifting sands gave her a kind of comfort. Not that she'd ever tell him that.
His eyes narrowed at her quip, but she was having none of it. Her full laugh told him so. Shaking his head, he stood, though her fingers caught his before he had a chance to pull away.
Lifting her eyes, she said, "You don't have to go."
"I know." He repeated his earlier refrain, "But I should." Glancing around the apartment as if the right words were written on the walls, he said, "You don't need me around here, gettin' in your way."
She took the excuse for what it was, but didn't contradict him. Maybe she did need some time alone, without his scent and his smile to cloud the issue. Still, she squeezed his fingers for a moment longer.
"8:30, Monday?" she asked.
"Make it 8. We might swing by your coffee shop." The way his nose wrinkled at the word 'coffee' said all he thought about the place. He lingered at her knee, looking down into her upturned face. He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, as if he didn't want the other to let go.
"I have a lot of carpentry jobs I could give you," she offered.
She never quite knew what would make him smile, but she wished she could get him to do it more, because when he smiled- really, genuinely smiled- there was nothing warmer, nothing more inviting. Nothing more wicked. Her fingers released his before they got any grand ideas of tugging him back to the couch. His thumb brushed across the pads of his fingertips, like he was trying to rub her touch into his skin.
His smile dropped into a grin, but the light never left his eyes. "Make a list."
Definitely wicked, she thought.
"Call me if you need anythin'." It was both a question and a command, and she nodded her reply. "Okay. An' lock the door behind me."
Rolling her eyes, she stood and with more animation than she felt, she shooed him out the door. He was just about to go down the stairs when she called out.
"Gibbs?" His blue eyes turned back to her and whatever she might have planned in her brain got caught in her throat. "Thanks," was all she was able to muster. "For everything."
x...x
His own couch must have known of his betrayal, because whatever softness it might have had now turned hard in retaliation.
Or maybe it was never about the couch.
The light from the TV flickered across his features in the dark room, where it was nothing but him, a half-eaten pizza, and the sports highlights. He tried to shift into a better position, but the cushions flatly refused to accommodate him. The cellphone on the table mocked him with its promise of a softer couch, better food, and Kate.
Hell, he thought, don't even need the first two.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to make sense of things. Rule 12 was clearly losing ground to whatever was building between them, and his admission that he didn't know what it was only made the distance between his rule and his heart even wider.
His admission. That he said out loud. When the hell did Leroy Jethro Gibbs ever talk about emotions?
He snorted and wished he had brought the bourbon up from the basement. God knew he could use a stiff drink, something closer to liquid gold than the melted caramel of her eyes.
"'Melted caramel'?" he chastised himself out loud. "Jesus." Pushing himself from the couch that made no effort to keep him, he clicked off the TV and made his way to the basement door and down the stairs.
x...x
The next morning, while somewhere across town a man was complaining about a basement sofa being no more comfortable than the one he had in the living room, Kate pressed the recliner's side button and waited for it to return to its upright position. When Gibbs had first brought it, she questioned exactly how she was supposed to sleep in a chair, but it only took one night of shoulder pain relief to make her a believer. He hadn't told her how he knew, and she reminded herself to get the story out of him. Padding to the bathroom, she did her business, deftly washed her hand, and examined her reflection in the mirror. Angling her head to the right, then up and down, she was pleased to see the minor abrasions along her left cheek were at various stages of healing and some were already fading. Considering she had been in a car accident less than a week ago, she thought she looked pretty good.
Changing clothes was a task that was both frustrating and amusing, and she couldn't help but groan and laugh in equal measure. But tenacity paid off and she managed to get everything on, though the bra almost made her throw in the towel, until she imagined showing up for Mass without one. If she thought the scandal wouldn't have been church fodder for years and somehow gotten back to her mother, she might have tried it. She snorted at the image and the reactions.
Changing also served a second purpose- it gave her an idea of how long it took and how much time would be needed Monday morning. Though Gibbs had softened in ways she had yet to figure out, she was fairly certain his requirements for military punctuality wasn't one of them. Satisfied with the time and her appearance, she went into the living room and waited for her taxi.
x...x
The solace that his boat so often brought him seemed in short supply, and it showed in the work, in the uneven bevels and the shoddy sanding. He had given up an hour ago and decided to immerse himself in the only other thing that took his mind off things better than his boat- his work. He hadn't lied to Kate when he told her the JAG wanted the Bosman paperwork first thing in the morning, though as was his nature, the bulk of it had already been done (mostly by DiNozzo), and all he had to do was cross the 't's and dot the 'i's. Because it had been Tony who put the file together, Gibbs had to take certain aspects of it on faith, that the facts put down on paper were the facts as they occurred. Everything Bosman confessed to in the interrogation as well as everything before his arrest needed to be checked and checked again. Not that he didn't trust Tony; he wouldn't have him on the team if that were the case. But it didn't hurt to make sure. He ignored the voice in his head that taunted him for the flimsy ruse and reached for his cell phone.
x...x
The first time, he thought she might have been in the shower. The second time, in the bathroom. The third time, having a nap. But when he still hadn't gotten an answer after the fourth call, he began to frown. It wasn't like her to not pick up, and without conceit, he knew she was least likely to do it with him. With a hand in his cropped hair and worried feet, he paced twice between his door and his couch, until he realized the couch, once a counter argument to the door (stay vs. go) had traitorously teamed up with the latter.
Go.
He jammed the speed dial one more time.
'Pick up the damn phone, Kate.'
x...x
He tried to keep his mind on the road and not on why he was on it in the first place. Agents missed calls all the time. Not her. Anything could have happened. That's not as comforting as it should be. He had all but told her he needed space to figure out what was happening between them, and he didn't last the morning. Like there's anything to figure out. He pulled into her parking lot and clenched his jaw before angrily twisting the ignition off.
"Fuck it," he said.
x...x
Her lock was harder to pick than he would have thought, and the part of him that wasn't frustrated by the fact was happy in its security. Like people are pickin' her lock every damn day, Gunny. The small tools were barely back in their case before he turned the knob and pushed into the apartment. His first steps were towards the bedroom, figuring he'd save himself a lot of embarrassment if he found her sleeping. Quietly, he nudged the door open, and it yawned into the empty room. The only good news it offered was the chair, which had clearly been used. She was sleeping in it. But where was she?
The next stop was the bathroom, but the open door answered the question by elimination rather than conclusion. The apartment was struggling for size in comparison to his house, but he called out anyway.
"Kate!"
He knew it was fruitless. Standing at the end of her hall, with the bedroom and bathroom behind him, he could see everything else in her open concept living space, with the kitchen to his right and the living room to his left. Wherever she was, she wasn't in the apartment. His gut clenched and the sour bile he had tasted the night DiNozzo dropped the news in the bullpen like a napalm bomb to his heart returned. His eyes went everywhere, as if she would materialize from a corner of the room he'd scanned ten times already. His body went to the couch and he dropped on it without conscious thought. Blindly, he reached out for the pillow she had left on one end and brought it to his chest. He thought of phoning Abby, her emergency contact (That's gonna change, he thought), but he took some comfort in knowing if something had happened, she would've called him. He'd give her another 15 minutes before- Before what? Before he did something. Anything.
The clock in her kitchen ticked with taunting certainty.
x...x
With 3 minutes to spare, the click of her lock pulled the knife out of his heart, and the relief he tried to ignore manifested itself into anger.
"Where the hell were you?"
The smile that had unabashedly spread across her face at seeing him immediately retreated. "What?"
"Where were you?" he repeated, slower but with the same icy coolness. "I tried callin'. Five times."
Any joy she might have had evaporated, to be replaced with a coolness of her own. "Father McCrimmon doesn't like it when we have our phones on during Mass. Makes the sermon kinda hard. And confession is just a bitch." There was no amusement in her voice.
The truth made his head jerk back like he had been slapped. "You were at Mass." It wasn't a question; he said it out loud more for his idiot self than for her.
"Yep." She tossed her keys into a nearby bowl, then turned. "How did you get in?" When his reply was a guilty shrug, she brought her hand to her forehead. "You broke into my apartment."
"There was no 'breaking'," he weakly defended.
She nodded. "Right. You pick locked into my apartment. My bad."
He watched her slip off her jacket, fighting the impulse to help, unsure if he had the right. The fact she could make him second guess himself brought the edge back to his voice.
"How did you get to Mass?"
Kicking off her shoes and padding into the kitchen, she threw a caustic reply over her shoulder. "They have these great things called 'taxis'. Maybe you've heard about them?"
"Don't be smart, Kate," he snapped back. "What part of 'call me if you need anything' didn't you get?"
She scooped out the coffee, berating herself for how easily it became habit to add extra for him. "You couldn't seem to get out of here fast enough," she replied. "Didn't think you'd be in a hurry to come back."
The words weren't entirely true, but she needed to hold on to the sting. With her back to him, she waited for the hurt to be returned, but when the silence drew out long between them, she faced him. The hurt was returned, just not in words. His eyes, so normally blue with humour or intensity or anger had dulled in what she dared to say was sadness. His gaze was directed at the floor and his thumb rubbed over an eyebrow. The fact he couldn't seem to find the words squeezed her heart. When he whispered her name, it only hurt more.
Tentatively, she took two steps towards him. Bending her head to catch his gaze, she touched his arm. "Gibbs." She didn't know where to begin. "The accident… something's happened. God knows I don't have a clue. But you can't keep doing this. Every time I'm out of your sight, you can't think 'I should be there'. You can't protect me from life, Gibbs."
If someone described her reaction as 'surprised', she'd accuse them of being unimaginative. 'Surprised' barely covered her reaction when she felt his mouth on hers.
"Mmmmhh!" she gasped as his lips pushed hers open and his tongue laid claim. His hands went to her head where fingers threaded through her hair to hold her firm. The move forced her chin up for him to plunder her mouth with abandon. Her grip on his arm tightened, and it seemed to spur him on, for what began as passion spilling over grew into something that almost frightened her. It was as if he couldn't get enough- taste enough, claim enough, close enough. Her hand slipped up to his wrist and gently pried his hand from her hair. Breaking the kiss, she left smaller ones in a path to his ear as she drew his fingers to the hollow of her throat. Pressing them against her pulse, she whispered, "I'm right here. I'm here. I'm alive and I'm here. I'm here with you." The small mantra broke through his haze, and when he tried to pull away, she held his hand firm.
"Okay?" she asked, her breath soft and warm against his cheek.
His nod held all he couldn't say.
"Okay," she repeated, finally making some space between them. As if they hadn't just obliterated a line ('crossed' seemed as woefully inaccurate as 'surprised'), she gestured to the kitchen with a jut of her chin. "Coffee's ready."
He shook his head at how easily she brought the sunlight back into his heart. "I'll be the judge of that."
Winking, she pulled down some mugs. "What did you call me for?"
He frowned until her words made sense. "Oh. Some bullshit excuse about the Bosman paperwork." His blatant honesty made her laugh in a way he wanted to replicate over and over.
"Mmmm," she hummed. "Well, considering I'd bet a month's salary Tony did all the work, it might not be so bullshit."
He wanted to wrap his arms around her but settled for standing beside her. "No," he deadpanned, "it was complete bullshit."
Sliding his mug towards him, she pondered the possibilities. "Well, now that you're here… I started that carpentry list."
His scowl only served to draw out the laugh again, which, all things considered, he figured wasn't a bad thing.
x...x