I'm back in Gibbs' car on my way home, to my annoyance. I don't want to go home, I want to go to work and carry on with the case that got me shot.
Tony had come to visit me with a bunch of roses, I tried not to smile at him but he's won me over completely. I'd probably do anything for him but I'd never admit it. Abby dropped by with a black teddy, she told me all about the bullet I'd been shot with. She's a good girl. A good, honest, warm girl.
"Is this really necessary?" I say darkly with my arms folded, staring straight ahead.
"You need to rest. You don't have permission to be sick." He replies evenly.
"I've slept enough for one day! I don't need rest. You wouldn't tell Dinozzo to go home if he'd been shot. This is because I'm a woman isn't it." I accuse him irrationally. Better tone it down though. I shouldn't have just said that to him, but half of me might actually believe that.
Gibbs takes a look at my face and then returns his eyes to the road ahead. There is a different tension in the car now compared with last night. It's not nervous it's me not wanting to bend to his authority and him wanting to retain it.
I cannot see me coming out on top here; there is no way he's going to let me come into work today. Especially not after that indictment, now if he does allow me it will be like admitting to it. I should really learn to think before I speak. I lean my head against the window.
A few seconds pass.
"I didn't mean that." I say instead of saying I'm sorry. I rubbed my temples, that morphine really packs a punch. I hate apologies only because it means I've made a mistake.
The tension seems to ease as we pull into my driveway. I don't expect him to come inside or anything so I gingerly open the door and step out of the vehicle. I pick up my bag from under the seat where I left it last night and pause to say my thank you as I remove my keys from their pocket. But to my amazement he steps out of the car and takes the keys gently from my hand.
I follow him up the path to my front door, trying not to be nervous. I keep a straight face apart from a slightly apologetic and thankful smile. He unlocks the door for me and places the keys on the table beside the door in the hallway.
It's about to get dark out and I'm starving for some food that doesn't arrive in a plastic cup. I hesitate as he stands in the doorway waiting for me to do or say something. He actually looks comfortable in a situation that I find completely uncomfortable and I envy the way he does that.
"Do you want to come in? I'm going to order pizza because I'm too tired to cook." I ask him with a laugh trying to ease my own nervousness, "It's a long drive back to headquarters." I say as an excuse in case he thinks that I'm inviting him in for something more.
Gibbs seems to consider my offer for a moment and a look passes across him face. I know he's about to decline. So as he opens his mouth to speak I say "Well no pressure," taking a step into the house. I shrug. When the look leaves his face in is replaced by determination I know I'm in.
Instead of answering verbally he moves forward, I stand aside and let him into my house. Thankfully I'm a complete neat freak. Think alphabetized DVD's and straight lines. Every room has a colour theme and nothing is mismatched.
I walk ahead to the kitchen allowing him time to move around freely. "Make yourself at home." I call down that hall. "Feel free to look around." I pull out a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. Dialing the number for pizza I don't know what he likes. When I call out "What toppings?" he doesn't reply for a moment. "Whatever you're having."
I get the impression that he's a Chinese food kind of man not quite the pizza type. I order my pizzas and hang up the phone. I'm not surprised to see Gibbs leaning on the doorframe watching me.
"Whiskey?" I ask. My bandaged arm is annoying me, it's so frustrating to have only one arm. Gibbs steps into the room and pours me one and then one for himself. Gentleman. I'm glad he doesn't protest to me drinking so soon after getting off the drugs the hospitals given me. But I think he is happy to let me learn from my own mistakes rather then badger me.
Seated in the lounge on separate single seats the atmosphere is comfortable. There's no small talk required so I get straight into it. "Any progress on the case while I've been out of action?"
"You're still out of action," he gives me a warning tone with a hint of playfulness. "no progress because the director is putting it on hold." It must have been bad if he can't talk her out of it. I try my luck in asking the real question, "Did she know we were out last night?" He looks over his glass at me as he takes another sip.
His eyes tell me no but his mouth doesn't move. 'Oh', I mouth. Leaning back in my chair I feel blissfully at ease with the universe. The whiskey warming my throat and numbing my mind and the pizza on the table half gone. I can feel his eyes on me. And it isn't a bad feeling.
'Oy!' I chastise myself. That's not the way to be thinking about your boss. What am I doing in my lounge room with him sharing a pizza and a bottle? I rationalize it; He was nice enough to stay with me when I was shot and bring me home so I'm returning the favour. Whatever, I should put this whiskey down before what I'm thinking comes out of my mouth.