Chapter 8 Gibbs and you
By the time he lets himself in my front door I've recovered the various fragments of my very sore memory. I've also replayed this mornings events over in my head about a million times. And I've thought about every single thought that could have possibly gone through his head during that kiss.
I'm stretched out on the couch in my fluffy dressing gown. I'm not wearing much under it but judging from the scattered memories of last night none of it will be new to him. That thought makes me laugh quietly as he enters the lounge.
I recognize the bags in his hand as Chinese and immediately scramble to help him with them.
He always gets far too much. But, according to him too much is better then not enough.
Low music is playing in the background, my way of passing time. I've been going insane sitting at home all day waiting for him to come back. Thinking about the case that I'm not involved in.
I grab one of the larger bags off him with my free hand, I'm getting used to this bandage. He greets me with a glare. He's so old fashioned with his ideas about men carrying things. But I love that about him.
Plonking the bag onto the coffee table in front of the lounge I sit down heavily and lean back only slightly. There's really only one reason that I'm sitting on the couch. The same couch that we occupied last night. And that is that I'm hoping to stir his memories, assuming he has some, from last night in order to get some kind of reaction.
I wonder if it would be more mature to pretend nothing happened then to bring it up. He still hasn't said anything. Instead he sits down beside me after removing his jacket and begins to unroll the tops of the bags.
I don't interfere with his ritual opening of the Chinese food. I've learnt not to.
I try in vain to read his thoughts as he sifts through the bags, pulling one article out after another.
He turns to me, I assume he knows I'm watching hi,
"What'd I miss on the case?" I ask innocently, a cover easily seen through. But he plays along. It's a competition now to see who will break first and make a comment on the events of last night. There's no doubt in my mind that I'll lose said competition.
"We broke the cell, with Ziva's help, I got enough information last night to put a stop to a significant number of Hamas suicide bombings." For a man of few words Jethro was doing strangely well with the length of his sentences. And now I know he has memories of last night as I do.
I know because his tone is softer then usual, he can't maintain direct and constant eye contact for very long and because a look crosses his face as his eyes take me in.
I decide to lighten the mood.
"Stop looking at me like that." I say teasingly.
"Like what?" he says, feigning innocence and purposely failing.
"Like you've seen me naked." I can't help but break into a smile.
He too smiles. But it's too much like regret for my liking.
Any normal male would most likely shuffle in his seat at this moment. But Gibbs is not normal.
"Chicken chow mien?" he enquires. Pushing the container towards me as he digs into the anonymous white box in his left hand.
I don't reply, instead I pop the lid of the container open with one hand and grab a fork. Bending over the box, because I can't pick it up with my left hand, I try to jab a piece of chicken with my utensil. It's difficult with one hand and I can feel myself getting frustrated. But, I don't want to ask for help.
In my irritation I poke the box inaccurately, causing it to tip over on the table. I can't stop it falling because the fork is in my free hand. I curse bitterly and drop the fork onto the table.
Without thinking I reach forward with my left hand to clean up the mess and pain tears through my shoulder. I freeze in place and cringe, gritting my teeth because of the pain.
Gibbs immediately drops his box onto the table and lays a hand on my good shoulder.
I try not to let the pain show on my face but I fail. I can tell he knows.
The look on his face says "Don't even try to clean that up." Or perhaps, "Don't hurt yourself." Or maybe "Are you okay?" But in some dark and secret recess of my mind it just might say, "I love you and I'm concerned for your wellbeing."
I blink to rid the hopeful thought from my mind. But it still lingers there.
I feel so pathetic and vulnerable now and I can feel my cheeks turning red as my face grows hot.
He slides his arm behind my back and I lean on it, I have the biggest most unbelievable urge to curl up against his chest with his arm draped over my shoulder.
I let the breath I'd been holding out as he rests me onto the cushions.
He makes sure I'm comfortable and then does something which makes me both blush and smile at the same time. He grabs a new box, which smells so good, and stabs a few things inside with my fork before looking up and lifting the food to my mouth.
I let it hover there as I stare into his eyes, deciphering his emotions. He;s amused but caring.
So I open my mouth and accept the food sliding if off the fork with my teeth, eyes locked with his the entire time.
He lets the fork drop into the box and moves towards me. Now I'm leaning forward as if drawn towards him by an invisible thread.
It's an incredible moment as I shut my eyes and out lips lock together. A moment which quickly escalates from a tender kiss to a passionate electric pash.
His hands sneakily move behind my head and back ensuring I don't move away. My hands seem to have a mind of their own as they clutch and grasp and pull him closer. I keep forgetting to breathe, to think.
This is so surreal, so wrong! But I don't care. It feels so right. I don't want it to end; even the pain in my arm seems to disappear as we share this moment.
All thoughts and reasoning dissipates in the heat, the fast pace breathing and the touching of skin.