Part III
"So, you're a doctor?" Kate asks anxiously, from where she sits on the blue bedspread of Gibbs' neatly made bed.
"A psychologist now," Gillian answers from the adjoining bathroom where she is rummaging through the medicine cabinet. She can feel the other woman's shy but inquisitive gaze studying her behind her back; taking a thorough record of her hair and clothes and figure and words.
"I work as a grief counselor," she continues, glancing over her shoulder at the younger woman.
Picking up a bottle, she squints at the label and turns, stepping back into the bedroom, cotton wool in her other hand. Kate's eyes retreat from her curious inspection.
Gillian approaches carefully, giving her a kind smile: "But before that, I worked in Emergency for many years."
"Oh," nods Kate, watching her uncap the bottle and wet the cotton swab with antiseptic ointment.
"Saw lots of cuts and bruises," she assures her lightly. Setting the bottle on the bedside table, she puts one hand under Kate's chin and gently tilts her face up.
Kate holds still as she dabs at the graze on her cheek. "You're a psychologist," she murmurs dubiously, after a short pause: "and you date Gibbs?"
Gillian smiles softly: "Yeah. It's a conundrum."
"I'll say," Kate replies, a little touch of humor in her voice. She winces slightly as the antiseptic penetrates her wound.
"Well…" sighs Gillian, leaning away to retrieve the bottle on the bedside table. "We don't talk about our work, anyway," she admits quietly, smearing more ointment on a fresh piece of cotton wool.
"Funny," Kate replies, her voice tentative and light: "…I wasn't aware that Gibbs talks about anything else."
Gillian quirks an eyebrow faintly, her head bowed. "He doesn't," she answers shortly.
"Oh," Kate mumbles, her eyes dropping to the floorboards once more.
Gillian steps closer, putting a hand beneath her chin and lifting her face again. Furtively, she studies the pretty features of the other woman as she swipes at her split lip with the salve. She notes the astute arch of her brows, the youthful roundness of her cheeks and the sweet slope of her nose.
"Well, he doesn't talk about the cases," she continues in a casual tone: "…but sometimes he'll tell me a little about his team." Carefully, she places the cotton wool over the cut above Kate's eye and holds it there for a moment, meeting the brunette's circumspect gaze. She hesitates before adding mildly: "He mentioned your name a while back."
A tiny spark goes off in Kate's eyes before she lowers her dark lashes to disguise it. "What did he say?" she couldn't help but ask, her tone shy and unsettled.
"Not much…." she shrugs in reply, dropping her hand away from Kate's brow. She stares at her for an instant, then turns and heads back into the bathroom. "But I could tell he likes you," she remarks, over her shoulder. She pulls a wash cloth out of the drawer and soaks it with warm water, glancing at the face of her patient in the mirror.
"Well," Kate mumbles uncertainly: "He's a great boss. He's… taught me a lot."
Gillian says nothing more as she moves back to the bed and sits next to her. She lifts one of Kate's cut-up hands from her lap and starts running the wash cloth over her skin, carefully washing off the blood.
"So, this Brian person…" she begins tentatively, glancing at Kate's face: "is he… boyfriend? Husband?"
"Oh, God. Neither," she huffs: "Barely even a friend." She takes a deep breath, shaking her head and confessing: "We went out in college a couple of times. But we were never…." Her voice trails off and she bites her lip, staring at her hands: "Tonight was just supposed to be dinner, you know? To reminisce over old times…. I don't know why he thought--"
"Doesn't matter what he thought," Gillian mutters evenly, bathing the other hand with care: "Doesn't excuse doing this to you."
"I know…" Kate nods, her voice heavy and pensive.
"Did he…?" Gillian starts, closely watching her wounded face and stooped posture from the corner of her eye: "Kate, did he force himself on you…?"
Kate looks up suddenly, a little disconcerted. "No," she responds, shaking herself: "No. He didn't—he didn't rape me. He…didn't get that far…."
Gillian nods slowly, turning to grab the bottle of antiseptic again and beginning to smooth it over the scratches on her small, red hands. Kate takes another deep, calming breath and they sit in silence for another long moment.
"Do you ever--" Kate pauses briefly then turns to look the redhead in the eye: "Do you ever get the feeling," she asks, bluntly: "that you are utterly pathetic at reading men?"
Gillian smiles and lifts her eyebrows. "All the time," she nods ruefully.
"So, it's not just me then…" she sighs under her breath.
"No," she answers musingly: "it's not just you." Peering at the back of her shirt, Gillian notices a gash in the material and says hesitantly: "Ah….do you know your shirt is ripped back here?"
"Oh," she hums, twisting and trying to get a look at her back: "He…I was… pushed against the bureau when we--"
"You better take it off," she urges gently: "let me have a look."
Kate purses her lips then gets to her feet, slowly unbuttoning the shirt and slipping it off her shoulders. She drops it on the bed as Gillian steps behind her, running her eyes over her back.
There is a thin scrape crossing diagonally over her spine. It's not too deep, just long – what is more worrying is the bruise below it, right over her kidneys. It is already purple and blue and slightly swollen. It looks more like a fist than a bureau but she doesn't say so. She hears Kate wince as she probes the area a little, checking for any serious damage.
"Your ribs feel okay?" she inquires quietly, moving her cool hands up her back.
"Yeah," Kate nods, holding still as she proceeds to trace the outline of her ribcage with her fingers.
"Good, that's good…" she muses with a creased brow.
As she meticulously inspects the condition of the body in front of her, in exactly the same way she has with hundreds of others before, Gillian can't seem to locate her usual detachment. She can't help but notice the young skin and delicate curves, the gentle shape and toned muscle of her lovers' subordinate.
She remembers having a body like this. She's taller; but her figure has always been slim and sleek – like Kate's. Not that she has anything to feel ashamed of or disappointed by now. She still has a form that can attract glances of admiration and desire; she still has a body that receives and appreciates physical intimacy.
Yet, unbidden to her mind comes a startling vision of the brown hands and blue eyes she knows so well caressing this body instead, this younger specimen, this other woman. She shakes the notion from her brain, attempting to dismiss it as an unfounded and unlikely intuition.
There is something strangely iniquitous about the thought of this young girl and that old man together. And yet, she has to admit, there's something vaguely touching and assuring about it-- something obvious and perfect.
If this night has proven anything, it has shown her that this woman who she's only just met – however young or inexperienced or conservative or unlikely is certainly a match for Jethro Gibbs in terms of strength and will, tenacity and courage. Kate is the sort of woman he needs. Kate is the sort of woman who needs a man like him, suits a man like him.
"This hurt at all?" she asks distantly, slipping her hands underneath Kate's arms and carefully checking the front of her ribcage for an sign of injury or discomfort.
"I think I'm fine," Kate murmurs, shifting a little on her feet.
"Okay," she nods quietly.
Gillian takes a breath as she withdraws her hands, content to accept Kate's personal diagnosis. Slowly, she heads over to the closet and opens the doors.
Inside, Gibbs' clothes are hung in neat sections, his shirts lined up like soldiers, ironed and starched and ready for duty. She slips a white one off the hanger and walks back to Kate who has her arms folded over her plain coffee colored bra as her eyes drift curiously about the bedroom of her boss.
"Here," she says, holding out the shirt with one finger hooked in the collar. "You can sleep in this."
"Thanks," she mutters, taking the shirt and looking uncertain for a moment. "Here?" she asks incredulously, pointing to Gibbs' bed with one finger.
"Someone should," Gillian shrugs then turns slowly and heads for the door. "I'll let you get some rest," she says, staring at her thoughtfully from the threshold: "Call me if you need anything."
"Thanks," Kate smiles weakly, clutching the shirt to her chest. She gingerly takes a seat on the big bed as the redhead closes the door behind her with a quiet thud.
TBC...
A/N: Thank you to everyone reading and reviewing. I'm pleased your enjoying this story. KBBS forver.