Title: Coffeeshop, Ch. 5
Rating: K+
Spoilers: Not that I can think of.
A/N: Again, many thanks for the reviews. They really do encourage further writing, so please keep them coming. And now for some really happy KIBBSness... :)
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There are days in this business when I am convinced that I finally understand the universe. That guys in pricey loafers get lattes and women in Nikes get low-fat muffins, that the price of gas will inevitably rise and that the ozone layer will always be thinning, that birds sing and the sun shines and that all is right with the world. I like those days.
Then there are the days when nothing at all makes sense, when hippies in jute sandals order triple-strength espressos instead of green tea, when the Chinese delivery service brings egg rolls for dinner instead of kung pao, when the world tilts the opposite way on its axis and everything is turned backwards and upside-down. Which I really, really hate.
And then there are the days when I simply give up trying to figure out anything at all.
That next Saturday was one of those days. Oh, it started out just like normal. Almost too normal, as a matter of fact. In the back of my mind, I was still puzzling over the strange little tête-à-tête I had witnessed last week. I hadn't quite gotten that one worked out in my head yet. But in the meantime things had gone on as usual: people tried to order non-fat lattes with whole milk and extra foam, Mike still drooled over attractive girls and forgot to sweep the floor, and I made coffee and smiled at perfect strangers. Life went on.
There was one difference, though. For a whole week I hadn't seen the silver-haired guy they called Gibbs. It was kind of weird, considering what had happened the last time I'd seen him. I mean, he'd been gone for a few days a couple of times before—on an out-of-town case was my best guess. But this time I couldn't help wondering if his prolonged absence had something to do with a certain brunette he'd driven home on a cold fall night last week.
I kept on wondering until 7:00 that morning, when NCIS Special Agent Jethro Gibbs came strolling in through the door, large as life and looking like he hadn't a worry on his mind. I noticed it the minute he walked in—this sort of carefree air about him, almost like…well, I hardly dared to think it, but it was strongly reminiscent of happiness. The strangeness of that didn't really make sense unless you'd seen Gibbs a few times. There were a lot of things I could think of to describe him—intimidating, authoritative, and more than a little scary came immediately to mind—but none of them came even close to happy. It just didn't seem to fit.
Yet there he was, standing in line with a self-satisfied little smirk on his face and his hands stuffed in his pockets like a little kid who can barely restrain himself from reaching out for the candy dish. Thinking it over, I hadn't the faintest clue what could possibly have happened to put that smug gleam in his eye. The last time I saw him he was pouring an emotional wreck of a woman into the passenger seat of his car, and while I am willing to admit that I don't know everything about guys, I am pretty sure of at least one thing: no guy likes dealing with a crying woman. It's kind of hard-wired into their Y-chromosomes at birth.
I was still musing over this new enigma when an ear-stabbing ring cut through the air, turning heads all over the shop, and I realized that the sound was coming from his pocket. He pulled his phone out and flipped it open without even looking at the display, and as he raised it to his ear he looked a bit more like his usual cantankerous self.
"Yeah, Gibbs."
Okay, so his answering skills needed a little work. I wondered what happened if someone really important called, like a department head or something. Somehow I figured they'd get the same treatment. He was still talking, though, and I didn't want to miss anything.
"Yes, I'm back, DiNozzo." There was a short pause, during which his eyebrows started angling downwards rapidly. "No, I did not have my phone off. There was no reception up there."
He waited for a minute, then cut off the rapid buzz from the other end.
"DiNozzo, where 'up there' is, is classified as strictly need-to-know. And you are not on that list."
The buzz seemed to go faster than before as he scooted up in line, his eyes fixed on a point in space as he listened.
"Uh-huh. Yeah."
Another pause.
"DiNozzo, do you wanna tell me what the point of this call is? Before I hang up on you?"
Whoever was on the other end asked him something that made him smile all of a sudden.
"Yes. Yes, she's back."
The next statement upped the smile into an all-out grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. I nearly forgot to count back the change of the customer in front of me as I watched; I'd never once seen him grin like that.
"Yes, DiNozzo, I know exactly where she is."
And, unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, he suddenly got this wickedly suggestive gleam in his eye, something between a twinkle and a leer. I held onto the counter for support and tried my best to not hyperventilate.
"Nope."
The buzz was very brief this time.
"Uh-huh. Yep. Need-to-know. You're catching on fast."
Even though the grin was still playing around his mouth, one eyebrow shot up in his signature gesture of impatience.
"Is that all, DiNozzo? Because if it is, I do not want to hear your voice on the other end of this line unless you're calling to tell me that there's been somebody murdered, kidnapped, or blown up. Are we clear?"
I stifled a chuckle and started fixing his usual coffee as he stepped up to the counter. My amusement turned to bewilderment as he held up a hand to stop me before I could ring it up.
"Good. Uh-huh."
Closer to him, I could hear the person on the other end of the line saying something about when he was going to come in to the office. Gibbs huffed out a breath and raised his free hand to rub the back of his neck.
"Monday morning. Don't be late."
The buzz was still protesting loudly when he snapped the phone shut and turned back to me. I'm pretty sure my mouth was already hanging open when he planted a hand on the counter, shoved his phone back in his pocket, and said, "Need a cup of your best Colombian bean, milk, two sugars, no foam. Got that?"
I still squirm a little with embarrassment when I think of how I must have looked right then. I don't make a habit out of remembering people's orders unless they get the same thing every day, but for some reason I had remembered hers. And there was no mistake—it was exactly the same thing that the pretty brunette in the red coat had ordered more than a month ago. So I just stood there, frozen in absolute mind-boggling shock, my eyes bulging and my jaw sagging, looking at him like he'd just announced he was a little green alien on a mission from Mars.
His eyes narrowed slightly as if he were assessing my mental competency, and he leaned in a little closer—I guess to see if there was any sign of even marginal intelligence. Fortunately for both of us I snapped out of it and sprang to life, nearly knocking over a waiting frappucino while I was at it.
"Yes, sir, one Colombian bean, milk, two sugars, no foam. Got it. Do you need anything else, sir?" I babbled rapidly.
His mouth quirked up a little at one corner, but other than that I couldn't see any obvious signs of laughter. I could hardly blame him for it, though. I would have laughed at the look on my face if I'd been able to see it.
"No, that's it," he said, and handed me a twenty out of his front pocket. I noticed that as he moved a faint scent like pine needles and smoke seemed to rise from his jacket. It was a nice smell—kind of woodsy and outdoorsish, making me think of log fires and long tramps in the forest. You didn't get smells like that in the heart of D.C.
I finished up the second coffee and was about to give it to him when all of a sudden I got an idea. I'm not saying it was a good idea. I'm not even sure it was a completely sane idea, but I acted on it all the same. Grabbing my trusty marker, I picked up the Colombian mixed and scrawled a "K" in bold black ink on the lid. Then I set it back down and rang up his total, my hands a little unsteady as I counted out his change.
I raised my head to see him staring at me, those blue eyes drilling twin holes through my skull and his mouth a single flat line. I gulped and clutched the bills in my hand a little tighter in an involuntary reflex. I didn't know how well they trained NCIS special agents in the art of torture, but I was hoping he'd missed that session and that my death would be quick. I'd always hated the thought of a lingering demise.
I was about to fall blubbering to my knees and beg for mercy when I noticed something more shocking than anything else that had happened so far that morning—and my system was reeling enough already. But there it was, faint but unmistakable—a little patch of red on either weathered cheek. That was when I lost it…completely and totally gave up on any of this ever making even a little sense. Because if Special Agent Jethro Gibbs was blushing, the world had indeed turned upside-down, backwards, and, for all I knew, was now spinning in the opposite direction.
Somehow I managed to give him his change and paste on something that vaguely resembled a smile. He hadn't missed a single nuance of my expression, and I could see the laughter dancing deep in his eyes as he picked up his coffee and headed for the door. He didn't say anything, and he didn't smile, for which I was deeply and abjectly grateful. But as he turned and the sun bounced his reflection off the big front window, I caught the tail end of a smirk that kicked up one corner of his mouth and then the other. Then he was gone.
I pulled Mike out of the kitchen and stuck him at the counter without even halfway listening to his whining pleas. Alone for a moment in the peace and quiet of my little haven, I sat down on one of the little barstools we kept in there in lieu of actual chairs and rested my chin in my hands, thinking. I'd been through a lot this morning, and I figured I needed a mental break. But as my mind slowly stopped whirling and began to piece two and two together, I felt the beginnings of dizziness start in again.
Because if he knew exactly where she was, and the thought of it made him smile…if he'd been on vacation for a week, probably somewhere in the mountains if "up there" was any indication…if his clothes smelled like pine needles and log fires…and if he was ordering her particular style of coffee…then I might just have the solution to the little mystery that had been plaguing me for nearly three months.
Suddenly a thought struck me, something so irresistibly funny that I leaned back on my stool and laughed out loud. Whoever the hell DiNozzo was, I couldn't wait until he found out. I wanted to see his face when the truth finally hit him, when the light turned on inside his head. I didn't know him from Adam, but I couldn't imagine that the result would be anything less than absolutely hilarious.
Because if I had nearly had a heart attack when I found out, he would totally flip when he realized that his boss and his co-worker were now lovers.
I really wished I could be there when it happened.