Title: Coffeeshop, Ch. 6

Rating: I suppose this one is still K+...maybe T.

Spoilers: "The Immortals," "My Other Left Foot"

A/N: Well, here's the latest chapter, hot off the presses (which is kind of funny if you think about what Gibbs and Kate were probably doing in that mountain cabin for a week). I know this one's a bit long, but hopefully none of you will mind because now we finally get to see Gibbs and Kate together without either of them yelling or crying. Nice change, right? Anyway, hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. :)

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I have often thought that I would make a very good federal agent. I like watching people, observing their little habits and quirks. I like figuring out what they're doing or where they're going from the little clues I pick up, stringing facts together until a pattern starts to emerge. I like comparing those patterns, noticing trends, piecing together the story of someone's life just by watching them from behind the counter. But most of all, I love that sudden rush, that dizzy high that comes when I get proof that my deductions were right.

Which is why one Saturday morning, almost a month after Agent Gibbs ordered two coffees and blew my mind with a single blush, I had one of the best days on record.

He'd started a new pattern during that month. On weekdays everything was normal. He came in at 7:00 sharp, ordered his habitual black brew, paid in cash, and left. On the weekends, he still showed up at the same time, but now he bought two coffees—one his usual, one a Colombian bean with milk and sugar. I kept putting a "K" on the Colombian, now more for convenience than to test his reaction. Judging from the contented little gleam in his eye and the smirk that seemed to continually play around his mouth, I figured there wasn't any question about that part of it.

But there was always the possibility that I might have something wrong…and that's why I was so delighted with what happened that Saturday. It had been a busy morning, with the bright sunshine luring people out their front doors and the bite of the cold air driving them back inside in search of something hot. Mike and I were hopping to fill orders and keep the tables cleared, and my feet were already starting to scream at 9:30 when the two of them walked in.

I had noticed when he didn't show at 7:00 that morning—which was unusual, to say the least. I chalked it up to a case-related trip and went on about my business. After all, he'd missed his morning coffee date before. Or maybe they were going through a rough patch, or had broken it off. It had to be tough working together and being lovers at the same time, and it wouldn't be at all surprising if they couldn't make a go of it.

As it turned out, about that part I was dead wrong.

They were strolling along the sidewalk, hand in hand, when I spotted them. I realized I'd been doing a lot of standing and staring during the past couple of months, but this time I figured I had a good excuse. I mean, I could understand her holding some guy's hand—she seemed like the type who didn't mind physical signs of affection, and there was no way, with her looks, that no guy had ever tried before. But him—well, suffice it to say that I had never in my wildest dreams imagined Special Agent Gibbs holding a woman's hand and walking down the sidewalk with a smile splitting his face from ear to ear. In my universe, it just wasn't possible.

But there he was, holding her much smaller hand in his and laughing at something she'd said with a sort of carefree joy I'd never seen in him before. She had her face tilted up to his, watching his expression, and there was a wealth of trust and understanding and basic enjoyment in that single look. In her deep red coat and with her dark hair blowing in the chilly breeze, she looked warm and bright and vibrant, a perfect foil for his craggy face and mussed silver hair. And as he gazed down at her, he looked more open, more lighthearted than I had dreamed possible, his blue eyes amused and tender all at the same time. It was like a perfect little snapshot of two lovers so wrapped up in each other that they'd forgotten everything else. I felt like I should put it on a postcard or something.

But before I could dissect this little tidbit for all it was worth, the jingle of the opening door shattered my concentration. They came in with a rush of cold air, their cheeks flushed and the ends of their noses turning pink. As they joined the back of the line, she rubbed her hands together and blew on them to ward off the chill; he smiled and it looked like he was asking her something about gloves. Whatever she said must have amused him, because he tilted his head back with a silent huff of laughter. She gave him a teasing frown, her lips pouting just a little, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair off her collar, his thumb grazing the soft line of her jaw as their eyes locked and held.

As they moved forward in line, I noticed that he kept a hand at the small of her back, almost as an involuntary reaction. And although the other guys in the room definitely noticed her, none of them dared anything more than a quick once-over. The message was clear: she was his, and anyone who so much as thought about moving into his territory would be better off dead. Unsurprisingly, no one seemed particularly eager to test that assumption.

They kept talking in soft, intimate tones, their absorption in each other clear even though you could tell they were trying to not be obvious about it. There wasn't any PDA—they weren't even holding hands anymore. But every once in a while he'd reach out to touch her hair or cup her elbow, and she'd rest a hand on his forearm when she was trying to make a point. The depth of their affection, the warmth of it, was clear just from the way they stood together, like two puzzle pieces that you knew would fit perfectly. He was careful, protective, standing over her like a bodyguard; she was fearless, open as she tilted her face up to his. And the whole time their eyes kept up a silent but unbroken conversation that had nothing to do with the words that came out of their mouths.

At the counter, they didn't even bother to order. He just grinned and said, "The usual," at which she chuckled and blushed a little. He paid, and they took their coffees over to a little table by the window, not far from the one where they'd sat the night she had fallen apart and he'd been there to pick up the pieces. I wondered sometimes how much they remembered of that night, how much was lost in a fog of pain and exhaustion and unbearable grief. I wondered if they'd driven through the night to reach that little mountain hideaway of his, if they'd reached their destination just in time to see dawn break…in more ways than one. I wondered when they'd realized that they had automatically turned to each other for the comfort that no one else could give, and when they'd also realized that along with that unthinking trust they had an undeniable spark of pure chemistry. My lips curved up a little as I thought of what that week must have been like—long, lazy kisses in front of a crackling log fire, brisk tramps through the woods while he told her old case stories and she recounted tales from her Secret Service days. Laughter in the kitchen as they cooked together, secret smiles across the table as they ate, a cozy silence as they did the dishes side by side. Tenderness lighting his eyes as he watched her get ready for bed, a flare of anticipation in hers as she switched off the light. And then during the long nights, as the sun rose a little later every morning and the chill in the air was a little more pronounced, a boundless passion for each other that fulfilled every secret need, sated every hidden desire. Yes, it must have been quite a week.

Of course, I could hardly imagine that with their respective personalities everything had gone as smooth as silk. In fact, they seemed to be having some sort of argument right this moment over their coffee, her eyes flashing at him and his brows raised in a stubborn line. Curious, I sidled over to a nearby table—ostensibly to pick up the empty plates and cups—and stayed to shamelessly eavesdrop. They didn't seem to notice.

"Gibbs," she was saying, "there is no way you could have known about my tattoo before…well, you know." She turned a bright crimson under his knowing grin, and hurried on. "I mean, it's not detailed on my personal record! How on earth did you find out?"

He dropped his eyes to his cup in an overly innocent ploy, but not before I saw the wicked glee dancing in their cobalt depths. He was enjoying himself, and most likely at her expense. This was going to be good.

She wasn't about to let it go, though. Her mouth firming into a frustrated pout, she nudged his arm across the table. "I want to know, Gibbs! There is no way you had proof when you told Tony that my tattoo wasn't a rose on my butt. Was it just a lucky guess?"

He let the corner of his mouth slide into his habitual smirk, and reached for his cup.

"Nope," he said, and took a long swallow of the thick brew. "It wasn't a guess."

Her eyes rounded in disbelief. "Then how did you know? You'd never seen…"

She stopped in the middle of her sentence as if a thought had just struck her, then shook her head decisively in dismissal. He watched her closely, waiting for the realization to hit her. She played him at his own game, cocking her head to one side and giving him a challenging look from behind thick lashes. Finally he leaned back in his chair and started drawing invisible circles around the rim of his cup with one finger as he spoke in a low, husky voice.

"You remember that case we had on the Foster? The one where we spent a couple of days on ship?"

She gave him a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye and nodded slowly.

"Yeah. That was the kid that died trying to walk to shore on the bottom of the ocean. The computer geek who was obsessed with an online role-playing game."

He bobbed his head once in acknowledgement, a little gleam appearing in his eyes.

"You remember how we had to share quarters while we were there?"

She frowned a little as if confused.

"Yeah—you took the couch, I curled up on a spare mattress and Tony slept on the floor. And then he complained about it for two weeks."

He grinned.

"When he wasn't talking about Puerto Rico."

She chuckled, then raised one eyebrow.

"What does this have to do with my tattoo, Gibbs?"

The gleam in his eyes brightened a little, and his lips began to curve slightly.

"All in good time, Katie. Do you remember that morning that DiNozzo wouldn't get out of the head and you had to change in the main room?"

She straightened in her chair, a distinctly huffy look coming over her face.

"Yes! I waited for almost fifteen minutes, and he still wouldn't get out. I wanted to hit him for it, but you wouldn't let me."

He chuckled low in his throat and took another long swallow of coffee.

"But I still don't know why…" She stopped for a moment, looking absolutely stunned. "Wait a minute—you were in there when I was changing."

"Yep."

"But I told you to turn around! I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure you weren't peeking. You knew perfectly well you weren't supposed to look!"

He lifted one shoulder in an unapologetic gesture.

"I thought I heard a suspicious noise in the passage. You wouldn't have wanted me to jeopardize our safety just so I wouldn't see you in your underwear, would you?"

Her jaw had dropped and her eyes were huge as she stared at him.

"You did look! On purpose! Gibbs, how dare you!"

She reached across the table and swatted at him, her eyes flashing with a combination of outrage and amusement. He just chuckled again and moved his coffee out of the way of her attack.

"It was an accident, Kate. But it did come in handy…later."

She pursed her lips, studying him sharply.

"You mean when Tony wanted to know where my tattoo was?" she inquired.

His eyebrows quirked up in something remarkably close to a leer.

"Earlier than that," was all he said, leaving it up to her to figure out.

She thought about it for a minute, and then gasped.

"You mean when Tony got me that bikini from Puerto Rico and you wanted to know if I would try it on, you were thinking of that??"

He looked away, pretending to be shamefaced, but she wasn't buying any of it.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs, you are such a…a…"

"Bastard?" he supplied helpfully, an unrepentant grin creasing his face as she sputtered helplessly.

"No!" she exclaimed forcibly. "I was thinking of something worse. Much worse."

"Been called all of it already, Katie," he said calmly, draining the last of his coffee and sliding a direct blue gaze over to her. "You gonna get mad about it?" he asked, with a slight undertone to his voice.

She huffed out a frustrated breath and gave him a withering glare. Then, all of a sudden and for no apparent reason, she started to smile--a secretive smile that held all sorts of tantalizing questions just begging to be answered.

"What?" he said, puzzled by her unexpected reaction. She flicked him a smug glance and raised her chin slightly.

"I'm not going to get mad," she said complacently as she picked up her cup. "Because I know exactly how you got home that night we finished with the Thorne case—the night you didn't ride back with us in the truck."

He thought about it for a minute, and then lost all traces of amusement as his eyes popped and his mouth opened.

"What!? How…? Who…?"

She tossed him another of those self-satisfied looks, then got up to throw her cup away. As she passed him, she leaned down and murmured throatily, "I never reveal my sources, Gibbs. But you might want to tell Ducky to watch which stories he tells around your agents."

And then she was off to the trash bin, a sassy sway to her hips as she walked. He sat there for a moment, clearly still flabbergasted, then shook his head with a wry little smile and went over to join her. She said something to him with a saucy flip of her hair, something that made him laugh and slip an arm around her waist. His mouth hovered dangerously close to her ear as he murmured a reply. I watched as her color rose a little and she ran her tongue slowly over her upper lip, her eyes locked on his. Then, laughing, she raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek quickly before taking his arm and drawing him out the door after her, into the bright morning sunlight.

I picked up the tray of empties and finally carried it over to the trash bin, then stood there for a minute staring into the mess of coffee and paper at the bottom. Well, I thought, I guess that answered that question. And then, as I thought about it a little more, I felt a smile—a real smile—start tugging at the corners of my lips. Because no matter how hard it might be to work and live together, no matter how tough it might be to toe the line between personal and professional, I was pretty sure they were going to make it work. Agent Jethro Gibbs and Agent Kate Todd were in love—head over heels, all the way, no-holds-barred in love.

And it looked like they were going to stay that way.