a/n: hey! this references the 'mysterious coffee date' that is referenced in Chapter 4 of the original story
Day Four: On a Date
Timeline: Early LB/SF; as in, within the timeline of the early dating stages of the original story.
The garish colour of the NCIS walls looked somewhat less obnoxious in the late hours of the evening - probably because, with only the light of a few low emergency lights and a lone desk lamp to illuminate it, it was hard to tell exactly what shade of ridiculous orange it was.
Gibbs strode purposefully into the main bullpen with two cups of coffee in his hands. It was after eleven - well, basically midnight, now, and he'd dropped by a secret diner of his to grab coffee - it was the only place he knew of that was open, and a certain new flame of his had called him and challenged him to find her some really good, to-die-for, after hours coffee.
"That better not be cheap gas station brew, Duke," she quipped, without looking up and with her head bent over a document and a pen clutched critically in her hand.
He grunted a negative.
"I hope you don't think you can communicate in mere grunts and monosyllables and retain your invitation to hang out."
"Nope."
She looked up then, setting her pen down and leaning back. She rubbed her cheeks lightly, and then stretched her hands over her head, crinkling her eyes.
"Clever," she remarked dully, licking her lips. Her eyes fell to one of the coffee cups; each had a nondescript logo on it, and neat, plain white tops.
He handed on to her, and she took it, nodding in thanks. He waited a moment, resting his cup on his knee, while she took the lid off, inhaled, closed her eyes - then replaced the lid and took a long, thoughtful sip.
Her green eyes popped open, and she let out a breath.
"Damn, that's good coffee," she swore, startled. She sat forward, shoulders back, and held it up. "Where'd you get this after ten?" she demanded.
As he sat down on the edge of her desk, he shrugged, and took a drink of his, keeping the old fashioned little diner under the old bridge to himself. He smirked at her, and she gave him a wry but sultry look.
"You'll take me there on our third date," she said confidently.
He swallowed, and arched a brow.
"Third?" he grunted, tilting his head.
She nodded blithely, gesturing.
"This is our second," she pointed out. "You bought a beverage, I picked a location," she held up fingers, and ticked them down. "Low key is a good theme for date two."
"Theme? I been out of the game a while," he said flippantly.
She shrugged. She had, too. He gave her a sly look.
"Isn't it a little late to be respectable?" he growled.
"It's not after one a.m.," she retorted primly.
"What'sat matter?"
"After one a.m. is a booty call."
"Then what the hell do I get outta this?" he asked, his blue eyes flashing with amusement.
She batted her eyelashes, sweetly, but didn't answer. Instead, she took another sip and then set aside the cup, leaning forward on her desk. She angled her chair towards him and ran a hand over her leg.
"You can sit on my lap," she teased in a low voice, puckering her lips at him.
He gave her a look, and drank his coffee, ignoring her little jest. She grinned and nodded her head at the file. She put her hand on her neck and started rubbing, massaging herself.
"This work is such a fucking nightmare," she muttered. "This Marine - brutally murders his wife because she had an online affair. Online, didn't even lay a finger on the guy."
Gibbs tilted his head back and forth thoughtfully.
"Emotional affair might be worse," he said, shrugging.
Jenny clicked her tongue, and rubbed her neck harder. She closed her eyes a moment. She didn't open them for a long time, and Gibbs leaned forward on his knee.
"Jen, somethin' botherin' you?"
"No," she muttered tensely. She opened her eyes and eyed him warily, patting her neck. "Muscles are stiff," she added unconvincingly.
He could tell there was something bothering her, but he didn't push - second date: low key. She reached for the coffee again, winced, and he made a gesture at her, clearing his throat.
"Let me rub your neck," he grunted.
She arched her brows, and then affected a haughty expression and accent:
"If you insist," she drawled.
"Get up," he said.
"What?" she asked, taken aback. She looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "I have to stand?"
"Get up," he said again, taking her hand and yanking a little.
She did, eyeing him suspiciously, and he slipped behind her and sat down, pulling her down onto his lap. She sat there stiffly for a moment, and turned to look at him narrowly, but he just gently turned her head away and put his hands on her neck, starting light and slow at first and then working in a firmer, more confident massage.
She relaxed quickly, going from perched tensely on his lap to laid against him like something half-dazed. She shifted, and tilted her head back, staring at his jaw as he still massaged his neck.
"If this were a pornographic film, I'd massage your dick," she whispered.
He turned his head and glared at her, his lips brushing her nose a little roughly. She wrinkled it, and laughed under her breath. She shook her head, sighing dramatically.
"I won't do that, though," she hissed, "since DiNozzo is hiding over in the corner watching us."
-alexandra