*peaks around the corner* Oh hi!
Long story short, this update has taken so long for many reasons, the main one being that I wasn't really sure how to tackle this MASSIVE chapter. I've settled with breaking it down into multiple parts because I think it makes more sense, but who knows, perhaps they'll be merged into a large master-chapter at some point in the future.
This is Feelings Secretly Covered, the first part of the story that features canon events of NCIS Season 2, spanning from S2E01 (See No Evil) to S2E08 (Heart Break). It's a big one, and a lot happens, so strap yourselves in. It has been so challenging to write, but so incredibly worth it.
I hope you enjoy part A.
September.
Long before she was an agent, Kate was an artist.
Sketching has always been her form of escapism. When she was younger, it allowed her to disappear into a different world, miles away from the chaos of her four siblings, the cruelty of her school bullies, the unspoken pressure to make her family proud. Nowadays though, her drawing skills often blur into her line of work, frequently being used in witness descriptions, crime scene recreations, and BOLO sketches, no longer something to separate her from her life, but keep her present within it. Despite this, even in its more practical uses, art still provides her with a moment to sit, clear her mind, and reduce her racing thoughts to the simple motion of her pencil on paper, often allowing her to come up with alternate perspectives that were previously unthinkable. Some of her best investigative work has resulted from a brief sketch, entire mysteries unraveling with every line, highlight and shade.
Her grandmother taught her everything she knows, the two of them camped out in the art studio under the welcoming arms of her grandparents' willow tree. After a hectic morning of Catholic mass and family gatherings, the pair of them would sit for hours in a comfortable silence, completely immersed in the creation of their own worlds. Kate never quite had Celina Todd's natural talent, though she certainly tried to match up to it. While she could sketch an impressive portrait from a description, or even recreate a landscape with enough time and patience, her grandmother was an enchantress with a paintbrush, weaving pure magic into her canvas as she translated mere moments into lasting memories with photographic accuracy. Quite often, they were seemingly mundane, everyday images: her grandfather tending to their flowerbeds in full bloom, her dad and brothers fishing by Lake Michigan, Rachel cuddling one of their newborn kittens. What made them so special was the feeling emanating from each piece - an indescribable warmth that crept into the hearts of whoever looked upon them, casting the images in an ethereal glow.
This was extremely frustrating to a young Kate - impatient to a fault, a perfectionist to her core - who could never seem to capture the same emotion in her own work. She would beg her grandmother constantly, pleading to be shown how to achieve the same result, how to capture that same heartwarming sensation that made her work so otherworldly. In return, her grandmother would simply smile and offer the same, infuriating response.
"Love makes the simplest of things appear beautiful, she would say, chuckling fondly at her youngest grandchild as her nose scrunched up in confusion. "One day, you'll understand."
Kate hadn't understood. Not then, not for a very long time. She was too critical, too cynical, her standards too high to see anything but the worst in people. It'd only gotten worse over time, her work often exposing her to the ugliest parts of humanity. Even as her twenties began to draw to a close, part of her still couldn't help but chalk her grandmother's words up to empty reassurances over her unskilled, childish talents, or even, more cruelly, the wishful thinking of an elderly lady deluding herself into seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses.
However, lately, she's beginning to think that she finally does.
After spending Labor Day Weekend curled around each other like two cats, any remaining barriers between her and Tony seem to dissolve, 'highly tactile' becoming 'attached at the hip.' Returning to their separate bedrooms on the first night back feels wrong, Kate spending hours tossing and turning relentlessly, sleep evading her at every corner. Eventually, she gives up, cursing at her pride and sliding out of bed in hopes of at least doing some late-night case work.
When she throws open her bedroom door, he's already there, fist already raised in preparation to knock, and from that point on, the guest room remains empty, their bodies pressed together under the warmth of her luxury quilt.
Now, she no longer needs the sig sauer that once resided under her pillow to feel safe. Instead, she falls asleep to the rhythm of his steady breathing, her head pressed against his chest. One of his arms encircles the curve of her waist - a different kind of weapon, but one that makes her feel protected for the first time in her adult life - the nightmares that once plagued her reduced to distant echoes in his presence. The nights of waking up at all hours screaming her lungs out and thrashing for her gun are long over: she knows that the man beside her, who throws paper clips at her head, rummages through her desk drawers and 'borrows' more of her belongings than she can count would sooner die than let anyone hurt her.
She knows this because she would do the same.
The emotions she uncovered at Point Lookout continue to manifest, and now she's acknowledged them, it's more difficult to keep herself in check. She can hear the change in her voice when she speaks to her partner, her tone warmer, fonder. She can feel the way that her eyes follow him in every room that they're in, how her body seems to gravitate towards him, dying to fall into his. It's like something within her has switched: she can't seem to stop touching him - a palm brushing down his bicep, her head leaning on his shoulder, a pair of arms wrapping around his waist. She physically can't bring herself to stay away from him, and it's becoming harder and harder to draw the line, personal jokes and private smiles creeping into the professional setting, no matter how hard she tries to suppress them.
Even in moments when she hates him, when he chews her up and spits her out, leaving her scribbling on her sketchpad in an attempt to channel her anger, her mindless doodles show nothing but him. His mischievous eyes, his charming smile, his knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, the lines of his body as he slumps back in his office chair.
And maybe her grandmother was delusional, but maybe Kate is too, because she can't help but feel that her drawings of him are the best she's ever done. As she gazes down at her latest work: him, staring wide-eyed at the TV, a pot of noodles in one hand, a fork suspended in midair, she can't help the slow smile that spreads across her face, that warm fuzziness gradually filling her chest.
Love makes the simplest of things appear beautiful, Celina's voice echoes, and finally, after twenty-nine years, Kate has to agree.
—
Tony's never had a clear vision of his future.
Over the years, the picture of his own life has flickered from thing to thing, failing to settle on any one goal - undoubtedly a symptom of his own rather chaotic upbringing. As a kid, his parents had hardly provided him with a stable image of adulthood, so as a result, his greatest life desires have always remained fluid, from driving a bright red Magnum P.I. Ferrari, to living out his days in a tropical beach club, to managing his own movie theater, never staying the same for too long.
However, for possibly the first time, if you asked him to envision his ideal future, he could give you a solid, unwavering answer, and that answer would go something like this:
Every day, he would wake up to sunlight pouring through a crack in the blinds, the warmth of a beautiful woman pressed against his side. Lavender and vanilla would tickle his nose with her hair, scents that remind him that he's home, that they're safe. He'd pull her closer even as their alarm screams at them to part, burying his nose into her neck or pressing a kiss to her temple rather than rushing to face the rest of the world.
They'd live their lives as one, him and her. Mornings would be long and slow - sunrise runs, home-cooked breakfasts and sleepy hugs as they complete chores side by side. Days would go by in a blur - road trips to and from the office, sneaking out together for secret coffee breaks, working together like two arms of the same being. In the evenings they'd laugh, recalling the events of the day with reminiscent smiles, dancing to their favorite radio stations and snuggling up to their regular TV shows. At night, they'd prepare to do it all again, settling down in each other's arms, falling asleep in a tight embrace.
They'd be all each other needed - coworkers, best friends, partners in life and crime. Nobody else really appears in the equation, especially not kids.
Having a conman father who was absent for one half of his life and heavily intoxicated for the other hasn't exactly inspired Tony to start a family of his own. He's always lived with a resoluteness inside him, this instinctual knowledge that he would never be capable of becoming a parent, an unshakeable decision to never put a child through the upbringing that he experienced. So while other men his age are already years into marriage with at least one or two kids, Tony has remained in a permanent state of bachelorhood, the underlying scar left by the death of his mother rendering him unwilling to commit, the wounds from his father making him swear that the role of 'dad' will never be assigned to him.
However, as Kate crouches down on the sweltering concrete of the train station, reaching out to comfort a tiny, sobbing Sandy Watson, he feels something in him begin to soften. The sight in front of him is so strange, so unfamiliar, that it seems to awaken something that has lain forever dormant within the depths of his heart, a desire that he's never truly allowed himself to want.
While those in their office might consider Kate cold or emotionally detached at times, her well-crafted professionalism leaving no opportunity for any feelings to rise to the surface, Tony, who has spent enough time with her to learn her emotions almost as intimately as his own, knows that this assessment is far from the truth. Kate is warm to a fault, loving and compassionate to others even when they are undeserving of it, and it only takes being around her, really around her, for people to notice it. He knows this side of her, is constantly in awe of it, and yet there are still moments where it manages to catch him off guard, rendering him incapable of doing anything but stare. When he sees the girl's tiny, tear-stained face breaking into a hesitant smile, her wide blue eyes momentarily lighting up with glee, Tony finds himself hypnotized.
Of course he's aware that Kate has nieces and nephews from her two eldest brothers, and he's already deduced from the way she constantly talks about them that she's probably pretty good with kids. But it's one thing knowing this, and another thing entirely actually seeing it in action, her gentle coaxes and barely audible murmurings causing the girl to bite back tiny, heartbreakingly cute giggles that make him want to melt. Even after living and working with Kate for so long, this is a side of her personality that he has never seen before: gentle, protective, and something else, something much deeper.
Maternal.
And Tony isn't sure how to feel about that.
—
"Kinda makes you think."
"About what?"
"About having kids someday."
Her words repeat in his head like a mantra, rolling around and around like a circus ride. They stick with him as she drives them home, as he cooks them dinner, as they curl up and watch reruns of The Bachelorette on the couch. No matter how much he tries to distract himself, they refuse to stop bothering him, growing louder and louder until they drown out every other potential thought, every plan, every desire. Because no, he's never thought about it, not really. Having children of his own - a son, a daughter, both? That's a dream that he's never allowed himself the luxury of having, a possibility he's never even begun to entertain. But now that she's said it, he can't stop. He imagines another future, an extension of the one that's increasingly on his mind, but in this one, he's a father.
Anthony DiNozzo Jr., a dad.
He pictures himself, and that beautiful woman that haunts his thoughts. He sees their home - a house, a real one, with a white picket fence and a giant garden, out in one of those posh suburban neighborhoods that he would never dream of inhabiting on his own. He watches them move in, carrying her bridal-style through the front door while she giggles like a schoolgirl, proudly proclaiming his vows at the wedding that he'd never wanted before but now longs for more than anything. They get a dog, not because he particularly likes them, but because she does - a big one that joins them on their morning runs through the park, that snuggles up with them at night, gently warming her cold feet from where it settles at the foot of the bed.
And then, he envisions their son - someone to whom he can be the father that he never had, bruising his shins as he teaches him to ride a bike, patching up scratches on his chin after he shows him how to shave, putting on a stern tone of voice when giving a pep talk before his first date.
And, not too shortly after, he pictures their daughter - a sibling, so the boy never has to feel lonely, not like he did. A girl, who he takes care to spoil like he never was, to hug when she's feeling down, or insecure, or when some asshole breaks her heart, who he can give away on her wedding day while pretending his eyes aren't wet with tears.
Through this whole fantasy, he tries not to read into the fact that the woman has chocolate brown hair, that their son has her artist's hands, that their daughter has her courage, smile, and humor. But even in his denial, he can't downplay how much he wants it, needs it, like he's never needed anything before, and suddenly, he can't keep it to himself any longer, he just can't.
So when they're preparing to drift off to sleep, her body tucked under the crook of his arm, her husky voice whispering warm, gentle words, he tries to pay attention, he really does. However, the words rush forward like water towards a breaking dam, and he's powerless to stop them when they finally do come bursting out.
"Have you ever thought about it?" he interrupts, cringing slightly as he cuts her off in the middle of a sentence that he clearly hasn't been listening to. As soon as he does, he wishes that he could force the words back in: the subsequent silence is excruciating as Kate processes what he's just asked, and when she does finally speak, it's with a hint of confusion in her voice.
"Thought about what?" she asks, clearly taken aback by his unprompted question.
He pauses, considers sweeping the whole thing under the rug, but there's no turning back, not now. So he doesn't, but he doesn't turn to look at her either, keeping his eyes resolutely trained on the grooves of her bedroom ceiling. "You know," he says, keeping his voice light, curious, "what you said earlier, starting a family of your own?"
Kate doesn't answer for so long that he wonders whether she's already fallen asleep. He can't bring himself to check, this whole conversation already making him feel raw around the edges. Part of him hopes that she has, so he can just forget about this whole thing until the morning. But then, her weight shifts off of him, the covers rustle, and he can't help it as he glances sideways, finding her body angled towards his, eyes searching his face thoughtfully, head resting on her forearm.
"I wanted to, when I was younger," she murmurs, the words spoken in the hushed tone reserved for someone's deepest, dearest secrets. He shifts to mirror her, the two of them lying side by side like two halves of the same whole, so close that their breath mingles in the space between them. "I always wanted a big family, just like mine. At least four kids, maybe five…" she trails off.
"But..?" he prompts, sensing her hesitation.
"Don't get me wrong, I still do. I've always wanted to be a mom," she smiles, a far-off, dreamy thing. "But… I don't know if I could, not like this," she gestures noncommittally, but he doesn't need words to understand exactly what she's referring to - their messy, complicated lives, and the unpredictable nature of their work with its long hours and the constant threat of danger hanging over their heads. "I couldn't raise them the way that they deserved. I would never forgive myself for it."
For a moment, he simply stares at her, seeing her in an entirely new light. There's a deep-rooted sadness in her that he's not sure he's seen before, something akin to sorrow weighing down on her shoulders, a genuine regret held in her eyes. He hates it, heart-aching to see it within her, longing to relieve her of it, though not being sure how.
Still, he reaches out, laying a reassuring palm on her shoulder. "You could do it," he says, and he truly believes it as his fingers trace comforting circles into her skin. "If anyone can, it's you. You'd be the best mom."
The smile that spreads across her face knocks all the breath out of his lungs.
"Thank you Tony," she whispers, the soft touch of her fingertips to his cheek doing nothing to help the way that he gazes at her dumbly, unable to move or even breathe, "that means a lot, truly."
For a long time, they lie there opposite one another, basking in the silence of their respective thoughts, reveling in the feeling of the other so close. Tony allows himself to drink in the sight of her, the ghost of her touch still lingering on his skin. He takes in the curve of her jaw, the slope of her nose, the tiny freckles that he's never noticed on her cheeks, mapping out their constellations, committing every inch of her face to memory. An age passes before he realizes that she's been doing the same, and an unsettling tingle spreads through his body. When their eyes meet, Kate smiles again, though this one is much more subtle, concealed in the warmth of her gaze.
"What about you?" she asks carefully, as if scared to shatter the peace between them. "Have you thought about it?"
He mulls over the words, debating the best way to respond. It's ironic really - he brought them onto this topic in the first place - yet having the question turned back on him makes it feel a whole lot more dangerous, like they're both reaching for something neither of them knows how to name. Seemingly out of nowhere, this whole moment suddenly hinges on his answer, though he doesn't fully understand why.
"Not really, I never thought it was something I could have," he admits, his voice so low that she has to lean in even closer to catch his words, their noses practically brushing. "But I've been thinking about it a lot recently - my future," he adds, "and I think it is something that I want. Not now, but later. I just never thought it would be possible," until I started spending time with you, a traitorous part of his brain offers.
Kate hums, processing his words in quiet contemplation. A wave of anxiety spreads through his chest the longer she doesn't reply, an overwhelming dread resulting from his own confession. The moment seems to stretch out forever, her eyes distant, thinking, his frantic, darting around her face as he tries to decipher her silence.
"For what it's worth," she finally says, her voice calm and measured, instantly putting him at ease, "I think you'd be a great father, if you wanted to be." A reassuring touch sends goosebumps running up his forearm, "you should really give yourself more credit."
He doesn't speak, but he knows she feels his gratitude when he clasps her hand in his, giving her palm a gentle squeeze, her lips quirking in that same soft smile that he hopes is reserved just for him. 'Thank you' feels like the wrong thing to say, so he doesn't, instead keeping their hands pressed together, his thumb stroking the back of her palm when he asks the next thing that's been playing on his mind.
"How many would you want?" he whispers, his eyes searching hers in the darkness.
She pauses, thinks. "I guess I would settle for three," she replies wistfully, not breaking his grip for a second, "two boys and a girl. You?"
A distant part of his sleep-addled brain is screaming that this is dangerous territory, that he's never allowed himself to be this vulnerable with anyone before, let alone a woman, but Tony is in too deep to put an end to this conversation when they're finally getting somewhere. He's not sure what that somewhere is, but that's besides the point. "Two, probably," he admits, "so they always have someone to turn to." Something in Kate softens at his admission, and he can't help himself as he adds, an oh-too-honest afterthought, "I always wanted a daughter. Leonora - Nora for short. After my mom."
Her thumb is rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand, the familiarity of her lavender-vanilla scent forcing him to resist the urge to fall into her touch, fully putting the unnecessary distance between them to rest.
He doesn't, but when she finally speaks, her words are just as damming as any physical contact.
"I've never been much good with girls," she chuckles thoughtfully, "but I like Nico, or Milo, for boys."
Kate trails off, her eyelids beginning to droop with the effort of staying awake, and for a moment, Tony thinks that he's lost her.
"Nora DiNozzo," testing the shape of the name on her tongue, a soft, blissed out expression relaxing her features, "cute," and then her eyelashes are fluttering shut, and she's out like a light, her fingers still enclosed in his.
Tony stays awake for a long time, replaying the conversation word-for-word in his head. Her words from earlier that day are long gone, replaced by three names, six syllables, that he continues to mindlessly chant even as his eyes struggle to stay open.
Nora. Nico. Milo.
When he eventually sleeps, he dreams of two boys with chocolate brown hair, and a girl with glittering hazel eyes.
October
Fall creeps in like a thief in the night, subtle in its entrance, chaos in the aftermath.
As the long haze of summer begins to lift, a cool breeze sweeps through the city, brushing away the lush greens and ushering in a collage of ambers, ochres, and rich, rustic reds. With it, the temperatures begin to fall, and Tony quickly finds himself switching the aircon for the central heating, swapping his vast collection of outrageous Hawaiian shirts for his even larger ones of knitted sweaters in an attempt to stay ahead of the chill. While Kate is clearly less than impressed with this development, her cold feet on his shins a regular occurrence when they crawl into bed at night, he can't say he minds it, not really.
Fall has always been his undisputed favorite season - a time of year seemingly designed just for him. Everything about it is perfect: the long, cold nights that lend themselves perfectly to bundling up with a classic movie or two, the stores stocking up on all of his favorite candy, and, of course, the best holiday of all time - Halloween.
Tony adores Halloween.
He can't help himself; as soon as October hits, he's completely possessed by the spirit of the season, powerless to do anything but go along with it. His inner child, the part that he has to reign in during his endless working hours as a government agent, is finally allowed to run wild, and this time with the rest of the population as company, so who can blame him for the beast he becomes when the tenth month rolls around? From decorating his apartment floor-to-ceiling with obnoxious decorations, to drawing up an elaborate military-strict schedule of all of his top horror flicks, to buying and dressing in extravagant costumes, Tony is in his element, and there's nothing that anyone can do to subdue him. This year is especially exciting, because for once, he has someone to share it with, and the possibilities are endless. The only trouble is, his partner in crime doesn't seem to share his enthusiasm.
Kate hates the cold, her regular body temperature leaving her chilly at the best of times. In his mind, this isn't necessarily a negative: it's what makes her cling to him in the mornings, unwilling to let him out of bed until they physically can't stay there any longer, his sweaters becoming permanent fixtures in her wardrobe, fabric falling to her mid-thighs even as they fit him like a glove. It's merely an excuse to pull her closer, to keep her tucked into his side at all times, whether that be openly in the privacy of their own home, or secretly in the passenger's side of the MCRT van. To her, it's hardly a cause for celebration, and as the season sneaks in, he notices her mood begin to take a turn for the worse: her morning smiles a little less bright, her usual retorts slightly more subdued.
In addition to this, as confessed on one of their morning runs, Kate doesn't really see the point of Halloween, with all of its splendor and spectacle. Being raised a staunch Catholic, the holiday was never a huge deal in her household, which has manifested in a sense of detachment that leaves her with nothing to look forward to now that the glory days of summer are fading out of existence. While Tony completely understands, this revelation completely breaks his heart, making her distaste for the season even more depressing. However, he's sure that with just the right amount of his influence, she can be persuaded to change her opinion, just like he was in summer, and brought back to her usual self.
So, as soon as September says goodbye, Anthony DiNozzo gets to work.
Mission 'Make-Kate-Fall-in-Love-with-Fall' (he really needs to come up with a better name for that), is a rather ambitious project: he recognizes that he can change neither his partner's aversion to the cold, nor the fundamental beliefs of the upbringing that she obviously holds so dear. Not that he would want to anyway - they are the things that make Kate, well, Kate - he simply wants to bring some happiness back into her life, and in order to do that, he must go about things in the same logical way that he would with a case, breaking down the challenge at hand into manageable chunks.
The resulting plan looks a little like this.
Phase #1: Decoration.
Tony loves their apartment, he really does, but he can love something and still acknowledge that it's in dire need of improvement. In order to change Kate's opinion on Halloween, he first needs to tackle her aversion to Fall, and to do that, he decides that they need a radical interior overhaul and some severe exposure therapy to set her on the right path. So, much to Kate's chagrin, on their first day off of the month, he drives them over the border from D.C. into Maryland in search of a home makeover.
Kate's reluctant at first, but he eases her in slowly, dragging her to Starbucks for a Pumpkin Spice Latte before taking her to Target, Michaels and Home Depot in rapid succession, not giving her a chance to back out even when she rolls her eyes in exasperation. In true Tony fashion, he decides that competition is the key to satisfaction, and challenges his partner to a shopping showdown in which they both have ten minutes to rush around each store curating the best selection of products that they can possibly find. The loser has to pay for the winner's spoils of war, which turns out to be a pretty genius move on his part, as Kate's terror at having him take control over the design of the apartment forces her involvement quicker than any possible prize could.
They end up with a rather successful selection, much to the horror of Tony's wallet, and while he puts up a fuss at losing every time, he still allows her to block his path with her cart, inching her ahead at the start of each round.
Her smile is worth the hundreds of dollars that he's forced to spend and more. Besides, it's all part of a greater purpose, after all.
By the time they reach Spirit Halloween, Kate is glowing with the triumph of her 3-0 win, her collection of multicolored gourds, knitted throws and cinnamon spice candles laid out in the backseat like trophies. She's so comfortable in her victory that she can only squawk in indignation when Tony wrestles away her cart and sends it rolling back towards the entrance of the store as he sprints down the main aisle, leaving her scrambling to fetch it and catch back up with him. When he inevitably wins, his cart bursting with seasonal memorabilia, she pretends to be annoyed, but it's obvious by the quirk of her lips that she's desperately trying not to laugh as he lines his items along the checkout, which include a trio of gremlins sitting beside a suspiciously lifelike skeleton wearing a cowboy hat, who they name 'Indiana Bones.'
It takes another full day to decorate, and by the time they're done, the apartment looks as if a Disney crew has tried to turn a middle-class suburban family home into a haunted house, and Tony couldn't be more delighted.
From the look on her face as she takes in Indiana Bones sitting in the armchair that she no longer has a use for, Kate seems pretty satisfied too.
Phase #2: Education.
Tony is a firm believer that in order to celebrate Halloween, one must understand the culture of Halloween, and as a self-proclaimed expert of all things spooky, who better to educate his partner than him?
More importantly, how better to do it than in the format that he knows best?
Movie nights are already a regular fixture in the DiNozzo-Todd household, the two of them frequently found snuggled up on the couch in front of the TV after a long day at the office, but now they're taking on a brand new agenda. The trouble with movies is that there are so many of them. Tony was raised by them moreso than his own parents, so when compiling a list of fall essentials for the pair of them to work through, he's not sure what angle to approach it from. Kate is nowhere near as clueless as she pretends to be when antagonizing him in the office, but her knowledge of cinema is still not as extensive as his, so he owes it to the pair of them to offer her a well-rounded education in all things film.
He decides to start off light-hearted, easing her in with movies that he watched as a kid. The issue is, Tony's definition of light-hearted doesn't quite match up with that of other people: as a child, he was largely left unsupervised, his parents hardly policing what he was and wasn't watching, and as a result, he's pretty desensitized to things that others would consider graphic or scary, so his caution doesn't really mean much. While most kids and young teens were watching cartoons, Tony was watching Halloween, The Shining and A Nightmare on Elm Street, none of which are particularly family-friendly. However, he never realized how bad they were until now, with his partner burying her face in the crook of his neck as 'redrum' repeats over and over again on the screen. She does much better with others, enjoying comedies such as Hocus Pocus and Beetlejuice, and getting particularly invested in horror mysteries such as The Blair Witch Project.
Paranormal horrors are undeniably the worst for her, but Tony can't help but quite like them, even if it's for no reason other than the fact that she ends up cuddled up protectively under his arm, her body pressing against him a little closer that night.
It's definitely selfish, he thinks, stroking a soothing hand through her hair, but hey, Tony's not complaining.
Phase #3: Entertainment.
The final stage - the one that Tony is most excited for - is the one that forces his partner to engage with the season in a way that she hasn't before, allowing her to experience all the activities that she's either never had the chance to, or simply never cared about.
This part is undeniably the best.
The pair of them spend the first few weeks of the month going on a myriad of different adventures, all of their free time filled with nothing but each other's company as they work their way through Tony's seasonal bucket list.
They go to a pumpkin patch - a huge field filled with gourds of all different shapes and sizes, setting themselves the challenge of coming back with the biggest one they can find. The one that they choose is so heavy that it takes the two of them to lug it into the trunk of Tony's car, and then up the five flights of stairs to the apartment when it turns out that the elevator is down for maintenance. For three days afterwards, they bicker relentlessly over a design - whether they should go for something simple and classic (Kate) or avant-garde and artistic (Tony). When they finally do get around to carving it, everything goes smoothly for about five minutes before it descends into a vicious food fight that leaves him with orange innards smeared all over his face, and her plucking pumpkin seeds out of her hair.
Their mishmashed half-traditional Jack-O'-Lantern, half abstract art piece is truly a sight to behold, displayed proudly in a position of honor by the front door.
The birth of the "Picass-O'-Lantern", as Tony lovingly calls it, sets the tone for the rest of their seasonal activities - chaotic, often disastrous, always hilarious. Their attempt to bake sugar cookies from a recipe that Kate found on the internet ends with him fanning black smoke out of the kitchen window while she tries to disable the fire alarm, ultimately joining the masses huddling outside in the rain while trying to appear as not-guilty as possible when the entire building is evacuated into the night. Afterwards, while Kate mourns the loss of her prized baking tray, Tony crunches on bits of burnt sugar, only stopping every once in a while to dodge a cookie cutter or random utensil that she throws in his direction. The following week, a visit to a cornmaze almost ends up with the two of them landing on a missing person's list, going round and round in circles embroiled in arguments that very nearly turn physical for hours before a guide takes pity on them and shows them the way out. The remainder of the afternoon is spent cooling off at the adjacent petting zoo, where a flock of turkeys seem to take a particular liking to Tony, and trail him around mercilessly, pecking at the hems of his jeans, much to Kate's glee.
The whole experience is a complete catastrophe, so naturally, it's the best time he's ever had.
Despite everything that goes wrong, watching Kate's initial resentment of the season gradually diminish from dislike, to indifference, to something remarkably similar to delight, warms him from the inside out. And while she continues to complain about the cold, her frozen feet sneaking under the hems of his pyjama pants, a stolen sweater pulled right up under her nose, her words are no longer tinged with bitterness, and her smile is brighter than it's been in weeks. As she sits opposite him at the dinner table, talking animatedly about a farmers market that she wants them to go to this weekend, an excited sparkle in her eyes, he can't help but feel smug.
Mission accomplished.
—
"Only you would manage to almost get beaten to death by a 1950s housewife," Kate smirks, sliding a pint-sized glass of water and double-strength aspirin across the table towards him. Normally, she's sure he'd find it within himself to come up with a witty response, but right now, his only reply is an indignant grunt.
They're sitting in the break room at Jacksonville naval base, waiting for Gibbs to finish up with Agent Melankovic. While Kate looks content, if slightly weary, nursing a coffee to preserve her energy for the drive home, her partner is a rather sorry sight. Tony has an ice pack pressed to the back of his head, right where he was struck by the deranged petty officer clad in a vintage wedding dress, wincing every so often when a dull ache flares behind his temples. He looks uncharacteristically disheveled - dark circles rimming his eyes, hair slightly scruffy from where medics have been pouring over his injury. Somehow though, he still manages to remain the most attractive person in the office, though perhaps that's just Kate's biased judgment.
"Very funny Kate," he grumbles, though he takes the water and knocks back the painkiller without complaining. "And here I was thinking you were worried about me."
She was, though she's hardly about to tell him that. She can still hear the sound of him getting knocked out through her earpiece, the dull smash of a lamp hitting his skull reverberating around in her head, Gibbs' frantic voice as he doesn't respond to their questions, the echo of their footsteps thundering down the hallway towards him. Somehow, she can still feel the thundering of her heart as it bangs in her chest, still see him lying lifeless on the floor, his weapon in the hands of a mentally unstable bride. The adrenaline rushing through her veins in that moment has long gone, but the crippling exhaustion of relief still lingers.
She could say all of this, but she doesn't.
"Nah," she jokes, offering an eye roll in an attempt to brighten his spirits, "you had it covered."
Tony huffs out a dry laugh, a wry smile playing on his lips, then immediately cringes as a fresh wave of pain radiates through his skull. "Yeah," he mutters, "sure felt like it."
Her heart can't help but clench at the sight of him, shoulders slightly hunched, handsome face shadowed in the dim light. There's nothing she hates more than seeing him in pain, as pathetic as she knows that sounds - pain is pretty much a given in their line of work. What she wouldn't give to take on some of his, even with something as unserious as a minor head wound and a slight concussion.
"Hey Kate?" his voice jolts her out of her reverie, drawing her focus back to his quiet words, the tired raspiness of his voice.
"Hmm?"
"When I don't have it covered," he says, a hint of vulnerability coloring his voice, "you'll have my six, right?"
His eyes search hers, and the pounding in her chest grows even louder, so loud it's almost deafening. Kate reaches out, placing her fingertips to his cheek in reassurance, relishing the blissed flutter of his eyelashes as her cool touch soothes his fraying nerves.
"Of course," she murmurs, brushing a light thumb over his cheekbone.
Always, her heart unhelpfully offers.
Her answer must be sufficient, as Tony closes his eyes, letting out a heavy breath of relief, tension beginning to drain from him. Then, before she can say another word, he flops forward in his seat, the full weight of his body bearing down on hers as he presses his forehead to her shoulder, going completely boneless with exhaustion. It's an act that's completely out of place in the professional setting, an obvious display of familiarity and trust usually reserved for the privacy of their four walls, one that has Kate's eyes frantically scanning the room for any unwanted onlookers. Normally, she would allow herself to relax, bringing her arms up to cradle him, but right now, she's too conscious of the fact that anyone, including their boss, could walk in and see them in this position.
But it's late, the place is empty besides them, and she can never bring herself to push him away, so she doesn't, though she doesn't fully give in either. Instead, she reaches up, replacing the hand holding his icepack with one of her own, the other beginning to stroke through his hair, taming any strands that have come out of place with the events of the day. Tony lets out a soft, almost imperceptible noise that does nothing to help her traitorous, aching heart, allowing her to massage her fingers down his neck, pressing them into the crook where it meets his shoulder and rubbing away any remaining tension until he finally relaxes, his body fully pliant under her hands.
Outside the quiet of the breakroom, the rest of the building carries on as normal - late-staying office workers typing away on their desktops, printers and fax machines working overtime - but for a minute, the world is completely theirs, nothing else mattering but the press of his body on hers, the smell of his sandalwood cologne reminding him that they're here, that he's safe. As he begins to rise, a slightly dazed look about his blissed-out ivy-green eyes, she can't help the impulse that tells her to touch, to reassure, to shield him from all that could bring him harm. She raises a palm to his cheek, and he melts into it like butter, bringing his hand up to cover her own, warm fingers caressing hers as she lightly scratches his stubble with the tips of her nails.
"How are you feeling?" She whispers, unable to tear her eyes from his, the world narrowing down to this single moment, the points where their bodies touch, the warmth of his skin surrounding her own.
I want you, she thinks. I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone before.
Her entire body, her whole being, yearns for him, and she's absolutely powerless to it, this all-consuming feeling that pulls her in again and again, against what is logical, easy or right. Ultimately all she wants, her deepest, darkest desire, is to be this close to him, always, no matter what trouble it may cause, who it may upset.
"Better," he replies, and his expression is so open, his voice so soft, that she's not sure how she's possibly meant to stay away. "Much better."
This is it.
Her mouth begins to move on its own accord, words forming without her brain even having a chance to process them, without acknowledging the consequences of saying them aloud. "Tony," she starts, feeling herself begin to slip, start to fall into those green, green eyes, "Tony… I-"
"- DiNozzo! Kate!"
Her hand jolts back, body recoiling as if she's been shot, sending her reeling around to face the door, heart pounding in her chest, her ears, her fingertips.
The sight she's met with sends it dropping right out of her stomach.
Gibbs stands at the breakroom threshold, an unreadable expression playing across his face. His blue eyes are stony, giving nothing away, but Kate can't help the fear that consumes her as she takes in the tension in his posture, the slight crease in his brow. How long has he been standing there? How much has he seen? How much has he guessed purely by their proximity, the way they've jerked away from each other as if on fire?
It's impossible to tell what the older man is thinking as he gives a jerk of the head and tells them to roll, but the sinking feeling in her gut tells her that they are far from in the clear.
As they slip out of the room, Tony begins to chatter away like his normal self, an obvious attempt to smooth out any lingering suspicion, though she can't help but notice the nervous edge to his tone. Kate stays silent, not trusting her voice not to tremble, her words not to come out a jumbled, incomprehensible mess.
She doesn't say a word, but she doesn't have to.
The weight of Gibbs' scrutiny as she climbs into the passenger's seat tells her everything that she needs to know.
—
The confrontation takes longer than expected.
So long, in fact, that a tiny part of her begins to believe that they've gotten away with it.
She should've known better.
There's a reason why the MCRT remains the highest-performing squad at NCIS headquarters, and while Kate is confident in their abilities, she knows that it certainly isn't down to her and Tony. They might play a role, their individual strengths covering for each other's weaknesses, with McGee filling the gaps in between, but the relentless driver behind their team's success is undoubtedly their fearless, unshakeable leader, with his eagle eyes and iron-clad gut. With all of his quirks and contradictions, Leroy Jethro Gibbs is a force of nature: impenetrable, unpredictable, terrifying to those who don't know how to navigate him.
Kate likes to think she does know how to read him, yet she's now understanding that even she had underestimated his silent capability. Until now, she'd foolishly thought that the plausible distance that she and Tony had maintained between them in the office, with all of their decoys, schemes and secrets, would be enough to keep him at bay. Yet, as they sit on opposite sides of the sedan, the older man behind the wheel, she's hit with a horrifying realization that to an investigator as seasoned as their boss, all of this has been nothing but a poorly executed optical illusion, easily shattered in the blink of an experienced eye. And even as a familiar silence settles between them, she feels the discomfort beginning to creep up her spine in anticipation of a conversation that she's been desperately hoping would never happen.
"Do you remember what I said when I offered you this job, Agent Todd?"
Kate turns her head to him slowly, prey suddenly conscious of being observed by a predator. The older man does not meet her gaze, staring impassively at the road in front of him, though she notes that his fingers are white where they clutch the steering wheel. She waits for him to continue, to look at her, to do anything, but he doesn't. Instead, she thinks, he leaves her to squirm, just like he does when interrogating a suspect that he knows will eventually crack.
He's right.
"You said," she takes a moment, carefully recollecting and weighing the value of her words, "date a coworker at NCIS, and you wouldn't give me the chance to resign."
Gibbs nods stiffly, but remains silent, eyes unmoving. A wave of white-hot irritation rushes over her, mingling with the adrenaline already beginning to course through her body. She has no right to be, but she can't help but feel angry at him, for his irritating omnipotence, his ridiculous rules and inflexibility, at this whole ridiculous charade that he's putting her through when they clearly both know why they're here.
"What is this about Gibbs?" she can't help but snap, her frustration finally getting the better of her. "If you have something to say, just say it. I haven't broken any of your rules. I have nothing to hide."
"It's about your relationship with Agent DiNozzo."
The comment sounds so out of place coming from him that Kate can't help the manic laugh that escapes her, even while her blood is freezing in terror within her veins. "My relationship with Tony?" she chuckles incredulously, turning in her seat to face him, her tone almost mocking, voice hollow of all emotion. "Gibbs, what are you-"
"I saw you, in Jacksonville," the older man interrupts, eyes of ice meeting hers in the drivers mirror, not sparing her a second more to speak. "Something's going on between the two of you, it has been for a while. Did you really think I hadn't noticed?"
"Me and Tony are friends," her fingers are trembling uncontrollably, so she knots them together and shoves them into her lap, returning her gaze to the highway. She wishes it were Tony having this conversation with their boss, not her. He would know exactly what to say to make this blow over - a smart quip, a sarcastic joke. Even moreso, she wishes he were here to soothe her with his warm touch, to stop her from digging her nails mercilessly into her palms. But he's not, and she is, and she's never felt more exposed. "We hang out outside the office sometimes," she adds, "nothing more."
It's true, mostly, but it sounds like a lie as it leaves her lips, and she's sure that the older man can hear it too.
She senses, rather than sees, his eyes turn to her, not a single care for whatever's on the road in front of him.
"That a fact?"
"There's nothing going on between me and Tony," she repeats, much firmer this time, mustering up every ounce of her courage and using it to meet his unforgiving stare.
"And nothing will," Gibbs snaps, authority radiating off of him in waves, showing him as every inch the marine that he once was. "Are we clear?"
For a never-ending moment, they exist in a stand-off, the atmosphere in the car - a mixture of indignance and anger - thickening unbearably. The only sound is that of passing cars honking their horns in outrage as the sedan swerves between lanes under its driver's ignorance. Kate wants to scream, to lose every ounce of control and allow herself to yell at how unfair this whole situation is, how Gibbs is allowed to make as many mistakes, as many bad decisions as he deems fit, but never gives them the grace to do the same. How he's allowed to go home with whoever he wants and none of them are allowed to so much as question him, how he never feels the need to fill them in on any aspect of his life despite being so clued in on each of theirs. How she never wanted this to happen, how it isn't her fault, that she can't control the exact whens and wheres of how she falls in love.
When she finally does speak, her voice is stone cold and impossibly steady. "Crystal, Sir."
No response.
Then, he nods, turning his eyes back to the road.
The pair of them return to their silence, stewing stubbornly in the aftermath of their exchange. Kate slumps against the window, observing as the first couple of raindrops begin to hit the glass, intermittently at first, growing heavier and heavier with each passing moment. A slight prickling sensation is forming behind her eyes, but she refuses to let it get the better of her.
"Trust me Kate," her eyes flicker back at her boss' tone, softer now, less angry. The older man sounds exhausted, more weary than she's ever heard him, and below all of that, uncharacteristically sad. Beneath the intensity of her emotions, she can't help but ponder the events in his life that have led him to this point, the inarguable trauma that has made him the person that he is today. "It never works."
It could. We could make it work, if you only dared to let us try.
But she says nothing, returning to the window and closing her eyes.
Thank you so much for reading, see you in part B.