Settling into another chair, in another room, in another part of the hospital, Gibbs allowed himself a moment's respite from the deep fear, worry and impotency he'd felt from the instant Ducky'd been stabbed.

He looked at his sleeping lover. A smile touched his lips as he again heard Ducky's words when he'd popped Ducky's glasses onto his nose. "Oh, sweetie, you held on to them for me while I was under the knife."

Sweetie?

Ducky had called him 'sweetie'!

Gibbs had been called many things in his life, but 'sweetie'? 'Sweet' was the last thing most people would have called him.

Smiling fondly he leaned forward and brushed Ducky's hair from his forehead; the gesture as intimate as when he'd replaced Ducky's glasses.

A moment later he took his hand away. He wished he could hold Ducky's hand, but he couldn't. Not because he was sitting by Ducky's injured hand side of the bed, he could easily move his chair. But for the same reason he'd merely put his fingers to Ducky's neck when he'd reached his side; why he'd in effect become far more detached and apart than in normally day-to-day interactions with his lover.

He was scared.

Scared of losing Ducky.

Scared that if he took his hand or touched him, he wouldn't be able to let go.

And Ducky needed him to do his job. Ducky needed him to find the bitch who'd stabbed him. Once he, well the team, he wasn't going anywhere yet, had done that, once Ducky was home, then he'd touch him. Then he'd let his true feelings show, but for now . . .

For now he'd pull his shell around him and wait.

He smiled once more at 'sweetie', before letting it slip from his conscious mind, concentrating instead on watching Ducky sleep.