She doesn’t know why she’s here. She already completed the paperwork that could have waited till Monday morning. She’s re-organized her desk drawers, alphabetized her books and filed the files that were left out from the last case. She’s downed in total five coffees and munched on eighteen gummy bears and a pear.
She feels ridiculous. She feels pathetic. It’s Saturday night and she should be on a date. Those recently scarce things involving red roses and nice restaurants and first kisses. And it’s not like she hasn’t got anyone to call for that.
Even without a date, she could be at the "phat" party that Abby invited her to on Friday night. Apparently she was getting old, because loud music and getting drunk held little appeal to her tonight.
Then, of course, there was the long-standing invitation she hadn’t taken up on to her sister’s perfect home, to have a perfect dinner with her and her perfect husband and coo over their adorable new baby.
She could be doing any three - but she’s not. She’s here - at the place where she feels most comfortable, most strong and at the same time; most alone.
More than that - she feels lonely. Lonely in a heart sore way that only gets worse as the night grows old, only gets worse with each silent second that ticks by and each hour that she decides not to leave and find something better to do.
Kate doesn’t leave - she stays; one of three solitary figures in the lamp lit bullpen. She wonders why they’re here. She wonders if they have places to go to.
Do they have work to do? Or do they, like her, just feel restless, in need of familiar surroundings and mindless routine? Do they also just long for the weekend to be over and the work week to begin again? As something to plunge their minds into and make their bodies feels active?
She sighs and moves over to Gibbs desk, lifting from his filing cabinet one of the few cold cases he always keeps there; cases that are particularly mystifying or hold special interest to him. He always keeps them close; and she has read over them more than once, as he has, looking for fresh answers.
She opens the file and wanders back to her desk. Tired of sitting, she stands facing her desk, trying to look occupied, while all the time debating calling Abby or her sister or her current man of the hour. She briefly considers inviting Jonathan to a movie, before realizing that it’s really too late to do so.
The elevator dings and one more lonely soul enters the hushed arena. She recognizes the silver hair and brown coat in the corner of her eye, without having to raise her head. She tries to resist the impulse, but her eyes are drawn to him, as they always are, and when she looks up, she sees her boss approaching.
But something is wrong - something is off. He carries no coffee, which is weird first off. There is a slight sloppiness to his usually confident stride and his eyes, which ordinarily would already be searching her for explanation for her presence at work on this Saturday night, do not connect with hers at all. His gaze wonders aimlessly, around the office as though he’s never seen it before.
She directs her eyes back to the file and after a moment, feels him sidle up to her, warm and big and slightly invasive. He smells like smoke for some reason and as he looks at her, she feels both unnerved and grateful for his appearance.
"What’s Katie Todd doing?" he asks, lowly and with his words escape the stench of alcohol on his breath.
She glances up at him briefly but does not want him to see her shock, her judgment, her fear. This man and his demons are scary enough without alcohol to help them along. She sees enough to notice how his hair is scruffier than usual, his face more creased and his blue eyes rimmed with red.
"Just finishing up," she replies evenly and tries to shift imperceptibly away from him.
He follows, budging closer and not allowing her space to breathe without smelling him and his Dutch courage. Druggy eyes trace her lowered profile and it takes all the control she has just to stand still, retain her ground.
"Haven’t you got a home to go to?" he wonders amusedly and she can hear the drunken slur in his voice.
She wonders what he’s on. She wonders how much he’s had. She wonders if she’s going to escape unscathed. She’s experienced more than her fair share of drunk and dangerous men -- but experience does not make her any more calm or capable.
"Haven’t you?" she mutters back, still trying to convince both of them that she’s far more interested in the file in her hands. Gibbs, for once, seems entirely uninterested in work and entirely intent on her. It’s freaking her out more than she’d like.
"Nope," he replies lightly then slowly steps behind her, his clothes brushing with hers, his body as close to her as he can get without touching. Her eyes finally lift, her head turning to the side as he positions himself just over her left shoulder. She can’t help her body’s stunned but undeniably thrilled response to feeling him so close, regardless of the threat he may pose. Her spine tingles with suspense.
With one finger, he sweeps her hair over her shoulder and the exposed flesh on her neck goose-bumps at the warm brush of his breath.
"What about that boy," he almost whispers, putting a faintly malicious emphasis on the last word: "I saw you with the other week?"
It takes her an instant to remember that she is technically seeing someone, and that Gibbs witnessed Jonathan picking her up for their third date quite recently.
He peers over her shoulder at her face: "Isn’t he waiting at home…to rub your feet … and kiss you stupid?"
She hears the edge in his tone and cannot help but wonder how he thinks he has the right to be pissy with her. She does not, in fact, have anyone waiting at home to rub her feet and fuck her stupid, which is what Gibbs really meant but refrained from saying, despite his condition. But even if she did, it was hardly any of his business.
"He’s working," she says evasively, knowing that, particularly with his current proximity, he can probably tell it’s a blatant lie. She never was a good actor - lying just didn’t come naturally, especially when under pressure. But it was so frustrating, that even when at his worst, Gibbs could still exert such control over her.
"Ah, working," he repeats, knowingly, moving more fully behind her.
He presses into her from behind, large and unyielding and she glances in alarm across the bullpen to see if anyone else is witnessing them. But her companions have deserted her and she realizes that she and Gibbs are alone; just the two of them and the security cameras - not that he seems concerned.
"That’s how it always starts," he tells her distractedly, the rumble of his chest penetrating her to her gut: "Working…"
Her world begins to spin as Gibbs rubs his chin against her head, the stubble on his face catching on the delicate strands of her hair and sending chills down her spine. And then she stops breathing altogether when he presses his nose into her hair and takes one long, deep breath in.
"Gibbs," she breathes shakily, willing her voice to at least sound strong: "…what are you doing?"
It was pretty obvious what he was doing actually, but what she didn’t understand was why -- and how he expected her to react. Her only response seemed to be paralyzing shock and violently tamped down arousal.
"Do you have any idea," he asks, his voice husky, his lips in her hair: "how much I want to kiss you?"
Her whole body reacts to his soft, forthright, desperate admission; confirming something she’s always wondered. It’s not as one-sided as she’d sometimes thought, this connection between them.
"Hmm?" he continues, his hands landing gently on her shoulders. He leans in so that his lips are brushing her ear: "How much….I’ve always wanted to?"
Her eyes clamp shut, her head enters a dream world of sensation and sex as the floor drops out from beneath her. She unconsciously falls back into him, and he catches her as her head lolls feebly on his chest for a moment.
"Mmmm," he muses, smoothly: "you want it too, don’t you, Katie Todd?"
The alcohol on his breath and edge in his voice brings her back to herself and where they are. She rights herself, standing unsteadily on her own two feet and steeling her spine against his still over-powering presence. His hands drop and he takes a step back, not too inebriated to get the message, apparently.
"You’ve been drinking," she accuses stonily, gathering up the file again as something to focus on, something to cling to.
"Excellent investigative skills, Agent Todd," he spits sarcastically, slipping around her to lean against the front of her desk.
She is relieved to feel the cool, ordinary air flood in and up her spine, replacing the heat and danger of where he’d been. Her brain begins to tick again, her heart to calm.
She looks at him for really the first time and sees the man she knows in some ways and in others is still such a complete mystery to her.
"Why?" she asks quietly.
He blinks at her apathetically: "Does a man need a reason to have a drink or two?" he questions belligerently.
"You do," she notes softly: "You hardly ever drink."
"I bet you’ve never had a drop too much to drink in your sweet little life…isn’t that right, Katie Todd?"
She looks away again at his callous tone and bites her tongue - the last thing she wants to do is add fuel to his fire. His eyes skim over her face critically and he persists more mockingly:
"I’ll bet little Katie Todd has never ever, not once, entertained a wrong or inappropriate thought in her pretty little head..."
She holds her head high, keeping her eyes low, her jaw clenching with restrained indignation. He stands again and steps into her, his chest grazing her shoulder, his eyes boring into her flesh with ice cold intensity.
"I’ll bet she’s never known the thrill," he continues, his voice low but no less spiteful: "of wanting something she shouldn’t..."
He reaches out with one hand and pushes a strand of hair away from her face, his soft touch belying the harsh quality of his voice: "Of wanting so bad…the one person you can never have."
His words float about them, dangerous and revealing, clogging the air. They are locked in some sort of perilous, agonizing force field for what seems like an eternity - their breathing is heavy, their hands itch.
Kate had assumed that Gibbs understood she was his for the asking -- had been for some time.
She’d counted on the fact that he never would ask; she’d counted on his resistance to stave off the unfulfilled promise that had stretched silently between them over years. She knew that her reason and self-control alone would not prevent something happening in the face of his acquiescence.
Slowly, she looks up at him, swaying slightly as she tips her head back to meet eyes that are presenting her with so many warring emotions that she feels frightened. Soft defiance meets hard censure, and she is the one to back down, back away. She has no idea what he might do in this state and if she doesn’t get away from him she is going to fall down or faint or hit him or hug him.
"Gibbs," she begins slowly, moving behind her desk and into the relative safety of her own little corner. "Obviously you’re upset, angry with someone or -"
He cuts her off: "Oh, she’s going to profile me now," he mutters with irritation.
She swallows, bites her lip and tries again: "You’re drunk; you just need to sleep it off--"
He pins her eyes with his and begins to follow her around her desk. "I’m not sleepy," he mumbles, his tone ominously quiet.
She huffs and turns to grab her coat: "Come on, I’ll drive you home--"
But turning her back on him was the wrong move, because now he’s behind the desk with her and blocking her exit.
"Trying to wheedle your way into my personal life, Katie Todd?" he smirks nastily and continues closing in on her. Towering over her, he reaches one hand out to touch her again. "Whatcha gonna do with me once you get me home, hmmmm?" he hums condescendingly.
She shies away from his touch and cannot help but take a step back and another until her back is practically against the filing cabinet, the handles sticking at her in uncomfortable places.
He’s close enough that she can smell his aftershave under the smoke and spirits and the familiar scent assures her a bit. Intellectually, she knows she shouldn’t feel intimidated. She knows that Gibbs would never hurt her, but her body stiffens for battle anyway, fully aware that even if she dares to take him on, Gibbs knows all her moves and would probably prevail.
"Gibbs," she breathes, putting both hands out to keep him at a distance. She tries to talk sense, for both their sakes: "You’re not yourself…"
"I am myself," he insists, quietly. He cocks his head and looks at her like she should know this about him: "This is me, Kate. Gibbs the Bastard."
He shuffles closer to her, his head tipping to the side as he watches his hand slip around her neck, looking fascinated with his big brown hand on her pale soft flesh.
She squirms nervously - he’s looking at her like a piece of meat, she feels it. If there was one man that she never thought would see her that way it was Gibbs.
Sure, he threw out the occasional innuendo, and it never escaped her notice when he looked at her as a man looks at a woman he’s interested in - but she always felt by him respected, valued, empowered. She was never just meat to him; never just a set of boobs and legs with a hole between.
She was more than that, to him, so she’d thought.
Still, even with the predatory gawk of his eyes, she couldn’t ignore the gentle curiousness with which he touched her, even without her permission. It was undoing any resolve or rational thought she had left.
"You’re not a bastard," she tells him, shaking her head to dislodge him and only succeeding in rubbing against him. "Gibbs, you’re going to regret this in the morning," she pleads with him, even as her heart thumps uncontrollably at his nearness.
She’s sure her eyes must be sending him desperately contradicting messages. She’s wanted this - she’s wanted him for so long, wanted to know his kiss, feel his touch, taste his breath.
But not like this - not with him drunk on pain and her desperate with loneliness. They’d never recover from it. He’d never look at her in the same way again.
"You’ll regret…" she tries to warn him but her voice looses tempo and drops as his hands come up to cup her cheeks.
"Why would I regret," he murmurs smoothly: "one little kiss?" His eyes drop to her lips, and she’s aware that she’s panting softly for it, for him. "Always wanted," he whispers, almost to himself: "one little kiss from Katie Todd…"
His thumbs stroke her cheeks gently. Her eyes flutter closed and her hands grasp at his coat as he presses closer, his lips grazing hers so irresistibly:
"Come on, Katie. Come on, baby," he urges druggily: "….one little kiss, just this once…..just this once Katie…"
Then his mouth, rough and warm, touches hers, barely nudging and she knows that paradise waits within.
But before she can give in and open to him, the phone on his desk rings noisily.
They both freeze. Her eyes snap open and she watches Gibbs’ face crumble from the expression of a man who was just about to get exactly what he wanted, to that of a man who’d just missed out on it.
He lets out a sharp, low growl and lands one heavy hand on the cabinet behind her, rattling the steel and making the impact vibrate down to her belly. She takes a breath and pushes past him, walking on shaky legs to answer the phone.
She doesn’t remember to say it’s Gibbs’ phone but it doesn’t matter, Ducky recognizes her voice and immediately asks her if she’s seen Gibbs.
"Yes, he’s here," she answers quietly, not sure if she’s relieved or mortified by his interruption.
"How is he?" asks Ducky, sounding very concerned.
She turns and looks at Gibbs slumped against her cabinet, drained and disheveled. She can’t form an accurate response that she would be happy for both men to hear, so she just sighs. Ducky gets the message and tells her to hold onto him.
"What’s happened, Ducky?" she asks, in a manner that accepts no rebuff. Normally she would never delve where she was not wanted, but Gibbs has drawn her into this tonight and she needs to have some kind of a clue as to what she’s dealing with.
"Ex-wife number two strikes again," he replies in a clenched tone: "She’s remarrying."
Kate glances at Gibbs and waits for more. Ducky continues with a dreary heave:
"She’s marrying the man she left Gibbs for."
"Oh," says Kate and Gibbs looks up, guessing what she’s just heard. He looks to the side with an annoyed scowl and she turns to hang up the phone.
"Ducky’s on his way," she tells him softly, facing him across the small space.
"To save me from myself?" he asks dismally, eyes downcast. His eyebrows lift and he looks up at her from underneath: "Or to save you?"
Both, perhaps, she thinks to herself, but says nothing. She has no idea what to say; what to say now that her boss has nearly kissed her, no idea what to say considering all he must be feeling and how very much she knows he doesn’t want her to talk about it.
She steps a little closer, every move she makes cautious, and picks up her half full coffee cup and offers it too him. It’s fairly fresh, probably only lukewarm, but he accepts it, downs the remaining liquid in two gulps, then sets the mug aside.
She leans back on the edge of her desk, feeling calmer and more confident now she knows what is going on.
"Are you okay?" she whispers after a long silence in which they both study the carpet.
He laughs miserably: "Kate! I’m…I’m so--" he lifts his eyes and she swears if it were another man and not this one that she sees moisture glittering in his eyes. He runs a hand over his face, and mumbles with a cracked voice: "I’m a mess."
She’s taken aback by the words and the honesty with which he says them. He looks over at her and she meets his eyes with surprise. She never thought she’d hear Gibbs admit to such a weakness. The blue eyes that are usually alive with fire and appear as strong as steel look old and weary as he blinks listlessly and looks down again.
It must be hard, she thinks to herself, to always feel the need to be so strong.
It occurs to her all of a sudden that she’s glad he came here; she’s relieved he is not alone in his basement, in bed with his mysterious redhead or at some lonely bar with a stranger. She is even glad that he is not with Ducky, but with her -- the person that cares about him most. She is grateful that even drunk and mad, Gibbs, on some level, if he felt he had to be weak, has chosen her to be weak around. She wants to show him how much that means. She wants to show him that it doesn’t scare her. She wants to prove she can be trusted above all.
She knows he probably will regret this little scene in the morning but she wants to let him know that she won’t. That she can be strong enough for the both of them if he needs to let his guard down.
And with that thought in mind, she moves slowly but surely across the carpet, closing the distance between them, until her feet step between his.
He looks up and, with her eyes steady on his, she places both her hands on his cheeks. His slumped posture allows her face to be on a perfect level with his and she can see his shock and disbelief.
She swallows and glances at his lips; he can stop her if he wants to. She knows he won’t.
She strokes his face once, her hand cool and calming against unfamiliar skin, then she moves in deliberately to press her lips to his.
As she closes her eyes, she thinks; this is how it’s supposed to be, this is what first kisses are all about, this time it’s right and perfect.
His mouth opens slightly for her and she takes the opportunity to nudge her lower lip between his and apply light suction to his upper lip. Gibbs sighs against her mouth and presses back subtly.
The alcohol taste is still there but beneath it is the essential Gibbs, and she gleans just a little taste of his masculine flavor to memorize before giving him one last nip and slowly pulling away.
It’s a fairly platonic gesture, nothing too incriminating, nothing too suggestive - nothing she wouldn’t offer any good friend if they needed it.
He’s looking at her searchingly and she looks back calmly. She gives him a little smile and the corners of his mouth lift slightly in response. Then she drops her head and is moving away when he captures her wrist and pulls her back. She blinks at him expectantly.
"One more time for the dummies," he mutters dryly.
She smiles suddenly, her eyes gleaming at him: "You’re one of the smartest people I know, Gibbs."
"The alcohol, Kate," he slurs: "-- it slows the brain. I’m just catching up."
She looks down bashfully. He puts two fingers under her chin and lifts her face.
She knows she can stop him. They both know she won’t.
So when he sees no sign of uncertainty in her eyes, he leans in and she meets him halfway.
His mouth his hot and his mouth is open and she can really taste him now, and can’t get enough. Their mouths move together eagerly, the kiss becoming more impassioned and she thinks vaguely that this is exactly what second kisses are all about.
His arms clamp about her, and he straightens, pulling her up against him and nearly off her feet, holding her so tightly like she might break, or she might leave or she might just be the answer to every question he needs to fulfill. She’s breathing through her nose and tilting her head to side and grasping onto the shoulders of his jacket, all in order to keep her mouth firmly attached to his and it’s working; it’s working so damn well that when he delves into her with breath-stealing passion, she matches him, her hands moving to grasp at his hair and her tongue stroking along his.
The need for oxygen and a glimmer of reality intrude, and Gibbs pulls away, burying his face in her shoulder. They are both panting heavily, and he leans on her like she’s all that’s keeping him alive and upright. Her back is bent backwards trying to support him, it aches and she doesn’t care. She will stand here, with him bowed over her till she breaks in half if necessary.
She wraps her arms around him and holds him with all the everything she can muster, she wishes she were bigger and stronger and could reach around all of him. Instead she leans her cheek into his hair, running one hand from the crown of his head as far down his back as she can reach.
"You would never do something like that would you?" he mumbles into her shoulder when their breathing has calmed some.
She doesn’t say anything, waiting till he goes on:
His voice is brittle and faint: "Katie Todd, Katie Todd would never…lie and cheat and destroy like that…"
Kate has always been of the opinion that no one knows what they’d do till put in a specific situation. But right now he needs something to believe in, someone to have faith in. And that someone is her. It certainly doesn’t sound like something she’d ever do.
"Would you, Kate?" Gibbs pulls back and looks at her, and the emotion in his eyes makes her angry at a woman she knows nothing of.
Despite some of his more abrasive behavior and despite what he’s put her through tonight, when she looks at him, she sees a man of incredible heart. In everything he does, he acts with unconditional and uncompromising dedication and loyalty.
She is positive she could never in any way betray that. Particularly if she were his.
If she were lucky enough to belong to him, and him to her, there would be no circumstance that would allow her to fracture his faith as so many seem to have done.
She suspects that in his relationships, Gibbs shows as much dedication as she’s witnessed him show the navy, his work and the people who need his help. He is always faithful to his own personal code and perhaps can’t understand those who are not.
"No," she whispers honestly and he nods gravely.
"No…" he repeats, his eyelashes falling dimly: "Neither would I."
"I know," she nods sadly.
All the danger has gone out of the situation, but not all the tension. She sees him glance at her lips, but instead of kissing her again, he simply pulls her close and holds her. His arms are not as desperate as before, not as clingy, not as unyielding. He’s not leaning on her like he was, but seems to be sheltering her in some way, as something he needs to believe in, needs to hold on to.
She closes her eyes, and tries desperately to learn by heart every aspect of his arms, his body, his smell, his clothes, his embrace, his breath, his heartbeat that she possibly can, just in case she never gets to feel it again.
Reveling in the closeness, the simple contact, the mutual comfort, the unspoken understanding, they stand like that for a long time in silence. Both are so engrossed that they don’t notice when the elevator dings again and someone enters their sphere.
"Kate, when I said to hold onto him," comes a kindly, rather amused voice: "I didn’t mean it so literally."
Kate smiles and pulls away slowly, refusing to look even slightly guilty: "We were just," she glances at Gibbs: "--talking."
Gibbs clears his throat and does look guilty.
Ducky steps a little closer to her desk: "That’s not what the lads in security are saying," he notes reproachfully. He casts Gibbs a faintly critical glare.
Kate looks at him, alarmed: "Security?"
"Oh, don’t worry, my dear, I’ve taken care of it," he says soothingly.
"Ducky…?!" she says with some surprise.
He wags a finger at her and tells her smugly: "Oh yes, I learn from the best."
Gibbs speaks up, rather somberly: "How’d you find out Duck?"
Ducky sighs and looks at him. "Now, Jethro, I’ll tell you all about it in the car. It’s time all of us got home and to bed, don’t you think?" he asks, as though he’s talking to a petulant nine year old.
"Ducky--!" Gibbs scowls and begins to protest.
"Now, now, you’ve caused quite enough trouble for one night, my boy," he continues, heedless of Gibbs’ pride or his rising indignation. "And you don’t want Caitlin to be tired for work on Monday do you?"
Gibbs looks at her from under his brows and she looks back at him: "No. I don’t," he says quietly.
Their eyes remain locked for a moment, despite the other mans presence. She gives him and small nod and a small smile. Something has happened tonight that has changed everything, but not as badly as Kate had feared. She’s sad to see it end, to see him go, though she knows that it’s necessary.
Gibbs ducks his head and steps past her hesitantly. He is embarrassed by being bundled off like an invalid, she can see, but hasn’t the strength to argue with Ducky’s logic.
Ducky gives her a look that is half-thanks and half-concern. She nods in return indicating she is fine and accepts without quarrel his order to go home directly. Then she watches them leave in silence, left alone in the empty bullpen with trembling hands and wet, wondrous eyes.

At three am, she begins to look for food. She doesn’t have much to qualify for a decent midnight snack, but then, it’s way past midnight, she notes, peering into her practically empty fridge. Strawberry yogurt is her best option - she grabs it and another of the cookies she was planning to take into work on Monday. Oh well.
It’s not that she’s bothered about what happened at the office earlier - she doesn’t regret it. She isn’t resentful or angry or confused or embarrassed. On the contrary, she is pleased that it happened. She expects that come Monday, normal relations will resume between her and Gibbs. There will be a look, a pause, a smile perhaps, but everything will be just the same as it always has been.
The kiss they shared, that intense moment that flared up and overcame them, was not a mistake, was not insignificant, but neither did she expect anything to become of it. It wasn’t the beginning of something, just a reaction to something.
She still feels restless though - not unhappily so - but just unwilling perhaps to let the day go, to let sleep wash over her and dispel the memory of Gibbs’ arms and mouth and the feeling of being needed by him in some powerful, wonderful way.
She crawls back up into bed with her yogurt in one hand and her cookie between her teeth. Once settled, she picks up her book again. "Jane Eyre" was her favorite novel in high school but she hasn’t picked it up in years, not till tonight.
The story of the young but headstrong governess falling for her older, wounded but fatally attractive boss is enormously satisfying and compelling tonight and she’s relating to every sentiment like she never has before; the way Jane watches Rochester, the way she counters his brusqueness, the way she aches in silence.
She is up to the scene where Jane is sketching him and is just getting back into the story, when the phone by her bed rings. Startled, she picks it up after a few rings.
"Hello?" she asks with a wrinkled brow.
There is a long pause: "Kate?" comes a familiar voice.
She sits up straighter: "Yeah?"
"Did I wake you?" he asks cautiously. He sounds uncertain. He sounds sober.
"No, no," she shakes her head and puts her yogurt aside: "I was just reading."
"Uh," he replies then doesn’t say anything for a long moment. They are both obviously sleepless for the same reason.
"Everything alright?" she prompts carefully.
"Yep," he responds curtly, then adds haltingly: "I just -- I thought -- You know, I was --"
He breaks off and perhaps it’s the lateness of the hour but Kate can’t help but giggle at him. She’s never heard him sound so completely incomprehensible.
"No, Gibbs, I have no idea. You’re going to have to help me out."
He lets out a big breath: "I’m sorry I harassed you. Alright?"
Kate sighs and smiles: "It’s fine, Gibbs. You don’t have to apologize."
"I wouldn’t want you to, you know….leave because of me. Or anything," he says vaguely.
"No, I won’t leave," she tells him quietly.
She can hear his breath over the phone line and imagines him in his basement with the phone to his ear, or perhaps sitting on the edge of his bed. She wishes he was here or she was there and feels flooded by intense longing again.
"Kate?" he speaks again, after another pause.
She scoots down under the covers and blinks tiredly: "Mmmm?"
"I’m not sorry I kissed you," he admits, his voice suddenly full of intimacy and intent. The words make her slightly dizzy and take her back a few hours to his kiss, to his voice in her ear and his warmth pervading her body.
She closes her eyes and when her voice works again she whispers back: "Me neither."
"Good," he states and she can hear his smile: "….‘cause that was one hell of a kiss Katie."
"Mm hmm," she agrees, whole-heartedly. She’s glad he can’t see the ecstatic grin on her red face.
"So we’re okay?" he asks after yet another pause.
"Always," she murmurs, softly.
"That’s all I wanted to know," he replies warmly.
"Gibbs--" she pauses.
Something’s been nagging at her, lurking reluctantly in the back of her mind. She didn’t dare ask him earlier; it was too intimate a question and in his drunken state he might have answered her and then regretted it. But he is sober now, and the question springs to the front of her mind again, dancing on the tip of her tongue for an uncertain second before setting forth:
"Are you still in love with her?" she asks quietly, boldly.
Once the question is out she actually doesn’t expect him to answer, and she’s not sure she wants him to. She waits with baited breath for a moment, her heart skipping slightly and the tension of the night beginning to wear on her.
It takes him a long time for him to respond but when he does, he simply says: "No."
She nods to herself, picturing him again, sitting on the steps of the basement she’s never seen, talking to her, suddenly sure that’s where he is.
He takes a breath: "No," he says thoughtfully: "I’m not in love with her."
She nods to herself and feels more relieved than she has a right to. The strength of his reaction had sent her reeling that night. And it had occurred to her that, despite his constant deprecation of his ex-wives, he might actually still hide true feelings for them. But her heart, who knew the man, whispered to her that it was more lost faith than lost love that tormented Gibbs. And for a man like him, that was possibly a worse fate.
"Get some sleep," he tells her when she doesn’t say anything else.
"Okay. ‘Night, Gibbs," she yawns, unwilling to disconnect from him.
He hesitates momentarily before hanging up, without saying goodbye.
She stares at the ceiling for a moment, munching on her cookie, then picks up her book again.
She flicks forward through the well-worn pages, over all the Blanche Ingram bits, to the part when Rochester threatens to send Jane away and her love for him finally surfaces.
One of the best romantic scenes ever written, she thinks to herself, recollecting the lines that are imprinted into her brain since she was fifteen.
If only life were like this, she adds silently, as Jane gets her man, and the book is laid aside for the night. She turns out her light and snuggles down under the covers, the face and voice of Jethro Gibbs echoing through her drowsy mind, and never releasing her as she falls finally asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: With apologises and admiration to Charlotte Bronte.