Lovers In A Dangerous Time

DISCLAIMER: Yeah. Right.

SUMMARY: Kate learns what working at NCIS really entails.

SPOILERS: Ahahahaha. No. Except for "Yankee White."

The van, nondescript and inconspicuous, was parked across from a white one-story home in one of D.C.’s numerous suburbs. Nearby, children played on a swingset, shouting to one another, loud exclamations of innocent joy. It was already summer and the cherry blossoms had bloomed, their gentle shades lending the area a sweet, almost nostalgic atmosphere. This was innocence at its best, at its finest. This was the childhood every child should have had, laughter, exuberance, soft pastels and sparkling sunshine. They were safe, and happy, and completely in the moment, lending no thoughts to the next day, or the next, thinking only of slides, wind in their hair, ice cream melting in their mouths. Henry Ford would have beamed, had he been able to see the product of his grand theories and ideals. It was in this setting that model Americans were produced, that children grew up to be fine young adults and then contributors to their community.

Indeed, it was the perfect setting.

This, however, was not the view upon which those occupying the van were able to look. While one side of the street was devoted to the bearing and nurturing of America’s future, the other was devoted to a decidedly less Census-friendly demographic. Neon flickered on and off in the dingy windows of the buildings lining the streets, advertising legal, and less-than-legal, wares. While it may have been a wonderful place for quick ‘n’ dirty sex ed, and while Hunter S. Thompson would have undoubtedly felt at home among its denizens, it did not make for the most aesthetic backdrop.

And when it was the focal point itself, it became especially crappy.

Inside of the van, three tired, cramped, and hot agents waited, watching. It wasn’t even noon and the windows were already fogging with humidity. The ridiculously expensive surveillance equipment that took up one whole wall of the vehicle served only to increase the temperature. And as the temperature rose, so did tempers, which meant that it was going to be a very, very long day. Annoyed, sweaty, and crammed into a space roughly the size of the lavatory on the average 737, Gibbs, Kate, and Tony were awaiting the results of Kate’s latest profile.

To say that it was sweltering would have been an understatement.

"It’s like a seedy, X-rated ‘Where’s Waldo,’" Tony announced. "Is he over there, by the sign? Or is that him over there, staggering towards us? Or maybe over there, behind the woman with the --"

"Tony!"

"Mobile business establishment? Hey, if we filmed them, we could probably make really good money. I mean, we’ve got the camera set up and everything . . ."

Kate adjusted the collar of her tailored, sleeveless blouse and brushed tendrils of hair from her forehead. "I swear, Tony, if we weren’t on a stakeout, I’d shoot you."

"Who’d notice?" Gibbs asked, his tone conversational as he stretched, his hands brushing against his teammates. Glass broke just outside the van’s window and a woman began to expound loudly and nasally on the parentage of someone named Lonnie.

"He does have a point," Tony agreed. "But it would probably wreck Abby’s computer stuff," he added hastily. He returned his gaze to the window, watched for a few seconds, and frowned. "You know, most women find that to be incredibly painful."

"Where’d you learn that, Tony?" Kate asked. "Reading ‘Jane’ again?"

"That was ‘G.I. Jane.’ Completely different." He shook his head.

"Yeah, Tony. One’s a movie." She smirked. "And unless they’re printing movies on glossy 8 ½ by 11s now . . ."

"Research, Kate. Getting into the suspect’s mind."

"Anatomy 101, DiNozzo," Gibbs interjected. "Mind’s up. That’s down."

Tony narrowed his eyes and decided it was best not to respond. He glanced over at Gibbs as the senior agent stretched again, letting his eyes linger. Next to him, Kate stiffened, drew in a breath. The temperature rose a notch and he grinned. "Hey, Kate, you ever thought about getting a job down here?"

"Why, have you?"

"Continue this conversation and you’ll both be looking for new jobs," Gibbs said in a monotone.

"Think I’d get a lot of customers?" Tony asked, his eyes darkening as he tore his gaze regretfully from the characteristically teasing neckline of Kate’s blouse, his eyes darting to the most emphasized parts of Gibbs’ anatomy.

"Tony!"

He blinked innocently. "What?"

"You just looked at his . . . you know!" She crossed her arms and did her best to look scandalized.

He shrugged. "It’s important," he said. "It furthers the male/male erotic homosexual subtext, while at the same time not committing us to any potentially controversial positions on one of today’s ‘hot topics.’ Not to mention it gets us double the viewers - we’re number one with those viewers who look for your standard Harlequin boyfriend/girlfriend romance, as well as those who enjoy the ‘forbidden love’ idea."

"Not to mention," Gibbs added, "he likes it."

Kate’s eyes widened even further. "You mean you’re . . .?"

He shrugged minutely. "It was a very long tour in a very hot place."

"Oh . . . oh." She paused. "And now you and he . . . but what about work? I thought you said inter-office romances are verboten."

"I know what I said, Kate, but things change, and actually, they come in handy."

"Handy?" she echoed.

"By engaging in sexual intercourse with other agents, you create bonds. Criminals tend to view these bonds as weaknesses, and so often take advantage of them," Tony explained.

"That’s horrible!"

"Does provide the occasional helpful case break, though," Gibbs said. "How do you think we found that angry, repressed, chauvinistic and generally dysfunctional ex-lieutenant last week?"

"The one who, after murdering three petty officers, kidnapped Tony and then tried to arrange an exchange?" Her eyes widened. "Oh."

"Never would have found him otherwise," Gibbs agreed.

"Come on, Kate," Tony drawled. "Don’t tell me you’ve never taken one for the team. Air Force One?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Working with the president was part of my job, Tony," she said shortly. "And Abby and I have to do something when you guys take off on another one of your testosterone-driven snipe hunts."

"I knew it!" Tony said. She frowned at him and turned her attention back to Gibbs.

"So, what do we do next?"

"You’re kidding, Kate," Gibbs said.

"It’s, like, a hundred degrees outside, we’re sweaty and skimpily attired, and we’re going to be stuck in here for the next three hours with nothing to do, and you ask ‘what next?’" Tony asked incredulously.

She sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Well, Abby is getting the video feed . . ."

"Attagirl, Kate. Semper fi -- ow!" He rubbed the back of his head and then reached for the hem of his shirt. "Just don’t call him ‘daddy,’" he said conspiratorially. "It’s a sore spot . . ."

A few hours later, Kate sighed. "If only Sister Mary Margaret could see me now . . ."

"She’d be proud?" Tony hazarded.

"You know, I think DiNozzo’s right." Gibbs smiled lazily. "Welcome to NCIS, Kate . . ."