Gibbs could cook. And he kept repeating it to himself, too, as he struggled to turn on Kate's stove with a furrowed brow and rolled-up sleeves. He wondered what the hell the trick was as he huffed and tilted his head and turned and pressed and pushed various buttons and knobs that he believed should logically, eventually, get him the result he desired: to just light the freaking burner. And just as he was about to turn to his old friend the microwave, the small front burner ignited with a low, reluctant hiss. Gibbs smiled and "ha'd" at the stovetop— victorious once again.
He had successfully snooped around Kate's kitchen cabinets, finding a couple cans of chicken broth and chicken soup; dumping the contents in a small silver pot, he stood back and waited.
"Gibbs?" Kate's groggy voice pulled him out of his peculiar domestic haze. He turned to her with a surprised but firm brow.
"What are you doing up?" he rumbled lightly.
She leaned against the kitchen wall, blinking slowly and rubbing the light crick that tugged in her neck as she steadily returned his stare. Her gaze crept past him and fell on the stove; her lips quirked slightly, but was unable to form a full smile.
"What'er you doing here?" She mumbled curiously, softly pushing herself away from the wall and taking a few steps closer to him.
"You shouldn't be up…" Gibbs warned, his voice lowered in concern and irritability as she got closer. She stood in front of him and peered around his shoulder and into the small silver pot. She didn't move an inch, but only raised her eyes up to his in a silent little question. He looked down to her under a heavy, scrutinizing brow, examining her face before his eyes lightened and broke their visual connection to look around and down to the soup.
"Hungry?" he asked hoarsely. She smiled ever so slightly.
"A little.." Kate replied softly. He gave her a nod as he went back to inspecting her carefully.
"You really shouldn't be up." He grumbled, vaguely shaking his head at her.
"I'm fine." She emphasized lightly with slightly widened eyes when he gave her a skeptical stare, "Really. You really don't have to stay, Gibbs.."
"You think you're fine, Kate," his voice faintly rose in pitch, stern and strangely amused, "...you're not going to recover—" his words fell away with the sudden pressure of Kate's hand on his shoulder.
"Oh, maaan…" Kate mumbled and moaned softly, wincing and closing her eyes. Her hair fell in her face as her head bowed down; her stomach tightened as she swayed and somewhat doubled over underneath an abrupt onslaught of nausea. Her hand tightened on his shoulder as the wave began to pass, only to swell up in her gut again, accompanied by another groan; Gibbs' hand firmly gripped her upper arm while the other skirted across her stomach and held onto her waist. After vaguely ascertaining what had happened, Gibbs' voice deepened as he mocked her, tilting his head as he spoke:
"Oh yeah… you're just fiiine, aren't you.."
She gently slapped at his shoulder before opening her eyes and looking to him under a straining, furrowed brow, dripping with mild disdain and annoyance. She slid her hand off his shoulder and put both of her palms on her hips, exhaling slowly while bending over slightly at the waist.
"I think I'm gonna be sick.." she mumbled pitifully.
"Come on.." Gibbs sighed and put a hand on her back, leading her back down the hall and into the bedroom. Once getting her situated back on the bed, Kate curled into a ball, facing him with her knees pressed to her chest. Gibbs ran a steady hand down her calf as he studied her with quiet eyes.
"It's the anesthesia.. it'll do that to you." He caught her gaze and held it, quirking and squinting his eyes for a millisecond as he stared at her playfully, "Which is why.. you shouldn't.. be up."
Kate sighed and closed her eyes, "Fine. Fine, fine. I'll stay here— hostage… a captive in my own bed."
Gibbs flashed her an impish little grin. Kate looked up at him and screwed up her face in confusion: "What...?"
He frowned and smirked simultaneously as he cocked his head to one side. "Oh.. nothin'..." He grinned an open-mouthed smile as she slapped at his arm. His smile faded as he frowned at her, taking her chin carefully in his hands. He tilted her face to one side and then the other.
"Did you take the cotton out?" he gruffed.
"Well, I…" Kate stammered, a bit wide-eyed at his sudden change in demeanor. "I just.. thought it'd be fine now, Gibbs.." she replied lightly.
"You can get sick from swallowing blood ya know.. C'mon, Kate. Open up." He pointed and wagged his index finger at her mouth as he placed more gauze between the tweezers from her night stand. Kate sighed once again as she grudgingly obeyed. Carefully putting more cotton at the crux of her jaw with her chin in his hand, his thumb grazed over her cheek. She watched him carefully, her eyes transfixed and bemused by the sheer determination that poured over his face. When he finished his eyes caught hers— caught her staring— but she didn't look away like perhaps she would have. She melted as his eyes darkened with something akin to desire, a small flame in the heart of his pupils that seeped into his irises and drenched her consciousness in floods of warmth. She shuddered slightly as his hand abruptly left her skin.
"Thhanks.." she slurred, sarcastic, beneath the new cotton. The corner of his lip tugged upwards.
"Yer welcome." He murmured. "Now. Stay.. in bed. Got it?" he commanded as he rose from the bed, walking across the floor towards the door. Kate just helplessly nodded. He smirked lightly as he slowed his pace, throwing her a quick glance over his shoulder.
"You know somethin' about hostage situations, Kate?" he said as he reached the door, shoving his hands in his pockets as he strolled over the threshold.
"What's that, Gibbs.." Kate mumbled. He didn't stop or turn to answer her, but merely called down the hall on his way to the kitchen:
"Stockholm Syndrome."
Kate rolled her eyes as she sank further into the bed.
Chapter End Notes:
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