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ncisficathonTitle: Dusk
Author:![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
neotantrika
Written for:gemmi999
Fandom: NCIS
Prompt: Kate fic--told from her POV -- re: "don't ask, don't tell"
Archive: Do not archive.
Genre: Het
Pairings: Kate/Tony
Rating: PG-13 (part 1) and MA (part 2) for explicit sex
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Belisarius Productions and CBS. No property right infringement is intended.
Word Count: 5512
Summary: Takes place after "SWAK", the second season episode, and before "Twilight". Caitlin Todd drives Tony home and his thank you is a little warmer than planned. There are two parts to this story; the first is PG-13 and the second is ... not.
Continued...
Author:
neotantrikaWritten for:
gemmi999Fandom: NCIS
Prompt: Kate fic--told from her POV -- re: "don't ask, don't tell"
Archive: Do not archive.
Genre: Het
Pairings: Kate/Tony
Rating: PG-13 (part 1) and MA (part 2) for explicit sex
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Belisarius Productions and CBS. No property right infringement is intended.
Word Count: 5512
Summary: Takes place after "SWAK", the second season episode, and before "Twilight". Caitlin Todd drives Tony home and his thank you is a little warmer than planned. There are two parts to this story; the first is PG-13 and the second is ... not.
Caitlin Todd drew the car to the curb smoothly. Before she even shut off the engine, Tony DiNozzo was reaching for his seat belt lock.
"You can just drop me here," he said. He fumbled at the seat belt catch. "You don't have to come up."
Kate reached over and clicked his seat belt open. "You can't even get out of the car. I'll take your stuff in."
"No, no, it's all right," he said hastily, but Kate had already opened her door.
The light was dying in the west; Kate figured the sun was half an hour from setting. An overcast sky threatened rain, and the breeze on her cheek was cool. She opened the back door of her car. On the other side, Tony struggled out of the front seat and leaned on the hood, trying to hide the fact that he was gasping.
She yanked the gym bag (Gucci, of course) out of the back seat and slammed the door. Why did the man have to be so stubborn? Was it reflex? "Tony, come on. You're in no shape to be playing tough guy."
Tony looked at her, his hair mussed, his jaw unshaven, and gave her that patented DiNozzo grin. "I don't have to play at it. It comes naturally."
Kate shook her head, amused. At least he was smiling. "Let's get you upstairs."
The grin vanished and he straightened. "Seriously, Kate. I appreciate the ride home from the hospital, but --"
"But me no buts, DiNozzo," she said crisply. She strode around the car, juggling his keys in her hand. "You're not going to win this argument. Do you want to lead, or do I have to find it myself?"
He argued with her all the way up to the third floor of his apartment building, a quiet brick edifice in west Georgetown. Kate had been surprised at the address; she'd envisioned the slick Tony in more upscale digs in the fashionable part of town. What must his neighbors think of his parties? Because she was sure Tony's parties were regular barn burners.
"I'm fine. Here, give me the keys. I'll open the door, you can hand me the bag--"
"Tony, how many dead bodies do you have stacked in your living room?"
He hesitated, half-grinning. "It's the girls in the cages. They're shy."
"Because they're naked?"
His eyes opened all the way. "Why, Kate, are you... teasing me?"
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. She glanced at a sign on the wall and turned left. Tony's apartment was at the end of the hall; a window across from his front door overlooked a quiet, tree-filled suburb.
"Come on, Kate," Tony said behind her. "Doesn't a man have a right to privacy?"
"Oh, that's rich," she said. "Coming from a man who routinely goes through my purse, my computer files, my desk drawers..." She unlocked his door, reminded herself Tony was a bachelor, braced herself, and went in. And gasped.
The door opened into a large room with a high ceiling and many windows. On the left, a kitchen faced in blond wood cabinets overlooked a tiny balcony; the window over the sink held a sad-looking vine in a pot. A small table, only large enough for two, sat on the edge of the kitchen area. To her right, a large living/dining room was done in shades of brown and gold. The gold rug on the hardwood floor matched the gold pillows and throw on the brown leather couch. The couch itself divided the living area from the kitchen, and faced a huge plasma television hung on the opposite wall. The coffee table held neatly arranged magazines--she expected soft core porn and was surprised to find only sports, men's fashions, and movie magazines. She had no idea what color the walls were, because the floor-to-ceiling shelves were crammed with what had to be the world's largest private collection of DVDs and videotapes.
What had surprised her, however, was the status of this apartment. It was immaculate. No dirty socks, no pizza boxes, no beer bottles stacked in a corner. Everything was neatly arranged, harmonious, and clean.
"Tony, do you actually live here?" she said.
Tony slumped against the door frame. "Yeah. Looks like the maid's been in. I'll have to tip her."
The weary tone in his voice drew her gaze. "Oh, God, Tony. Come in. Sit on the couch."
She expected a fight but he surrendered, and let her lead him to the couch. He fell into it and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. His face was haggard, beat. He looked vulnerable and ill. Kate resisted the urge to run her hand over his head, tousling that shaggy hair. "Poor Tony," she said.
He smiled without opening his eyes. "Thanks, Kate. You're ... sweet." His smile faded.
Kate sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing him. She leaned forward. "Tony, when's the last time you ate?"
He shrugged. "Breakfast? If you can call hospital food breakfast."
"It's almost six PM now," she said. "You should eat before you go to bed."
His eyes held a spark of interest, then weariness descended on him like a cloud. "Maybe I'll call out for pizza or something. In any case, you don't have to worry--"
Kate stood. "I thought as much. I'll be right back."
Outside, the breeze had picked up a little, and fat raindrops splattered the sidewalk here and there. Kate hurried to the trunk of her car, retrieved the grocery bags, and ducked back into the building just as the first serious drops began to fall. As the door to the vestibule closed behind her, the breeze brought the smell of wet earth.
Tony was still where she had left him, slumped on his couch, his hands splayed loosely between his thighs, his head back and eyes closed. Kate felt her heart give a little lurch. He'd been through so much, he looked so tired...
She put the bags on the spotless counter beside the sink and started to unpack. "I've done this before," she said conversationally. "Last time I brought my mom home from the hospital, she hadn't eaten all day and the refrigerator was empty." She opened cabinets, searching for a pantry, and found one with canned goods. "So I stopped by the grocery on the way to the hospital. I didn't know what you liked, so I assumed Italian."
"Good assumption," said Tony, right behind her. She jumped.
"Goodness!" she said, turning around. She glanced down at his bare feet. "No fair."
He took a jar of marinara sauce out of her hand and examined the label closely. "Canned spaghetti sauce? Seriously?"
He still looked haggard, but his voice held a little more life than it had half an hour ago. Must be the mention of food, she thought. Typical Tony.
"You don't like spaghetti?"
His eyes widened. "Don't like..." He reached past her and opened the door of the freezer.
Kate saw several plastic freezer containers. "Souvenirs?" she quipped.
He drew out a container and handed it to her. "Microwave. Five minutes on full power, let it sit five minutes, then five minutes on full power again."
She looked at the handwritten label and recognized Tony's handwriting. "You made this?"
He straightened. "My aunt Letty's recipe. From the old country." He smiled slightly. "You'll find the pasta on the second shelf. I'm going to go get a shower. I'm hoping you'll stay for dinner." There was just enough of the DiNozzo smugness in that last statement to get her back up, but then she saw the hesitation in his step as he turned away, saw the slump in his shoulders, and relaxed. He's keeping up appearances, she told herself. Never-say-die-DiNozzo. She turned her attention to the preparation of a simple meal of spaghetti and salad and bread.
She was setting the table for two when he came back in. She glanced up, and then away, her cheeks warming. Tony wore only striped silk pajama bottoms and a smile. He was toweling his wet hair, and smiled when he saw her reaction.
"Miss me?"
She refused to look at him, and picked up the pot of pasta to strain through a colander in the sink. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to dress for dinner?"
"This is Dolce and Gabbana!"
"Put on a shirt."
"And get spaghetti sauce on a hundred dollar silk pajama top?"
"Tony!" Her voice warned of dire consequences.
He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "That smells good."
She straightened, a pasta server in hand, and glared at him. "Tony!"
He sat there, naked from the waist up, and gave her his most beatific smile. "Is it ready? I could eat a horse."
Well, it was his kitchen, his place, his rules. Reluctantly, Kate dished up spaghetti and sauce on two plates and brought them to the table. She set one before Tony, and smelled shampoo as he leaned forward, sniffing the sauce. "Wonderful!" he said.
She seated herself across from him, trying to avoid looking at his chest. But the image was there, even as she twirled spaghetti around with a fork. Broad, well muscled, curly hair thick enough to tickle but not bearishly abundant, rippled abs...yeah, she should not be thinking like this. She'd caught glimpses of him before, notably during an overnight security detail when he'd felt free to invade the bathroom when she was showering, but now...
"This is really good," Tony said, bent over his plate.
"I can't really take credit for it," she said dryly. "It's your sauce."
"I know. That's why it's so good," he said. He glanced at the water in his glass. "I guess you missed the wine. It's in the rack under the--"
"I didn't miss it, Tony," she said. This is ridiculous. I can look at him. I've seen him practically naked, in the isolation ward last week. She let her eyes meet his. "I heard Dr. Pitt when he released you. He said no wine for a month."
"No wine? With Italian food?" Tony's voice rose in shock.
"Between the plague and high-potency antibiotics, your liver has been under heavy assault. The last thing it needs is a half a bottle of Dago Red to filter."
'But--"
"No, Tony," she said firmly. He looked so pathetic, sitting there half-dressed, with spaghetti sauce on the corner of his mouth and a woebegone expression, that Kate couldn't help herself. She smiled. "Tell you what. One month from today, I'll buy you a full Italian dinner, with wine, at the restaurant of your choice."
His eyes brightened. "You asking me on a date, Agent Todd?"
She winced. "No. No, it's a ... a celebration. Of your recovery."
"It's a date," he said triumphantly.
"A celebration--"
"Casimiro's. Over in Bethesda. Their chef makes his own ricotta cheese--"
"I was thinking of Olive Garden," she said wickedly.
Tony winced. "Oh. Okay."
She was finishing her salad when her cell phoned beeped. As she rose from the table, Tony stood up unsteadily. "I'll get the dishes," he said.
"No, no! You go to bed. I'll clean up," she said. She found her purse and flipped open her phone. "Hello, Gibbs."
Jethro Gibbs' soft growl sounded in her ear. "How is he?"
"He's Tony," she said acerbically. "Annoying, pig-headed, over--"
"Is he healthy, Agent Todd?" She caught the hint of amusement under Gibbs' voice.
She turned to look at Tony, who stood with a plate in each hand, grinning foolishly at her. "He's fine," she said.
"Thanks for driving him home."
"It was a public service," she said. "On his best day, Tony is a traffic hazard when he's behind the wheel."
"Hey!" Tony pretended to stagger with shock. He nearly dropped a plate, recovered, and grinned at her again.
"Tell him I don't want to see him for a week." Gibbs hung up.
She closed her cell. "The boss says stay home for a week."
Tony had opened the dishwasher and was rinsing the plates. "I was planning on going in tomorrow."
"Didn't you hear me? Gibbs says he doesn't want you to come in."
"What, and use up all my accrued sick time? Hand me that salad bowl, will you?"
She took a fork out of his hand, gently elbowing him aside. "Go to bed, Tony. You need your rest."
He stood aside as she rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. "I was thinking about watching a movie. Wanna stay and help me?"
"It's been a long day," she said, not looking at him. She was all too aware of him, less than an arm's length away, bare chested and barefoot, with those laser blue eyes looking at her. I should go, she thought. But she didn't want to. And she didn't want to ask herself why that was.
"Casablanca?" Tony said. "'Here's looking at you, kid'," he said in his best Bogart voice. "Or I've got Gone With the Wind. 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn'."
She laughed despite herself. "Your Clark Gable sounds like your Jimmy Stewart."
Tony put a hand on his chest. "You wound me. Seriously."
She closed the door of the dishwasher and turned it on. It came to life with a quiet hum. She glanced out the window over the sink. The sun was down, and even though light lingered in the sky, lights were coming on all over the neighborhood. She turned to him, laying aside the dishtowel she'd been wiping her hands with. "I should go. Really."
"I've got popcorn," he said, and stepped forward. "Two kinds."
She resisted the urge to step back, and now they were nearly chest to chest. She smelled soap, and shampoo, and something musky and male under that--Tony's skin. "Tony, are you ... are you trying to ... seduce me?"
He grinned, opened his mouth...and stopped. She saw the laughter dying in his eyes along with his smile. This close, she could see lines at the corners of his eyes she hadn't seen before, could see the hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes, signs of the physical trials he'd been through the past few days. "I ... " He swallowed, looking solemn. "I think ... I'm trying to thank you, Kate."
She felt a flush go through her, warm and slow. "You don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do." He reached out. She didn't resist when he took her hands in his, very gently. "I ... I know what you did back there, for me. In the hospital."
"I don't know what you're--"
"Jimmy Palmer came by to visit yesterday," he said. His eyes were intense now, shading from gray-blue to blue. She could not look away. "He told me everything. That the blood tests all came back negative, except mine. Yet you stayed."
"I didn't know--"
"Yes, you did," he said. He tugged on her hands, and now she was up against him. Her hands still caught in his, he slid his hands around to her back. "You could have caught it from me. Yet you stayed."
She said nothing, remembering the feeling of rising panic as she'd watched him ebb, watched him grow weaker, fighting the deadly bacterium with his usual wit and courage. She'd watched him flirt with the nurses even as he coughed up half his lungs. "It was dead..." she whispered. "The man who engineered it built in a suicide gene."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She felt his lips on her skin. "You didn't know that then," he whispered. "For all you knew, you were exposing yourself to the plague. Yet you stayed. With me." He rested his forehead against hers. "Why?"
She felt the room go still and warm around them, the night darkening outside the window. It was only the two of them, breathing, quiet, together. She let her defenses fall. "I didn't want you to die alone." She felt the catch in her breath. "I ... I didn't want you to die."
His hands released hers, pulled her into an embrace that put her cheek against his bare chest. It tickles, she thought with an inward laugh.
"That was ... kind of you, Kate," he said into her hair. "If I had to die ... I'd ... I'd want you there with me."
She looked up at him. "Same goes," she said softly.
He bent down only a little, and the pressure of his mouth on hers was soft, very gentle. Not what she'd expected of a practiced seducer. But for all her inexperience, this kiss didn't feel like seduction. It felt ... honest. So she closed her eyes and let herself feel his mouth on hers, let herself feel the warmth and silky softness of his lips. His arms tightened a little, then released her.
But his mouth didn't. His mouth pressed hers, and she felt his tongue slick against her mouth, and then she opened her mouth and let him in. His tongue was slow, sure, unhurried. She felt warm all over. She wasn't used to this kind of unhurried exploration. Her head reeled. She shuddered, and then realized he must have sensed her reaction, and felt embarrassment war with arousal.
She pulled away quickly, leaving him bright-eyed but silent before her. "Tony... I ..."
He put a finger on her lips. "Kate--" He leaned down again.
"We can't--"
"I know." He kissed the corner of her mouth.
"We shouldn't--"
"You're right. These things never work out." He kissed the other corner of her mouth.
"Everyone would know--"
"Don't ask, don't tell," he said lazily, and captured her further protest with a kiss, a little harder now, more urgent, still as sensual and irresistible as before. And this time the heat that went through her was not slow. It was hot and quick as her heartbeat, and the dizzy feeling came and went, and most of her remembered that she had nearly lost this man, that she had wept for this man, prayed for this man, and worried for this man. And now she wanted this man.
"You can just drop me here," he said. He fumbled at the seat belt catch. "You don't have to come up."
Kate reached over and clicked his seat belt open. "You can't even get out of the car. I'll take your stuff in."
"No, no, it's all right," he said hastily, but Kate had already opened her door.
The light was dying in the west; Kate figured the sun was half an hour from setting. An overcast sky threatened rain, and the breeze on her cheek was cool. She opened the back door of her car. On the other side, Tony struggled out of the front seat and leaned on the hood, trying to hide the fact that he was gasping.
She yanked the gym bag (Gucci, of course) out of the back seat and slammed the door. Why did the man have to be so stubborn? Was it reflex? "Tony, come on. You're in no shape to be playing tough guy."
Tony looked at her, his hair mussed, his jaw unshaven, and gave her that patented DiNozzo grin. "I don't have to play at it. It comes naturally."
Kate shook her head, amused. At least he was smiling. "Let's get you upstairs."
The grin vanished and he straightened. "Seriously, Kate. I appreciate the ride home from the hospital, but --"
"But me no buts, DiNozzo," she said crisply. She strode around the car, juggling his keys in her hand. "You're not going to win this argument. Do you want to lead, or do I have to find it myself?"
He argued with her all the way up to the third floor of his apartment building, a quiet brick edifice in west Georgetown. Kate had been surprised at the address; she'd envisioned the slick Tony in more upscale digs in the fashionable part of town. What must his neighbors think of his parties? Because she was sure Tony's parties were regular barn burners.
"I'm fine. Here, give me the keys. I'll open the door, you can hand me the bag--"
"Tony, how many dead bodies do you have stacked in your living room?"
He hesitated, half-grinning. "It's the girls in the cages. They're shy."
"Because they're naked?"
His eyes opened all the way. "Why, Kate, are you... teasing me?"
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. She glanced at a sign on the wall and turned left. Tony's apartment was at the end of the hall; a window across from his front door overlooked a quiet, tree-filled suburb.
"Come on, Kate," Tony said behind her. "Doesn't a man have a right to privacy?"
"Oh, that's rich," she said. "Coming from a man who routinely goes through my purse, my computer files, my desk drawers..." She unlocked his door, reminded herself Tony was a bachelor, braced herself, and went in. And gasped.
The door opened into a large room with a high ceiling and many windows. On the left, a kitchen faced in blond wood cabinets overlooked a tiny balcony; the window over the sink held a sad-looking vine in a pot. A small table, only large enough for two, sat on the edge of the kitchen area. To her right, a large living/dining room was done in shades of brown and gold. The gold rug on the hardwood floor matched the gold pillows and throw on the brown leather couch. The couch itself divided the living area from the kitchen, and faced a huge plasma television hung on the opposite wall. The coffee table held neatly arranged magazines--she expected soft core porn and was surprised to find only sports, men's fashions, and movie magazines. She had no idea what color the walls were, because the floor-to-ceiling shelves were crammed with what had to be the world's largest private collection of DVDs and videotapes.
What had surprised her, however, was the status of this apartment. It was immaculate. No dirty socks, no pizza boxes, no beer bottles stacked in a corner. Everything was neatly arranged, harmonious, and clean.
"Tony, do you actually live here?" she said.
Tony slumped against the door frame. "Yeah. Looks like the maid's been in. I'll have to tip her."
The weary tone in his voice drew her gaze. "Oh, God, Tony. Come in. Sit on the couch."
She expected a fight but he surrendered, and let her lead him to the couch. He fell into it and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. His face was haggard, beat. He looked vulnerable and ill. Kate resisted the urge to run her hand over his head, tousling that shaggy hair. "Poor Tony," she said.
He smiled without opening his eyes. "Thanks, Kate. You're ... sweet." His smile faded.
Kate sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing him. She leaned forward. "Tony, when's the last time you ate?"
He shrugged. "Breakfast? If you can call hospital food breakfast."
"It's almost six PM now," she said. "You should eat before you go to bed."
His eyes held a spark of interest, then weariness descended on him like a cloud. "Maybe I'll call out for pizza or something. In any case, you don't have to worry--"
Kate stood. "I thought as much. I'll be right back."
Outside, the breeze had picked up a little, and fat raindrops splattered the sidewalk here and there. Kate hurried to the trunk of her car, retrieved the grocery bags, and ducked back into the building just as the first serious drops began to fall. As the door to the vestibule closed behind her, the breeze brought the smell of wet earth.
Tony was still where she had left him, slumped on his couch, his hands splayed loosely between his thighs, his head back and eyes closed. Kate felt her heart give a little lurch. He'd been through so much, he looked so tired...
She put the bags on the spotless counter beside the sink and started to unpack. "I've done this before," she said conversationally. "Last time I brought my mom home from the hospital, she hadn't eaten all day and the refrigerator was empty." She opened cabinets, searching for a pantry, and found one with canned goods. "So I stopped by the grocery on the way to the hospital. I didn't know what you liked, so I assumed Italian."
"Good assumption," said Tony, right behind her. She jumped.
"Goodness!" she said, turning around. She glanced down at his bare feet. "No fair."
He took a jar of marinara sauce out of her hand and examined the label closely. "Canned spaghetti sauce? Seriously?"
He still looked haggard, but his voice held a little more life than it had half an hour ago. Must be the mention of food, she thought. Typical Tony.
"You don't like spaghetti?"
His eyes widened. "Don't like..." He reached past her and opened the door of the freezer.
Kate saw several plastic freezer containers. "Souvenirs?" she quipped.
He drew out a container and handed it to her. "Microwave. Five minutes on full power, let it sit five minutes, then five minutes on full power again."
She looked at the handwritten label and recognized Tony's handwriting. "You made this?"
He straightened. "My aunt Letty's recipe. From the old country." He smiled slightly. "You'll find the pasta on the second shelf. I'm going to go get a shower. I'm hoping you'll stay for dinner." There was just enough of the DiNozzo smugness in that last statement to get her back up, but then she saw the hesitation in his step as he turned away, saw the slump in his shoulders, and relaxed. He's keeping up appearances, she told herself. Never-say-die-DiNozzo. She turned her attention to the preparation of a simple meal of spaghetti and salad and bread.
She was setting the table for two when he came back in. She glanced up, and then away, her cheeks warming. Tony wore only striped silk pajama bottoms and a smile. He was toweling his wet hair, and smiled when he saw her reaction.
"Miss me?"
She refused to look at him, and picked up the pot of pasta to strain through a colander in the sink. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to dress for dinner?"
"This is Dolce and Gabbana!"
"Put on a shirt."
"And get spaghetti sauce on a hundred dollar silk pajama top?"
"Tony!" Her voice warned of dire consequences.
He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "That smells good."
She straightened, a pasta server in hand, and glared at him. "Tony!"
He sat there, naked from the waist up, and gave her his most beatific smile. "Is it ready? I could eat a horse."
Well, it was his kitchen, his place, his rules. Reluctantly, Kate dished up spaghetti and sauce on two plates and brought them to the table. She set one before Tony, and smelled shampoo as he leaned forward, sniffing the sauce. "Wonderful!" he said.
She seated herself across from him, trying to avoid looking at his chest. But the image was there, even as she twirled spaghetti around with a fork. Broad, well muscled, curly hair thick enough to tickle but not bearishly abundant, rippled abs...yeah, she should not be thinking like this. She'd caught glimpses of him before, notably during an overnight security detail when he'd felt free to invade the bathroom when she was showering, but now...
"This is really good," Tony said, bent over his plate.
"I can't really take credit for it," she said dryly. "It's your sauce."
"I know. That's why it's so good," he said. He glanced at the water in his glass. "I guess you missed the wine. It's in the rack under the--"
"I didn't miss it, Tony," she said. This is ridiculous. I can look at him. I've seen him practically naked, in the isolation ward last week. She let her eyes meet his. "I heard Dr. Pitt when he released you. He said no wine for a month."
"No wine? With Italian food?" Tony's voice rose in shock.
"Between the plague and high-potency antibiotics, your liver has been under heavy assault. The last thing it needs is a half a bottle of Dago Red to filter."
'But--"
"No, Tony," she said firmly. He looked so pathetic, sitting there half-dressed, with spaghetti sauce on the corner of his mouth and a woebegone expression, that Kate couldn't help herself. She smiled. "Tell you what. One month from today, I'll buy you a full Italian dinner, with wine, at the restaurant of your choice."
His eyes brightened. "You asking me on a date, Agent Todd?"
She winced. "No. No, it's a ... a celebration. Of your recovery."
"It's a date," he said triumphantly.
"A celebration--"
"Casimiro's. Over in Bethesda. Their chef makes his own ricotta cheese--"
"I was thinking of Olive Garden," she said wickedly.
Tony winced. "Oh. Okay."
She was finishing her salad when her cell phoned beeped. As she rose from the table, Tony stood up unsteadily. "I'll get the dishes," he said.
"No, no! You go to bed. I'll clean up," she said. She found her purse and flipped open her phone. "Hello, Gibbs."
Jethro Gibbs' soft growl sounded in her ear. "How is he?"
"He's Tony," she said acerbically. "Annoying, pig-headed, over--"
"Is he healthy, Agent Todd?" She caught the hint of amusement under Gibbs' voice.
She turned to look at Tony, who stood with a plate in each hand, grinning foolishly at her. "He's fine," she said.
"Thanks for driving him home."
"It was a public service," she said. "On his best day, Tony is a traffic hazard when he's behind the wheel."
"Hey!" Tony pretended to stagger with shock. He nearly dropped a plate, recovered, and grinned at her again.
"Tell him I don't want to see him for a week." Gibbs hung up.
She closed her cell. "The boss says stay home for a week."
Tony had opened the dishwasher and was rinsing the plates. "I was planning on going in tomorrow."
"Didn't you hear me? Gibbs says he doesn't want you to come in."
"What, and use up all my accrued sick time? Hand me that salad bowl, will you?"
She took a fork out of his hand, gently elbowing him aside. "Go to bed, Tony. You need your rest."
He stood aside as she rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. "I was thinking about watching a movie. Wanna stay and help me?"
"It's been a long day," she said, not looking at him. She was all too aware of him, less than an arm's length away, bare chested and barefoot, with those laser blue eyes looking at her. I should go, she thought. But she didn't want to. And she didn't want to ask herself why that was.
"Casablanca?" Tony said. "'Here's looking at you, kid'," he said in his best Bogart voice. "Or I've got Gone With the Wind. 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn'."
She laughed despite herself. "Your Clark Gable sounds like your Jimmy Stewart."
Tony put a hand on his chest. "You wound me. Seriously."
She closed the door of the dishwasher and turned it on. It came to life with a quiet hum. She glanced out the window over the sink. The sun was down, and even though light lingered in the sky, lights were coming on all over the neighborhood. She turned to him, laying aside the dishtowel she'd been wiping her hands with. "I should go. Really."
"I've got popcorn," he said, and stepped forward. "Two kinds."
She resisted the urge to step back, and now they were nearly chest to chest. She smelled soap, and shampoo, and something musky and male under that--Tony's skin. "Tony, are you ... are you trying to ... seduce me?"
He grinned, opened his mouth...and stopped. She saw the laughter dying in his eyes along with his smile. This close, she could see lines at the corners of his eyes she hadn't seen before, could see the hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes, signs of the physical trials he'd been through the past few days. "I ... " He swallowed, looking solemn. "I think ... I'm trying to thank you, Kate."
She felt a flush go through her, warm and slow. "You don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do." He reached out. She didn't resist when he took her hands in his, very gently. "I ... I know what you did back there, for me. In the hospital."
"I don't know what you're--"
"Jimmy Palmer came by to visit yesterday," he said. His eyes were intense now, shading from gray-blue to blue. She could not look away. "He told me everything. That the blood tests all came back negative, except mine. Yet you stayed."
"I didn't know--"
"Yes, you did," he said. He tugged on her hands, and now she was up against him. Her hands still caught in his, he slid his hands around to her back. "You could have caught it from me. Yet you stayed."
She said nothing, remembering the feeling of rising panic as she'd watched him ebb, watched him grow weaker, fighting the deadly bacterium with his usual wit and courage. She'd watched him flirt with the nurses even as he coughed up half his lungs. "It was dead..." she whispered. "The man who engineered it built in a suicide gene."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She felt his lips on her skin. "You didn't know that then," he whispered. "For all you knew, you were exposing yourself to the plague. Yet you stayed. With me." He rested his forehead against hers. "Why?"
She felt the room go still and warm around them, the night darkening outside the window. It was only the two of them, breathing, quiet, together. She let her defenses fall. "I didn't want you to die alone." She felt the catch in her breath. "I ... I didn't want you to die."
His hands released hers, pulled her into an embrace that put her cheek against his bare chest. It tickles, she thought with an inward laugh.
"That was ... kind of you, Kate," he said into her hair. "If I had to die ... I'd ... I'd want you there with me."
She looked up at him. "Same goes," she said softly.
He bent down only a little, and the pressure of his mouth on hers was soft, very gentle. Not what she'd expected of a practiced seducer. But for all her inexperience, this kiss didn't feel like seduction. It felt ... honest. So she closed her eyes and let herself feel his mouth on hers, let herself feel the warmth and silky softness of his lips. His arms tightened a little, then released her.
But his mouth didn't. His mouth pressed hers, and she felt his tongue slick against her mouth, and then she opened her mouth and let him in. His tongue was slow, sure, unhurried. She felt warm all over. She wasn't used to this kind of unhurried exploration. Her head reeled. She shuddered, and then realized he must have sensed her reaction, and felt embarrassment war with arousal.
She pulled away quickly, leaving him bright-eyed but silent before her. "Tony... I ..."
He put a finger on her lips. "Kate--" He leaned down again.
"We can't--"
"I know." He kissed the corner of her mouth.
"We shouldn't--"
"You're right. These things never work out." He kissed the other corner of her mouth.
"Everyone would know--"
"Don't ask, don't tell," he said lazily, and captured her further protest with a kiss, a little harder now, more urgent, still as sensual and irresistible as before. And this time the heat that went through her was not slow. It was hot and quick as her heartbeat, and the dizzy feeling came and went, and most of her remembered that she had nearly lost this man, that she had wept for this man, prayed for this man, and worried for this man. And now she wanted this man.
Continued...
