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She doesn't look battered or broken to a stranger, not to just any one person that she meets on the street. She looks put together and not just pretty - she's beautiful. Iron-clad confidence is abundant in the way she carries herself, in the lift of her shoulders, the stretch of her spine. There's elegance in the curves of her calves as she climbs the stairs and flicks him a 'Good Morning' smile before she turns on her way to her office each day. She's gregarious, sweet and energetic.
The sun doesn't just kiss color onto her skin, it absolutely makes love to her for the entire summer season. She looks like all the good things that come out of California but she thinks fast and sharp, all East Coast hustle.
He's never asked her where she's originally from, though. He figures if he goes backwards in the file before him he can probably find out but… He wants to hear the little things from her, not a file. There are details he's never asked her yet…
And he's never otherwise seen a woman show him exactly how gorgeous she is just by the exact pressure her hand puts against his chest when she's trying to get him to just stop and "Listen to me, damn it. It's pertinent information."
She doesn't look anything like the photos he's got spread out in front of him, all of them showing her beaten, bloodied, uncharacteristically weak.
No. Not weak. Rather, the strongest she's ever been. The strongest he's ever seen of her.
She's always been at her strongest when she's looked to be her weakest.
All of the photos in front of him are part of a file he shouldn't even be allowed to open, let alone sift through while having a midnight beer or three.
Again.
For the third night in a row.
(He's having a harder time working through what he's feeling than he'd expected, really… Facing feelings is never easy for him. He'd never imagined… He's having a hard time with falling in love with her because he's always fought most every inevitability just out of goddamn principle.)
Leon's gonna verbally eviscerate him if he realizes that her paperwork is missing. Or try to, at least. Until then, he's gonna make sure nobody sees what he can now see in her - especially what he sees in the photos in front of him.
Hell… she'd probably pulverize his internal organs if she found out that he's looked at her personnel file, let alone stolen it from the director's office. Let alone taken it home.
It goes back tomorrow. It absolutely has to.
He's suddenly sickened by guilt, just for having tread on her trust...
She's very carefully, very specifically, created this woman (one he's starting to have real feelings for). She's unapologetically recreated herself out of the bent wreckage of the photos that are spread out in front of him and he can't disrespect her any more by going past this particular information. He keeps stopping in the same place, stalled up and brought down by photographic evidence of her nightmares.
She was whipped and beaten and fuck knows what else? Dragged, cut, burned? Raped and tortured? He knows by the markings alone that she was bound repeatedly. He knows from the first full medical assessment that she had a total of four broken bones and somewhere around fifteen to twenty isolated lash marks. Split lip, burn marks on her inner thighs, outer breasts, under her arms. Welts littered down her lower back, across her stomach and thighs.
His own wrist aches in sympathy as he lifts his cell and flips it open, very determinedly pushing the keys while he squints. He may have to get a smartphone just be to able to see the goddamn screen.
Home all right? he texts, deliberately making sure everything is typed out correctly.
He figures she's likely already asleep. That or too far gone into almost sleep that she'll ignore him instead of answering with Yeah, all good. You?
Well… shit. He honestly hadn't expected an answer and now he can feel his chest get tight, his left hand lifting to flip the folder closed. Yup. Fine. Just checking.
Wanna talk? It's a fast follow up and he simply stares at it for a moment, encompassed by the possibilities that simple question opens up to him. Does he? Probably not with most anyone else. With her?
He answers as quickly as he can, double tapping keys and rolling his eyes at himself. Call me.
It only takes a hundred and forty seconds or so for his phone to ring, not that he's counting. And he answers it with a simple, "Maybe you should just come over?"
The sound of her happy laughter is a balm, unexpectedly comforting and full of sensuality at once. "Oh, yeah? Really gonna call me over at midnight to talk?"
Jesus Christ. He can't even have a proper discussion without accidentally propositioning her. "Didn't mean it to come out that way."
"Oh… well that's unfortunate," she laughs again, as though she hadn't expected any different. He hears her exhale just before her voice softens, though. "What's wrong, Gibbs? Level with me."
"I dunno." He doesn't know how to tell her that he's gotten all mixed up about her, about how he feels about her. Is it love? In some way, yeah. Is he in love? Well… in some way, yeah.
"I think you do know. What're you doing right now?"
He debates a lie and near automatically throws it out (they don't lie to each other). Instead he opts for a version of truth that's more acceptable to her. For the moment, at least. "Drinking. Looking at a picture of you."
"Got a bottle of Dutch Courage beside you, Gunny?" Her laughter is never as satisfying over the phone as it is in real life. He thinks it's probably because he can't see how real it is in her eyes, he can’t find laugh lines in the echo of cell reception.
He just wants that laughter in his house awhile, maybe. Maybe longer than just awhile...
"Just a couple beers."
A hummed noise of acceptance comes over the line and he trusts that she believes him, knows she's putting pieces together in that nimble brain of hers. Especially when the next question is, "When did you get a picture of me?"
Again… it's truth by slight omission. Half a truth doesn't mean the other half is a lie. It just means he'd rather she didn't take a swing at him by finding out which picture. "Took it from Leon. Why don't I have one of my own?"
"A picture of your own or a me of your own?" It almost sounds like sex when she says it. It sounds like a moan made while his fingers are inside her and he has to swallow the lump in his throat. He's also gotta shift back in the chair, adjust his pants, and figure out when the hell they both decided to just give up on pretending that they're anything but almost lovers.
She knows why he needs to hear her voice in the middle of the night. He's not keen on pretending that she doesn't. "Gladly take either."
"You sure it's just a few beers?"
He forces himself up from the chair because he suddenly can't sit still, the phone to his ear and the other hand scrubbing against his scalp.
There isn't enough oxygen in the whole of his house because he can’t seem to draw a deep breath.
He never should have texted her.
It was inevitable that he would.
"Where you from, Sloane?" he asks, not even knowing where the question comes from, not knowing how he got to the front door so quickly.
"What's it matter?" she asks him, very obviously bemused by the shift in the conversation, by his blatant and not-so-artful dodgery. Her voice is still kind, though. It's banked somewhere between best-friend-voice and therapist-tone.
"Just never asked is all," he softens back, leaving the door open as he steps out onto the front stoop.
"Well, okay," she begins, voice cooling him down with comfort as she begins a story that has him stretching down to sit. "This is really what you wanna talk about?"
He just makes an affirmative noise in his throat, nodding before he takes a swallow from his bottle and listens to the strength of her tone and the way it curls back the heat of a swamped August night.
***
They don't discuss it the next day and especially not in front of the rest of the team. Not when the first time he sees her is when she comes quickly down the stairs and heads for Ellie's desk.
At least it gives him a chance to study her without her brown eyes staring back at him, without her questioning his motivation.
Damn, she's beautiful… In just a white linen button down and a tight fitting black pencil skirt she still manages to put a half stutter in his heartbeat. It clinches his lungs tight, makes the space between his shoulder blades pinch.
She makes him ache in the best possible way, just by the lift of her hands as she laughs along with Ellie and uses them to exaggerate her point. By the undimmed shine of her smile as the both of them laugh at something he hasn't been paying attention to… Bishop stands to meet her and it jerks at his attention and distracts his perusal, draws him back to the moment.
Gets him trapped, is what it does... because when she does turn her head, just before Ellie blocks his view, she has a slowly made smile on her lips. It's so specifically made for him that he lets his shoulders slant back in his chair and he can't help but smirk back.
The smile is more than enough. The quick wink she gives before walking away is just a proverbial gut punch.
TKO... He's down for the count and she hasn't even told him 'Good Morning' yet.
It's gonna be the longest Thursday in forever.
***
Wanna call?
Oh, this time it's an option. It's all up to her, huh?
She shrugs at the text even though no one can see her, acting as though she hasn't been fidgeting with her phone for nearly an hour.
It's not as though she's terribly busy.
She's just been reading and waiting to see if lightning ever strikes inside the same bottle two nights in a row. She considers it but the urge to delay calling back is quickly thrown aside for two reasons: there's no need to be sophomoric about it and also… Gibbs has got a pretty sexy 11pm voice and she really likes listening to him. So three reasons, if she's honest.
"Quicker than I thought'd be." His voice isn't teasing or accusatory, just honest. It's gentler than she had expected, thicker and growlier. Sexier, all slow heat and graveled.
"Had my phone in bed with me." She shrugs and tips farther onto her side on the mattress, enjoying the way the air conditioning breezes against her bare legs as she exhales and hears him grunt. A large metallic thunk sounds off in the background and she near laughs, pausing as he huffs over the line. "Y'okay, Cowboy?"
"Handplane slipped," he mutters before breathing in sharply. "You have any idea how good you looked in that skirt today?"
Wow. Kudos to him for just jumping right into the main course, no regrets later. That's her sorta Thursday night. "I do now."
"You knew before," he accuses, a breath thrown away in half annoyance that she figures is mostly just put on for her anyhow.
She had seen him run a look up and down the length of her more than once during the day. It had been one of the most enjoyable parts of her day, counting how often she had caught him.
"I did, yeah," she admits with mild chagrin, shrugging into humor as she fidgets her fingers on the hem of the running shorts she's wearing. "I'm pleased you liked it, though."
A hard breath hashes over the line and she can nearly hear him deciding on what he's about to say. "We not gonna talk about talking?"
"Gibbs, we can talk about whatever you like, whenever you like." Jack keeps her voice calm and soothing on purpose, trying to keep the conversation light. "I was following your lead."
"Were you goin' to bed?"
She breathes out a brief sound of negation before answering, "Reading. I don't sleep much."
That's a slight understatement lately - she's been barely sleeping well at all. When she does manage to get more than a few hours it's not nearly as restful as she'd like. Her mind has been distracted, slogged down by rehashing the choices she's made that she can't change.
Since finding herself face to face with her daughter she's been distracted, flux with emotions she doesn't always know what to do with. She's also not finding a lot of emotional outlets, having trouble finding someone to vent to when it starts to feel bigger than real life.
"Reading what?"
"A poetry book that Ellie gave me," she tells him before realizing the words have tripped past any sort of mental censorship. Another clapped sound punctuates her pause and then the sound of wood rolling onto a floor. "Have you been in the basement all night?"
"Keep goin'. Read." He's utterly ignored her attempt to change the subject, instead pushing her into reading to him.
She can't say that she isn't attracted to the idea, though. It's a sweetly intimate suggestion and she can't help but smile into the lazed silence between them. Jack can hear him smack the flat of his hand into something and her face flushes warmer, the mental image of him working in the basement surprisingly more decadent to her proverbial palate than she had thought.
She'd rather be in his basement reading to him. This much would have to do, though. "Over the phone?"
"Why not?"
"Yeah?" She flips the book back open against the tops of her updrawn thighs. "Not sure this is your sorta reading material."
She can hear the consistent back and forth of the handplane again, his breathing deep and even over the line. "I like hearing your voice."
Funny, that was exactly what she'd been thinking earlier.
***
He's listened to her sleep on speaker phone for twenty minutes or so, hands busy but his hearing honed in on her slow and rhythmic breathing. One small whimper of a sound catches his attention and he pauses at the bench, lifting his head and angling back toward where the phone is perched behind him.
She makes another sound and it's distinctly not good, very obviously a sound that grows and expands in the haze of a nightmare and it amplifies his concern. He's instantly reminded of the photos he's left upstairs, the closed folder that he hadn't been able to bring himself to give back yet.
He should have locked it back up… because now he can't help but feel like he's let something dark out of its cage. Even despite keeping it hidden.
"Jack," he says, voice controlled and solid as he clatters the rasp to the table top and turns, letting it be loud. "Wake up."
The whimper she makes is a sound that near drops the floor from beneath him. If anything tangible was doing it, if anyone had her making that sound… He swallows against the sick taste at the back of his tongue, bites down as she moans again.
She's terrified. Whatever she's seeing has her clapped up and trapped in fear.
"Jack," he raises louder, puts twice the previous authority in his tone and hears her short-jerked moan in response. "Get it together, Lieutenant."
"Hey," she answers, voice murky, dragged deeper than consciousness as she tries to shake out of dreaming. He wishes he could see her face, just to see how aware her eyes are as she continues. "You don't tell me what to do."
Gibbs leans forward, grabbing up the phone and turning off the speaker so that he can hear the real depth of her voice instead of an echo. "You with me? You were dreamin'."
"I know," she admits, voice a little shaky. "Gibbs?"
"Go back to sleep, sweetheart."
***
Of course she can't even get to her office before he's in her space, making her senses stir crazy. She can feel her face pinken up warm and she's not even entirely sure why, besides the way he's looking at her.
"What?" she asks as he half grins at her, his eyes lit and bemused as she steps into the elevator with him.
"Nothin'," he defends quietly, leaned back into the middle of the wall. "I'm just looking at you."
"You're smirking." Jack eyes him suspiciously as she jabs the button for her floor. "Just say it. Whatever it is."
Gibbs nods to himself as the door slides closed, chuckling quietly before he passes her an impish look. "You snore."
"The hell I do." She slaps at him playfully, catching onto the forearm he lifts in supposed self defense. It's a fight of hands but she gives in easily, letting him catch their fingers together.
There's a practised ease to the way he shifts his weight to the left and catches around her with the other arm. She doesn't fight the way he pins her up into the entire left side of him, a laugh coming off his lips as she settles into him and huffs. He's so beautifully tall and she takes a breath, enjoying the feel of his arm around her.
"It's not even eight in the morning, Cowboy. At least let the coffee kick in a little."
One of his brows lifts, he's drawn back so that he can give her a good once over and a squint. "You get any sleep at all?"
Jack just lifts a hand in non-answer, fingers catching on his shirt collar and straightening what doesn't need to be straightened. Her head angles slightly, bringing their mouths closer than she can remember them having been before. "Gibbs."
"How often are you having nightmares?" he asks with a whisper.
"You were a lot cuter when we were just flirting." He's pretty cute, regardless…
"Sloane?"
"I've been having them, on and off, for a decade," she murmurs, eyes meeting his in mild accusation. "And you haven't?"
"Point taken."
The elevator stops far sooner than she would have liked and she tries to step back as the car settles on his floor. She realizes, as it dings, that he isn't letting her loose and she tries to fight the strength of his forearm. He's gotten her just distracted enough that she doesn't feel him turn his lips brushing on hers until he lands a chaste kiss against the corner of her mouth.
"Son of a bitch," she mutters as the door opens, leaving them a surprising sight to the person on the other side. There's really no hiding the fact that she's entirely plastered herself right up the front of him.
"Mornin', Leon." His hand strokes down her side and off her slow enough that she passes a half glare of annoyance up the length of him. Cheeky shit. He's purposely made it even more obvious now.
She can't stay too awfully mad at him when he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, though, stepping around their boss as though nothing has changed. He shows no regrets, no fear, no concern. That, she realizes, is exactly the response she would expect from Jethro Gibbs.
"Good morning," she offers, brightening it up with a smile as the door starts to close and Vance just lifts a flat hand to stop it.
She can't decide if he wants to scream or laugh and by the perplexed look on his face?? She's not entirely sure he knows, either.
"I should not be surprised," he says quietly, shaking his head as he steps into the elevator and turns.
She smirks to herself, lowering her head as her hands go together and she shrugs. "Nothing's happened yet, Leon."
"Just…" he lifts his hand between them without turning his head. "Discretion, please."
"Purely professional, I swear," she teases, grinning as she bumps her elbow against his and laughs. He's smiling at least, that private half smirk of his (the same one Kayla's got). She hadn't thought to worry about what Leon might say, hadn't been as concerned as she probably should have been. Luckily she hasn't shred through all her good graces with him, though. He finally gives her a larger smile as they get to their floor and he puts out a hand to hold the door and motion her forward at once.
"Don't tell Grace that I know, all right?" He requests, voice purposely quiet. "She'll never let it go."
The mention of their mutual friend throws her off at first, slows her steps as she nears the turn to her office. Jack squints him up and down, lips pursed as she watches him chuckle near silently. "What's the bet, Leon?"
"A Benny a piece from me and Fornell," he admits with a lazy shrug.
She gives him a shrewd look that's meant to cover the incurable grin she's got. "Hmm... You shoulda had more faith in him."
He gives her a bemused smile, squeezing against her forearm before back-stepping toward his own office. "Frankly, I thought you had more smarts, Jack."
***
He'd spent the entire afternoon trying to come up with a reason to call her later and all that time seems wasted when he finds her sitting on his stoop, the same place he had been two nights before. It's just as oppressively muggy as it had been then and he can tell she's feeling it, her cheeks flushed pink.
She makes it look good, though... Damn.
Her legs have never looked longer than they do when she's in cut off shorts and an OD green tank top, the fabric smoothed right to her skin. He's fairly sure that the beat-to-shit combat boots were probably swiped and 'appropriated' about ten years or so before. She smiles wide right before taking down a long swallow of beer. Seems she brought her own, one empty slot in the six pack beside her and a whole lotta sass coloring her eyes more caramel than brown.
"What took you so long?" The way she says it is a flirt all to itself. It makes him want to reach out and put his fingers through her hair but he doesn't. Yet.
"Had to stop by Leon's office." He'd had to hand back her file, face to face with her dear friend. After that morning's unintentional confession he'd had to own up to the guilt of invading her privacy. And maybe make a promise to the other man, a sort of unspoken agreement that it wouldn't happen again.
"I didn't read it all," he had admitted, shaking his head as Leon had taken the paperwork without a glance downward.
"She know about this?"
He hadn't even opened the file, hadn't needed to open it. And Gibbs had briefly wondered if Leon had known it was missing all along maybe?
"Not yet."
"You read anything that you didn't already know?"
"No sir," he'd said and flinched before making another admission. "I just needed to see it."
He'd needed to see the damage, the aftermath of what had been done to her. His imagination hadn't even come close…
He notices now the way she squints at him after a few beats of silence and he does his best to recover the moment, nodding toward the boots. "Those Corcorans?"
"Vintage," she grins, pleased with herself and with him for noticing. They're inexplicably sexy on her while also being something new and unexpected and he wants to learn every inch of her life. "Thought I would save you a phone call."
He's so happy that she did…
The last thing he wants to do is ruin the picture she makes on his front steps by going inside. Instead he cocks his head to the side so that he can peruse the way she stretches her legs out. So much confidence in her movements, so much assurance. He wishes he could match that but he never feels as sure of her as she seems to be of him.
"Take a load off, Gibbs." She says it like they do this same old thing all the time, patting the step beside her as she stretches her shoulders back. The shift of her upper body gives him a delicious downward view of her clavicle and the side of her throat and he can almost taste it under his tongue. "There's five more in here. We'll order in."
He's getting over-heated though and it sure as hell isn't just the weather. She's flushed pink and hot and he can't help but notice the way her empty hand comes up to tug at her hair and lift it up on top of her head. She's so damn messily perfect sometimes. It's one of the greatest contradictions of her personality, the ability to be an impeccable mess.
"Basement is cooler," he suggests.
"That an invitation?"
"Do you really need one?" Gibbs offers his hand instead of verbally asking and she lights up, her smile infectious. He's surprised by how quickly she takes his hand and levers herself up, forcing him to step into her pull.
He should be surprised by the strength of her kiss when she lays it on him but, if anything, he's more surprised by the feel of her arms wrapping his shoulders and the entire length of her thrown into the front of him. The whole of her leans off the step and forces him to be their balance.
It's been an age and a half since a woman has so energetically grabbed him up for a kiss and he can't help the speed with which his hands respond. He's never needed a reason to want to touch her but to have her consent and desire in one switched second, it makes his gut smolder.
Their location doesn't register at first, not while he's finally digging his hand into waves of soft and warm blonde. Not while he tastes the IPA she keeps insisting on bringing and smells the almond buttered scent of her. Not while the other palm starts at her hip and strokes to her lower back just so he can press her closer.
She makes him forget things… just little things, like the environment, or his nosy neighbors, or his first fucking name.
He loses every ounce of information as soon as she moans into his mouth and continues to melt against him. He lets her run the kiss, lets her make the decisions while her fingertips tease at his hair. She slows the kiss with far more gentleness than she had in starting it and he finds himself opening his eyes to find her blushing hard, her brown eyes glossy and dark.
A shrug takes up her shoulders. "Figured I'd just get that out of the way too."
He laughs at her candor, finally letting his lungs loosen as he slowly exhales and brushes her hair back. There's something indescribably adorable in the way she's got her body weight leaned into him, most of her balance in her toes and held up by the strength of his shoulders.
"You've been wantin' to do that." It's more an accusation than a question but he purposely keeps it soft and low, his glance dropping to watch the way she slicks her tongue against where he'd nipped along her bottom lip.
"I really have," she agrees on a laugh. Jesus she's sweet and so very warm.
"Gotta tell ya something," he murmurs and tucks her tighter, unable to stop himself from ruining a damn good thing.
Guilt has him opening his mouth to speak when he should just be carrying her into the house and stripping her to just soft skin and boots.
"The picture was from my medical file?"
Gibbs shuts his mouth so hard he feels his teeth clink and he draws his head back. His grip loosens on her as she presses her palms to his shoulders and leans back. He holds against her hips as she settles her balance and his hands go awkwardly empty as she reaches for the beer instead of him.
"Personnel," he corrects. "How - "
"Leon doesn't have a picture of me that Jackie isn't in. There's no way he'd let you take one of those." Jack steps half aside, nodding her head toward the front door and making space for him to unlock it. "And you sounded moody. I knew it wasn't a picture of anything good."
"Jack - "
"I don't… it's okay," she murmurs, looking up at him while he dug his keys out, her left hand fixing the collar of his shirt (whether he needed it or not). "I figured then. I knew."
"Still wanna order in?"
Her eyes flick brighter once again, penny-copper-colored in the evening light. "And I wanna lay mostly naked on your basement floor and soak up all the cold."
He notes the devilish shine of light in her eyes at the implication and without questioning it he drops his mouth against hers, enjoying the hummed sound she makes. Her surprised pleasure makes it easier for him to strengthen the kiss, making it full of obvious intent as he tugs her hair back and catches it along the back of her neck. She whimpers as his tongue strokes hers, his teeth gently finding that bottom lip again as she starts to sigh.
"You're serious? About the floor thing?" he asks, unlocking the door and turning the handle open. After a shove he waves her in, chuckling as she hugs the six pack into her chest with a nod.
"Oh, hell yeah."