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It all started with the random personal things she forgot at his place, which she usually blamed hours of bourbon sipping next to the fire—her reading glasses, a scarf, etc., and this time, a peppermint chapstick. He would curse silently when he found out (once and again) but still bring them to her office in the morning, with his eyes rolling of course.
“Getting old, Sloane?” He barged into her office, a coffee at hand.
She threw him a look over the top of her glass, shutting the file close, her tone overly cheerful. “Good morning to you, too. Special Agent Gibbs.”
He took the chapstick out of his pocket, waved it teasingly before putting in on her desk.
She laughed in relief, rubbing her hands in excitement, “Uh thank god. I was wondering where it went!” Taking it back she immediately took the cap off, smoothed it over, and then pressed her lips contently. He rolled his eyes at her well-rehearsed routine, “Shoulda cut down on that bourbon.”
“Emmm,” she slowed down intentionally, “can’t let you have all the fun, right?” Gibbs chuckled and turned around, heading towards the door.
Then she noticed the coffee on her desk, “Gibbs, your coffee!”
He turned and leaned against the doorframe, patiently, “Taste it, Jack.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Half disbelief in her voice, she grabbed it and took a sip. The sweetness was convincing. “You know,” Jack giggled, “had I known you’d bring me coffee, I would have left things at your place more often.”
Immediately after saying that Jack bit her tongue, metaphorically, realizing that they were in her office, it was 9:37am in the morning, and there were about a hundred federal agents in the building.
Good job, Sloane.
But Gibbs didn’t seem to mind.
“Well, how fast am I gonna run out of bourbon?” He scratched his head a little bit, still standing at the door.
Damn it. He knew the perfect ratio of sweetness to tease. To her he sounded inviting yet vague. “Is that an offer, Gibbs?” She tempted fate before her rational could catch up, cause what’s life without a little risk?
He laughed, knowing it was exactly what he was hoping. “Friday night, you free?”
She took off her glass, realizing the seriousness of his offer, but not ready to give up this little dance. “It depends, are you going to deliver my chapstick to my apartment on Saturday morning?”
To that, he just tilted his head before heading out of her office, “Could always stay. Enough coffee and sugar.”
And then there was only Jack, alone and giggling in her office, hot coffee at hand, her lips tasted like peppermint.