Work Text:
“Nope,” Gibbs said and turned away. Jack reached out and grabbed one of his hands in both of hers to halt his retreat.
“Gibbs we need to talk about this, you have to talk about this.”
“No, I don’t.” He shook her off.
“We’re not finished.”
“Later.”
“To be continued!” Jack promised to his fleeing backside.
He’d managed to avoid her without trouble, staying busy as the case wrapped up. Typing up the last of the high priority reports, however, he could feel the weight of her gaze on him, watching from the railing of the mezzanine. He could refuse to look up at her, but she wouldn’t leave.
Not for the first time he wondered how she’d fared in her military career. The Jack he knew never did anything she didn’t want to, at least not without putting up a fight. A wonder she’d held on to her commission at all, not hard to see why she hadn’t been promoted past Lieutenant. As smart as she was stubborn, her service record had to be filled with commendations that made up for her insubordinate nature. On the other hand, perhaps she had a perfectly clean record and he really didn’t know Lieutenant Sloane at all. He didn’t have to wonder much about what could cause such a change in behaviour, the scars telling the parts of the story she wouldn’t. He’d put a bullet through his own guilt and trauma; she carried hers around on her back.
Gibbs could put up walls thick and tall and Jack held her own secrets close to the vest under sharp outfits, but whether the keep out signs were brutalist or fashionable neither one seemed to respect those personal boundaries. Jack seemed to take his walls as a challenge to scale, to chisel away at; Gibbs, well, he had various interests in prying away her designer armour. They were both stubborn and when Gibbs tested her she kicked her heels in and didn’t give an inch; when Jack pushed too hard Gibbs was likely to turn heel and run.
Which was what he was going to do to get out from under her concerned gaze before she tired of observing and made her move. He told his team he was leaving for the evidence garage, loud enough for his interloper to hear. With loose ends all but tied up he volunteered himself to return the victim’s personal effects that NCIS was holding to the family near Norfolk, not waiting for the MFPC to play bureaucratic middleman. The family had been through enough and if it gave him the added bonus of escaping Jack’s misplaced concern, all the better.
It was near midnight when he finally made it back to the office to return the fleet car and grab the stuff he’d left behind. His lead foot had quickly put distance between him and Jack on his way out, but then his pace slowed. Though his temper had cooled considerably he had no interest in facing off with her again that evening, even under cooler heads, with her ‘to be continued’ threat still hanging over him. So, he accepted the invitation of the family to stay for coffee, listened to them speak of their daughter who’d been taken too soon and offered his own words of condolence. On the return, he lightened his foot on the gas pedal, knowing his boat and his bourbon would wait up for him, just to be certain there’d be no one at the office when he got back.
But as the elevator doors opened on his way up from the motor pool, the light at his desk illuminating a blonde head told him his plans had been for not, foiled by an equally stubborn woman. She’d stayed longer than he’d stayed away. Though maybe not intentionally, since she was sacked out on his desk using her handbag as a pillow.
Had it been anyone else he’d’ve kicked the desk leg and given them a rude awakening. Had it been earlier that day he’d’ve probably done the same anyway. Instead, he clasped her shoulder and nudged the chair with his knee.
“What are you doing here?”
She blinked up at him, big eyes owlish in supposed innocence. The grain of the leather from her bag was imprinted on her cheek. “You said we’d talk.”
He narrowed his eyes at the half asleep trespasser, “No, that was you.”
She shook her head, more to clear the sleepy confusion than in denial. “What time is it?” she asked covering a small yawn with her fingertips.
“Late,” was all he offered. He picked up her phone from his desk, holding it a few inches from his face. “Passcode” he demanded, holding the phone out to her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, but unlocked it anyway. She could be obedient when she was sleepy, he’d have to remember that.
“Calling you an Uber,” he said poking a finger at the screen.
“Gibbs,” she pouted.
“You’re not sleeping at my desk. I work here.”
“Enough work,” she said and clutched at his jacket. “I don’t want an Uber; I waited for you.”
“Yeah? Ya sure it was me you were waiting for? Not your talk?”
“Not tonight. Take me home, Gibbs.”
“Already made a roundtrip through Virginia, not detouring to your place too.”
“Take me home,” she repeated. “You were gone so long and your desk is a terrible spot to sleep, you have too many monitors.” A second hand poked at his chest. She was getting bolder as she pled her case. “Want your couch, your hoodie,” her list of demands kept growing, “your bed, you.” Her boldness was undermined by another little yawn punctuating her list.
“And my coffee too?” he teased, all her touching was loosening him up.
“In the morning,” she agreed. “Please, I won’t say another word.”
Even if she wasn’t going to talk, her eyes implored him to do as she wanted. With the threat of continuing their earlier conversation off the table, he gave in to what he wanted too. He wanted to be upset with her as much as he wanted to talk about things with her, which was not something he wanted at all. Not like he really knew how to call an Uber anyway.
In answer he pulled the rolling chair away from the desk and stood her up. He helped her into her peacoat hanging off the back of the chair. Still fighting sleep, she leaned against the end of the desk while he got himself sorted.
He opened his desk drawer to grab the keys to his truck, peering in in confusion. “You rifle through my drawer?”
She reached a hand into the pocket of her jacket, bringing it out with a key ring dangling off her finger. She gave him a lazy smile. “Be glad you didn’t stuff me in an Uber, or you’d be sleeping at your desk,” she grimaced and pulled her shoulders back, “and wake up with a sore back.”
He snatched the keys from her. “Ah huh, what happened to not another word?”
“Oops.”
He grabbed her bag along with his own, throwing them over his shoulder. He put a hand to the small of her back and prodded her along. “C’mon, let’s go home.”