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//When I'm away.
I will remember how you kissed me
Under the lamppost back on sixth street
Hearing you whisper through the phone
'Wait for me to come home'//
Tight jeans hugging curves relentlessly, a warm smile on her lips and her face lit up like a kid in a candy store.
That's how Gibbs remembers Kate on nights like these. 'Nights like these' being nights he's stuck alone half way across the country on a case that's taking more out of him than he's willing to admit.
He remembers the way she'd met his stare without a hint of hesitation as she told him that, like a frog she grew what she needed.
He'd been relentlessly proud when he realised that fire of determination hadn't been even close to banking out when she'd kissed him for the first time.
She had, admittedly looked a little like a drowned rat. Rain bucketing down over them both in the cold light of an uncomfortably solved case. She'd clung to him like he was her only hope of surviving in treacherously rough seas as she'd crushed her lips to his with a startling lack of finesse at first. At the realisation he wasn't pushing her away, though, Kate had stopped pushing herself desperately against him, the press of her lips against his had become as sensual as was humanely possible in the freezing winter of Norfolk and he'd found himself pressing her back against a wall for more when she eventually pulled away.
Still, he blinks himself hazily back to the present. To the cold hotel room and endlessly disappointing bed and Kate's low, tired voice on the other end of the phone. Talking about something. He struggles to remember just what for a moment but eventually it dregs up from the back of his mind. The house. Home. She was moving in. And he wasn't there. The thought fills him with guilt. She's always felt a touch uncomfortable there without him, always tells him she feels like she's intruding. He'd laughed off a teasing accusation that the house didn't like her and she was still moving in.
She'd even been the one to tentatively bring it up, and he really had to admire her metaphorical balls on that one.
He forces himself to zone back in on her muffled talking, eyelids heavy as he holds the phone to his ear, splayed out on his back.
"Kate." He mumbles eventually. "What 'n hell's name are you talkin' about?"
A slow grin twists at his lips as she scoffs out an offended sound but it's just for show. He's sure that if he'd been the one rabbiting on she'd have lost track but been too stubborn to tell him.
"'M not sure." She admits eventually with a soft laugh. "I was just...I've hung up all my clothes and put everything away but the bed's too empty without you. So I'm sleeping under your boat."
His grin widens and he hums out a tired little sound despite himself. "'S comfier than it looks, isn' it?"
There's a brief pause as Kate weighs up her options. Settles on honesty and he can almost picture the considering little pout her lips push into when she's thinking. A pout he's thought about kissing off her more times than is probably healthy.
"Not exactly. I was thinking about trying to do some work on it." She admits lowly and Gibbs snorts out a laugh, not at all concerned about her injuring the boat but worried about what she'd do to the tools if she couldn't get something perfect.
"Maybe wait for me to get home for that, Katie girl."