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There was no sound beyond her laugh, her moan against his lips, the way she said his name. He concentrated on these things to avoid remembering her shout when the explosion went off, to avoid remembering her silence when it was all over. He glanced down at his hands, almost not recognizing them, slightly shaking, more than slightly covered in blood. If he were a poet, he might find some kind of tragic beauty in their reds combining to stain his palms, but he was only a man who could hope it was more of his than hers.
His team scattered around him, silent and still except for Torres whose knee bounced at random intervals. Hospital life continued on, oblivious to the idea that he wondered if hers would and didn’t know what to do with the idea if it didn’t. The doctor stepped into the stark white waiting room and for Gibbs, the volume came back like someone had turned the dial.
“Relatives? Family?” the doctor asked, looking at the group.
The question lifted Gibbs off his chair like a marionette, dragging himself to stand. “Yeah,” he replied. “Agent Gibbs.” He swallowed, correcting the title he had gone to for over 20 years. “Jethro Gibbs. I’m the husband.”
“Great,” the doctor said, and if Gibbs had had Jack’s glasses on, he might have been able to see the name. Fortunately, the man introduced himself. “Doctor Whitman.” He guided Gibbs off to the side, away from inquisitive ears. “Your wife’s surgery went smoothly. She took most of the impact on her back, so there was some work to be done there. Delicate extraction of some shrapnel near her spine which will leave some scarring, but…” His hesitancy signalled a kind of curiosity as to how Jack got the rest of the scarring, a curiosity Gibbs refused to satisfy. The doctor recognized a wall when he saw one. “Right. She’ll be required to fulfill the federal concussion protocol, but I’ll also put her under our own itinerary.”
“Concussion protocol?” Gibbs echoed. “That it?”
“You sound surprised, Mr. Gibbs. I wouldn’t downplay a concussion.” He saw Gibbs’ face soften in relief. “Ah. I know it looked bad, but we were much more concerned about her spine, truth be told. We took out as much of the shrapnel as we could without doing significant damage to the nerves. Which is why our itinerary will involve a lot of bed rest and light physical therapy. But we can talk about that once she’s discharged.”
“When will that be?”
“Let her rest tonight and we’ll talk about tomorrow. But in all likelihood, 48 hours.”
He digested the information and nodded. “Can I see her?”
The doctor was clearly ready for the question. “Room 302. Ten minutes. I’ll come back to make sure. I trust you’ll share the news with her friends?”
He said, “Yeah,” but didn’t turn around until he felt Ellie’s hand on his shoulder. Facing her, he passed on the information in typical Gibbsian fashion: short and to the point. “I’m gonna go in,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of her room. “Find out who did this.”
“You got it, Boss,” McGee vowed.
Gibbs gave a terse nod and they watched his long determined stride take him down the hall.
…..
“Good thinking to say he was the husband,” McGee said as they all caught their breath. “They never would’ve given us the information.”
Torres narrowed his eyes at Bishop, who was biting her thumbnail, her gaze at the empty spot where Gibbs once stood. “What?”
She tapped her lips. “I don’t think it was ‘good thinking’. I think it was more than that.”
“More than what?” Nick asked, pulling a face.
Bishop turned to look at her two teammates. Her eyes went from face to face, her expression encouraging them to come to the same conclusion she-
“No freakin’ way!” Nick exclaimed. He leaned in closer. “Are you serious?”
Tim watched the interplay. “Serious about what?”
“McGee, c’mon man. Bishop thinks they’re married.”
“Who’s married?” Now both Bishop and Torres waited for the shoe to drop. Tim’s eyes widened, then he shook his head. “No. No way. How do you know?”
“I don’t,” she admitted. “But did you see his face when the doctor asked about family? He touched his ring finger.” She saw the doubt in their eyes and shrugged. “I can just tell, okay?”
“Okay,” Tim said, drawing out the word. “But that would mean they were actually like, together. And we would’ve definitely known about that.”
“Oh, they’ve been together for at least a year,” Torres piped up. “What? You think she’s the only one who can ‘tell’ things? When you were undercover for as long as I was, you see the details.”
Bishop’s curiosity was piqued. “Details. Like what?”
“Like, like nothing,” he said, waving his hand around. “Like little looks, little touches, the smile she gives him but nobody else.” Waving his hand again, he said, “Why are you asking me that, when what we really should be asking is, how does he keep getting hot women to fall for him? I mean, c’mon- 4 marriages, 5 engagements. And that’s only the ones we know.”
“Five marriages, six engagements,” McGee automatically corrected. “I mean, if you’re right.”
“Only one way to find out. Bishop, you stay here,” Torres directed. “When Gibbs comes back, use your investigative skills and find out.”
“And what are you two going to do?”
“Me an’ McGee are gonna find out who did this,” Nick vowed. “And when we do, they’ll be lucky if they get out of the hospital in 48 hours.”
…..
He hated hospitals. Hated the smell, hated the sounds, hated being a patient and he really hated being a visitor. It was a place where he never felt so helpless, and he hated that the most. The door pushed open with a hush and he stepped inside.
He wondered who came to see her after her rescue in Afghanistan. Wondered if Leon was the first to see her laying in a bed that made even the biggest people look small. Wondered if Leon stood at the door and made sure no one came in until the vulnerability had faded. Because that’s what he wanted to do- wanted to stand guard and fight to the death against anyone who dared see her this way.
If he hadn’t known what happened, he might have mistaken her pose for another Sunday morning, with some inexplicable cuts and bruises. But he did know, and it was the lack of any obvious injury that seemed to make it worse. Because bandages and gauze and medical tape he understood. But he couldn’t understand how he could come so close to losing her and she still looked like that.
Beautiful.
She turned her head from the Mexican sunset. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you said something.” From her perch on his lap, she got an up close and personal look into eyes that flashed bashful before quickly throwing up the shutters.
“I said you were beautiful.”
His shrug didn’t fool her.
“You know, she said, kissing along his temple, “there’s nothing wrong with being sweet.”
“Not bein’ ‘sweet’. Just truthful.”
“See? That’s sweet.” She kissed him again, closer to his lips this time. “Got any other truths you’d like to share?”
“I think we should get married.”
Her mouth stopped its exploration.
"How many tequilas have I had?" she wondered almost to herself.
"I'm serious, Jack."
"Yeah, I figured it wasn't something you threw around lightly." The shutters came down again and she saw enough to ask, "What's going on in that wonderful granite head of yours?"
Holding up his cast, he said, "This."
"A broken hand? I'm not following."
"Coulda been worse," was all he said at first, and he knew it wouldn't take her long to figure out the rest. "Nature of the job."
The conclusion she drew from his words made her nod. "So you want to get married in the event something happens to one of us and decisions have to be made."
"Somethin' like that."
"You're so romantic," she cooed into his ear. He went to pull back, indignant and sharp when she whispered, "Yes."
He did pull back this time, but with a softness that blurred all his edges. "What?" He asked her to repeat it just to be sure and just so he could hear her say it again.
"Yes, you big lump. Yes."
…..
"Pretty sure the cat's outta the bag, hon."
He had pulled up a chair to the bed and sat, relaxing for the first time in hours. Still, he couldn't stop touching her. The cut above her eye when she landed on the pavement marred a face he looked for every morning and sought out every night. A bruising had formed around the socket and he lifted enough to lean forward to press his lips against it. She looked pale, white against the white pillow. But she was there, warm and alive under his fingers and that's all that mattered.
"You were right- Bishop figured it out. So I got that to look forward to later. The department's gonna want at least 40 days under the concussion protocol, so you got that to look forward to." He brushed across her eyebrow with his thumb. "Wanna trade?" he whispered. There was no reply and he tried not to let it bother him, knowing she was okay and it was just her body taking care of her even if all he wanted was to hear her voice, her laugh, her sass.
Instead, the only voice he heard came from the door.
"You should go home, Mr. Gibbs. Get cleaned up and come back fresh."
When Gibbs didn't react, the doctor moved to the bed. "That was a courtesy suggestion." The icy stare flashed in return didn't phase the man at all. "I come from a long line of Navy men. I disappointed my father greatly when I didn't serve. I'm not unaccustomed to unwavering bastards. I'm one myself. So I suggest," he stressed the word, "that you go home and clean up. The last thing she needs to see when wakes up is her husband looking like he wandered off the front line." Bringing Jack into it was a clever play because Gibbs' expression immediately changed. "Bring her something to wear," he said, his order more gentle than the first. "Something soft, whatever her favourite is. She won't want to leave in a hospital gown, I assure you."
Unexpectedly, the tension valve seemed to be released and Gibbs let out a shaky laugh at the image.
"Yeah. Okay."
…..
He wasn't surprised 2 of his 3 agents were gone when he walked back to the waiting room, and he wasn't surprised it was Bishop who stayed behind. He also wasn't surprised that she didn't ask him the question so clear in her eyes. He figured she'd wait until they got into the car. Which she did.
"When were you going to tell us?"
The belt had barely clicked into its slot when she asked.
He was too damn tired to play the avoidance game. "We weren't." The events of the last 18 hours softened him ever-so-slightly because he shrugged. "She said she wanted to test drive me for a year before we told anyone. So she could be sure."
Bishop's open mouth curled into a smile and she had to bring her hand up to cover the giggle that bubbled in her throat. Her efforts were in vain and the laughter escaped through her fingers. It didn’t help that he didn’t look nearly as amused, glowering in the passenger seat.
“Yep, sounds like Jack.”
“You done?”
“Nope.” She pressed her lips together to suppress the remnants of her laugh. “Okay, I think I’m done.”
“Great. ‘Cause the longer we’re here, the longer it’s gonna take us to get back.”
Bishop figured it wasn’t a good time to point out how sweet he sounded. Instead, she put the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. Merging into traffic, she let him sit silently while she contemplated a development that would have been unbelievable for anyone other than Gibbs. At a red light, she snapped her fingers.
“Mexico?”
“No, just home.”
“Ha ha. You went to Mexico after the Covelli case. Jack took some time off around then, too. She suspiciously came back with the same tan you did.”
Her tone was enough to finally get a smile out of him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she replied, pleased with herself. The light turned green and her attention went back to the road.
…..
"Five minutes," he said when they pulled up to his house, the car door opening before she had come to a complete stop.
"Hey! No, wait." He turned to give her his semi-divided attention. "Fifteen minutes, because you're having a shower. You smell and she doesn't need to wake up and think it's 28 Days Later. The zombie movie?" she said, seeing his confusion. "You're the zombie. Shower, grab her some stuff, and I'll make coffee."
The promise of caffeine appeared to work because he groused, "Fine. Ten minutes."
She trailed behind him into the house where he went upstairs and she went right for the kitchen. She wasn't inclined to snoop around (okay, maybe she was), but she didn't need to- the kitchen was bright and new and totally Jack in a way she couldn’t explain. Everything was exactly where she remembered them, but the coffee machine did at least 4 things she knew Gibbs would never use. She set it up and turned to lean back against the marble counter that she coveted.
"Married," she whispered, still in awe of the idea. She was replaying every moment from the time they returned from their thought-to-be-separate holidays to 'Jethro Gibbs. I'm the husband," when he turned the corner into the kitchen.
She jumped and instinctively touched her gun. "Don’t sneak up on me like that."
Looking around the room, he said, "This is my kitchen."
"Yeah, but I was thinking." She scrutinized his appearance. "Why do you still look like hell?"
Her insult rolled off him. "Maybe because I took an explosive blast to my face?"
His sarcasm did nothing. "Guess that 'in sickness and in health' is going to come in handy."
"We goin' or ya gonna sass me all day?"
"Just looking for a thermos in this amazing new kitchen."
He didn’t need to follow up on her probing hint but he did anyway while he reached over her head. "She only asked for 2 things. She wanted a new kitchen, because she likes to cook. And she wanted a queen size bed because-"
"Stop right there!" She covered her ears. "It's like knowing my parents have sex."
Her expression brought a grin to his face. "I was gonna say 'sleep'." He handed her the thermos. "Besides, I thought you were an immaculate conception?" When she began pouring the coffee in, no cream or sugar, he approved with a nod.
"I am. But my brothers aren't." She made a face, then smiled. "Got everything?"
"Bag's by the door."
"Then let's go."
They walked through the living room and Bishop saw it in a whole new light. Torres was right, it was the little things. New cushions on the couch. Bright curtains. A small floor rug.
"That's a big TV," she remarked.
"She wants to make sure I can see the score of the Army/Navy game."
"Ouch," Bishop winced, remembering the last game was an Army rout. "That's cold."
He grinned at a private memory. "Yep."
They were on the road again when she asked, “How didn’t I know?”
“It’s only been 3 months, Bishop.”
“Does the Director know?”
“Only that she moved in. HR knows, for legal reasons.”
The information rolled around in her head. “So, technically, I’m the only one who really knows. That you guys are married, I mean.”
“I guess, yeah.” He turned to look at her. “What?”
“Nothing,” she shrugged, though she couldn’t stop the mischievous grin from spreading across her face. “Just makes me feel kind of special. I mean, more special than I already am, obviously.”
He squeezed her arm affectionately before putting his blank mask on again. “Obviously.”
…..
“Is that… is that coffee?”
“God, you two are made for each other, aren’t you?” Bishop whispered. She tried not to 'Awwww' when he leaned forward to kiss Jack's forehead.
"She knows," Gibbs whispered in turn, though not intentionally low enough for Bishop not to hear.
"Yep," she said, gently squeezing Jack's hand. "And you are so going to tell me all about it once you get out of here."
Jack let out a sound that was half chuckle, half groan. Her eyes squeezed shut then opened as she tried to get her bearings. "When might that be?"
"Tomorrow or next. Depends on you."
Jack turned to his voice and tried to force her vision to clear. "Hey, Cowboy," she sighed sweetly. When his image came into focus, she sleepily lifted her hand to his cheek. "Oh, babe. What happened to your face?"
"'Babe'," Bishop mouthed to Gibbs. Louder, she said, "I told you you looked like hell. But what do I know? Babe." She whispered the last word. "And on that note, I'm going to head back to the office and make sure the guys are doing something other than tapping into certain HR files." To Jack, she said, "I stole some sugar packs from the cafeteria, so don't let him hog all the coffee." She bent to offer a gentle hug. "We're glad you're okay. Some of us more than others."
Jack grinned then winced. Raising her fingers to her eye, she groaned. "Ouch."
"Call me if you two need anything. I'll get Torres to follow me back later so I can leave you a vehicle."
"Lemme know if they've found anything."
"You got it."
The hospital door shushed closed and they were finally alone.
Her hand had slipped from his cheek down his arm to his hand where he relished her warmth.
"Everything okay?" she asked, knowing it wasn’t, but not wanting to push. Not now when the drugs were still lingering on the edge of her mind, not when she knew what he'd gone through over the last however many hours had passed since the explosion. Had the situation been reversed, she knew her heart would need time to recover, too.
He surprised her by saying, "No. Apparently, I'm a mess, and you're lyin' there with enough shrapnel in your back to set off security alarms for the rest of your life. And Bishop promised you my coffee."
She knew he threw the last one in to take the emotional edge off his words. “Men with scars are sexy,” she assured him, “and by the time the doctor clears me to drink coffee, it’ll be cold.” They both knew she avoided mentioning her own injuries. “So, besides a 48 hour waiting period, what else did the doctor tell you?”
“Told me to go home and clean up, which seems to have been a waste of time,” he grumbled. “But I got ya some clothes you’ll wanna wear, so not a total loss.”
“What did you bring?”
He turned her hand in his and brought it up to his lips. “Was told to bring somethin’ comfortable. You tell me.”
A low hum escaped her lips as her eyes closed. “Your grey Marine Corps shirt.”
“What colour are the letters?”
“You’re really going to test me? When I’m in a weakened state?” Her brown eyes shone copper. “White with a dark grey outline.”
He let out a soft chuckle at her unwavering (and correct) confidence. “And the rest?”
“Your blue and white pajama bottoms with the back pockets you like to put your hands in when I wear them.”
“I only put my hands in ‘em to keep ‘em up,” he defended, which got him a soft snort in reply. “Will never understand why women want to wear clothes that are 2 sizes too big.”
“We want to wear your clothes,” she corrected. “Because they’re soft and we feel safe in them. When you’re away, there’s nothing like sitting on the couch, wrapped up in your clothes, drinking your coffee. I’m not going to be embarrassed for it.”
“Didn’t ask ya to be, sweetheart.” His lips pressed against her hand again.
“Good. And you put your hands in the pockets because you like my ass. We both know the truth.”
Her deadpan delivery made him laugh, and had she not been in a hospital bed, it would have simply been just another Tuesday night.
“Pour yourself a cup of coffee and get up here.” She shifted on the mattress to make room.
“I’m not fittin’ beside you.”
“Didn’t realize it was a request, Gunny.”
The audacity didn’t surprise him, but he raised his eyebrows anyway. “Yes, Ma’am.”
It took some maneuvering, some choice epithets and some contortions, but they ended up in a position comfortable for both, Gibbs on his back and Jack on her left side, alleviating her own back of some pain. She had just tucked herself into his side when he spoke.
“Three months, Jack.”
He didn’t have to say more than that- she was well aware of how long they had been married, wondered when she would stop counting the mornings she woke up beside him. She watched the thermos cup rise and fall on his chest.
“When we made the decision to get married, you always thought it’d be you in this bed, not me, didn’t you?” The cup stopped for a second, then began again.
“I guess so, yeah.”
“Statistically, you’re probably right. You’re older, you’re male, and it’s only been in the last year that you’ve started eating green food.” She felt the laugh in his throat under her lips. “But our jobs are statistical outliers. Nothing we can do about it. Nothing you can do about it.”
“I don’t like it.”
He wouldn’t have been the man she married if he did, wouldn’t have been the man she fell in love with if he didn’t want to put up a fight against anything that threatened the people he loved. She nuzzled even closer.
“I know, hon.”
The moment lingered between them, the heightened emotions of the last 24 hours slowly dissipating into a calmness created by their closeness. He was careful to not hold too tightly, even if he never wanted to let go.
“You called me ‘Babe’ in front of Bishop.”
“Did I?” she murmured into his neck. “That a problem?”
“No. Just preparin’ you for the inevitable. Probably comin’ up with a questionnaire for you right now.”
Jack laughed under his ear. “You smell good.”
“You comin’ on to me in a hospital bed, Agent Sloane?”
Running a finger down his chest, she offered a small shrug. “Could cross that one off our list.”
“We got a list?”
“Mmmm. Maybe I got a list.” Her hand rested on his belt. “Besides, I’m going to have to stay off my back for a while, and we both know you don’t have a problem with that.”
The sultry delivery and the frank honesty made the cup on his chest tip, spilling some of the contents before he could right the mug.
“Jesus, Jack.”
Her laughter vibrated against his skin. “Lucky for you, these drugs are kicking my ass.”
“‘Lucky’?”
“Oh, Agent Gibbs!” She curled her hand to a safer position around his waist and rested her forehead against his shoulder.
“Sleep.” He kissed the top of her head. “Doc might let you leave early.”
“M’kay.”
Just when he thought she had finally drifted off, she said, “We’re both there now. That’s all that matters.”
“S’all that matters. Now go to sleep.”
“I took the ‘obey’ out of our vows for a reason,” she mumbled, but succumbed to the order anyway.
…..
-end