(Special Author's Note: I would have had this finished and posted sooner, but real life's been horrible lately. Lots of big stuff going on at work and with school starting up again ... it's hectic.)
This isn't set in any particular timeline, just know it's before the Boiler trouble at Tony's building.
Spoilers: Not many, but any episode before "Left For Dead" is fair game. (I have special plans for that one. >:D)
Rating: PG-13 to be safe. But suffice it to say that if you can watch the show, you read this fic.
Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to Donald P. Belisario and Belisarius Productions, et al. Not mine, don't sue.
Archive: Go for it.
A Merry Little Christmas
© 2004, By: Ash Carroll
She looked up as Dinozzo entered the office, wearing a Santa hat. He was obviously excited about something; he looked like a kid in a candy shop. Or, considering it was Tony, a guy in an adult video store. He stopped in front of Gibbs' vacant desk, placing a white envelope atop it, then came to stand before her, wearing a Cheshire Cat grin.
The corners of her mouth tugged upward in response. "Let me guess; Debbie Does DC was in."
He shot her a wounded glance, complete with puppy eyes. "That hurts, Kate."
She turned back to her computer screen, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm sure you'll get over it."
"You could be a little nicer to me, you know."
"And why would I want to do that?"
"It's Christmas?"
She raised her head to look up at him with a deadpan expression. "Bah humbug."
"Lighten up, Scroogette." He handed her a white envelope, identical to the one he'd placed on their boss' desk. "You've got mail."
She took it from him, eyeing it suspiciously before tearing it open and pulling out the crisp white card. Her eyes scanned the computer printed script and she looked up.
"They don't actually expect us to attend, do they?"
"Wouldn't have printed it if they didn't, Kate," Gibbs answered from behind them. "The annual Christmas Eve Ball and we're expected at seven-thirty sharp. Monkey suits and all."
The last sentence was muttered under his breath, but the two junior agents heard it nonetheless. Kate turned to Tony as Gibbs dropped his things off at his desk and headed down the hall.
"I hate it when he does that."
~*~*~* *~*~*~
She dropped her things on the couch and checked the clock. Quarter after five. Didn't leave her much time to get ready and be at the Ball by seven-thirty. Sighing, she moved to the bedroom, rifling through the closet to find a dress.
Her eyes settled on a form-fitting, low-backed burgundy velvet halter with a slit up the left side, clear to mid-thigh. Choice made, she took a quick shower then fixed her hair; curling it into ringlets and piling it at the crown of her head, leaving tendrils loose to frame her face. Applying her makeup, she slipped into the dress and matching heels. A diamond necklace and drop earrings completed the look and she studied her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye.
She wanted to get his attention; for something beyond flirtatious banter over counterfeit Franklins, how to navigate aircraft carriers, and the keys to fellow agents' apartments. Turning away from the mirror, she looked over her shoulder. The burgundy velvet left a wide expanse of tanned back exposed, rising only a mere five or six inches above her waist. This should definitely do the trick. Grabbing her purse and wrap and headed out the door.
Her relationship with Tony was complicated. She'd told him in Cuba that it was a brother/sister thing. They worked together; it couldn't be anything more. But sisters didn't look at their brothers the way she'd looked at him that night.
She wasn't a virgin; she'd seen naked men before, so that wasn't it. But she'd never expected to see him naked, and it didn't make it easy to keep the flirtatious banter light when for weeks afterward, and sometimes even still, she couldn't look at him without picturing him stark naked in all his glory, backlit by the moon.
She'd been lying to herself for months ever since. Telling herself that she wasn't interested; he wasn't her type. But the attraction was steadily building and she was getting tired of fighting it.
Their dynamic had changed, but she couldn't pinpoint when. Just when she thought she had him all figured out and he was nothing but a walking ball of hormones, he'd do something that caught her completely off-guard. Like getting so upset about interviewing the submariner's mother that he actually had a panic attack. Or when he'd kept her moving through the corridor of the sub, pushing her out of the way of the blast and covering her body with his own; shielding her from flying debris as the bomb exploded.
Maybe she was crazy, or maybe she'd just gone soft; but the truth was, no matter how much she pretended to be disgusted by his one track mind and shameless advances, she liked being around him. And she couldn't lie to herself- or him- anymore.
She pulled up to the hotel's valet stand, allowing one of the red-jacketed men to help her out of the car. Placing her valet stub in her evening bag, she allowed another attendant to help her up the front steps and hold open the door. She stepped into the Lobby, greeted by the smell of pine from the displays of trimmed and lighted Douglas Firs on either side of the main entrance.
After checking her wrap, she consulted the roster of functions being held that evening. Finding the one she was looking for, she proceeded to the designated ballroom, stopping outside the large oak doors. She reached out to pull the scrolled brass handle, but froze midway, her nerve slipping. Dropping her hand to her side, she took a step back.
Her stomach fluttered. What if he was only interested in a little harmless flirting and nothing more? What if she made a total fool of herself in front of all her co-workers? What if it messed up everything and they couldn't work together anymore?
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. But then...what if he was interested? What if she took a chance and everything worked out okay? There was no way to know how it would turn out, and if she didn't take the chance, she'd never know.
Decision made, she smoothed her dress and squared her shoulders,
reaching for the handle again. Then taking a deep breath, she tugged
the large door open and stepped inside.
The room was decorated in lighted pine garlands and red velvet bows, the catering staff sporting fur-trimmed Santa hats with their black and white uniforms. A large wooden dance floor was set up in the middle of the room, the tables arranged around it.
A redheaded serving girl approached with a tray. "Champagne?"
She nodded, lifting a crystal flute. "Thank you."
The woman nodded back, then went on her way, serving more guests. Kate stood by the door for several moments, sipping her champagne as her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for some familiar faces. She spotted Ducky after a few minutes and didn't realize until she was standing next to him that the woman he was talking to was Abby.
Clad in a sleeveless black sheath, her dark hair was free of its signature pig-tails, hanging in loose waves around her shoulders, hiding the spider web tattoo on the left side of her neck; long black elbow gloves concealing her other tattoos. She looked fabulous; much better than she did in goth-mode. But Kate wasn't sure how to say that without the compliment sounding back-handed, so she kept the thought to herself.
"Hey, everyone. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Kaitlyn. You look lovely."
She smiled. "Thanks, Ducky."
Abby gestured to the man beside her. "You remember Agent McGee, don't you, Kate?"
She nodded. "Of course. How've you been?"
"Well, thank you. And yourself?"
"Busy, but then you know how that goes." He nodded and Kate looked around. "So where're Gibbs and Tony?"
"Gibbs was pulled off to chat with an Admiral," Ducky replied.
Abby grinned, eyes twinkling. "And Tony's off chasing skirts."
Kate hid her disappointment behind a knowing smile. "Of course he is, where else would he be?"
The forensic specialist turned to her date. "I have been dying to hit the dance floor."
"Shall we, then?"
Abby nodded in agreement and they moved off to an empty spot amid the other dancing couples. Kate smiled, watching them for a few moments.
"Ah, young love," Ducky remarked, "though I must admit that's one couple I wouldn't have bet on. It rather reminds me of a chap I knew back in England..."
She half-listened, half-watched the other guests, as Ducky launched into one of his long-winded tales. Normally, she listened with interest, but tonight, her mind was somewhere else; on someone else. Draining her champagne flute, she placed it on a passing server's tray, politely excusing herself from Ducky's company, and threaded her way through the room, looking for Tony's familiar form. She spotted him after several moments, emerging from the crowd of couples on the dance floor, hair slightly tousled and dipping into his eyes. She watched with a frown as a buxom blonde server passed by with a tray of champagne glasses, and slipped a piece of paper into his hand. He pocketed the paper with a grin, then led another blonde woman she assumed was his date the rest of the way off the dance floor.
Plastering a smile onto her face, she made her way over to join them.
~*~*~* *~*~*~
He turned around to find her standing a few feet away. She was the most beautiful he'd ever seen her, and he felt a stab of envy for the man she'd be going home with tonight. It certainly wasn't gonna be him. Sure, he still made shameless passes at her, but he'd resigned himself to the fact that nothing would come of them.
He shook the thought away. It was Christmas Eve and he was enjoying the party, so why depress himself about what wasn't going to happen with Kate? No, he'd save that for tomorrow morning when he woke up alone in his empty apartment.
He plastered on a mega-watt smile and headed toward her, his dance partner in tow. "Hey, there," he greeted her brightly, "look who's here."
Her smile faded as her eyes slid to the blonde woman, grasping the crook of his elbow. "Hi."
He turned to the woman behind him. "You remember Kate Todd, don't you, Paula?"
She nodded, and sent her a smile. "Of course. How've you been?"
"Busy," Kate replied flatly. "Excuse me."
She turned smartly on her heel and walked purposefully away from them. He turned to Paula, confused. "Was it something I said?"
"Actually, I think it was me."
"Why would it be you?"
"She thinks we have something going on and she's jealous."
Tony laughed. "That's crazy. I interpret evidence for a living, and trust me, Kate is not jealous."
"Well, I read people for a living, and her reactions say she's jealous."
"Is not."
"Is too."
"Is not."
"Is too."
He put up his hands in surrender. "Fine. Far be it from me to argue with a professional," he conceded, deciding to let the subject drop.
"That's what I thought," she grinned. "Thanks for the dance. Now, I'd better get back to Charles." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Go talk to her, okay?"
Tony nodded, watching as she moved off through the crowd. There was no way Kate was jealous. Sure, she appeared to enjoy their flirtatious banter, but she'd made it pretty clear she wasn't interested in anything serious; at least not with him.
And even if she was, he'd probably just screw it up anyway; he was good at that. But light, flirtatious banter...that he could handle. So he played the chosen part of Skirt Chaser.
And maybe it was better that way.
At least that's what he'd tell himself tomorrow morning when he woke up in bed alone. Right before he kicked himself repeatedly for not taking Paula's advice and at least talking to her. Heaving a plaintive sigh, he went off in search of Kate.
~*~*~* *~*~*~
She threaded her way back through the crowd, snatching two champagne flutes off a tray as a waitress passed by. Draining them both in the space of a few minutes, she placed the empty glasses on another passing tray and made her way to the bar.
"What are you drinking?"
"Vodka Martini."
The bartender grinned. "Shaken, not stirred?"
She just looked at him. "Whatever's faster."
With a sober nod, he went to work mixing and returned a few moments later, placing the glass before her. She downed half of it in a single gulp, grimacing at the burning sensation in the back of her throat.
Damn those eyes, damn that smile, damn that body, and damn him.
She felt like the world's biggest moron. But she only had herself to blame; if she hadn't spent so much time pretending she wasn't interested, it could've been her out there instead of Paula Cassidy. She went through three more martinis, playing with her cocktail napkin.
It was her own fault. She'd kept him at a distance, assuming that he'd always be there waiting for her when she was finally ready to pursue something more serious than the flirtatious banter they normally engaged in. But she'd played it safe too long and he'd gotten tired of waiting.
And she couldn't say she blamed him. It was one of her flaws; playing it safe too long. She wasn't an ice queen, but she had trouble getting close to people...especially men. So she tended to hide behind sarcastic remarks and acerbic barbs until she was sure it was safe.
And she wasn't sure Tony was safe yet.
With those devilish good looks, that boyish charm, and his genuine concern for her safety, he could destroy her and he didn't even know it. He could make her forget the risks, make her care about him, make her fall in love with him...
Then he could take it all away.
He could decide he wanted better than she could give him, or he could unwittingly distract her into making a fatal mistake that cost him his life. She couldn't live with the former, would never forgive herself for the latter. Either way she was damned.
She slammed her glass down on the bar. "Hit me again."
The bartender gave her a wary glance. "Don't you think you've had enough?"
"I'll be the judge of that," she snapped.
"Not in your condition."
The last voice she wanted to hear. Damn him.
He turned to the bartender, handing him a few bills. "That should cover her tab, and I'll take it from here."
The man behind the bar nodded his thanks and she whirled around on the stool, attempting to stand, but the liquor had already begun to affect her and she nearly tipped sideways.
His hands shot out, bracketing her hips to keep her on the barstool, and her skin tingled through the velvet of her dress.
"Let go of me."
"Kate-"
She glared up at him. "I said, let go."
"Just tell me what's wrong-"
She stood abruptly and pushed his hands away, swaying on her high heels. Gripping the bar, she steadied herself and turned a furious gaze on him. "Let. Me. Go!"
Each word was punctuated with a poke to his chest as angry tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them back, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Kate Todd never cried in front of anyone. She shoved past him, nearly tripping over her high heels, and headed for the hotel's coat check and main entrance.
"Look, just let me help you-"
"Leave me'lone, Dinozzo," she snapped, and he watched as she half-walked, half-stumbled out of the hotel's front doors.
"Sorry, Kate, but I can't do that," he murmured, then followed her outside.
She was digging in her evening bag, presumably looking for her valet stub, growing visibly more frustrated by the moment when she couldn't find it. He reached over and took her purse from her, extricating the stub. Handing it to one of the men, he waited as they retrieved her car.
Kate swayed slightly, shivering in the frigid wind. Her burgundy velvet wrap, though stylish, did little to guard against the cold. He shed his tuxedo jacket, draping it around her shoulders as the valet pulled up. She held out her hand for the keys, but Tony grabbed them first. He'd taken a cab, since his own vehicle was in the shop, and suddenly he was glad it had worked out that way.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, but she sounded weaker than she had a few minutes previous.
"Driving you home."
She frowned. "What about Pippi?"
"You mean Paula."
"Yeah, whatever." She made a face. "Shouldn't you be driving her home?"
"No, actually, she has a date to do that."
"Good," she nodded, discovering too late it wasn't a wise move. "Because I'm not feeling so well."
He tried to jump back, but wasn't quick enough. She caught the front of his trousers, and the lower half of her dress, then finished on the hotel's front steps. He sighed. This wasn't quite the way he'd expected to spend his Christmas Eve. Buckling a woozy Kate into the front seat of her car, he slid behind the wheel.
He powered the windows down despite the freezing temperatures; anything to disperse the vomit smell. He was about to head for her apartment when he realized that he didn't have the code to the building lobby, and it was too late to wake anyone up to let them in. Besides, he doubted she was in the condition to remember her own name not to mention a passcode, and as drunk as she was, he didn't think it was a good idea to leave her alone.
He glanced over at her; half-conscious, head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed, and made his decision. Wrinkling his nose in disgust at the vomit smell emanating from his trousers, he took the left turn and pointed her car toward his apartment, checking the clock on the dash. Twelve-thirty.
He sighed. "Well, Tony," he muttered to himself, "Merry Freakin' Christmas."
~*~*~* *~*~*~
Tony pulled Kate's Volvo into his parking space and cut the engine, slipping her keys back into her purse. Walking around to the passenger side, he opened the door and unbuckled her seatbelt, securing her evening bag around her wrist as he helped her out of the car and pulled her to her feet. Unfortunately, she didn't stay on them long. She did a slow fold and he caught her halfway down.
"You know, Kate," he muttered, holding her upright, "when I fantasized about you falling for me, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
She moaned softly, mumbling something unintelligible. He scooped her up with a sigh, ignoring the way their clothes squished between them. Good thing he wasn't squeamish. Besides, after what he'd seen at NCIS, what was a little puke between friends?
Carrying her up the front steps, he had to put her down to key in the code to the door. Granted access, he proceeded to his apartment, half-dragging Kate as he fished the keys out of his pants pocket. She came around as he unlocked the door and pulled him inside; but lost her footing and ended up bent backward over a countertop, pulling him down on top of her.
He swallowed. "Um, Kate?"
She giggled. "Oops."
He disentangled himself from her and pulled her upright. "Okay, first things first. And first," he wrinkled his nose, "you need a shower. Come on, bathroom's this way."
He got her out some towels, then frowned. She'd need something to wear when she got out of the shower; her dress was ruined. The red-blooded male in him said she didn't really need anything, but the sensitive guy lurking beneath the playboy exterior said he'd better give her something if he wanted to see his next birthday.
The red-blooded male said it didn't have to be much, but the sensitive guy didn't think death by castration sounded like a fun way to go. Frowning, he tried to decide what to give her, when he remembered that night in Cuba. She'd worn a red and gold USC basketball shirt. He fished out his old college football jersey, which looked to be about a mile too big, and headed back to the bathroom, handing it to her.
"Uh, here."
She took it from him, tossing it on top of the closed toilet lid before reaching behind her neck to undo the halter. She struggled for a minute before she finally stopped and looked up at him. "Help."
He could almost feel the smooth expanse of skin beneath his fingers, imagine what the burgundy velvet would reveal when it was pulled away from her breasts...shaking his head clear, he put the brakes on that train of thought before it went too far down the track.
Swallowing hard, he tunneled long fingers through his hair. 'Think of the barf, Tony, think of the barf.' "That's not a good idea."
"'Sa matter, Tony? Brunette not your color?"
"Kate-"
"Pr'fer someone blonder?"
"Leave Paula out of this."
"See? I knew this was a bad idea. Just when I think it's safe to trust you, something happens and I realize it's not."
He shook his head in confusion. "What are you talking about? You trust me every day."
She continued as though she hadn't heard him, becoming visibly more agitated. "You haven't said anything about my dress. I wore it just for you and you never even noticed!"
He gulped. "Believe me, I noticed."
On she rambled. "It's always someone else with you, always someone else that gets your attention," she looked up at him, "and dammit, Tony, it should've been me out there with you, not her!"
She was plastered; it was the only explanation for the things she was saying. She certainly couldn't mean them; he couldn't possibly be that lucky. She was breathing heavily, agitated, and he turned on the shower for her, regulating it to a comfortable temperature, then reached out slowly, gently unhooking the halter clasp at the back of her neck, taking care that the dress would stay up until she was ready to get in the shower.
"There," he spoke softly, then indicated the running water. "Shower time, okay?"
She nodded mutely and he left the room, closing the door behind him. Wandering back into the kitchen, he looked down, meeting a pair of soulful brown eyes.
"She's drunk, okay, she didn't really mean it."
A head cocked to the side, ear perked up.
"Just go to sleep, all right?" He frowned. "And don't look at me like that."
~*~*~* *~*~*~
It was half an hour before she emerged from the bathroom, hair slightly damp, haphazard in its initial style. As predicted, his football jersey was at least a mile too large, but on her, it looked perfect.
"You can have the bed," he informed her, bagging up her dress.
"What about you?"
He shrugged. "I can take the couch."
"I don't wanna pu-"
"It's okay, really. Make yourself comfortable; I'm just gonna grab a quick shower."
With an uncertain smile, she turned and found her way to the bedroom. He showered quickly, though long enough to wash away the vomit smell, and changed into a pair of navy drawstring pajama pants and a gray t-shirt.
He checked in on her and found her lying on her side, one hand curled against the pillow. Stepping up to the bedroom window, he looked out over the city, the rooftops dusted with white powder. Perfect, just the way Christmas Eve should be.
"It's snowing."
He looked down, meeting her heavy-lidded eyes. "Yeah," he answered, smiling softly as he pulled the sheet and comforter up and tucked her in, placing the trashcan next to the bed just in case. "Get some sleep."
She nodded tiredly and closed her eyes. He watched her for a few moments, until her breathing evened and he knew she was out. He'd watched her sleep before; on the carrier, on the sub, on the way to Colombia...he liked the way she looked when she slept; relaxed...her face unmarred by wrinkles...literally a Sleeping Beauty. The perfect fairy tale, except for the fact that he was no Prince Charming.
Grabbing a pillow and some blankets out of the hall, he padded out to the living room and made up the couch. Sprawling out, he folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He kept hearing her outburst in the bathroom reverberating through his brain.
'It should've been me out there with you, not her!'
Just his luck she'd say exactly what he wanted to hear, and be too drunk to mean it. He was convinced he'd pissed someone off in a past life, because he was cursed for the rest of this one, always managing to desire the unattainable; women that were out of his league.
Women like Kate.
Because while he acted confident, like he was God's gift to women, it was just that. An act. Underneath it all, the real Tony was just an insecure loser who couldn't do anything right. Why would she waste her time with him when she could have someone successful and self-assured; someone who could sweep her off her feet and treat her like the class act that she was.
Someone who deserved her.
He thought about Paula and decided that she'd spent too much time in the sun down at Gitmo; Kate was drunk, not jealous. She'd made it clear on several occasions that she didn't want him, so what would she have to be jealous over?
Sighing heavily, he turned onto his side and waited for sleep; but it was a long time in coming.
~*~*~* *~*~*~
A warm wet tongue swept repeatedly across her face. Turning her head away, she tried to sit up, but a weight was pressing on her chest and stomach.
"Tony," she mumbled, eyes closed, "get off me."
The licking persisted and she groaned in exasperation. "I said, get-" she opened her eyes, met by a pair of soulful brown ones, and screamed.
Across her was sprawled a large Boxer, tongue lolling out of its mouth, hot smelly breath on her face. The room spun, and she pushed at the animal with all her might, trying to get up before her stomach did.
"Bruno, down!" Tony ordered sharply as he appeared in the doorway.
The dog moved just in time for Kate to sit up and grab the trash can beside the bed. She was violently ill, emptying the contents of her stomach until all she had left was a nasty case of the dry heaves. She finished after several minutes, and Tony took care of the trash can, returning with blue liquid in a paper cup and a small basin.
"Rinse your mouth," he instructed, "it'll get rid of the taste."
She swished a few times and spit in the basin, which he took into the bathroom and rinsed before returning to tuck her back in.
"Go back to sleep," he advised softly, settling her back against the pillows.
The sun hadn't risen yet, and her head was throbbing. Moaning, she held her stomach as he pulled the covers up. The room was spinning again and she closed her eyes as the dog climbed back onto the bed and curled up beside her.
She awoke a couple of hours after sunrise, the dog still snoring softly at her side, as Tony came in to check on her, bearing a small tray.
"Hey," he greeted her softly, "feeling better?"
"Sort of," she replied, slightly hoarse. She didn't trust herself to nod, afraid it would set the room spinning again.
"Good." He set the tray on the nightstand, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Because it's time for a little breakfast."
She put her hands out, as if to push the tray away. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
"Nothing heavy," he promised, "just some tea and dry toast." He held out the mug. "It's Chamomile; it'll settle your stomach."
She eyed him warily, but accepted the steaming mug and sipped slowly, waiting for it to come back up. It stayed down, so she sipped again.
He held out the plate. "Now try some toast."
"I don't know."
"Trust me."
"Famous last words," she muttered, but picked up a triangle, managing to swallow a small bite and keep it down.
Smelling food, Bruno woke up, tail wagging, and proceeded to lick her face. She pushed at him, trying to escape his slobbery tongue.
"Ugh, Tony, get him off me!"
"He's just giving you a little good morning kiss," he explained, turning to the dog. "Bruno, stop." He ordered, then grinned. "That's supposed to be my job."
"For Paula maybe," she muttered.
The words were out before she could stop herself and she watched as his grin faded, replaced by a scowl. "Leave her out of it, all right? I told you last night..."
Her mind wandered. He'd told her a lot of things last night.
And the things she'd told him...
"'Sa matter, Tony? Brunette not your color?"
"Kate-"
"Pr'fer someone blonder?"
"Leave Paula out of this."
"See? I knew this was a bad idea. Just when I think
it's safe to trust you, something happens and I realize it's not."
Oh good God, she didn't.
He shook his head in confusion. "What are you talking about? You trust me every day."
She continued as though she hadn't heard him, becoming visibly more agitated. "You haven't said anything about my dress. I wore it just for you and you never even noticed!"
He gulped. "Believe me, I noticed."
On she rambled. "It's always someone else with you, always
someone else that gets your attention," she looked up at him, "and dammit,
Tony, it should've been me out there with you, not her!"
Oh hell. She did. Her secret was out and humiliation didn't even begin to cover what she was feeling; she wasn't sure how to act, or what to say, and she shuddered to think what his impression of her must be after last night. He probably thought she was pathetic, getting herself drunk because he didn't notice her. Well, that, or his ego had swelled to the size of a small planet.
"Kate!"
She jumped, so lost in her mental ramblings that she forgot he was there.
"Huh?"
"I said Paula was there with a date last night. And it wasn't me."
She looked down, noticing for the first time how underdressed she was. She looked back up at him. "Why am I wearing your football jersey?"
"You threw up all over your dress. And my trousers." Several moments' silence stretched between them before he spoke again. "Just so you know, you changed your own clothes; I didn't see a thing."
"Oh."
More silence as she nibbled another few bites of toast, washing it down with the last of her tea, picking pieces of imaginary lint off the bedspread.
"I-"
She started, but choked, like a frog was stuck in her throat. Giving it an awkward clearing, she tried again. "I owe you an apology."
A trademark grin. "Well I never did get to dance with you last night..."
"We don't have any music."
"Not a problem."
Pulling her out of bed, he led her out to the living room, letting go of her hand long enough to load a disc in the CD player and press a few buttons. He returned to her, holding out a hand as soft jazz filled the room. She eyed him warily for a moment, then sighed in defeat, allowing him to pull her in close, arm sliding around her waist, his hand settling at the small of her back. Too short in her bare feet, she stood on tiptoe, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he held her hand, palm to palm, loosely against his chest.
He was light on his feet, and she followed his lead as they moved gracefully around the expanse of beige carpet; Bruno watching them with mild interest from his place curled up on the sofa.
Kate looked up, meeting Tony's gaze, and he smiled down at her. She returned it, looking down briefly before meeting his eyes again, tilting her head to the side.
"I'm sorry I ruined your Christmas."
"Well, I'll admit that my Christmas Eve wasn't the greatest, but I found a beautiful woman in my bed this morning, and I've gotta tell you, it was the best present Santa's brought me in a long, long time."
A delicate blush stained her cheeks. "Thanks, but I'm serious. You probably had plans and I ruined them."
He grinned. "Yeah, you know, I was going to throw a wig and a dress on Bruno and dance with him."
She rolled her eyes. "I meant with a woman, Tony."
"Don't know any women named Tony," he joked, but relented when she sent him a pointed look. "I didn't have anything planned," he assured her, "with Paula or anyone else."
"What about that serving girl?"
"Which?"
"The blonde with the D-cup. You know, the one who slipped you her number?"
Damn. He didn't think she'd seen that. "Well, yeah. But I wasn't gonna call her; blondes aren't really my type."
"What about Paula?"
"You said it yourself; endorphin high."
"So, what is your type?"
He slowed their pace, unable to concentrate on the dancing while trying to decide how to answer. It was a tough choice. Royally embarrass himself by revealing feelings he was positive she didn't reciprocate, or suffer in silence for keeping them a secret. To be honest, he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to hide the truth; it was getting harder to maintain emotional control when they were in and out of danger on a constant basis. She was going to find out sooner or later, and he'd rather be able to talk with her about it than blurt it out in the middle of chase. Decision made, he shrugged, forcing himself to remain nonchalant.
"Actually, I prefer snarky brunettes. With jock straps."
He could see the gears turning in her head, an imaginary light bulb clicking on as the truth finally dawned on her. She stared up at him, speechless for once, her sarcastic wit having failed her.
"Did you mean what you said last night, Kate?"
"Did you?"
"I asked you first."
He was giving her a way out if she wanted one. It would be so easy to blame it on the alcohol, to say it was just the champagne and the martinis talking; he'd never have to know.
But she would, and he deserved better than that.
He could have taken advantage of her last night, but he hadn't; he'd taken care of her like a gentleman. She trusted him with her life every day, and now she knew she could trust him with her honor as well. Shouldn't her heart be the next logical step?
She looked up at him. "Every word."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
"Yeah?" Her voice was husky and he matched her tone.
"Yeah."
He pulled her close against him, lowering his mouth to hers in a lingering kiss that left them both breathless.
"That was..." she trailed off, unable to think of an accurate word to describe it.
He grinned. "Wow comes to mind."
"Yeah," she agreed, kissing him again, "wow's good."
A comfortable silence stretched between them as the CD switched to the next track and they began moving again. He held her closer this time, his arms wrapped around her waist while her own circled his neck; fingers playing with the tag inside the collar of his t-shirt, trading kisses as an alarming thought assailed her.
"Tony?"
"Hmm?"
"What about Gibbs?"
He kissed her. "What about him?"
"What's he gonna say when he finds out about us?"
"With Gibbs, it's hard to tell. But let's not worry about that tonight, okay? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, let's just concentrate on us."
She smiled. "I like the sound of that."
"Me too. Merry Christmas, Kate."
"Merry Christmas."
He leaned down for another long kiss, which she eagerly returned,
and it was quite a while before either of them spoke again.
~The End~