A/N: Posted on Tumblr, and immortalized here for Alison-my room mate-as an expression of our mutual love of Hart & her sassy little lawyer game of cat-and-mouse with Gibbs.

Rule Thirteen

She was laying on her back, and he was on his stomach, his eyes open and lazily looking at the mass of black hair spread out over his pillow—black hair.

Rare was it that there was anything but red on his sheets and on his pillows.

She laughed, low in the back of her throat—the sound was sexy, and he shifted.

He grunted curiously, wordlessly asking her what was funny.

"Your team," she murmured, in her prim, clipped voice. "What would your team think if they saw is?"

"That they'd seen too much of me," Gibbs drawled, carelessly running his fingers over her bare shoulder.

She smirked, and laughed again.

When he'd made an offhand comment that it seemed like she was trying to seduce him, he hadn't thought she'd take it to heart—but take it to heart she had, and when she'd proposed that they sleep together to remove the tension from the cases they worked together, he'd almost too readily agreed, and even if she felt like he'd laid a trap that she'd hopped right into, she didn't regret it.

Lawyers and cops were at odds in the courtroom and in sync in the bedroom.

It was the way the world worked.

"Do you think they'd accuse you of unprofessional behavior?" she asked.

He grunted in the negative.

"Wouldn't dare," he snorted. "Might bring up the rules, though."

"The rules?"

"Rule thirteen."

"NCIS' rules?"

He didn't answer, and she shifted, her legs pressing into his as she rolled onto her side and looked down at him. He looked up, his eyes flicking down her neck, over her creamy skin, and back up to her mouth and finally her eyes.

She arched her slim brows, eyes dancing in anticipation. He smirked.

"What is rule thirteen, pray tell?" she asked, mocking him.

"Never involve lawyers," he answered gallantly.

"I'm flattered—"

"—don't be—"

"—that you've broken it with me," she finished, and he looked impressed, because he'd thought she was meaning she was sarcastically flattered, and here she was taking him by surprise.

Margaret Allison Hart—who couldn't decide which name she liked to be called in bed.

"Mm," she murmured silkily, leaning down to brush her lips against his. "They'd certainly have a bone to pick with you over this," she pointed out wryly.

He shook his head smugly and reached for her, hands slipping to her hips, under her and over her.

"No?" she asked mildly. "Why's that, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Rules are for them," he said, "The rules are made to be broken," he growled, and pulled her over on top of him. "By me."

She smiled, much like the black cat who'd caught the canary, and her black hair fell in a waterfall to his shoulder.

"Ah," she breathed. "And that's precisely why you need a lawyer, Mr. Gibbs."

Really, NCIS, can we have Ms. Hart back please?

I rather like involving lawyers.
-Alexandra
story #111