Title: Mr. Right

Author: Mindy

Rating: K

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Spoilers: nope.

Summary: KIBBS. Kate's Mister Right is all wrong.

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With a fresh, dark coffee in hand, Gibbs stepped off the elevator, and stopped. Something had changed since he left ten minutes ago; he could feel it in his gut.

He scanned the deserted squad room with sharp eyes, it's electronic employees glowing and humming quietly as they worked dutifully throughout the night. But nothing stood out to him as unusual or dangerous, so he continued on his path to his desk. And that was when he saw her.

She was sitting on the window's edge, her back to him, her knees pulled up to her body. Her hair hid her face, but he guessed from her bowed posture that she was crying, or very recently had been. Tall, black shoes sat discarded on the floor beside her, with a rectangular, sequined purse.

Briefly, he wondered if he should retreat to the elevator and give her some privacy. Or whether he should just proceed to his desk, pretending he hadn't noticed her, and save her the embarrassment of having to explain to him what she was doing back here on a Friday night when less than an hour ago she'd left for a date.

But as he was deciding on a plan of action, Kate had obviously sensed his presence and turned around to look at him. He saw a glimmer of moisture in her eyes before, she turned back, ducking her head and hiding her face.

"Thought I was the only one with no life," she mumbled drearily.

"You were wrong," he replied decisively, taking a few steps closer.

"Wouldn't be the first time," she muttered under her breath, attempting to wipe her face of fresh tears without him noticing.

Taking the napkin from around his coffee cup, he sidled up close and nudged her shoulder. Kate looked up, seemingly surprised to see him standing so close. Her eyes were smudged black with spoilt makeup and her cheeks ruddy with raw emotion. He handed her the napkin and looked away, unable to witness her dark eyes, welled up with pain, for more than a moment.

Slowly, he moved to the opposite side of the window, crossing one leg over the other and attempting to perch himself on the narrow ledge like she had. He took a deep breath and gazed up at the stars for a moment before speaking.

"Bad date?" he asked, gently, taking a sip of his coffee.

Kate rolled her eyes and sniffed loudly: "The worst," she huffed, then bit her lip, as a fresh wave of feeling seemed to well up and claim her.

Gibbs looked away again. He really wasn't good at stuff like this. He'd certainly had his share of bad dates but he was still uncomfortable with more personal things like comfort, sympathy, reassurance, understanding. Somehow he'd missed out on that particular life lesson – especially when dealing with women.

He wondered why on earth Kate had chosen to come back here in such a state -- why she hadn't gone home or to friends' place. Even a bar would make more sense, he thought, but then, he was thinking like a man. Women's brains operated on an entirely different wavelength, he'd discovered. He took another big mouthful of strong coffee.

"Actually," sniffed Kate, not looking at him. She paused, then finished her sentence in a brusque, droll tone: "actually, I got dumped."

Gibbs' eyebrows raised: "Oh."

He couldn't think of anything else to say, as pathetic as that was. He searched his mind for platitudes. But truthfully, the news, to him, wasn't all that bad. He'd overheard Kate chatting with Abby about this latest man of hers on more than one occasion.

This one had stuck around much longer than any of the others had, he'd noticed privately. Gibbs had even met him once, shook his hand. He was a lawyer and didn't make much of an impression.

Sometimes Gibbs thought Kate had very little imagination when it came to men and not a great deal of taste either, for someone who prided herself on possessing both.

Later, Abby had asked him what he'd thought of Kate's newest 'Mister Right', to which he'd answered, before he could stop himself: "All wrong."

Kate was folding the drenched napkin he'd given her into neat little squares. "He said," she continued, with a little hiccup: "he said that I was," she tucked her hair behind one ear and gulped: "distant…I mean," she looked up at him with wide, wet eyes and demanded fervidly: "--do I seem distant to you?"

"No," Gibbs answered immediately, though he suspected she didn't require a response.

Kate stared at him a moment, perhaps surprised by his unequivocal admission, perhaps suddenly realizing to whom she was pouring out her heart and how ill-equipped he was to console her.

Gibbs stared back steadily. She really was very beautiful. Even like this – all smudged and shaky. The honesty in her eyes, the delicate shape of her mouth, the elegant curve of her shoulder, her pale, nervous hands, the shine of the starlight in her hair. He didn't pay attention to it often – he avoided it, in fact – but then moments like this would happen and it would just hit him, literally, like an unexpected baseball bat.

Kate – agent, colleague, protégé – was a woman. A beautiful, young woman.

He smiled softly to himself then moved closer, rising and sitting beside her, with his back against the window. Her toes brushed the side of his thigh as he leaned in to give her his coffee.

"Well, Katie," he sighed with a smile, giving in to the impulse to use the nickname he bestowed on her only rarely: "I'm sure your Mister Right will come along."

It was the best he could do at such short notice – he hoped he sounded vaguely sincere. Especially since he wasn't sure he actually wanted Kate's Mister Right to show. Kate took the coffee cup from his hand, staring at him over the rim for a moment, then she blinked and took a long sip. She closed her eyes and grimaced in response to the bitterness of the taste.

"Would I sound impatient," she muttered, a hint of humor returning to her voice: "if I said I wished he'd hurry up?"

Gibbs smiled ruefully: "No," he told her, smoothly: "you wouldn't."

Kate smiled finally, her eyes glowing with an inscrutable sort of warmth he'd never seen before. He patted her knee awkwardly and Kate handed back his cup of coffee. He noticed that her lips had left a crimson halo around the opening, but instead of wiping it away, he placed his mouth over the outline of hers and drank. He could taste her on his tongue and wondered whether to offer her the cup again so she could deposit another tantalizing trace of her sweetness.

When he turned to look at her, her head was tipped to one side and she was watching him steadily, some amusement creeping back into her expression. Uneasy with the sudden closeness in the still, dark office and with the idea that she may have guessed exactly what he was doing, Gibbs rose abruptly. With a second thought, he turned back and shoved the coffee cup at her.

"Here," he told her ungraciously: "You need this more than I do."

He was heading for his desk once more and safety, when he was stopped by her voice.

"Gibbs?"

Facing her again, he saw her set aside the coffee cup and swing her bare feet down to the floor. All humor and warmth had left her face and insecurity pervaded her every move. She planted her hands on the windowsill either side of her hips and peered up at him shyly from beneath dark lashes.

"Would you mind…?" She took a breath, raising her eyebrows at him hopefully: "Um…I…"

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. She wanted him to put her out of her misery, but unfortunately he was no better at reading her mind than he was at reading the minds of three wives. He shifted on the spot, looking for some clue in her face as to what she was trying to ask and wishing she would just spit it out already.

Kate swallowed. "I could…really use a hug," she finally murmured uncertainly.

Gibbs was taken aback, and his first impulse was to decline. He hadn't fully forgotten or recovered from the first time he'd held this woman. The sudden closeness, the strange chemistry, the strong desire and unsettling emotion it had stirred in him.

He wasn't sure he was ready to succumb to another bout of that particularly sinful madness. It caused inexplicable side effects. And it always seemed to magically arise whenever they got within arms length of each other.

It had even started to interfere with his renowned focus at work. All she had to do now was wear that pin-striped suit with the short skirt, or stand close enough that he could smell her perfume, or smile that brilliant smile of hers and his brain was instantly straying far from the case at hand.

He didn't like it one bit. He felt powerless against the force of their curious connection.

But what could he tell her? What would it say about him, if he couldn't handle giving Kate a friendly hug? It had never been overtly stated, but he was pretty sure she counted him as a friend, within the context of work, at least. She obviously felt comfortable enough and trusted him enough to ask, and he'd never seen her quite this upset or vulnerable. He should feel as comfortable with her to allow a small gesture of solace.

But he did not, he realized with a sinking heart. He was not comfortable with the idea at all and he really didn't want to examine why.

As he was mulling it over though, formulating a response, searching his brain for a reason to refuse, Kate had already made up his mind for him and was moving towards him. She walked straight up to him, her head lowered, and before he knew what was happening, her arms slipped around his middle and her head was against his chest.

The Kate Todd he saw every day had such a potent and exuberant life force that sometimes he forgot how petite she was – particularly without the benefit of heels. Her little figure nestled easily against his and looking down, he saw her eyes close over tightly. One tear slipped out from beneath a sealed lid, tracking slowly down her cheek and hitting his shirt. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding on only gently as Kate sighed in his grip.

"I'm not distant," she mumbled, after a long, silent moment, her words muffled.

"No," he replied, his voice for some reason strangled, breathless.

He couldn't comprehend how anyone could call her that. To him, Kate Todd was anything but distant. She was warm and open and completely engaging. He had enormous trouble trying to keep her away – trying to banish her from his mind, his heart, and, now, his possession.

Once he held her, he never wanted to let go.

He wrapped his arms about her more fully and leant in closer, struck by the irresistible impulse to kiss her hair -- just quickly. He could make it comforting, sheltering – like a father, or a brother. He could do it so softly that she wouldn't even notice. But before he could try, Kate raised her head, tilting it back and staring up at him.

His heart leapt into his throat as his pulse quickened – no one had this effect on him anymore. It was both exhilarating and frightening for his old and dilapidated frame. The impulse to kiss her hair faded into nothing compared to the infinitely more powerful desire that erupt within his hands, heart and head to instead take her face within both his large palms and introduce his mouth to her moist lips.

Kate's eyelashes raised and lowered and raised again, languid and graceful, as she studied his expression. Unconsciously, her lips parted slightly and her body pressed closer. Time seemed to slow, the air seemed to ignite, as they remained locked in a precipitant moment which could swing either way.

Their eyes held, their bodies melded and their minds fought to decide whether to move closer or apart. He saw Kate glance at his mouth and lick her lips causing something powerful to surge within him and engulf his flesh with wild hope.

"Gibbs--" she started breathily.

"Kate," he sighed, gently interrupting her. With no idea what he meant to say to her, his mouth seemed to speak without any permission. "…why don't you let me take you home?" he said carefully.

After the fact, he realized what a smart suggestion it was. They couldn't do this here, deal with this at the office, with security guards monitoring every corner of the place. And the car ride would give him a chance to either construct an excuse that wouldn't hurt her or summon up the guts to finally and fully kiss Kate Todd the way he wanted to.

Kate's expression wavered. Her gaze lowered as she drew in a deep breath. When she looked back up at him, the smile plastered on her face was polite and forced. Disappointment played over her every feature and he really couldn't blame her.

He knew as well as she did that he'd just destroyed the moment completely by denying whatever had been just about to happen between them. He'd done it before, pushed her away before, and they both knew that if she did let him take her home, nothing could occur. He'd be on guard for it; he would put up every resistance.

Everyday, he seemed to erect new defenses against Katie Todd. He knew it hurt her, but he couldn't help himself. He was convinced that whatever potential existed between them could only end up hurting them both like hell.

At least, that's what he told himself after near misses like tonight. They'd been arising more frequently of late. Perhaps his defenses were eroding.

"Kate--" he tried, wanting to make peace with her, but unable to communicate the jumble that she created in his brain.

Kate wasn't interested though. Slowly, she turned, wandering back to the window. He watched her slip on her shoes and tuck her purse under her arm.

"Let me give you a ride," he offered again.

Kate smiled and picked up his coffee. "Thanks…" she said, stepping back over him. She met his eyes briefly then rose up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She lingered on it, the gesture deliberate and pensive. Then, pulling back, she put his coffee back in his hand and murmured quietly: "But I'll be fine." She gave him a weak, sad smile and then turned and headed for the exit.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she nodded slightly: "'Night, Gibbs," she whispered, then quickened her pace.

He watched her go, undecided and disconcerted. He watched her wait for the elevator and step on board, all the time wishing he could rush after her or call her back. But he didn't.

He stood for a minute in silence, then moved slowly to the window. He glared up at the bright stars and took a large sip of coffee. Before long, he saw her exit the front doors below, her posture stiff, her hair fluttering in the wind. She trotted quickly across the road to her car and around to the drivers side.

She had some trouble finding her key in her purse and when she did, she faltered, her hand clasping the key and braced against the hood of the car. Her other hand flew up to cover her eyes and even from a distance, he could see her chest shuddering with sobs.

Twice, while he stood there watching, he nearly took out his cell and called her, demanded she stay where she was so that he could rush down to her. Once, he practically darted for the elevator, convinced he could catch her.

He did neither. And after a minute or so, Kate collected herself and slipped into her car.

Gibbs' heart cracked a little more as he watched her car drive down the empty street and into the distance. He sat down on the window ledge with a sigh. His coffee was practically cold but he didn't want to throw it away. It still possessed traces of Kate.

His decisions didn't even make sense to him anymore. He'd spent so many painful years making the wrong ones – so, now, he never made any. They just happened by default.

At least, in his private life they did. His last marriage had happened by default, as did the inevitable divorce. His inaction forced her into it and, at the end, he'd barely put up a fight. No wonder people kept on walking out on him -- he made it too easy.

When he was younger, he used to stay and fight – to the death if necessary. His current method was no less painful, he realized all of a sudden. There were still casualties -- including himself.

It astonished him that, even after everything, when confronted with something he knew in his gut was absolutely right -- he still got it all so wrong.