Ashleigh Anpilova


Gibbs is pacing.

An established relationship story.

Written: April 2010. Word count: 300.



"Where are you, Duck?" Gibbs muttered, as he shut the front door for the fifteenth time and returned to pacing up and down.


He told himself it was foolish to worry. Ducky was an adult, a grown man, quite capable of taking care of himself. And normally, just because his lover was an hour late, he wouldn't be worried; well, not really worried.


However, given the storm with lightning splitting the sky, torrents of water being released, the house shaking from crashes of thunder and the electricity vanishing forty minutes ago, he was very worried. He knew trees had been brought down, he knew the roads were more like rivers, but he also knew he couldn't do anything about it.


"Where the hell are you?" he demanded again, talking to the dark room, lit and warmed only by the fire and some candles. He felt powerless, impotent even. His cell wasn't working and his car had shuddered to a halt at the bottom of the drive. By the time he'd figured out the battery was dead he was soaked to the skin.


Thus, he was stuck in Reston House, unable to call Ducky and unable to go out. He'd considered taking a torch and walking along the road, but decided that was beyond being foolhardy.


The whole world was black, and he knew from his own drive home that headlights against the downpour were virtually useless. All he could do was wait and worry.


Twenty minutes later the front door opened. "Duck," he breathed, pulling a very wet Ducky into his arms. "Duck."


"Oh, Jethro, I -"


But Gibbs silenced Ducky with a kiss. Explanations could wait; he could dry off later, for now he had to hold and kiss Ducky and take comfort in the fact he was home safely.



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