The Expert:
Chapter 7: Sunrise Surprise
You finally set the chisel down, running a hand through your hair, feeling a little lightheaded from both the work and… well, Gibbs.
He stepped closer, voice low and steady, completely different from the playful teasing in the basement. “That’s enough for tonight.”
You glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Already? I thought you were going to make me like I don’t know polish the entire thing.”
He gave the faintest smirk, that subtle, confident tilt of the lips that always made your pulse skip. “Not tonight. Let’s get you some sleep. You’re probably more tired than you think you are.”
You blinked, realizing he was right between the day’s chaos, the case, and everything else, exhaustion was creeping in faster than you wanted to admit.
“Sleep, huh?” you murmured, half-teasing. “And here I thought the night was just getting interesting.”
He stepped even closer, calm, sure, protective, and tilted his head. “Interesting can wait. Rest can’t.”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You really know how to boss someone around, don’t you?”
“I’m not bossing,” he said quietly, eyes scanning yours. “I’m making sure you’re safe. And rested. That’s different.”
You felt the weight behind his words, not threatening, not overbearing just solid, unwavering.
“Alright,” you said, surrendering with a small grin. “Lead the way, Gibbs.”
He didn’t comment on the joke. Instead, he moved toward the stairs, gesturing for you to follow. “Upstairs. Come on.”
You followed, letting him guide you.
For the first time in hours, you let yourself fully relax. And as you climbed the stairs behind him, you realized that even in this crazy, dangerous situation, didn’t feel like that because being here… with him… felt like the safest place you could be.
The next morning sunlight filtered softly through the kitchen window as you padded in, half-asleep yourself but determined. You’d promised yourself you’d make breakfast coffee, something warm, maybe even something edible.
As you moved around, carefully pulling ingredients from the cupboards, you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye: Gibbs, sprawled on the couch, perfectly at ease, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm.
You paused, smiling softly. “Of course he’d take the couch,” you muttered to yourself.
Tiptoeing well, as quietly as one could tiptoe in a kitchen full of pots and pans, you started working. Eggs sizzled, coffee dripped, and you tried to focus on the chopping and stirring, thinking you were utterly silent.
Until it wasn’t.
A sudden, warm pressure wrapped around your waist, arms firm but gentle. You jumped, a gasp escaping your lips.
“Ahhh!” you yelped, spinning around,
Gibbs’ arms immediately slid away, letting you breathe. He stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender, a cheeky grin tugging at his mouth.
“I’m just getting coffee,” he said calmly, moving toward the counter.
You blinked at him, trying to steady your racing heart while the warmth of his presence lingered. “You scared the absolute shit out of me.”
He looked over his shoulder, that grin still teasing, confident, and just a little bit smug. “You should know by now fear keeps you alert. Also, breakfast smells amazing.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile. “Yeah, well, next time… ah I don’t know make some noise.”
He chuckled, pouring the coffee with slow, deliberate movements, glancing back at you once. “Noted.”
And as he worked, moving effortlessly around the kitchen, you realized quiet, sleepy mornings like this, Gibbs at his most casual, might just be your new favorite kind of chaos.
You slid a plate of eggs onto the table, steam curling upward, and set a mug of coffee next to it. Gibbs was leaning against the counter, hands wrapped around his own mug, watching you with that unreadable, steady gaze that somehow made your heart speed up.
“So,” you began, trying to keep your voice casual, “you really didn’t have to take the couch last night?”
He glanced at you briefly, voice clipped but calm. “Don’t worry, about it.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry?” you repeated, smirk tugging at your lips. “You woke up on the couch instead of a bed in your own home. That seems… well like something to worry about”
Gibbs gave a faint shrug, sipping his coffee, still calm. “I’m used to it.”
“Used to it?” you echoed, confused and teasing at the same time. “You sleep on the couch every night?”
He met your gaze, deadpan. “Most nights.”
You blinked, then laughed softly, shaking your head. “You really didn’t have to take the couch. I would’ve…” you paused, a grin spreading across your face, “I would’ve happily taken it.”
He gave a slow, deliberate smirk, leaning slightly closer. “Noted.”
You rolled your eyes, stirring your eggs absentmindedly. “I mean, it’s fine, obviously. But next time… you could just let me take it.”
“Maybe,” he said, voice low, teasing, that same calm confidence in every syllable. “Or maybe I’ll make you fight me for it.”
“Oh, I would,” you said instantly, grinning. “My momma raised me to have proper manners, so I will fight you to be respectful.”
He chuckled softly, that rare, quiet laugh that made the room feel warmer, more intimate. “We’ll see about that.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the playful tension lingering between you like the steam rising off the coffee. And somewhere beneath it, that same quiet undercurrent of attraction simmered.













