<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">"I'm awake if you need me to be," he said into her neck.  "I'm Gibbs trained.  Turn on at the flick of a switch -- or the ring of a cell."  He cracked open his eyes.  "Something wrong, Sarah-bean?  Something new wrong, I guess?  Stupid question, huh?  Awake doesn't mean coherent."  He kissed her temple.  "What's up?"<br/>
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* ~ *<br/>
<br/>
"I never had a sibling," Tony confided.  "Always wanted one... kind of have Kate and Tim for that, now."  He paused to spoon more soup... because it soothed the cough that wanted to come up... and because it tasted good... and because it made him feel good.  "I haven't been sick in awhile.  Not... not since before you came."  He averted his eyes.  "Brad didn't say, but he probably means for me to stay home a couple of days at least.  If I try to show up at work tomorrow, Gibbs will send me home, so..." he shrugged.  "You don't have to... you don't have to take care of me.  I manage okay on my own."  But his eyes said otherwise -- his eyes said he wanted her to stay, wanted to feel, just for a little while, that someone else was in control.<br/>
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* ~ *<br/>
<br/>
Gibbs couldn't speak while Kate did.  It wasn't that he was respecting her words or refusing to answer them -- his throat was too tight to speak.  He hadn't regained that yet before they were in the house, and he wished she could sign, because at least then he'd be able to communicate around the lump in his throat.<br/>
<br/>
So he did the next best thing -- he spoke with his actions.<br/>
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As soon as the door closed behind them, he abandoned everything in his arms haphazardly on whatever flat surfaces he could find, and he wrapped his arms around Kate.  He brought his lips down on hers -- fierce, at first, but softening.  One hand came up to stroke her face, her cheeks... and his eyes met hers.  This was his something better -- this was his something good.  He'd gone through hell, and so had she, but they were standing together now, and that made all the difference.<br/>
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His next kiss was so tender it ached, and he kissed her lips, and her eyes, her nose and her forehead... soft, sweet kisses as he held her against him.  He was aroused, certainly -- but that wasn't the point.  Oh, he'd be delighted if she wanted to go further, but what was in his kisses and his touches right now wasn't lust.  It wasn't even something as pedestrian as love.  This was cherishing her, adoring her -- reveling in the fact that he could love her, and that she could love him, and that there was nothing keeping them apart.  Every kiss was a silent prayer of thanksgiving, every touch a promise of devotion.  And though he knew she couldn't hear him, and didn't know if she'd be able to figure out what he was saying or not, he needed to say it as he kissed her lips again.  "I love you."</span></span>