Work Text:
Author's notes: I haven't really been writing anything for the past few months, so I've been working on this little series for about two weeks now, and hopefully it'll get me back into Kate/Gibbs enough to work more on Strawberry Wine.
He occasionally has bad cases. Ones that dig deep and kill him inside, ones that rip him to pieces, and the rare ones that destroy every bit of him until he finds the truth.
He used to have a boat and a bottle of Jack. He’d sand and smooth until his hands bled from the effort, beating out heartbreak and hatred into long, even pulls and pushes of sandy paper. Then he’d drink straight from the bottle in lengthy gulps as fast as he could bear the burning down his throat.
Now he’s got her.
She’ll open her door and he’ll look at her like he’s the saddest man in the world, just for a tiny taste of her lips. She’ll let him in and make him the richest coffee he’s ever had in the biggest cup he’s ever seen. He doesn’t talk and she doesn’t listen, cause talking just takes all the fun out of reading someone’s eyes and showing care in the way you lay your hand over theirs.
She’s softer than sandpaper and her smile is so much better than a hangover.
He never says I Love You, and she never expects him to stay it; it’s just a mutual more than friend kind of affiliation, with sweet kisses and lingering stares. And time after time, he’s always found his way to her front door and she’s always found the strength to let him in.