The bullpen was nearly empty when your phone buzzed. “My office. Now.” — Gibbs.

You barely hesitated. You’d been on the team a year, long enough to know that when Gibbs called, you showed up. No questions.

The door creaked open. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

He didn’t look up right away, still scribbling something on the file in front of him. “Close the door.”

You did. Quietly.

Gibbs finally glanced up, eyes sharp and unreadable. “You and DiNozzo — what’s going on?”

Your brow furrowed. “Nothing, sir. Just work.”

“He’s been hanging around your desk all week,” Gibbs added, voice calm but edged. “Too much.”

You cleared your throat. “I can handle it.”

“That’s not the point,” he cut in, gaze locking on yours. “You’re part of my team. You don’t need to let anyone push boundaries — including DiNozzo.”

The silence stretched between you. You shifted on your feet, hands clasped behind your back. “Understood, sir.”

Gibbs stood slowly, his height suddenly more imposing now that the office was empty, now that there was no one to interrupt. “Good. Keep it that way.”

There was something about the way he was looking at you — not unkind, but… possessive in a way you weren’t sure how to name.

“I keep you around for a reason,” he added, quieter this time. “You’re smart. You work hard. Don’t waste time trying to prove yourself to men like him. You don’t need to.”

Your throat tightened. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes flicked to your lips — just for a second — before he nodded once. “That’s all. Go home. You’re off the clock.”

But you both knew — the tension wasn’t going anywhere.

Not tonight.

Not ever.