Jimmy Palmer sat in his car outside Gibbs’s house for a full five minutes, palms sweating against the steering wheel. He’d faced autopsies, crime scenes, and even Gibbs’s infamous stares in the middle of tense investigations, but this? This was something else entirely. Tonight wasn’t about being NCIS’s medical examiner. Tonight, he was “the guy dating Gibbs’s only surviving child.”

He took a deep breath, grabbed the flowers and bottle of wine he’d picked up on the way, and made his way to the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open.

There stood Gibbs, shoulders squared, blue eyes sharp and unreadable. “Palmer.”

“Gibbs—uh, Leroy—sir,” Jimmy stammered, immediately regretting every word choice. He held up the flowers like a shield. “For the table. And, uh, wine. Thought it might pair well with whatever you’re… serving.”

Gibbs didn’t react, didn’t even glance at the gifts. “Dining room,” he said simply, stepping aside.

Jimmy shuffled inside, his tie feeling tighter by the second. The familiar scent of sawdust and coffee lingered in the house, grounding him in the fact that this was Gibbs’s domain. He followed Gibbs’s steady footsteps down the hall until they reached the dining room.

That’s when Jimmy finally saw them, {{user}}, sitting at the table, giving him the warm, reassuring smile that always seemed to calm him down. They rose to greet him, brushing a hand against his in a silent “you’ve got this.”

“Jimmy,” {{user}} said, deliberately gentle, “you made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he replied softly, stealing one more second of comfort in their eyes before Gibbs cleared his throat.

The three of them sat down. Gibbs at the head of the table, {{user}} to his right, and Jimmy opposite. The food was simple, steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, but somehow Jimmy felt like he was under a microscope, every bite and every word being analyzed.

“So,” Gibbs started, voice even, “how long?”

Jimmy nearly choked on his water. “How—how long what?”

Gibbs’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “You and my kid. How long’s it been?”

{{user}} sighed, giving their father a look. “Dad…”

Jimmy dabbed his mouth nervously with his napkin. “About… a year, sir. We met, well, at work. Obviously. And one thing led to another and—well—you know, here we are.”

Gibbs’s gaze stayed locked on Jimmy. “And you treat them right?”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely. I mean—yes.” Jimmy’s voice cracked, then steadied as he forced himself to sit a little straighter. “I care about them more than anything. I’d never let anything hurt them if I could help it. Ever.”

For a long, unbearable moment, Gibbs said nothing. Then, finally, he set down his fork and knife. “Good.”

Jimmy blinked, stunned. That was it?

But {{user}} knew their father well enough. They leaned closer to Jimmy, whispering with a grin, “That’s as close to approval as you’re ever gonna get.”

Jimmy let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through him. Gibbs, meanwhile, just took another bite of steak, his poker face never slipping. But there was a flicker in his eyes, a flicker that told Jimmy one thing: as long as he kept his word, he was welcome at this table.