Summary: "I can't use the word "thing" now, you realize?" Gibbs and Abby play.
A/N: Part one of four.
She glanced up when the doors to the lab slid open; any sane person had left by eleven. Not much could be said for Jethro Gibbs' sanity.
"You look like shit."
His eyes rose from where they had been busy studying the ground. ""Ya think?"
She rose too quickly, making a conscious effort to look casual as she walked over to stand in front of him. "I always say what I think. You know that better than anyone—Well, better than anyone but my mother, but she doesn't really count seeing as I never see her and I see you so very much more often than I see her and seriously? What the hell happened to you?"
He rubbed his jaw experimentally. "No one ever said this job was painless."
She inclined her head in agreement. "Madam Director was down here, earlier. She said everybody was fine."
He frowned. "Jen says a lot of things."
She reached out for his face, running her elegant white fingers delicately over the bruise blossoming in angry shades of purple on his cheek. "Nobody loves you till you're gone." Her hand dropped down, fingers sliding down his neck and chest slowly.
He stepped back, shifting to stand straighter. Her hand dropped away but she didn't move, meeting his cool blue gaze with her own green fire. "I'm going to need evidence that'll stand up in court. Can you do that?"
Her laughter was no more than the shattering of glass. "Can a fish swim?"
"Go home, finish it in the morning." He was worried about her. He didn't want his best – only – forensics expert collapsing of sleep deprivation in the middle of the lab.
She shook her head animatedly. "Can't. I've had too much caffeine to sleep. Besides, the faster I finish this up the faster I can get back to processing on the McGreevy thing."
She grinned. "Well duh. If he wasn't it wouldn't be a thing."
"But my thing's bigger than his," he affirmed, raising one eyebrow.
She smirked. "Gibbs! I should wash your mouth out with soap!"
He walked to sit on a free stool, facing her. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Well. I do like to be on top. Control's a… I can't use the word "thing" now, you realize?"
He shrugged. "You made it a—"
"Forty-two, Gibbs." She grabbed her wallet from her desk, and turned toward the door. "Coffee run. You want?"
He smirked. "Yes." She didn't have to be looking at him to know what he was talking about.
"It's so much better with sugar, you know?" She tugged her jacket over her lace shirt, and flipped her pigtails. She could feel his eyes running lazily over her body.
"Nah." He got off the stool, walking slowly towards her. "Black suits me just fine."
She choked on her next response. "Gibbs! That's horrible! You should be shot for that. And here I thought Tony was the king of cheesy."
He placed a hand at the small of her back, carefully guiding her out of the lab and down the hall to the elevator. "Yeah," he conceded. "But there's one difference between my lines and DiNozzo's."
And without any warning she was up against the wall of the elevator with his mouth on hers, hard and demanding and tasting of coffee and mint. When he was done, he stood close to her, invading her personal bubble and looking smug. "Mine work."
She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine, fine. You win."
"Will I make McGee jealous if I take you home tonight?"
She grinned. "No one is pathetic enough to be jealous over a boat, Jethro. Now if you and I were sleeping together, I could give you a list of people to watch out for."
Gibbs stepped away from her, wincing and rubbing his lip where the force of the kiss had reopened a cut that had started bleeding. "Start listing… just in case."
The doors to the elevator slid open, and he strolled out, leaving a stunned Abby in his wake. Shaking her head, she stalked after him, boots clicking on the tile. "That an offer, Gunny?"
He continued to walk. "Only if you want it to be."