Title: Abby Was A Bouncy Drunk.
Characters: Abby and Gibbs. Ziva, Tony and McGee make an appearance, as does Mikel Mawher.
Discalimer: None of this is mine. Seriously, I have no money. It all belongs to Bellisario.
Summary: Basically, it's dealing with the events of Bloodbath from an Abby/Gibbs perspective.
Spoilers: A Bloodbath side-story.
Notes: I've never written anything that warranted a rating above G, so I'm not sure what to rate this. There's sex, but it's not at all explicit ("in the truest, most pornographic sense of the word"). I'd show it to my grandma and not blush. Well...maybe not.
Now, all there is left to do is hope that the formatting doesn't play up. I'm a relative newbie to Oh, and read the story. There's also that. Feedback is my drug!
Abby was a bouncy drunk. Working at NCIS, she wasn't really drunk often enough to warrant a description, preferring Red Bull and Caf-Pows over London Dry. Dealing with the demands of her job (and boss) with its permanent on-call status didn't facilitate all-nighters and the inevitable hangovers that followed. Sometimes she'd get tipsy when Gibbs took her out to dinner or when she watched him cook from a stool at the bar. She'd rock backwards and forwards, amusing herself, until he was forced to abandon the steaks and place a hand on the small of her back to curve the precarious angle at which she'd been leaning. Hands clasped behind her back mischievously, she'd look up at him with her beautiful shadowed eyes and bat her lids comically.
She was a laughing drunk. When her hands strayed under his suit jacket or her lips wandered over the skin of his neck, she would always laugh. Almost conspiratorially, it seemed, as if she was chatting with the cheeky devils in the back of her mind. He would chuckle affectionately, but by God, she made it hard to drive.
As soon as he pulled into the driveway she fled from the car and into the house. Heading straight for the bedroom, she ferreted around in his chest of drawers until she found what she was looking for; Gibbs' old Marines t-shirt - her favourite. Catching up with her, he watched from the doorway as she tunnelled her way through it, emerging from the oversized holes with a smile as she breathed in the smell of it. Of him. He loved it when she did that.
She turned to him, pretending to be affronted that he'd watched her change unawares. Her index finger, which had been tapping at him in mock annoyance quickly curved around to beckon him towards her. Twenty minutes later he was pressing her down into his mattress, hands beside her head, his left clasped with her right. Every time a change in position seemed imminent, she flattened her hands on his back, pushing his shoulders down towards her. She wanted to stay under him, to pull him close even when their breathing had returned to normal.
It was at times like these that he could really grasp the delicate side of Abby. Very few people got to experience the softer, more feminine aspects of her personality. She was usually heavily caffeinated and zipper-clad, bouncing along to her own personal soundtrack, be it her mp3s or her mouth. It wasn't a traditional femininity of the "'Sleepless in Seattle' on a rainy Sunday afternoon" variety. Rather, it was the long, thin fingers that threaded through studded rings. It was the pale curving skin under black ink. It was the soft strands covered in 'midnight noir' dye and the long legs tucked into socks that had stepped off a page of "The Cat in the Hat."
He woke up alone. Heart pounding, but concealing all worry in swift, decisive movements he checked from room to room, before jogging down to the basement. Seeing her stumble around drunk and upset was new and unsettling. Gone was the frisky goth intent on removing clothes quickly and usually in public places. In her stead was a tired and frightened woman, practically folding in on herself in his far too large Marines t-shirt.
He'd been willing to let her ramble on as she wandered around, until she picked up the saw. Muscles tensed, he watched the blade with a careful eye. When she placed the tip at the hollow of her throat he snaked his arm forward and placed his hand over hers on the handle, rendering her arm incapable of movement. Her loose grip easily allowed him to take the tool from her. She looked guiltily down at him. She had been right. He did want to beat Mikel Mawher to a pulp with a baseball bat.
A little while later, after she had assured herself of her innocence with a little help and learned that Mikel was actually in custody, they sat together, backs to the boat, thighs pressed together. She swung her legs, occasionally hitting his ankle on the downward swing. He didn't mind. She used the action to disguise a swift shift in position and hooked her left leg over his right. He chuckled softly as she leaned over and started pressing warm, sloppy, drunken kisses to his neck. Reaching over his body, she planted her hand on the bench by his hip and used the position to hoist herself around so that she stood in front of him. Moving his legs apart with a nudge of her knee, she stepped closer…and proceeded to trip over her feet.
Smiling sheepishly at him from her suddenly closer proximity, she put her arms on his shoulders and pushed herself upright. "I think I might be really drunk."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "I think you might be right."
She started picking at imaginary lint on his t-shirt, before fingering the collar hesitantly. "I'm sorry about your boat."
He placed his hands on her waist. "Don't say you're sorry, Abs. It's a sign of weakness. Besides, it's not nearly as bad as the time you snuck up on me while I was using the block plane."
She grinned. "Ah-ha! So you finally admit that I snuck up on you! Victory is mine!"
"Yeah, ok. Let's not forget that I broke a plank of wood and had you pinned down on the ground in less than three seconds. Although, the breaking a plank of wood I'd rather forget. The pinning you down? Not so much."
"Oh, but Gibbs my pet, that was my evil plan all along."
"Yeah, well, you are quite cunning, Abby."
She smirked and threaded her hands around behind his head, fingering the short hair at the top of his neck. She was glad he'd let it grow a little. "We should probably get to bed. I have a big day in court tomorrow."
He slid his hands around to her back, fingers creeping up underneath her shirt, caressing the skin, just brushing the cross. He couldn't see it, but he knew exactly where it began.
"Yup. Come on, let's go."
Gibbs found it strange to interrogate Mikel. To hear him talk about how he loved Abby. To hear him say he was meant for her and that, even though she tried to deny it, she was meant for him. He found it strange to interrogate a man who had touched Abby, the way he himself had. It wasn't a possessive thing. They were both anything but inexperienced and sex wasn't the special thing it was to some at eighteen. It wasn't even that Mikel believed Abby was his soulmate. After having had his fair share of wives, and loving all of them at certain points, Gibbs didn't really believe in 'the one', rather luck in finding someone whom he could love at all. What was really strange was having these thoughts in the first place. Giving the concepts of love and relationships serious and prolonged contemplation was not a hobby nor a skill he possessed, nor desired.
Over the months, he'd grown used to being with Abby. Kissing her, sleeping with her. To have to study and immerse himself in her relationship with someone else threw off his time-frame. It felt anachronistic. He had to bite down on his tongue just to stop himself from telling Mikel to piss off and leave them all alone. Just force the man to accept that it hadn't worked out (and that being an obsessive stalker didn't help anybody) and make him move on. For some inexplicable reason though, he was hesitant. Even as he drove back to the Navy Yard from the Court House, Tony in the back seat (much to his annoyance), Abby in the front, hair back in pigtails, glasses thrown haphazardly into the glove box (where, incidentally, there was a pair of black lace gloves) something weighed on the back of his mind.
Gibbs left Mikel yelling for Abby in the interrogation room. As he walked down the corridor heading towards the elevator, he realized what had been bothering him. In verbalizing Mikel's future, he was forced to confront a life without Abby. It was unsettling, and the thought was hastily pushed to the back of his mind, where it was quickly joined by contemplation of the faked suicide note. Stepping off the elevator, the squad room came into view. Abby was perched on McGee's desk, talking animatedly to its owner, Ziva and Tony. Her hands were gesticulating wildly and flashes of black and silver could be seen on her fingers. The blue court suit was long gone. With any luck, the pieces had been shipped to different ports around the world. Gibbs made no assumptions about Goths, but he knew a little bit about Abby, and that suit made her cranky and uncomfortable. A lot of people had been knocked for six when he'd started taking Abby home with him, and he wasn't ignorant of the fact that the two of them looked strange, but he didn't really think of Abby as a goth. Rather, that term simply happened to apply to Abby. Larger than life, as always.