Pink Is Not Your Colour
This is a companion to Prin69's new fic, Stockholm Syndrome, which is much funnier than this and which you must go read right now and then come read this. Y'all should give her reviews!
A/N: Ok. So I got on AIM today, and Prin69 pounced on me and asked me to beta her fic very quickly. And then I was like, "You know my brain has decided that Ziva's cell wasn't on because she forgot it at Abby's while they were busy with …other… activities." And then she said I should write it. So I did. But it got a bit out of control. I'm trying to get out a chapter very day she gets one out on Stockholm Syndrome.
…She gave me permission! Blame her!
Four-thirty in the fucking morning and Abby was awakened by the sound of something hitting the bedroom floor and a muffled curse in a language that was most assuredly not English. She rolled over, pulling the blanket up to her nose so only her eyes peaked out.
"Where're you going?" she asked, voice even raspier than normal from sleep.
Ziva turned, pulling on her boot with one hand and zipping her jacket with the other. "Go back to sleep."
Abby pouted, though the blanket and the darkness made it impossible to see. "I'm not five years old. What's up?"
Ziva sighed, and sat down on the side of the bed. "I couldn't sleep. And then I was thinking, and I realized that I didn't bring a change of clothes for work this morning. Tony would tease me endlessly, yes? I don't think Gibbs would approve of partner homicide before the second cup of coffee."
Abby smirked. "I don't know. I could probably get Tony to shut up."
Ziva sighed. "Didn't Gibbs warn you about handcuffing people to chairs?"
Abby nodded, still sleepy. "Yup. But he never said anything about the glitter glue part. 'sides. Tony handcuffed? Very hot."
"I think he was a bit too traumatized by the sight of McGee's hair sprayed a bright pink to say much at the time."
"He deserved it."
He stole your Caf-Pow."
Abby hummed in agreement. "You're right, I did go pretty easy on him."
Ziva stood up, stretching. "I should go before it gets light out. There're less idiot American drivers out on the roads when it's dark."
Abby buried her face in her pillow and grinned. "Mmk. See you at work?"
"You will," Ziva confirmed.
"Love you," Abby called, already half asleep, as Ziva exited the room.
She was awakened at the ungodly hour of seven – she hadn't gotten to sleep until four. She had a vague memory of Ziva leaving, but the only thing that confirmed that this wasn't a dream was the Israeli's notable absence. She picked up her ringing cell phone and muttered a groggy and none too polite greeting into it.
"Abs, wake up. I need you at a scene asap."
She frowned, her mind not computing the information. "I don't have to be in for another hour, Jethro."
He sighed. "Yes, but this morning you're going on a field trip. A kid's birthday sleepover was interrupted by the murder of the father and there's too much evidence to bring back to you, so we're bringing you to the evidence. You can gather what you think will help us figure out what's going on."
"That's everybody else's job," she whined, finally sitting up in bed.
"They're going to be there, too. We need all the help we can get on this one and every single other team is on a case of their own."
"Which means I'm going to have a shitload of stuff to process when I get in. I don't have time to play Scooby Doo with you guys." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and her foot landed on something hard.
"You don't have a choice. Ask the Director if you don't believe me."
"Ow! Goddamnit!" was her only response.
She reached down and lifted the offending object. A cell phone. Ziva's, to be exact. "I'm fine. Just stepped on something. Okay, give me the address. But note that this impresses me about as much as the time when Viv spilled coffee all over my mass-spec."
"I'll keep that in mind." He listed off the address, and Abby, not having pen and paper handy, texted it to her own cell phone off of Ziva's, turning the other woman's off as soon as she was done to preserve the little battery power it had left.
"I'll be there soon," she told him, setting Ziva's forgotten phone aside.
"Good," she heard her boss mutter. A second later, a child's voice could be heard over the line.
"Mr. McGee, can I play with your computer?"
Abby snorted. "You guys must be having so much fun!"
A different voice came over the line. "Mr. Gibbs, can I give you a makeover?"
The first voice interjected, "He's all gray, like Grandpa. My brother says that old fogies don't like makeovers."
Abby hung up before Gibbs' frustration jumped out of his ear and rode the phone signal in order to strangle her.