Title: The Wrong Idea
Rating: R - mostly implied sex and D/s.
Summary: With no further consideration of the risks, I kick the door open so hard that it crashes into the wall and run into the room, the by-now automatic yell of "NCIS!" falling from my lips. And then I freeze in utter incomprehension.
I kill the engine and sit for a moment, staring out at Abby's place. Both the downstairs and upstairs lights are on, indicating that she is home, and I take a shaky breath to steady my nerves. Yes, though Tony and McGee might doubt it, I can get nervous too.
The refrain has been playing in my head for weeks. Abby or Gibbs? Abby or Gibbs? Abby or Gibbs? I find them both fascinating, Gibbs with his brusque, no-nonsense manner and Abby, forever chirpy and full of energy.
It's Abby that captivates me the most, her angry music and Goth image contrasting sharply with her sunny disposition. Last week she was almost killed by an ex-boyfriend and a hired hitman alike, and it made me realise how much I would regret not trying to tell her how I feel. I've heard Tony and McGee talking about a couple of dates she has been on with women, so at the least I know that she is not averse to the idea.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I get out of the car and head up to Abby's front door. I knock and wait, but there is no answer. Puzzled, I move to the window and peer in through the glass.
A lamp has been knocked to the floor, and a single shoe – identifiably Abby's – lies close to it. A struggle? Abby is testifying at Spooner's attempted murder trial next week… She could be in danger!
Drawing my NCIS-issue SIG, I try the door as quietly as I can. It is unlocked, and I let myself in, resisting the urge to call out for Abby in case the sound alerts an intruder.
Wishing Tony was there for backup, I clear every downstairs room, keeping my back to the wall to minimise the threat of someone creeping up behind me. There are no other signs of violence, which indicates that if there is a problem, it will be upstairs.
I take the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible, treading on the outsides of the steps to ensure that none creak and betray my position. Light spills out from a crack in the door to the master bedroom, and my every instinct is to rush in there without checking any of the other rooms, but that would be foolish.
I begin to move toward the spare bedroom, but a sudden sharp cry from behind me has me spinning immediately back to the front of the house. It's undoubtedly Abby! With no further consideration of the risks, I kick the door open so hard that it crashes into the wall and run into the room, the by-now automatic yell of "NCIS!" falling from my lips.
And then I freeze in utter incomprehension.
Abby is sitting on her bed, leaning her weight back on her hands, her hair dishevelled. She is wearing a black bra trimmed with red lace, a short black skirt, black and red socks pulled up over her knees, and one shoe, the twin to the one I found downstairs.
Kneeling in front of her, naked from the waist up, his hands resting on her spread thighs, is Gibbs. They stare at me in complete disorientation, and I gaze back with much the same expression.
It's impossible to draw any other conclusion. Gibbs obviously had his head buried between Abby's legs when I stormed in, and now I have to explain myself whilst trying to process this new information. And ignore how conflicted it is making me. Abby and Gibbs?!
"I'm sorry," I manage to get out. "The lamp… and the shoe… I thought perhaps Abby…" I watch the comprehension begin to dawn on their stunned faces, and decide not to stay here for whatever response they will come up with. "I will leave you alone."
For the first couple of steps I take back toward the stairs, there is nothing but silence. Then a hurried scuffle follows me, and a warm hand catches my shoulder. It's Abby, and she's… smiling?
"Ziva, that's so sweet!"
Quite how she can stand there in a bra and tiny skirt with no panties, complimenting me on my ability to interrupt a sexual encounter between she and our boss, is beyond me. For the second time in as many minutes, I am lost for words.
"Promise not to tell the Director?" Abby asks, both of her hands on my shoulders now.
Nothing could be further from my mind at that moment, and I tell her so. She shoots me one of her dazzling grins. "Then there's no problem!"
"Gibbs is going to kill me," I mutter through gritted teeth.
Abby giggles. "He's not planning on killing you…"
Before I can make sense of that baffling statement, Gibbs' voice interrupts me. "Ziva."
Steeling myself for the worst, I meet his eyes as steadily as I can. "Yes, Gibbs?"
He stands beside Abby, and gives me the headslap I knew was coming – so hard I see stars. Before the pain has even fully blossomed, his lips are on mine, his tongue seeking insistent entrance to my mouth. He tastes of what can only be Abby, leaving no doubt in my mind as to what he was doing kneeling before her.
Thinking he might have actually knocked me senseless this time, I let him have his way, trying not to remember that first headslap Gibbs gave me in the elevator when I joined his team. That gesture had given me a strange sense of belonging as well as more than a tingle of desire, and this is much the same. By the time he pulls away, I am gasping for breath.
And Abby is still smiling. "See? You're still alive. And a little pain is a good thing."
"Really?" I ask, with a confidence I do not feel. I lost control of this situation the moment I kicked in the door, and I have yet to regain it. "Would you care to prove it, Abby?"
By the looks of the heavy-duty leather cuffs around her wrists and the collar to match, things between she and Gibbs have already progressed past that stage. I had no idea Gibbs was that open-minded. It seems I had no idea about many things.
Part of me is sure that another headslap is on its way, this one carrying no kiss behind it, but the moment stays violence-free. Abby looks up at Gibbs pleadingly, and in that moment I know there is only one way this evening can end. And I have wanted it so badly, for so long.
Gibbs signs something to Abby. I may be fluent in six languages, but sign language is still a complete mystery to me. I can only watch and wait as Abby fidgets excitedly and signs something back. Then she takes a step toward me.
"Ready and willing to prove myself, ma'am!" she answers with a mock salute.
"Wrong hand, Abbs," Gibbs corrects her, not for the first time, and Abby laughs, beginning to lift her right hand to correct herself.
Impulsively, I catch her wrist and twist her arm, not hard enough to truly hurt, and slam her into the wall, her cheek pressed against the painted surface, my breasts pressed against her back. I have used this move – with considerably more force – on many a suspect, but never has it made me feel this good.
Abby whimpers softly, and I feel her hips move, her body grinding back against me. I am too close to see much of her face, but I can see enough to know that she is still smiling.
Behind me, I hear Gibbs' slight chuckle. "Be careful with my girl, Officer David."
"Not too careful," Abby murmurs, softly enough that only I can hear her. I laugh, not surprised in the slightest, and push her harder against the wall, nuzzling the side of her neck to balance out the movement.
I have what I came for, and with Gibbs in the equation, so much more.