Title: Reflections

Summary: Gibbs reflects on how Abby and he came to know each other. He also gives an explanation on why Abby prefers to work alone.

Rating: T or M, where ever this is leading and what ever you want it to be. Just let me know ;-)

Beta: doomprincess

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. Never had, never will. I hope no-one minds my borrowing them for some (pleasant and unpleasant) excursions. I promise I return them back safe and sound.

A/N: At some point the story lacks plausibility, because I try to fit in Abby in Gibbs's already tight schedule in the late 90s. I however hope the discrepancies are not too obvious...

And since again they didn't mention Abby's birthday this season, I'm going to fit that in as well ;-)

"Night Gibbs!"

It has been a long day for all of us. Abby is the last one of the team to leave - except for me. I look up from my paperwork. She smiles at me and waves good bye, a twinkle in her eyes. I smile back at her.

Whenever Abby smiles at me, or teases me, or looks at me with that mischievous twinkle in her eyes, I'm taken back to the secret corner in the back of my mind that reminds me of a time, before, when it hadn't been like this.

When Jenny hired that Chip-guy, as Abby's assistant, Abby took on the challenge that almost went terribly wrong. Again. I swear by God, I will never let that happen again.

And when Abby suggests that we smoke some of the stuff we collected at a crime-scene, to find out what sort of dope it is, then I know she does not feel comfortable at all with the situation, because it has some serious background to it. She does not want to let it show, though. I am sure she has not told the team about it, and if she has, she most likely has left out the part that involved me; because that would divulge the very personal details of our relationship.

It all began more than 10 years ago...


When I first meet Abigail Sciuto, she is anything but the lively, smart young woman who has only just finished her exams in criminology, sociology and psychology. She is working at this forensics lab with this guy, who…

But first things first:

In 1998 my job as an NCIS-Agent is taking me to New York, to interview some relatives of a murdered Marine Petty Officer.

The night before I leave to head back to D.C., I find myself sitting on a bench in a park, in the middle of the night, after discovering again that the couple of glasses of bourbon I had do not make me tired. They never do.

A few yards away from me, three people walk by; two guys supporting a young woman. She is tall - or maybe that's because of the high platform shoes she is wearing - and dressed in a shirt and a knee-long skirt. And Jeez! Is she drunk!

They do not notice me and I consider following them because of this uneasy feeling this picture evokes in my gut.

A minute or two later, I hear noises, shouting, harsh words and a female voice - though choked and inarticulate - that leaves no doubt she is not approving of what is going on.

I jump up, and within seconds I reach the spot where the shouting comes from. They have pinned the girl against a tree, shouting and laughing.

"Hey!" I shout, but they are so absorbed in their vicious game, that despite my shouting they do not notice me until I grab the guy who is about to rape her. I land a punch in his face; but unfortunately it is not hard enough, so that he can flee, as well as does his buddy bastard.

I turn my attention towards the woman who is still leaning against the tree. She is in a state of shock, swaying a little. But as I turn toward and touch her, she starts fighting me, tooth and nail, lashing about with unexpected force.

She's not drunk, it crosses my mind, but drugged to the limit. I am mad at myself that I had not realized it before.

I take numerous bruises and scratches, and then all of a sudden she collapses.

I hold her while I search for my cell and call 911. There is no-one around to do it. Or maybe no-one wants to be around.

I have no idea where exactly we are, but the lady on the other end of the line tells me they got the signal from my cell phone and the EMTs are on their way.

The young woman's head in my lap, I keep sitting on the ground, holding her hand, kneading her shoulders and telling her that she is going to be okay. She moans, writhes, gasps for air and throws up twice before the EMTs arrive; a trembling heap of exhaustion.