Title: No Use Crying Over Spilled Bourbon
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Borderland
Summary: Post-Borderland angstapalooza…
Author's Note: Yep, I've already tagged the hell out of Borderland, but hey. This was written for the Gabby Tuesday prompt 'dream'.
The conversation with Abby – alone together in his basement, filled with accusations and tears and broken glances – is one of the worst he's endured, even taking into account three divorces. She'd begged him to tell her she was wrong about him; about what he'd done.
He couldn't lie to her.
She'd pleaded for him to tell her that she was like a daughter to him; that he loved her.
He'd lied by omission on both counts. She's no daughter to him, and he loves her more than he'd ever realised. The second she turned to him with condemnation on her face, a puzzle piece had slotted into place within his consciousness, and now it's stuck tight.
He curses himself for not realising sooner, accidentally knocking the bottle of bourbon off the workbench as he clears up the debris of his latest woodwork project. It shatters when it hits the dusty concrete, the brittle sound splitting the basement's silence.
His first instinct, as he stares at the puddle of amber liquid and glass shards, is violence. Anger sends an adrenaline spike into his bloodstream, and his body responds immediately. He's almost made up his mind to take it out on the punching bag at NCIS's gym when a thought drains all the energy from his body.
Violence was what got him into this situation. To take out his frustrations violently seems like a step further into the grey area between morality – where Abby stands – and corruption.
Exhaustion hits him like a freight train, and he turns his back on the mess, wearily climbing the stairs to his bedroom and collapsing onto the mattress fully-clothed.
The last thing that runs through his mind before he falls into slumber is the way his exchange with Abby ended.
"What I really need to know, Gibbs… is if you're gonna love me, no matter what."
He tells her the truth without speaking, taking her by the shoulders and kissing the top of her head with heartbreaking tenderness. When he steps back, the tears in her eyes have spilled down her cheeks, and she chokes back a sob, remaining silent and still. Making no move to hug him, or grant him any form of absolution.
His own composure is on the verge of breaking, but he swallows the lump in his throat, giving her permission to end his career. She's the only one he would allow to do so.
"Do what you gotta do, Abbs. I got your back."
She remembers the words he spoke just a couple of days ago, and gives a sharp nod, too heartsick to meet his eyes. Then she steps back, grabs her bag and flees the basement.
He murmurs the words to himself, watching her retreating back. "Always have. Always will."
In his dream, Abby is sitting on the edge of his bed, stroking his hair. Too drained to move, he submits to her touch, watching her gaze down at him.
"Sorry I yelled. I know this is beyond your control, now. It wasn't you who put me in this situation. So… I forgive you."
They're the words he needs to hear most, and he summons a faint smile. "All I could ever ask of you, Abbs."
She rolls her eyes; shakes her head. "No, it's not. You could ask me for anything, and I'd probably say yes. Unless it was a thirty-second DNA match. Then I'd have to say no, but not because I wanted to say no. Just cause it's impossible. But anything else."
Thinking back to his earlier epiphany, he props himself up on an elbow. "No. There are some things you wouldn't want me to ask you for."
"Come on, now, Agent Gibbs. Did you ever meet anyone more open-minded than I am?"
It's one of the things he loves most about her. With Abby, practically anything is possible. Practically anything… but not this.
"Why are you holding back?"
"Because you'd want me to," he murmurs, sadness descending like a blanket of mist, invasive and chilling.
Abby kisses him, and before he can stop himself he's pulling her close, closer. She winds up almost on top of him, her hand slipping to the side of his face as she leaves brief, sweet kisses on his lips, one after the other; breaking off for a second, then returning.
Oh, he knows now that it's not a dream. He knew from the moment she began to babble about DNA, subconsciously, at least. But it's easier to pretend it's just a fantasy, that there are no consequences; that tomorrow will be obstacle-free, without the shadow of his past looming over them.
She banishes the sorrow, the guilt, the uncertainty. There's just Abby: warm, affectionate, insistent and seductive. He hasn't had time to wonder what she'd feel like, pressed tightly up against his body with her lips teasing his, but he doubts he'd ever have come close to dreaming up the reality.
When she eventually pulls back for more than a split-second, he runs a finger down her face, seeing the same elation and distress on her features as he feels inside. He draws her into a tight hug, more intimate than any they've shared before, but with no expectations or agendas. All they're looking for right now is solace and love; anything further can wait.
He soaks up her presence, letting his guard down the way he can only around Abby. She, for her part, is content to be silent – something that speaks for itself.
His sleep, when it steals over him, is dreamless. And when he wakes, it's to the cold light of dawn, the bleak sense of cataclysm slowly inching nearer, and a ray of dark sunshine in his arms, warming and reassuring him.
END.