Title: Bad Timing
Rating: R
Spoilers: Borderland and Patriot Down, season seven
Summary: After the events of Bittersweet and Broken, Abby tries to deal with the change in her relationship with Gibbs…

Author's Note: This takes place the morning after Borderland's final scene - I've already tagged the night from Gibbs' POV in Bittersweet and Broken, so reading that first would help. As the fic goes on, I'll be tagging Patriot Down.

My head aches a little, and I burrow my head under the blanket with a sigh, protecting my eyes from the morning sun that tries to burn through the thin skin of my eyelids. Was I drinking last night? How much?

Then I register two details at once. Fact number one: it's not just my head that aches; my entire body feels as though I've been having really rough sex all night; painful and satisfied all at once.

Fact number two: this blanket smells like Gibbs.

Oh my god; I had sex with Gibbs. I had sex… with Gibbs. And cried a lot. That's why I have a headache; I'm dehydrated. But that's not important right now.

I had sex with Gibbs. Heartbreaking, frustrated, helplessly passionate sex, with scratching and biting and bruising and gasps and moans and god, Abby, stop wriggling or he's gonna wake up…

Is he even in the bed with me? It feels warm and cosy, like there's someone here with me, but we're not touching, if he is. Do I dare turn over? If he's awake, what do I say? What if he regrets it?

Do I regret it?

No, I don't. I could never regret it; not with Gibbs, not even now I know he killed Hernandez. And he was good... better than good, the second time, once we actually got to the bedroom and he-

But my evidence report… God, what do I do? Talk about bad timing; it was hard enough before, when I thought all he felt for me was fatherly affection. But now… I have to choose between turning him in, and maybe losing him forever, or falsifying evidence.

I don't know how I can bring myself to do either of those things. I just…

Don't think about it now. Concentrate on the situation. I'm in Gibbs' bed. Is he there? He can't be, right? I'd be able to hear him breathing.

Sneaking my head out of the blankets again, I turn it without moving the rest of my body, hoping to catch a glimpse of his side of the bed without tipping him off.

Oh my god, he's there. Even when he's asleep, he's stealthy. What do I do? What if he's awake?

Come on, calm down. He's Gibbs. And I'm his favourite. What's he gonna do, kill me?

Ouch. Bad choice of thoughts.

I turn over, onto my back, with as little movement as possible. Now I can see his face, it's obvious that he's sleeping; I've never seen him this peaceful.

Watching him, I just want to curl up closer to him, and feel his arms around me. And not just in a sexy way; I need the comfort he can always give me without saying a word. But I can't make myself commit to it; I'm too scared of what his reaction will be.

The blanket's slipped down to his stomach, and I can see the scratches and bruises my fingers have left on his shoulders and arms. As if in sympathy, my own injuries throb gently, and I bite my lip, knowing he'll be in pain when he wakes up.

Oops.

Wait, is he naked under there? Am I naked? Are we-?

Slamming down on the inappropriate thoughts, I shift my weight a little, checking for the resistance of clothing. Nothing hinders my movement but the blanket, and I feel my pulse begin a steady, insistent beat between my thighs, wondering what he'd do if I kissed him into wakefulness, reached down between us and caressed him until he was hard, and then…

He stirs a little in his sleep, and my heart skips in irrational terror. He's Gibbs, and I trust him more than anyone else, but he's been divorced three times, and I could ruin his life with my forensic report, and what if he kicks me out of bed and tells me to leave?

Okay, if we're gonna have this conversation, I need to get some clothes on. Which means I should move now, before he wakes up.

Gingerly, I slide out from beneath the covers, careful not to pull them away from Gibbs. After a moment's hesitation to make sure he doesn't stir, I look around for my clothes, finding them mingled with Gibbs' a couple of feet from the bed. Extricating my panties from under Gibbs' shirt, I start to dress.

Once I'm fully clothed, I put on my boots for good measure, and then gaze over at Gibbs, surprised at how deeply he's sleeping. He's not faking it; I could tell if he was. But somehow I thought he'd be a light sleeper, wary of being crept up on in the night.

Then again, he did have a pretty emotional day yesterday. First seeing Hernandez on Ducky's table, then realising that I knew the truth, then afterward… I can't blame him for sleeping like the dead.

Why did I get dressed? Now when he wakes up he's gonna feel like he's at a disadvantage, because he's naked and I'm not. But what else could I do? Pretend I don't need to ruin his life for giving Hernandez what he deserved?

I should have kissed him awake. But it's too late now. I can't stay here like this. And he… he never answered my question last night. Not properly. He never told me if he'd love me, no matter what I did.

He didn't ask me what I was gonna do, or tell me what he wanted me to do with this horrible secret I stumbled upon.

And now, I don't know what to do.

For a couple of minutes, I resist the urge to pace, keeping my turmoil internal so I don't wake Gibbs. I could make him coffee, or breakfast, or something… but I'm so skittish that I'd probably burn his house down in the process.

I can't just stand here staring at him like a creepy stalker, though! I need to… god. Am I really gonna skip out on Gibbs before he wakes up? On Gibbs? The one man I want more than any other?

What do you want me to say?

Remembering his defensive words makes me flinch, and the urge to run only gets stronger. I give in to it, stopping only for long enough to kiss his shoulder lightly. Feeling his skin against my lips does things to me that I really shouldn't be thinking about right now, but he sighs and pulls the bedcovers up over his body in response, and I flee down the stairs before he can fully wake up.

I'm halfway to the door before I realise my satchel's still in the basement. Damnit! I can't get caught running now; it'll only make things worse. Just get down there, grab the bag and go!

Descending to the basement brings back memories I shouldn't be dwelling on. He took me here, against the wall, hard and deep and fast and god, I never felt so… Focus, Abby!

I pick up the satchel and get to the top of the stairs just as a floorboard creaks in the bedroom above. He's awake! And I can't believe I'm running from him, but… I need to process this.

Leaving the house as quietly as I can, I half-run to my car, parked out on the street. There's no traffic this early in the morning, and fifteen minutes later, I'm home.

Moving into my bedroom on autopilot, I strip off last night's clothing, catching a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. Wait… Looking closer, last night's damage is plain to see, from the finger-shaped bruises on my hips and butt to the hickey on my neck and the slight abrasion marks on my back where he slammed me against the wall as he took me.

Over, and over, and over…

Frustrated in every possible way, I fling my shirt at my reflection and stalk toward the shower, hoping the hot water will clear my head and relax me a little.

It doesn't work. I mean, I just skipped out on Gibbs. Gibbs! I don't even know how he's gonna react to that. Or how I can justify it. And what the heck do I do about the Mexico case?

I guess I was right last night. I don't know anything any more.

More to come...