Ok,…. I was going to leave it here, but Chirugal says she can be bribed with smut… I might have to add a smutty chapter. I don't know yet.

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"You don't know what it's like… going off to the other side of the world to protect your country, but then you can't be there to protect your own family." - Navy Commander Mike Taffet.

Gibbs had tried to push the memories aside and focus on the case, but the Navy Commander's words had stuck with him throughout the day and long into the evening. Unlike most nights, the rough feel of the wood beneath his hands and the blaze of the alcohol down his throat did little to quell his thoughts. He rubbed a calloused hand along the wood, picking up on uneven areas in the grain. Picking up the sandpaper he moved along the ribs of the boat - one hand seeking out grainy splinters while the other smoothed them away.

"You don't know what it's like…"

He kept waiting for the bourbon to dull his senses but he felt nothing; it wasn't the version of nothing he was looking for. After three glasses of the amber liquid, he gave up, leaving the bottle neglected on his work bench.

"…can't be there to protect your own family."

The grainy sound of sandpaper dragging over the course wood filled the basement, but it couldn't silence those words. The grit of the sandpaper crumbled as he worked, matching his falling defenses – if he could just get those words out of his head.

Those words.

He just wanted to forget.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been downstairs. It hadn't been dark out when he first descended the basement stairs that evening, but he was sure it was nearly midnight, if not later. He had decided to forgo dinner in order to sort his thoughts by his boat, and judging by the rumbling in his stomach it was late into the night.

As he approached the top of the steps and pushed the door open he heard the swaggering sound of Muddy Waters coming from his stereo. There was only one person who would find comfort in the smooth, yet chaotic electric style of music.

The wavering notes of the harmonica bent around him and he went in search of his visitor. "Abby?"

He found her in the kitchen, perched on the counter, her arms wrapped around her knees, the edge of the counter digging into her bare heels.

When he rounded the corner she looked up at him with a genuine smile and dropped her knees, letting her legs drop and swing back and forth in front of the dishwasher below her.

"What are you doing here, Abby?"

She gave a simple shrug. "You seemed a little sad when you left."

"Why didn't you come down?" He nodded towards the basement door.

"You seemed like you could use some time alone."

"Yet, you're still here."

"I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

Gibbs stepped up to her and slid his hand behind her head. He pressed his cheek to hers and asked, "How long you been here?" before pressing a kiss to her temple and pulling back to look at her.

Abby peered around him to look at the digital clock above the stove. "Three hours and some change… I made you a sandwich, it's in the fridge."

He wanted to ignore the food, but his stomach reminded him that he hadn't had anything to eat in over twelve hours. Inside the refrigerator he found a plate with a ham and cheese sandwich. He took the plate and headed out of the kitchen, catching Abby's hand as he passed her. He pulled her off the counter and she followed him willingly towards the living room.

Muddy Waters melted into Billie Holiday.

Gibbs sank into sofa and held out his arm, inviting Abby down to sit with him. She curled her legs under her and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her head on his chest.

With an arm around her, Gibbs lay a flat palm against her back and rubbed softly. He set the plate on his lap and picked up the sandwich with his free hand and took a big bite.

"Better not get crumbs in my hair." Abby heard the low rumble of his laugh through his chest.

"Want a bite?"

Abby shook her head. "I already had one."

Gibbs finished the sandwich quickly; he hadn't realized how hungry he was until the first bite. He sat with her, enjoying the heat she brought to his body. They listened to the soft music, his fingers tapping gently along her spine. Abby moved her head to rest on his shoulder and her fingers idly played with the button on his grey polo shirt.

As the honeyed voice of Peggy Lee took over the living room, Gibbs slipped out from Abby's arms and stood. Abby watched him closely, his face unreadable as he pulled away.

Gibbs read the mix of confusion and contentment on Abby's face and reached out for her. She took his hand and he waited as she stretched her legs, tense from her position on the sofa, before standing with him. He led her a few steps towards the center of the room and then pulled her close. Her eyes widened as she grinned. He returned her grin with a small one of his own, and brought her arms up, where she intuitively wrapped them around his neck.

His rough fingers ran down the soft skin of her arms. His fingers traced from her elbows, where he had grasped her arms to bring them to his neck, to her shoulders and then down her sides. He traced along the valleys and ridges of her ribs before settling his hands at her hips and then, after a moment, wrapping his arms around her to hold her tightly to his chest.

"Abbs…"

It wasn't a question or a lead in. It was just her name in a breathy whisper, a whisper to let her know he was thankful that she had come over.

Her response was to press her face against his neck and nod. She understood.

He remembered he had been thinking about something earlier, something had been bothering him, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. The smell of her shampoo grounded him; it reminded him of the present, of what he wanted, what he needed, and what he had: Abby.

They moved slowly to the music. One soulful singer after another wrapped around them as they danced. They didn't speak, nothing needed to be said. They were simply dancing.

They simply were.

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