A/N: Apologizing now for the roughness. This is what 2:30 am does to people like me. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated ;D
Le Disclaim: I own nada.
Just a few hours ago, they'd sat next to each other in the morning light, in his back yard. They'd sipped coffee and conversed deeply of Abby's origin, and her birth family (rather, speculated about them) until the sun appeared. Going to work was just another part of the routine.
Once they'd arrived at the navy yard, she made a mad dash for her lab; they'd left a cold case in limbo the night before, abandoning it for Abby's concern regarding why her adoptive parents didn't tell her that she was adopted. Abby had slipped into sleep before the story could be finished though, curling into a little spoon before him on his own couch. He couldn't have asked for anything more than simply to hold her in his arms and love her, and comfort her.
When she'd dropped a call by him, she'd told him she was going back to his house. Not more than an hour passed, and he felt his gut; the pain was gnawing; worse than it had ever been. Now, there he, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, stood, his stomach throbbing painfully with dread as he approached an unhinged door, His lip curled up as he tried to move the door, gently pushing it away. It fell flat, only inches from his foot. Gibbs stepped through his threshold, like it was some foreign house that he was intruding upon. Peering inside, he found his living room a mess, blood spatters on the landing wall near the staircase, leading upstairs.
"Abbs?" He called up to the second floor, a hint of fear in his voice, "ABBY?"
No reply from anywhere upstairs, Gibbs dashed up to his second floor landing, stopping to observe the pool of black blood on the carpet. A trail led under the door to his bedroom, the brass handle stained a rusty red. Gibbs quickly pulled a glove out of his pocket, stepping gingerly up to the door, turning the knob. The flimsy wooden slab unlocked to a ghastly scene.
"Oh my god, Abby –" Was all he could muster, before turning back to hug the wall behind him. Abby was stretched across his bed, cuts and deep slashes borne into her skin. Two violent, angry gashes, in the shape of a cross, were mapped out on her forearms. She'd been gagged, then viciously choked with nylon rope, large burn marks and bruises surrounding her neck and jaw. A shot to the stomach may have done her in. He heard no breathing, nor saw any chest movement, assuming she was dead. Shit.
Gibbs mustered enough will power to walk back, into the room, trying his hardest to avoid his girl's green eyes, glazed over, and staring him in the face with the pain she had endured. He analyzed and observed, collecting data and evidence. Bag and tag marine, bag and tag.
All the while, he couldn't avoid her. Tears had started to pour down his face, finally; tears unshed for so many years. This was it. He couldn't go on; this was the final straw.
Gibbs turned to face Abby. He couldn't look at her without breaking down beside the bed where she lay. He took her cold hand, which dangled over the edge, gripping it with his own. Warmth was the most he could give her; love. How could he have been so blind? The smiles, her disordered mind suddenly snapping into place whenever he was in her lab, the kisses, the hugs, all of those times that he heard her when he wasn't supposed to; Abby had been in love with him. And Gibbs, with her; though he'd never said a word.
A sudden squeeze from Abby's hand cleared his mind of anything.