"...and don't forget, take lots and lots of pictures, don't kill each other...oh, Tony, you've got to try that little cafe I told you about! They have the best biscuits; well, not biscuits, but whatever they call them in France..."
Tony and Ziva blinked at Abby, slightly exasperated, but smiled to her as the door began to shut. Just then a streak of red-tipped white shot into the elevator.
Tony sighed as the door opened again. "And one more thing. Stay safe," Abby pronounced firmly, her gaze raking them both and lingering on Ziva as she let the door she strutted down to her lab, she tried to push the worries from her mind, tried not to remember the last mission oversees.
"Come on, Abby!" she urged herself, and as she slipped into her empty lab and locked the door behind her, she managed to push fear from her mind and focused on her task. Picking up the phone, she punched in the digits of a long foreign number. Caffeine and excitement made her clumsy. After five frenzied tries, she finally heard a ring.
"Hello? Oh, bonjour! No, I don't speak French; I mean, it sounds amazing and all but I already speak Spanish and organic chemistry, and I don't have time to learn another language, and besides I can't afford a trip to France...no! No! Don't hang up! I promise I have a reason to call. You see, I need your help. I need you to tell my friends that there is only one room available. Wait! I'll pay you for the other room; I didn't say I couldn't afford a room in Paris, just a trip, and besides I don't really like flying."
"Why? Have you ever analyzed the composition of airplane air? Didn't think so. Yes, they are a couple; well no, not a "couple" couple, but they are so cute. But they will be arguing. Their names? Anthony DiNozzo. Big D little. . .oh? You found it. And Ziva David. Spelled like David but pronounced Dah-veed. Yeah, she's Israeli."
You will! Thank you so much. You, sir, are an enabler. No, no, no. Not in a bad way at all. Why?" Abby stared around her lab for a moment, considering the question.
"Well, let's just put it this way: this, sir, is an intervention." And as she hung up the phone, she settled herself into her chair, sipping her caf-pow in a cloud of scheming and self-satisfaction.
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