Abby rearranged the skull-and-crossbones patterned pillow that had shifted in her coffin the night before. It was larger than the one she normally slept in—made specifically for more voluptuous people. But McGee had been spending the night more often, and she decided to compromise. He would agree to sleep in the coffin, and she would agree to get a bigger one.
Abby liked McGee. It was nice being able to talk to someone about the case-something that she wasn't able to do for fear of babbling something important and confidential. She loved having someone there who could understand the technical and scientific side of life without looking at her like she was speaking a foreign language. And for many it was. They would spend many nights together watching horror movies and discussing the newest scientific breakthroughs and discoveries. She loved his sweetness and tenderness and willingness to learn and explore, both in bed and out.
So Abby wasn't surprised to find McGee's coat draped over her chair, left there as her boyfriend rushed out this morning at the request of Penny. Abby hoped it wasn't too serious, but he didn't elaborate. She picked up the jacket to hang it. A clanking sound as something hit the floor. Something sparkled on the floor. Abby reached down to pick up whatever it was. She paused, her breath caught in her mouth. It was gold and round with what looked to be a diamond attached to it. A ring. An engagement ring. She exhaled.
"Oh, McGee," she groaned. She liked McGee. She liked him a lot and cared enough for him to know that he deserved to marry a woman that thought Timothy McGee was the best guy in the world. But Abby wasn't that woman. Abby Sciuto thought Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was the best guy in the world.
She remembered… Gibbs' s arms around her, speaking softly to her after Ari tried to shoot her in the lab. Gibbs sitting beside her in the elevator. She may have had a stun gun, brass knuckles, and a pepper spray with her, but nothing made her feel safer than her marine right next to her. Gibbs's strong arms pulling her from the exhaust-filled car that came close to claiming her life. Gibbs lying on a hospital bad, in a coma, his face bandaged but not enough to cover all the marks of battle on his face. Her heart broke looking at him. And then it broke some more when he announced he was retiring.
Abby would often analyze her feelings toward him. Was he a father-figure to her, or was there something more? After all, she did find her silver-haired fox to be attractive. But Abby would always come to the conclusion that her feelings concerning Gibbs didn't matter at all. What did matter was Gibbs himself. He was her protector, her confidante, her magical, psychic superhero, the man who would have no problem beating Godzilla, King Kong, and the Terminator all at once. The man whom Abby could not imagine her life without. And tender hugs and chaste kisses from Gibbs meant more to Abby than passionate embraces from any other man ever could.