Now, before anybody reads this, I did not write this. My best friend Amy did, but since she doesn't have a account, I'm just posting it, until she gets one.

Ah, yes. Another case had finally been completed. After what seemed like months, they finally caught the killer of Petty officer Jacob Miller. Why the case took so damn long, is anyone's guess. Let's face it, they killer, a Mr. Brett Emerson was a complete and total idiot. When in interrogation with Gibbs, the guy confessed right off the back he did it, along with a few expletives towards Gibbs and the others. When his words towards Gibbs seemed to get really nasty; Gibbs was in a nice enough mood and asked if he wanted to rephrase anything. His exact quote to the question was.

"Hell no! That son-of-a-bitch had it coming to him; and so did you!" Needless to say, the guy is sitting in a nice comfy cell right now, waiting charges for first degree murder. Now, you would think that with it finally being over, our hero's at NCIS would be happy. Wrong! Because, now they get to do paperwork.

Well, not everybody had to do paperwork. Our favorite Goth forensic scientist was currently figuring out ways to bide the time until there next case. Caf-Pow in her hands, and radio at full blast, she sat in her lab chair, Burt in her arms; hoping something to do would come soon. Sighing, she took a sip of her Caf-Pow, and gave Burt a squeeze. Even Burt's fart weren't curing her boredom. She almost wished she had…paperwork. Why was there nothing to do? She worked at the Navy Base, and helped her mysterious, overprotecting boss; a field agent computer geek; a Israeli ninja chick, and Tony DiNozzo catch psychopaths for a living. How could you be bored?

It was then she heard it. That song on the radio. She had heard it only a few days ago, but had instantly fallen in love with its contagious beat. The lyrics were different, from that of any other song; and it just left you wanting more. She smiled. Finally, her prayer had been answered! When the singer started singing, she started to hum silently to herself. Enjoying the mesmerizing tune; but it wasn't enough. Halfway through the first verse, she started to mumble some of the words, more and more as the verse went on, until finally, when it got to the chores, she couldn't help it, she just had to sing.

I kissed a girl, and I liked it,

The taste of her cherry chapstick,

I kissed a girl, just to try it,

I hope my boyfriend don't mind it.

She was out of her lab chair now, and was dancing to the tune, Burt still in her arms.

It felt so wrong, it felt so right,

Don't mean I'm in love tonight

I kissed a girl, and I liked it…

And I liked it,

She started to imagine herself on a stage, and held a pretend mike in her hands. She blasted out the words as hard as she could, and the crowd in her imagination screamed.

No I don't even know you're name, it doesn't matter,

You're my experimental game, its human nature,

Her eyes were closed, and she was completely oblivious to the world around her. It's too bad, because if she was paying a little more attention, she might have notice the music volume getting softer, and the figure walk up behind her…

It's not what, good girls do,

Just want to try you on,

I'm curious for you, caught my attention…

"Abby, what the hell are you doing?" She stopped, her illusion of singing on a stage disappearing. She opened her eyes, and slowly turned around, only to see Gibbs with a very confused look on his face. Her pale face was turning as red as her lipstick. Thinking, she tried to come up with something to say, to just get her out of this.

"Need something, Bossman?" She hesitantly asked. She looked down at him, and saw he was holding a box.

"Evidence." Quickly putting her humiliating situation in the back of her mind, she quickly ran over to Gibbs, and took the box from his hands. Well, at least she had something to do now. Silently, she put the evidence box, on the evidence table, while Gibbs walked away; but before Gibbs got to the door, he turned around to face her.

"Abs,"

"Yeah?" Gibbs looked her straight in the eyes.

"We seriously need to talk about you're taste in music." And with that, he left the horribly mortified Goth, to do her job.

There, you go. I do not own I Kissed a Girl, by Katy Perry, and neither does Amy.