Abby and McGee. Extremely fluffy, but hopefully still in character. It will eventually have five or six parts, so it's longer than my usual stuff, but not epic.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, or especially the Gaelic at the end. Further disclaimer on that at the end of the story. :-)

He'd never been the type to lie around in bed all morning. He'd sleep in occasionally, but he never really saw the point of staying in bed once he was awake.

Then he started waking up to Abby in his bed again, and he remembered why mornings tangled in sheets and blankets could be a good thing.

Tim was engaged in his favorite pastime of counting her tattoos – in a more hands-on way than counting generally required – which he sometimes thought multiplied underneath her clothes. "Five," he murmured, kissing the spiderweb on her neck. "Six…" A tiny constellation of stars on her hip. "Seven…" A complicated Celtic knot on the side of her breast. His lips tickled her sensitive skin, and Abby giggled, pulling him up to her for a kiss. "Which one's your favorite?" he asked when they broke apart.

Abby twisted her neck at odd angles for a moment, attempting to study her body. Finally, she shook her head and lay back against the pillows he'd piled up behind her. "That's like asking me which of the machines in my lab I like best, McGee. It's an impossible question." Smiling at him where he lay propped on his elbow next to her, she reached out and brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. "Which one's your favorite?"

It was a silly question, pillow talk for a lazy morning in bed. But, being McGee, he took it seriously, thoughtfully examining each intricate design on her skin. "I like this one a lot," he said, tracing the infinity symbol on the inside of her right arm.

"My first one," she said, twisting her arm towards the light from the window. "I liked the idea of something that went on forever."

Tim brushed his lips over the black ink. After a moment, he tugged lightly on her hip, turning her over. She settled flat on her stomach, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "I actually think this one is my favorite, though," he told her, running his fingers over the cross on her back. "I remember the first time I saw it, that night I stayed over at your apartment. I remember thinking that it was sacrilegious that a cross should be so…so…sexy." Slowly, he kissed his way up her spine. "After we stopped sleeping together," he said against her skin, "I used to dream about this."

He was at her shoulders now, his body covering hers, their fingers laced together. She supposed she could have felt vulnerable, trapped. She knew if it were anyone else, she might have. But it was Tim, who would rather cut off his own arm than cause her pain, who would do anything to make her happy…who loved her.

And so she felt safe, and relaxed, and very, very loved.

"I've been thinking of getting another one," she said.

He brushed her hair away from her back and laid his cheek against her shoulder, careful not to rest too much of his weight on her. "What do you want?" he asked curiously.

She shrugged, bumping his nose. "Sorry," she laughed. She thought for a minute. "You should choose one for me."

McGee pushed himself up on his arms, staring down at her. Abby rolled onto her back and smiled up at him. "What?" she asked.

"The thought of telling me that you love me in any sort of serious way practically makes you hyperventilate, and you want me to pick out something that will stay on your body forever?" he asked her, incredulous.

He knew Abby loved him. He did. He also knew that admitting that she loved him – really loved him, not like a puppy or a friend – terrified her. So he left it alone. Patience had paid off for him once with her. He could be patient again.

Abby narrowed her eyes at him, glaring. "Maybe," she said, her voice intense edging on dangerous in a way that translated into don't push this too far, "that's my way of telling you that I seriously love you, McGee. Ever think of that?"

Her eyes were very green. "Uh…Actually no," he admitted. Patience, he thought, a smile tugging at his mouth. "But I guess…that works." And then his lips were on hers, softly.

"You could write something on me," she suggested a few minutes later. "The guy who does most of my ink can copy handwriting perfectly." He was quiet. "Timmy?"

"Shh," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "I'm thinking." Suddenly he got up out of bed and pulled on a pair of boxers. Abby made a small protesting noise as he left her. He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "Be right back," he told her.

He returned a few minutes later with a scrap of paper and a fine tip black marker. "Here," he said, sitting next to her on the bed. "I'll do it in marker and you can see if you like it." He held up the pen and raised his eyebrows. "Okay?"

Abby pulled herself upright and pushed the sheets and duvet off. "I," she announced, "am your canvas, Timothy."

McGee looked her over, searching for an appropriately blank piece of skin. "You're running out of space, Abs," he said as he ran his hand down her arm, circling her wrist. "How 'bout here? It's covered with your bracelets most of the time, so nobody will see it."

She kissed his cheek. "I don't care if anyone sees it, Tim." When the tips of his ears turned red, she grinned. "But that is a good place. Can you wind it around? Right side up, so I can read it?"

He studied her wrist. "I think so. Here, lean back against me so I can get the angle right."

Abby did as he asked, resting her head on his shoulder. She watched as he wrote on her skin in his meticulous printing, copying off the sheet of paper he'd brought back with him. "It's not original," he told her. "Just something I read that I've always liked. I hope you don't mind."

She shook her head. "Whatever you want." He twisted her wrist around, careful to keep the lines even. She tried to read the words as he wrote them. "McGee, that's not English."

He chuckled. "No, it's Gaelic." Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "'McGee,' Abby. It's a Scottish name."

"I didn't know you knew Gaelic. How did I not know you knew Gaelic?" She poked his leg with her free hand. "That's a big thing not to know."

"Relax, Abs, I don't know Gaelic," he told her. "I just know this little piece, because I like it."

She tried to sound out the words on her wrist. "Is tu fuil 'o… How do you pronounce this?"

"Hang on a minute and I'll read it out for you." He finished the final word and capped the pen. "Is tu fuil 'o mo chuislean," he read, his voice quiet and intimate in her ear, "is tu cnaimh de mo chnaimh. Is leatsa mo bhodhaig, chum gum bi sinn 'n ar n-aon. Is leatsa m'anam gus an criochnaich ar saoghal."

"It's beautiful," she said, snuggling closer as he wrapped his arms around her. "Now, what does it mean?"

Tim hesitated for a minute. "Abby, do you trust me?"

She gave him a patented Abby Look. "With my life. Why?"

"Because…" He kissed her temple. "I'm not going to tell you now."

"McGee!" Abby pinched his arm. "When are you going to tell me?!?"

"Ow! Abby!" He rubbed the sore spot. "Soon, Abby. I'll tell you soon. I promise."

She pouted a bit. "You know, I could just look it up online. It would take me five minutes."

"You could," he agreed. "But you won't, because I'm asking you not to. And I'm saying 'please.'"

She made a face, but nodded.

"For now," he said, holding her tight, "let's just say it means I love you, too."