It is dark. Pitch black. Not a single star twinkles in the sky.
Abby is alone, walking away from the bar. Her feet slap the pavement with every heavy step she takes. A wind blows by; she pulled her wool coat tighter around her thin frame.
She stops. Is someone there?
That's when the arm wraps around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides.
"Abbs, I think it's time you learned some self-defense," Gibbs said as she handed him the screwdriver. The two of them were sitting comfortably in his basement. He was working on his boat and she was watching, having dubbed herself his "Little Helper." Said job mostly consisted of her handing him a tool when he called for it and running back upstairs to grab another bottle of Jack when he ran out.
She laughed. "I don't know that any guy would try to mess with me. Most of them think I'm some scary Goth chick."
"There's always someone out there who'd be willing to give it a try."
"Maybe," she begrudgingly concedes, "but you don't need to act like I'm some weakling. I punched that Fred guy, remember?"
He smiled as he remembered the incident. The twerp hadn't even seen it coming. Gibbs, of course, had felt a certain amount of pride at seeing Abby jab him in the nose. No one would ever consider her a weakling, especially not when she was mad.
"You're not weak," he agreed, "but it couldn't hurt to be prepared if something does happen. What if another stalker ex-boyfriend comes after you?
She took his arm and wrapped it around her waist, saying, "Well, isn't that what I have you for?"
Before she can react she feels something pressing against her neck. There is no mistaking the cool, sharp edge of a knife. She is frozen in place.
"Don't try anything," a husky voice whispers into her ear. "I don't want to hurt you."
But Abby isn't listening. She opens her mouth and lets out a shrill scream. It's overpowered by the loud, raucous music blaring from the bar.
No one hears her.
"I won't always be there to protect you," Gibbs said with a good-natured grin. "Come on, Abbs, it'll be fun. I'll just show you a few maneuvers."
She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing easily. "You're paranoid," she tells him. "You always assume the worst is going to happen." Not that she can blame him. If her family had been murdered she probably would have become a pessimist too.
"I can't help worrying about you."
"That's sweet, Gibbs, but I've spent years keeping myself safe. I don't want you to be worried over something like this."
"Then let me teach you."
She was silent.
"That was stupid," the voice whispers. He jabs the handle of the knife into her gut, knocking the wind of her. Abby struggles for a breath as he pulls her back into a secluded area of the nearby alley.
He pushes her into a brick wall, her stomach against the wall and his body against her back, holding her in place. With one hand he takes her wrists and holds them above her head against the wall.
"I'm putting the knife away," he tells her calmly. He slides the knife into his pants pocket, but warns, "If you try anything I'll slit your throat like a little piggy's and just let you bleed to death."
Abby is silent, her throat and mouth dry. Her cheek is pressed against the cold wall and she closes her eyes. Her breathing is rasped and ragged, her body trembling.
But she doesn't dare move again.
Gibbs wrapped his arms around her from behind. But this time it wasn't exactly a loving embrace. "Now, if a guy grabs you this way," he said, pinning her arms down at her sides, "what would you do?"
Abby didn't respond. Instead, she began pulling away from his hold, twisting and jerking her body and kicking her legs, everything she could think to do. But that didn't work.
"Nope," he said, letting her go, "that's the last thing you want to do. When you're outweighed by your attacker fighting back won't do much good. You'll just waste all of your energy."
"Then what should I do? Just let him take me?"
"Don't do anything at first. I know," he said when he saw her raised eyebrows, "it sounds strange, but it'll put them off their guard and will give you time to think about what to do. Now let me show you the best thing to do next…"
With his now free hand, the man reaches up under her skirt and rests on her inner thigh. His thumb runs along the trim of her underwear. It caresses her so gently, a surprise in light of the way he'd just handled her so roughly. His hand hooks under the waistband of her underwear and pulls it down. Now his body is trembling too, though for a much different reason.
Abby winces as she feels his hand against her skin. She regrets her decision to wear a skirt that morning. She also regrets her decision to leave the bar when she did.
His hand returns to her nether regions. He pulls the labia lips apart and enters her with his fingers, but she resists the urge to cry out. She bites her lip so hard she fears she may draw blood.
"Just relax," he orders gruffly. "It'll be fun."
"Why can't I just stomp on the guy's foot?" she asked. "With my boots I'd probably break a toe or two."
"You can try it, but it won't necessarily have the same effect it has in movies and on TV. It'll probably just make the guy angrier."
Without a second thought, Abby lifts her foot and brings it down hard on his foot, even twisting the heel for good measure.
"Fuck!" he shouts, though his grip doesn't loosen. If anything, he only pushes harder against her. "Fucking whore," he snarls. He spins her around, shoves her back against the wall, and slaps her across the face. The force of the blow causes her to smack her head against the wall.
For several seconds all she sees are stars.
"If the guy's got a weapon you should be careful. Make sure he doesn't have the knife against you or the gun aimed at you before you try anything."
"Duh," she said with a smile and a roll of her eyes. "I know that much, Gibbs."
He opened a drawer on his work table and pulled out a pocket knife. "Well, do you know the best way to disarm someone?"
Abby shook her head sheepishly.
She is against the wall face-first again. Behind her, the man shoves his knees between her legs to keep them spread. One of his hands is now under her shirt, fondling her breasts; the other is wrapped around her waist, trying to unzip her skirt.
Abby just leans limply against the wall.
"Calming down, wildcat?" he asks condescendingly. "Are you going to be a good girl, now?"
She isn't even listening. Her eyes are on something else.
"Come for it," Gibbs said, holding the knife out as a mugger might.
Abby sighed. Was all of this really necessary? "Fine." She made a feeble attempt to grab the knife, but didn't even come close.
"You're not even trying, Abbs."
"Gibbs, I appreciate this, but honest, I can take care of myself just fine."
"Better safe than sorry, Abby."
Her skirt is now around her ankles, leaving her half-naked and very vulnerable. She can feel him against her back, particularly the stiff protrusion stemming from his groin. It feels filthy touching her, even if the fabric of his pants separates it from her.
"Ready?" he asks, his fingers inside her once again.
"No," she replies in a harsh whisper. It's the first time she's spoken to him.
"That's too bad." He pushes his hips forward into hers.
She sees her chance.
After several more attempts, Abby managed to grab the knife from his hand. But she was skeptical. "You just let me get it that time," she said as she gave it back.
He shrugged. "Maybe I did."
"Well, how do you expect me to learn if you make it easy for me? Come on, make it hard. Make me work for it."
"Okay," Gibbs agreed, his eyebrows raised, "I'll make it harder for you. Sure you're up to the challenge?"
Her lips pursed together in a friendly smirk. "I'm always up to a challenge."
One hand rests on her hips as the other works the zipper of his pants. "Thought you'd be a feisty one," he says with a grin, "but you seem to have calmed down." He moves his hand from her hip downward. "Too bad; I like a challenge."
"Good," she says in a rasping, shaky voice.
"Come on, Abbs," Gibbs said. "Just grab it."
A flashlight shines into the alley. "Hello?" asks one of the bar's security guards. He thinks he heard something and has come to investigate.
He runs the light across the ground, hand near his gun just in case. Not that anything exciting ever happens. At least, not until tonight.
The beam hits the body of a man lying on his back. Blood stains his shirt in a big, sopping pool. Standing next to the body is a pair of black platform boots with a black and red pleated skirt swirling about them. He runs the light up from there and sees her standing there, half-naked and shivering. Twin streaks of mascara run from her eyes down her cheeks and her green eyes look into the beam, filled with great terror. In her trembling hand she holds a knife. It is covered with blood.
She wants to drop the knife, but she can't quite peel her fingers away. She looks at the man who stands at the mouth of the alley. Her lips, dry and chapped, gently open.
"It was self-defense."
AN: Thanks for reading!