Title: If Only
Genre: NCIS – Angst, boatloads of it, I think Missy is snapping out of her slump (it's about time too).
Pairing: Abby and Gibbs / Gabby
Rating: T.
Timeline: Season Ten
Spoilers: 10X2 and a boatload of others too numerous to mention.
Summery: If only. They were the two words that haunted him the most… If only she was a few years older; if only he was a few years younger… If only.
Disclaimer: It's nice borrowing someone else's toys – I'll put them back, I promise.
A/N: This started out as a bunch of ramblings Missy's been playing with… that only started to take shape after Gibbs's referral to Abby's nightmares… Missy questioned the How, and came up with the unless…
Written: October 2012
Warning: It's a little erratic, like memories usually are, and I had a bit of a heavy hand with it.
Lyrics: Stand Up - Kick Love Into Motion, by Def Leppard
Word Count: 3,070 (Excluding lyrics)

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If you lay your cards on the table, oh yeah,
I'll lay my love on the line,
'till you're mine.
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Gibbs lay on his couch, gazing up at the ceiling. His gut told him that tonight would again be one of those evenings. How he knew, he was not certain, however his gut kept him awake, kept him staring up at the ceiling in his lounge, waiting…

Not much time had elapsed since the bomb blast at the Navy Yard, just like not a lot of time had lapsed sine he had stabbed Dearing. He tried not to think too much about the reasons, the motivations behind his actions. Just like he was not entirely at ease with the fact that finding and getting rid of him had become personal, the stabbing so intensely gratifying. How it had actually calmed him as the man had bled out, his life draining from his body along with the treat he had posed. Professionally he would have just hauled his ass in, but the man had threatened, and nearly destroyed the life of the one person no one dared harm in Gibbs's life, Abby. His girl. The others he knew could look out for themselves, but Abby he had made a promise to, a promise he would keep until the day they lowered him into his grave. Because he would ensure that he would go before her. She was the one person he could never bury, because she would take with her the last bit of elation he still had in life. Another realization he did not want to delve to deep into.

He hated the evenings, the long nights when he could not sleep. The nights when thoughts like these plagued him, when his past haunted him, along with the things he could not have.

He wanted her to be happy. He did whatever he could, encouraged wherever he could, and watched from the sidelines as she continued her life. Envying any male who even for a moment caught her eye, yet knowing they would not remain for very long. That was one of the many reasons why he was unwilling to change their relationship. He could never live with being a has-been in her life, one she has moved on from. Rule twelve has been more for him than anything else, yet it was difficult to distance himself from her.

Just as he turned towards the back of the couch, hoping that sleep would finally claim him, his phone rang. He reached for it, not even bothering to check the ID. There was only one person who would phone him at this time of the night. 'Abby.' he answered steeling himself for the gasps and panicked voice he knew would greet him. That first night they had caught him completely off guard, having had him on his feet and half way to his front door before he realized that she had only called because of a nightmare. But his instinct was still stronger, and the moment her gasped 'Gibbs!' came across the line he found himself sitting uptight. Her fear, the tone of her voice; it was difficult not to react on the instinct. His need to protect her, to keep her safe, overrode every other sense.

'I'm here Abbs, what is it?' he lowly replied. It had taken a few times for him to realize that she calmed quicker if he used that tone, that it somehow soothed her, how or why he did not really want to question, his fear of the truthful answer only causing even more turmoil. Just as he did not question why he was the only person she seemed to call whenever it happened. He had listened to the others, having soon enough realized that she had not called any of them; that he was the only one who knew about the nightmares.

'Gibbs!' her second call came, and he knew she was still half asleep, her fear having gotten the better of her.

'I'm here Abbs.' He gently spoke, 'You're okay, it's just a dream.' His own heart pounded in his chest. Even though he knew this would happen, even with all of the preparation, with the knowledge, he still could not temper down his response to her call. He wished she would tell him what the dream involved, but she refused, preferring to continue every day like they never occurred. It was starting to wear on him though.

'Gibbs?' She finally asked, the slight confusion in her voice telling him she was finally awake, 'Oh god look at the time! I'm so sorry for waking you.' She quickly replied.

'It's okay Abbs, I wasn't asleep, you okay?' He replied once again settling to look up at the ceiling.

'Yes Gibbs.' Her answer came through the line not sounding as firm as he would have liked it.

'Ya wanna talk?' he asked, hoping that she would stay on the line a little longer.

'I should let you get to bed, there's work tomorrow.' She quickly countered, and Gibbs fought to contain the strained sigh that wanted to escape his lips. Every time she had given him that answer, and every time he felt a heavy sensation squeeze his heart. A sensation he had become all too familiar with.

'Sleep tight Abbs.' he lowly replied, wishing that she was there next to him as he said it, that he could have the privilege as saying that to her every night. And that every morning on waking, hers was the first face he would see.

'G'-night Gibbs.' her soft reply came, loosening the constraints surrounding his heart. It was those two words, spoken so softly, so intimately, that was why he would not complain about her calls. Why she could make them every night, and he would happily deprive himself of a few more hours of sleep, just to hear them. He waited to hear the click ending the call, incapable of doing it himself. Unlike at work, these calls were private, his focus only on her, not needed elsewhere. He could not end the calls, not when he wanted them to continue.

His mood dropped slightly when the click came, his heart seemingly skipping a beat as the short bolt of pain coursed through him. he placed his phone on the coffee table, before once again settling on the couch. He cannot even remember the last time he had willingly slept in his own bed, it had too much space, reminding him that he was alone. A while ago he had coped with it by working himself to near standstill before collapsing on his bed for a few hours of sleep. However, that had only worked for a few years, and unlike in the past he was not willing to temporary fill that void with someone utterly unsuitable. However, lately, even when his body was physically beyond tired, his mind would not shut down, and lying in his bed had become torture. It was no longer the cases that kept him awake, it was her, thoughts of her – memories of their numerous interactions.

Tried as he might, he found it increasingly difficult to build relationships with other women. The closeness they shared made him weary, and it had only increased over the last few years. He often found himself purposely pulling back from her, only to find that fighting the urge to hug her, or kiss her on the cheek, was more excruciating than going without his coffee. He needed to touch her. And if she ever gave him just the slightest indication that his attentions would be welcomed, that she wanted his attentions as more than rewards for a job well done, he would happily kiss any part of her – several times over. Much like that time under the mistletoe, when she had kissed him; it had taken every shred of his self-control to remain calm, to confirm that it had actually happened, that he had not imagined the ephemeral sensation, only to be filled with a sense of melancholy when he realized the motivation behind her kiss.

If he had to pinpoint a particular point in time when things had changed between them, when her hugs became more important, her smiles more gratifying, it had been on his return from Mexico. Maybe even before that. Her exuberance in seeing him had confirmed that she had genuinely missed him. The body slam hug that had greeted his return was unforgettable. He doubts there was any singular welcome in his life that had meant as much, the way her face had lit up every time she sees him. He felt a smile tug at his lips in remembrance of her exuberance just after that. They must have set some record for hugs exchanged, because he could not remember a single occasion, during that first month of his return, they had not exchanged hugs on his entering the lab. And then there was the occasion where she had handcuffed him to her… he cannot remember the amount of fantasies he has had since then – involving her and a set of handcuffs, and maybe some leather. She was welcome to do that to him again, any time she felt like it, he would willingly go wherever she led.

And then there was the multitude of small touches, brushing his shoulder, standing next to him… How they would burn his skin with awareness often long after she had touched him. They were like brands. He welcomed them, and she gave them so freely, making it so easy to return them, to touch her without thinking about the consequences or implications – had it been anyone else. Like the time he had massaged her thigh. It had been so instinctive, something that needed doing, an action performed without thought. And before he had even come to fully comprehend where his hands were, what he was actually doing, he had needed to leave. With his mind reeling at his actions, wanting to return and continue what he had been doing – because the feeling of her leg under his palms was something he had always wanted to discover. It was then that he had realized that things had drastically shifted, that any reason had become validation enough to touch, kiss or hug her. He was just thankful that she had not worn a skirt that day, because he doubts he would have been as capable of stopping if it had been her skin under his fingers.

If only she realized what the sound of her voice did to him, the way a simple smile or a jostle could pick him up, how much he enjoyed their bantering moments. Or how they gave him the strength to carry on, more so than the much results she constantly churned out for him, with predictable efficiency, even if many questioned her methods. She was comfortable with who she was, had no need to pretend, she knew that she was accepted and loved just as she was. And she loved those around her for who they were.

Loved… her words came back to him, that evening in his basement, when she had discovered what he had done. He had always feared that discovery, that the knowledge would drive her from them. It had eaten away at his soul for years, yet she had been understanding, and fearful. How could she ever doubt that he could love her any less. He could not love her any more than he already did either. Her willingness to accept him as he was, to not try and change him like the others had, is what made loving her as easy as breathing. How could anyone not succumb to her spell? Not be lured in by her optimism and genuine, unconditional, affection?

It was that spell of hers, that enchantment she so effortlessly wielded, that made his ensurance of her safety and happiness his top priority. Her discontent was enough to send him off the handle. Any threat to her safety provoked near-lethal thoughts towards those who placed her in danger – even to those close to him. Lately he had the fight the urge to do a full background check on any male whose name she mentioned, to haul him in and question him about his intentions. However, she rarely mentioned names, always having kept her private life outside her work – well other than that spell where McGee had featured. He was still not certain what happened there, but knew that unlike McGee, there was no way he could settle to being just friends with her if ever he was permitted closer. The question remaining had they been as close as he would like to be? He preferred to have a naive outlook when it came to Abby and her relationships, because the thought of any man with her, any man getting to, his envy would drive himself insane. Even if she had proclaimed that no one caught her eye for any extended period of time, just the thought of another man touching her, could provoke murderous thoughts. And it was that knowledge that held him back, made him think about things first, and settle for what he had with her. For as the others came and went in her life, he remained a constant, the one she never moved on from.

He still vividly remembered the night she had asked him if she could spend the night, how he had wished it had been for different reasons, that she wanted to spend it with him as a man and woman. He had spent most of that night lying in his bed, sleep eluding him, his mind incapable of resting. His thoughts, and fantasies, constantly shifting to the woman in his guest room, leaving him aroused and restless. It was not long after that that he had dismantled the guest room, having vowed that if she ever came to visit for the night again, she could have his bed, wear his clothes and stamp her presence on anything she chose to. Because that was what he wanted her to do, where he wanted her to be.

Few questioned why she was the one he remembered after that bomb blast, even he had not been willing to face up to the reasons. And even since then. he realized a long time ago that trying to fill the void left by Shanon and Kelly was impossible, he could not just find someone to love in their place, he had to heal first… only to find that he had already grown close to another, unknowing having let his guard down and let her in. He had fought it at first, wanting to distance himself from her, because he did not want to inflict any pain on her. He wanted things between then to remain light, he wanted to be able to flit with her, talk to her. He did not want to chance loosing that, not with his record. He usually riled people, especially women, and pushed them away, he would become wearing on her, she would loose her carefree nature, and he could not allow for that.

His fondest memory was of her intoxicated in his basement, and although the circumstances were not what he would have liked them to be, she had looked so appealing in his marines shirt, slightly, okay maybe overly inebriated. Had he been a lesser man, one who did not think of the consequences, he would have taken her to bed that night, and shown him what being so close to her did to him. For weeks after that he had refused to launder the shirt, until her lingering scent was no longer detectable, and even after that it had been folded and placed in his wardrobe, waiting for the next time he could hand it to her to wear, for the next time she slept over, and maybe allowed him to hold her. He could even take to sleeping on his bed then, because it would smell like her, and his back wont hurt as much from cramming on the couch. He'd also not need to run on caffeine and a few hours of snatched sleep, if she were to sleep in his bed he would make sure they went to bed early, so he could spend most of the night close to her, breathing her in, and maybe, just maybe get to make love to her, often, repeatedly. The thought of her body braced against his, pushing up against him as she sought her release. The thought of her sounds as she found it,

her body convulsing around him. God that's all he needed, to be full aroused and trying to get some sleep. he reached down to try and ease the ache there. Something he had become so familiar with. At first he had felt guilty when he imagined them together, whilst tending to the ache he felt, a random woman no longer sufficed – he wanted her, under him around him.

But that was not the only reason why he needed her. As gratifying as a physical relationship with her would be, it was the way she validated him, made him feel worthy, and welcomed his touch, which was why he needed her. She's the only woman who had had the guts to question him, without pulling rank or trying to emotionally manipulate him. She is his equal in every way that mattered. For years she has been his outlet for physical contact, the one he could touch, hug and even kiss without needing to explain his actions, without fearing repressions or accusations. Holding her made him happy, content, a feeling he rarely experienced.

If only she could love him in the way he did her, then maybe he would sleep more and drinking less caffeine. He would get to touch her more and spend less time in his basement, contemplating the construction of that yacht he had set out to build before his retirement.

If only.

They were the two words that haunted him the most. If only she was a few years older, if only he was a few years younger. If only she would give him a clear indication that he could be more to her. If only he knew he would not just end up being a passing fancy. Maybe then his quiet courting of her could become more. And he could have the one thing he coveted most – Abbigale Sciuto.

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'cause I happen to be in love,
And you happen to be the woman,
We happen to be together,
Try and stop this thing from coming.
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Rights for continuation depends on Missy's mood – But for now, this is a standalone.