Title: Close Encounters of the Smoking Kind
Rating: PG-13
Category: Humor
Genre: Gen
Pairing: None
Summary: Abby runs into a little more than she expected while away from NCIS.
Spoilers: Definitely none.
Disclaimer: CSM belongs to Chris Carter, FOX, Ten Thirteen, et al. Abby Sciuto belongs to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Comes from my recent fannish post of doom in my Livejournal, where I suggested people give me pairings & random objects or words as prompts, and I would write a comment!fic, the length of an LJ comment or shorter. This fic's prompt was REALLY LONG, and I'm not about to retype it, lol. Basically, Abby's in Wisconsin to give a presentation when she gets rearended. Guess who steps out of the car? Intended to be REALLY SILLY.
"Shit!"
Abby pushed her door open and stumbled out, looking behind her for the culprit who rearended her. She was going to give his guy a piece of her mind.
She saw the guilty vehicle, a black sedan, and stomped over to it, knocking on the window angrily.
She had to jump out of the way, right into a slushy puddle, as the door opened and an older gentlman stepped out. He lit up a cigarette and turned to her.
"Is there something I may help you with?" he asked, blowing out a puff of smoke.
Abby stood back, intimidated by the man's presence. Perhaps that talking-to would have to wait. "You, uh, you hit my car."
"Hmm, I did, did I?" he asked, taking another drag off the cigarette.
Abby rolled her eyes. This guy was going to make things difficult. "Yes, you did. And I have a presentation to get to, so if you don't mind giving me your name and info . . ."
Suddenly, the man began to laugh, a dark, sadistic chuckle. "That might prove a tad difficult, little girl."
Abby narrowed her eyebrows. This dude was getting on her nerves. "Hey, watch it. I'm a forensic scientist and can kill you without leaving any evidence . . ."
The man raised his eyebrows. "I'll take that under advisement. You want my information? Let's just say I'm a member of a syndicate."
Abby threw up her hands in confusion. "How does that help me? Look, mister, I need to be in Phillips Hall in ten minutes to present on the latest in fingerprint identification, and I don't want to be late. So just tell me your phone number and we can both get on with our lives."
The cigarette-smoking man simply smiled and stepped back inside his car, "Fox Mulder. Federal Bureau of Investigation." And with that, he slammed the door shut and sped off, splashing Abby with more slush as he went.
Abby stomped her boots angrily, brushing the melting ice from her clothes. "Fox Mulder. Like I'm supposed to believe that's a real name." She suddenly was struck with a moment of inspiration and turned her head to the sky. "I will track you down, Ol' Smoky, and I will have my revenge. The wrath of Abby Sciuto will have it's day, and I will be triumphant!" She held her fists up in glory, and another car splashed past her, covering her with more water.
She brought her hands down to her hips again, shaking her head. "But until then, I'm in Wisconsin, presenting on fingerprinting technology, and Mr. Mulder, if that's even his real name, is out there, smoking his life away. He won't get away with this. And I know just how to make sure of it."
She grinned to herself and pulled her cell phone out of her purse, pressing the one and waiting for someone to pick up. When someone did, she started speaking. "Hi, Gibbs. I seem to have come across a bit of trouble here in the Midwest . . ."
END!!