Swearing under his breath, McGee cursed his own clumsiness. He had about 2 minutes before the guy from next door was knocking to complain about the noise again; and that was the problem with living in such close quarters. If it wasn't his clumsiness in knocking things over, it was his shredder as he destroyed more dead end writing; it all got in the way when all he really wanted was to do the right thing and be liked by his neighbours.
Bang. Bang. And there he was; the man from behind the wall.
"Timothy! Do you know what time it is? Some of us are trying to sleep, you know."
The man glared at McGee, and McGee stammered out apologies, tried to explain; but the man wasn't interested. Clearly he wanted to vent, and he wanted the noise to stop. Now. As he stalked back to his own apartment, he left behind the threat of involving police; as though that was supposed to worry him more than the thought of being disliked.
Luckily, he thought as he softly closed the door and moved back to his project, he was almost finished.
It was a noise that pulled her out of sleep; a crash that shook the walls and rocketed her up and on her feet, where she whimpered slightly as a draft of cold air shocked bare skin that'd been recently warmed by covers. For a second a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she looked down and pondered the forethought that'd had her wear her socks; a forethought she was certainly grateful for now. Her delicate face had a look that couldn't be described as terrified or even angry; she looked merely cold and a little surprised to be awake, though there was a touch of fear, there; and she wished Gibbs were here.
She'd no gun to reach for; just a baseball bat that she kept in the closet in the unlikely event that someone decided to break into her apartment. She'd have kept it under the bed, but she slept in a coffin and those are pretty notorious for being flat on the ground. She padded over to the closet in socks (her favourite pair; motif'd in red with a skull), and pulled it out as silently as possible; just in case, you understand.
Thanking various Gods that she'd pulled the door three quarters of the way shut when she'd gone to bed, Abby crept out as quietly as she could; pausing only for a silent debate with herself over whether to take her cell. In the end she left it, reasoning that the chance of a 2am call-in to work (thereby alerting any intruder to her presence) outweighed the chance that anyone she'd call could get there in time to do anything, anyway.
McGee groaned inwardly; annoyed with himself. He'd have the whole building at the door, the rate he was going. He should have asked Gibbs; Gibbs was good with his hands. But McGee had wanted to do this right; had wanted it to be his work, his hands, and his heart that did this.
So now he stood before a swing-seat with a definite lean to the right; beside a fallen bookshelf; knocked as he unbalanced himself setting the swing down; books littering the carpet around him. Without realising it, he rubbed his shoulder; bruised when he tried to catch the shelf only to miss and have it slide off him and land, one end precariously balanced on the couch.
Sighing, he bent to begin collecting the books when a sound from inside the apartment startled him.
"McGee? What are you-" Abby's eyes widened and her words died in her throat. "Oh my God, McGee!" Even as she spoke she was rushing him, hugging him fiercely before he could get a word in.
It'd frightened her at first, to see her living room in such disarray and the silhouette of a man there; but the instant he'd straightened she'd known him; couldn't help but know her Timothy, even in the pale morning light.
And behind him, behind him she had seen the reason for him to be in her apartment at this hour. The swing-seat he had to have made himself; made and painted black for her. Later she would discover the carving in the backing; three simple words spelled out in binary; 'I love you'.
"McGee? What are you-." She broke off and he opened his mouth to apologise, to explain. "Oh my God, McGee!" Even as she spoke she was rushing him, hugging him fiercely before he could get a word in.
"Uh, sorry, Abs. I uh, I knocked over your bookshelf."
Stupidly he blushed, embarrassed and uncomfortable at his clumsiness; at being discovered. The plan had been for it to be a surprise; sneak in and leave her birthday gift here; and be gone long before she awoke; but of course he'd messed that up when he'd knocked the shelf over. It'd be a wonder if the houses 3 streets over hadn't heard that crash, and he should have expected it to wake her; he'd just been hoping. Because of course this wouldn't have happened to Gibbs; or to Tony; and oh my God, if Tony knew, how much of a ribbing he would give.
He'd dropped the books when she'd hugged him and he bent now to pick them up again; a way to hide his awkwardness, a way to hide his face while the blush died away.
"Happy birthday, Abs."