Note 1: Apologies in advance for the ridiculous number of author's notes. They almost need their own chapter.

Shipping: To quote another story, "He doesn't know what they are," and neither do I. So while there is a slight tilt towards Gibbs/Abby, mostly just in one line that you can edit out if you prefer, I tried to stick to a canon-type relationship.

Note 2: For purposes of this story, one must assume that his little trip down to Mexico either didn't happen or was postponed a few weeks. I punched off the TV as soon as he quit, and didn't see the last scene for a while. Instead I shut my eyes and dreamed up what might happen. Would probably have been more effective if published four months ago, but I couldn't pull it together until just now.

Note 3: It's been written both Abs & Abbs; I choose the latter because the former makes me think of stomach muscles, and disturbs me. OK, on to the story…ARGH! Almost forgot the most important part!

Witty Disclaimer: As the addition of an exhausting school schedule to my pre-existing procrastination problem now prevents me from sleeping more than 6 days per week, I am too tired to think up a witty disclaimer. So: I do not own and did not invent the TV show formerly known as Navy NCIS; I am required by law (or at least a check-box I once clicked) to admit that its premise/characters/plots/etc. belong to Donald P. Bellisario and CBS and various other important names.

Confrontation

Despite her wildly unorthodox hobbies and interests, there were still some things Abby Sciuto couldn't believe. People who thought that tattoos were a gross desecration of the human body, for one. Prejudice and discrimination, for another two. But most of all, she didn't believe that a man like Leroy Jethro Gibbs would ever quit his job and desert his team without forewarning or explanation.

"Gibbs-" she'd croaked, pleading, begging him with tears in her eyes, but he shushed her with a finger against her mouth and lips pressed to her cheek. It was a lingering kiss, meant to let her know how much he cared - but it wasn't enough; it wasn't enough when he could do that and still walk onto the elevator, let the doors shut, and disappear from sight.

They all stood in there shock and disbelief for over a minute, as if he might reappear the next second and bark at them all to get to work. Nobody dared look at anyone, as if they were sitting an exam, and the only requirement to pass was this wait. Abby broke the spell first. Without a sound she turned on her heel and fled the room, running down the stairs, back to her lab and safety and refuge, trying to run back through time.

In minutes she was tucked into the corner of the office, huddled with knees tucked into her chest and arms around the plush hippo, crying into his synthetic fur. She had no idea how long she sat there, with tears streaming down her face, her mind spinning over the fact that he had just quit, that with one stupid kiss he ended years of tradition. She hadn't realized how much she relied on him to come through those doors demanding answers, placating her with Caff-Pows; how much she needed to hear "Abbs," no matter if the tone was tender or vexed…

"Abby?"

McGee. Of course it was McGee. McGee always wanted to be there for her, and most of the time she didn't mind, even appreciated it, but she didn't want him right now. She wanted Gibbs. Of course, if Gibbs were here, she wouldn't need him, because she wouldn't be crying.

Her thoughts were a mess. She dropped her head into the stuffed animal.

"Abby," he tried again, and when he caught sight of her red-rimmed eyes, for just a minute it stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her cry. He couldn't remember if he'd ever seen her cry. Before he could even think about comforting her, though, she leapt to her feet, tone suddenly furious. "How could he do that?" she demanded. "Just WALK AWAY like that?"

"He's been through a lot…" McGee tried, not knowing what else to say. She spared him the trouble of rationalization.

"Well, damn it! Damn HIM!" she shrieked, wheeling and hurling the toy with as much force as she could against the wall. It came dangerously close to shattering a few beakers, but managed to fall to the floor without causing undue harm. She gave it another vindictive kick with platform shoes, sending it sailing in the direction of McGee, who grabbed it and stowed it safely out of harm's way. He braced himself to receive a punch for his trouble, but instead she stalked to her desk, grabbed her coat and purse, and walked past him. "I'm going home."

"But…don't you--"

"I'm going home!"

She came in to work the next day with only one agenda: to analyze evidence for the new case. No music. No idle conversation - and no acknowledgement of yesterday. If she didn't think, it didn't hurt. He didn't contact her. She didn't contact him. He might as well have died on the ship.

It was a week before she couldn't take it any more. She couldn't take the cycles of hurt and anger that wouldn't stop repeating on loop, especially when the latter kept winning, until it was all that was left. It was a week before she pulled up in his driveway and rapped on the door, arms crossed and eyes smoking. Her knock was not a query but a demand; the door might have opened of its own accord if Gibbs hadn't been there to open it.

But he was, and he did, looking neither surprised nor pleased but merely impassive. She was sure he knew that she would come eventually, and it irked her that he'd known it before she had. Abby didn't wait for an invitation and he didn't offer one, she just pushed past him, made her way to the sofa and tossed her purse down. She heard him shut the door and follow her into the living room as she turned, flopped onto the sofa, and stared up at him accusingly. He stood before her, waiting patiently for her verbal attack.

"Why?"

It was a question laced with bitterness and anger, though her voice cracked unexpectedly when she said it, forcing a furious quelling of tears.

"I had to."

"That's not a reason," she shot back. He started to say something else, but then just stopped and shook his head. At this lack of response, her temper rose again.

"You're unbelievable," she muttered, and suddenly shot to her feet. "Goodbye, Gibbs."

"Abby." It was a patient command, and one she ignored without so much as a turn of the head, making for the exit intent on leaving without returning.

"Abby!" That was a tone she remembered. Just a bit of a rise to it, enough to make her pause and look back.

"Sit down," he sighed, nodding back at the sofa. Looking at him with not a little mistrust, she did, and he took the seat beside her.

"I didn't mean to…" he began, automatically reaching for her. She flinched and pulled away, not wanting his touch. He paused in mid-action, smiled ruefully as he realized what he was doing, and withdrew his hand. "I don't even know where to begin."

Abby was not in a mood for half-finished sentences and uncertain looks.She leapt up again angrily and began to pace the room, feeling a tirade coming on as words began spilling from her lips, accusations and probably an insult or two or five…she wasn't really sure what she was saying; it just felt good to vent, especially if he wasn't going to say anything in return. She probably could have kept it up for hours if he hadn't finally held up one hand.

"Hey, would you stop?"

She considered ignoring the request, but settled for one last glare before throwing herself onto a kitchen chair, straddling it backwards. "You'd better have something really good," she scowled. "Something absolutely over-the-top, above-and-beyond any major thing, ever, in the history of NCIS, that makes you think you can just leave without considering -- anyone." Her voice squeaked before she got to the last word, as if she'd thrown on the brakes and barely jumped aside in time. Whether this was lost on him or he just chose to ignore it, she wasn't sure, but either way he didn't react. He did, however, surrender his last defenses. Slowly, hesitantly, he filled in the details of what happened upstairs, in that hour-long interim that had changed the world. But even when he finished, she still couldn't quite fathom the improbability of the whole thing.

"Wait, they let the ship get blown up…just so it wouldn't get on the news?" He didn't have an answer for that, and she blinked, trying to think of an appropriate thing to say. When this proved impossible, she chose an inappropriate one.

"Okay, it sucks," she said bluntly, though at his harsh look she cringed a little. Truth be told, if she really let the story sink in, it was appalling. It wasn't permissible or even excusable, but it had happened. The outcome couldn't be altered, so she pushed ahead. It couldn't be the first time he'd seen something awful, and she told him as much.

"But usually you just go find the guy responsible and, I don't know, go over his head to get him fired or beat him up in a dark alleyway or something. You do something. You never just 'accept' it! The Gibbs I know doesn't settle." Abby wasn't trying to be belligerent, she just wanted to find some meaning in his decision, and despite his supposed explanation she still hadn't figured out a darn thing.

Once again, he seemed at a loss for words.

"It was just…too much," he finally muttered. "Okay? After that, it's too much." The words revealed little, but something about the way he said them made her think the root of the problem was about more than the explosion he'd been in. There was an odd expression on his face, and though she thought that the unknown component would remain that way, after a minute he spoke again.

"You know I've got three ex-wives," he stated flatly. She bit back a retort about stating the obvious, and just nodded mutely while she sent her brain scrambling to make sense out of the abrupt subject change.

"Three after the first one," he continued, and whatever thoughts she had in her head vanished, leaving her mind a blank white slate. "I want to show you something," he said, getting up and momentarily disappearing from sight. He returned with a photograph, just a thin photo, and handed it to her without a word. Her eyes widened at the sight – a considerably younger Gibbs, on a beach, with a red-haired woman and a girl with hair the same color, to whom he bore more than a passing resemblance. Her lips parted in a gesture of speechless surprise, but she still wasn't sure what to say, and her eyes looked to his, questioning.

"Shannon. And Kelly," he clarified. And then, even more slowly than before, their story came out, and all she could do was listen. More than once his voice came close to breaking, and he kept pausing to collect himself. More than once she wanted to tell him he could stop, that he didn't need to go through all this, but she couldn't break the narrative. She was privy to a private confession, one that required her presence to be heard, but demanded attention without interruption.

"How could you carry that all these years? Without telling anyone?" she breathed when at last he finished.

He couldn't quite meet her eyes as he made an attempt at an apathetic shrug. "Push the thoughts away. Don't think about it. Hurts less until you can't feel it anymore, good memories or bad."

Her next question was hesitant, but she had to know. "Did they get the guy?"

Something flickered behind his eyes, and then was gone. "Yeah," he answered shortly. "He got the death penalty." The words rang hollowly, and she could only assume it meant the punishment had brought little comfort.

With a mixture of pity and empathy and heartbreak etched on her face, Abby stared at the dejected figure in front of her. Abruptly she stood and crossed the divide between them, arms around his neck, chin resting gingerly on his shoulder. "I'm really sorry," she whispered, even though she was sure whatever she said would be inadequate. He leaned into her embrace, barely reciprocating; there was an air of tiredness that didn't belong.

Eventually, she knew she had to let go, but rather than pulling away she merely slipped down until she was resting against his chest, tucked beneath his chin. It was a familiar, comforting position, and one she was reluctant to leave. Besides, he seemed glad of something tangible to hold onto.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Abby had been sure that if she could only find out what had gone wrong, she could talk him into reversing his decision. If anyone could - besides Ducky, and he'd had his chance – she could. Eventually she felt confident enough to look up and broach the subject. His rebuke was gentle, but firm.

"I'm not coming back, Abbs," he said quietly. "I don't know what comes next, but it's not at NCIS." Her hopeful expression slipped; she could all but feel her progress unraveling. He saw it, too, and tilted his head thoughtfully.

"That doesn't have to mean we never see each other again," he said. "Believe it or not, I do occasionally associate with people outside of work."

Abruptly she sat up and faced him. "Hey, good point! Without you badgering me for results all the time, I might actually get to have regular hours for a change!"

"Watch it," Gibbs groused, "I haven't officially finished the paperwork yet." She responded to the empty threat by sticking her tongue out at him, and with that one immature gesture, any remaining hint of the temporary rift between them vanished.

"So…you think you can still manage to do your job without me 'badgering you for results'?"At his scornful tone, which seemed to belie that he'd never been anything but polite and soft-spoken, and couldn't imagine why she'd think otherwise, she couldn't help but grin. After a minute, though, it turned into a frown.

"Now what's wrong?"

"Tony doesn't bring me Caff-Pows," she admitted woefully, looking up at him through her eyelashes with exaggerated puppy-dog eyes and pouting lower lip. At the sight, Gibbs relaxed, chuckled and flipped one of her pigtails. "It won't kill you to quit drinking those," he chided affectionately. "Might even do the opposite."

"Oh, no," she answered immediately, looking aghast at the idea. "I haven't given them up. It's just that it's not nearly as much fun convincing McGee to go get one every day."

He rolled his eyes, and she defensively changed the subject by asking what, exactly, he planned to do with unlimited free time. "Just work on the boat?"

"It did cross my mind."

"Does that mean you'll actually finish it? And if so, can I be the first person to see the final product?"

"Only you, Abbs," he promised.

"How about considering some of my conceptual artwork for decoration?"

"Not a chance."

"Ah, I had to try," she shrugged. The conversation seemed to have reached its natural close, and after a minute of shared quiet, Abby got up and began gathering her things to leave. He offered her one last hug, and she took it, feeling considerably better, if not completely satisfied. "It's still not going to be the same without you, Gibbs," she said wistfully. He considered this for a minute, then, "Not all endings lead to a permanent end."

Her mouth crooked up in a smile, and she couldn't resist teasing, "You spend a lot of time coming up with lines like that?"

"Nope. Get 'em all out of the handbook for crotchety old Marines," he answered with a perfectly straight face.

"Well, don't ever lose that book."

He walked her to the door, but rather than going back inside, he remained on the porch as she got in the car. Keys in the ignition and seat belt buckled, she glanced up to see him watching. When their eyes met, he signed a single phrase that, in its simplicity, brought a genuine smile to her lips. She wasn't sure whether he could see her response quite as clearly, but she signed back anyway, and was rewarded with a tiny nod and a wink as she pulled out of the driveway and headed back down the road.

Her confrontation hadn't changed anything, really, but she'd arrived with fury and left with hope, his words, both spoken and not, bordering the path ahead with promise.

Fin

(last a/n: Ending left intentionally ambiguous, as I myself don't know what they said. I just like the image.)