Usual rules, I own nothing! This is the companion piece to Sex Ed that I promised so long ago. Abby was being particularly difficult, and I'm still not sure I entirely got her right, but I will let you be the judge. :-) I want them to be together so badly.... ::sigh:: Anyway, enjoy!
I miss the sound of your voice
And I miss the rush of your skin
I miss the still of the silence
As you breathe out and I breathe in
*
He was her best pupil. And her favorite.
The first time they were together he was… not totally inexperienced. Just sweetly clumsy and adorably eager to please. And he taught her what it was like to be kissed as though she were the only woman in the universe.
He made her laugh, and he taught her that there were really truly sweet people in the world. Not just good people – she always believed in the good in people. But sweet. He really believed all that romance and moonlight and "love means never having to say you're sorry" stuff. It wasn't her thing, but she loved seeing it alive and well in someone else. He even held doors and chairs, and once she was fairly sure he would have thrown his coat over a puddle for her, or lifted her over it, or something, if she hadn't pointed out that her boots had four inch soles and were made of rubber.
He taught her what it was like to trust someone completely. Not the way she trusted Gibbs, or Kate, or Tony, or Ziva. That was different. This was… It had everything and nothing to do with sex, and relationshippy…things. He could tease her, watch her sleep, listen to her secrets, pin her down, tie her up, handcuff her, or simply kiss and stroke her into a quivering pile of jelly and she knew – in her heart, beyond a shadow of a doubt,– that he would not only never even dream of hurting her, he would do anything in his power to keep her from being hurt. By anything. She didn't need protecting, but not needing it didn't mean that she didn't like knowing it was there.
The sex stopped, but the trust never did.
She'd always thought that nobody could really know her, but he taught her that somebody could. That he could. He learned her likes, her dislikes, what she loved, and what she hated – in bed and out of it – and what's more, he remembered it all. Let me guess, he would ask, and he nearly always got it right. Eventually, he stopped asking. He learned to read her moods and her eyes and give her just what she wanted. Nobody knew her the way Tim did. Sometimes she hated it, sometimes it annoyed her, but she wouldn't trade it for anything.
They slipped from the early dating stage into the totally comfortable stage without even noticing, without getting hung up in the usual awkward in-between part of relationships when she usually got out. Not that they ever actually called it a relationship. He seemed to figure out fairly early on that she wasn't really one for the standard terms and trappings. And then, when they ended the sex-and-dating portion of their non-relationship, they slipped just as easily into the best friendship either of them had ever had. And that was better, she decided. That was what worked best for them. Or so she convinced herself.
One night a couple of months ago, she'd given him a ride home and ended up in his apartment, playing with Jethro, arguing with him over a computer problem, and nagging at him to let her read the new book he was working on. She'd eventually dozed off on his couch with the dog, and he wouldn't let her drive home so late, so she borrowed a pair of his sweatpants and teased him into sharing the bed with her.
She woke up around four, still exhausted but restless. Too hot with all the blankets on, too cold with them shoved over towards McGee. She tried every position, punching and twisting her pillow. "Go back to sleep, Abby," came a sleepy, mildly irritated voice from the lump of covers next to her.
"Can't," she replied, just as irritated.
He sighed and rolled over onto his back, reaching out an arm and pulling her close, scooping her against his side before she could protest. He ran his fingers through her hair, and then rubbed her shoulder gently. "Go back to sleep," he repeated, his words slurring together, and she realized that he wasn't even really awake.
But the weight of his arm around her was comforting, and as she lay there, she felt his slow, even breathing begin to relax her. Yawning, she snuggled against him and tried to match her breathing to his.
Right here, right now, she decided, everything was good. Not exciting, not life-altering, but good. And as she finally began to drift off, it struck her that she was in trouble.
Abby had never wanted rainy Saturday afternoons watching Sleepless in Seattle. There was a whole list of things she'd never wanted, including white picket fences, acting like a responsible adult outside of work, wearing sweater sets, and being totally dependent on someone else, or so joined at the hip with them that they started looking alike.
But one thing she did want, she was slowly realizing, was Tim.
It wasn't entirely selfish, she told herself. He needed her to keep him from taking himself too seriously. And Tim… Tim could handle her craziness in a way nobody else could. They fit. Like jigsaw puzzle pieces.
Rainy Saturdays watching Sleepless in Seattle would never be their thing, but rainy Saturdays playing with the dog… or making out on the couch… or messing around with one or the other of their computers… or in bed…? That was them to a T. Or it would be, if there were a them.
And there should be, she decided one Friday evening, watching him as she made her way to his desk. The squad room was mostly dark except for his lamp, and he was staring off into space. He was thinking of something nice, she decided, studying his expression. She remembered when thinking of her made him look like that, and she wondered what was in his head.
Well, she knew what ought to be in his head. And once Abigail Scuito made up her mind about something, very little could change it. She leaned on the edge of his desk, startling him out of his reverie. "Hey McGee. Hurry it up. Tony and Ziva left already."
McGee focused in on her, and whatever nice thought was in his head shifted, judging by the way his smile widened, to an even nicer thought that was more than likely Abby-related. He let out a long breath, as though he were switching mental gears, and stood to put on his coat.
"I'm ready," he told her, and she grinned and slid her arm through his. "Want to ride with me? I'll drop you back at your car later."
Possibly the Porsche was slightly ostentatious, and she still liked to give him a hard time for buying it. But she always felt a little bit like a princess when he held that silver door for her – the cool, sexy, sultry type of princess, not the fluffy skirts and forest creatures Disney kind – and it was an awesome car.
She rolled her eyes and squeezed his arm. "Well, if you insist."
*
At the bar, she watched Tony watch Ziva. And then she watched Ziva watch Tony. And then she watched McGee watch Tony and Ziva watch each other. All while keeping up a steady stream of conversation.
She was nothing if not a multitasker.
Ziva and Tony called it quits early – all that watching was probably slightly exhausting – but she ordered another beer, knowing McGee would stay with her. She launched into a story she'd been saving up to tell him, loving the way his eyes never left her face. He was her favorite audience because he mostly asked good questions, and could usually be counted on to give her his undivided attention. He also had great facial expressions, ranging from fascinated to mildly confused to totally lost and back again. She drew her tale out as long as possible, just to watch him.
It was cold out in the parking lot, and she wished she'd worn her cape. McGee slid an arm around her, warm and comforting, and she leaned into him a bit as they walked to the car.
Right here, right now, she thought, everything is good. His fingers felt perfect as she linked them with hers.
McGee tried to tug his arm back out of her grasp when they reached the car, but she wasn't ready to let go. "Need that, Abs," he said absently, digging in his pocket for the keys.
When she wore her platforms, he wasn't much taller than she was, but she still had to tip her head back a fraction as she tried to look him in the eye. The streetlamp was behind him, and his face was half in shadow as he gave her a quizzical look. She reached out to touch his cheek and she tried to figure out the right words to say, how to tell him. "McGee…" She sighed.
There were no words. She never ran out of words, and it frustrated her.
Fortunately, they'd always been pretty good at non-verbal communication.
The kiss startled him at first, but soon his arms tightened around her. A perfect kiss, warm and deep and sweet, familiar but exciting, and good. When they finally separated, breathless, she made a sound probably best described as a whimper, though she would have glared fiercely at anyone stupid enough to say anything. "Tim, I –" she tried, as he touched his forehead to hers.
"Shhh…" he said, cutting her off with a light kiss. "Let me guess?"
Even distracted as she was, it only took her a half-second to remember. She smiled, nodded, wondered if he could possibly guess right this time.
He leaned in close. "I love you," he murmured softly, his breath tickling her ear. Abby could hear the hesitation in his voice, and she smiled up at him as she felt stupid tears prick her eyes – really stupid because who cried when they were this happy anyway?
She blinked them away. "Yeah," she whispered. "You've always been a pretty good guesser, Timmy."
They clung tightly together, standing next to his car in the middle of a half-empty parking lot. She snuggled in close and felt the cold breeze blow around them as Tim nuzzled lightly at her neck. And right here, right now…everything was more than good. It was perfect.
He was her favorite pupil, because he taught her that she still had so much to learn.
*
'Cause everything works, love,
Everything works in your arms
FIN