Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or anything pertaining to it. But a girl can dream.

AN: Written just now, and because McAbby is the cutest ever. Please, please, please review!

Decaffienated

"I don't think I can do this, McGee."

Abby was sitting at the desk in her forensics lab, resting her head on her folded arms and gazing blearily over the smooth desktop into Timothy's face. It had been a week now since she'd forgone her beloved Caf-Pow drinks in favor of the decaf substitute, and she was struggling with the readjustment. Every hour that went by, Abby felt more and more tired; she could only keep her eyes half-open, and her forehead felt as though someone had balanced a pile of bricks on it. Of course, she'd never let her lack of get up and go interfere with her work, but whenever she wasn't preoccupied with matching fingerprints, running DNA or working ballistics trajectories, her concentration would falter and she'd find herself being woken up fifteen minutes later by Gibbs or Tony or someone else, with no memory of having fallen asleep in the first place. Ducky had suggested doing something active to get the old adrenalin pumping, so Abby had done twenty laps of her lab, and twenty more of Autopsy, but her adrenalin just didn't seem to want to answer the call.

"What do you mean?" asked McGee, faking incredulity in an attempt to motivate her. "You can't say that, Abby - you're one of the strongest people I know. The minute you start giving up on things, I swear to God, the sky's going to come down on top of us."

The goth girl was barely able to stifle a yawn - her third in the past five minutes - as she said, "Timmy, that whole 'you're stronger than you think, keep on truckin', kiddo' thing didn't work for my eighth-grade gym teacher, and I'm sorry to say that it's not going to work for you."

McGee frowned, somewhat dispirited. "Just trying to help," he said, in such a dejected voice that Abby couldn't resist reaching out her hands and pulling his cheeks into a smile.

"I know," she told him gloomily, trying but failing to manage a reassuring smile of her own. "It's just -- I'm so tired, McGee. I really, really, really miss my Caf-Pow. I mean, I know it's good for me, but the decaf version doesn't...taste right, it doesn't...energise me. I don't know how much longer I can last without my caffiene kick."

Timothy had noticed the wearing effect that quitting her addiction had had on Abby; her eyes looked dark (well, darker than usual), her normally pristinely-tied pigtails were messy and lose, and...she'd lost her energetic glow, her central Abbyness. To be honest, he'd been wondering all week how long it would take her before she conceded that decaffienating was impossible for her; she was like Gibbs, 75 of what ran through her veins was coffee. And McGee really didn't like seeing her put herself through this, even if it was in the name of good health, but she was looking to him for support, and he had to give it.

"You'll make it, Abs," he said firmly, gently removing her hands from his face. "Just think: you must have gotten through life without caffiene sometime, right?"

"But I can't even remember that," she groaned. "I was thirteen when I started!" Abby put on her most sorrowful, pleading expression. "I can't do it, can I? Tell the truth. I'm gonna let you and Gibbs and everyone else down."

This caught Tim off-guard; he'd assumed that the only reason Abby was fighting her Caf-Pow urges was because of the repurcussions it held for her health. He'd never suspected that there was a hidden agenda -- although he realised that he should've seen this coming. As much of a true individual as she was, the girl had such loyalty that she'd bend over backwards so as not to disappoint her friends. That thought made him smile, which it turned out wasn't such a gangbuster thing to do.

"Why are you smiling, McGee? You think my agony is funny?" She glared at him angrily, although not with her usual menace; she was too tired to use the full-force evil eye. "I come to you for help and all you can do is sit there smiling at me like the whole thing's a big joke? You're unbelievable!" she exclaimed, leaning over the desk and giving him a swift, hard smack on the back of the head.

"Ow!" said McGee, rubbing the sore spot. "You do that as hard as Gibbs does!"

He was still nursing his fresh head-wound when Abby's expression suddenly changed before his eyes -- from rage and indignance to an unnerving combination of regret, disbelief, sorrow and sympathy. She clasped her hands over her mouth and stood up, striding round the desk until she stood behind McGee and hugging him around the shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, distraught. "Mood swings are part of the withdrawal -- McGee, I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," he assured her. "You're stressed out right now, it's okay --"

But she interrupted him. "Don't try and make excuses, okay? Because there is no excuse for doing that to you! You came in here to try and be supportive, and I -- I shouldn't've --" Abby faltered. There was silence for several seconds, a silence that Timothy didn't dare break; Abby needed some way to vent, and it was best for everyone if he just let her go until she'd let it all out.

When next the girl spoke, she sounded on the verge of tears. "I don't want to do this anymore, McGee. I'm pretending that I'm okay with it, to try and make everyone else happy, but it's making me miserable, and...I..." She tightened her grip on him. "I can't do it."

Turning his head so that he could see her face, right next to his -- and she was crying now, silent tears sliding down her pale cheeks -- he finally spoke the words he'd been dying to since the moment she'd decided to kick caffiene. "If it makes you unhappy, Abs, then just...stop. Because the last thing I want -- the last thing any of us wants -- is for you to feel like you have to change yourself."

This was given deep consideration. Another tear escaped Abby's mascara'd eye as she stood quietly, then her face broke into a wet, tired, jubilant smile and she moved her head closer to McGee's, positioning it so that her soft, black hair was touching his cheek.

"Thanks, McGee," she sniffled, already sounding closer to her usual, cheerful self. "Thank you."

"No problem, Abby," he replied, smiling along with her.

After several minutes, McGee couldn't help but notice the sound of light snoring. Standing, and ever-so-gently maneuvering Abby back onto her chair, Timothy picked up the super-sized decaf beverage from her desk and dropped it into the wastebasket.

"I'll go get you a Caf-Pow," he announced, heading for the door.

The end.