Disclaimer: Don't own anything NCIS related. But how fricken awesome would it be if I did!!!
Warnings: Contains graphic self-injury descriptions and some case-related discussion that some may find triggering/disturbing. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! (Can't say I didn't warn you!)
Author's note: I was watching NCIS the other day and remembered that I'd written this fanfic ages ago and thought I should put it up on . I know that Abby is generally the overly-excited, happy, bouncy character on NCIS but I think it's plausible that she has a serious dark side that could potentially include self injury. I mean, what's with all the cuffs and the arm warmers, etc.? It could just be for her gothic attire (and I'm not suggesting that goth = cutter), but I can only remember seeing her wrists like, once in the entire series (mind you, I haven't really watched the latest season so if there is more Abby-wrist-visability, please excuse my ignorance!). That's unnaturally low wrist visability for a TV character!! Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but it just seems like she's hiding scars or something under there! Wow... this authors note is crazy, talking about wrist visability. I apologise and blame my sleep-deprived brain as it's 3.30 in the morning.
She Doesn't Know Why.
Drip. She watched as the blood fell onto the clean, white bathroom tiles, creating a brutal contrast of colours. Drip. One she was all too familiar with. Drip. The contrast was not unlike her life really, now that she thought about it. She was the dark one, the black sheep, the innappropriately over-enthusiastic team member who was confined to her basement lab with her eardrum-bursting music. Drip.
She grabbed a tissue and pressed it delicately against the small, deep wound. Enough pressure to ebb the mesmerising flow, but lightly enough so as not to cause her any more throbbing pain. She didn't need anymore pain today. The red lines now marking her thigh were a clear external indicator of the inner ache bearing heavily upon her. To say it had been a long day would be an understatement. To say it had been a horrendous day was still not touching the surface. A Petty Officer had abducted, raped and murdered a child in the current case the team were working on. The little girl's name was Annabelle and she had liked to wear purple ribbons in her hair and play the piano, the devastated mother had told them. She just couldn't comprehend how anyone could do such a thing. Numbness and disbelief towards the human race had overruled any anger, disgust or contempt she had felt for the Petty Officer. Numbness seemed to overrule any true emotion for her these days.
She had grown accustomed to this, taking out her razor sharp scissors and snipping away at her skin, occasionally dragging the blade across her pale flesh. As a scientist she understood the biological basis of her relief; the pain causing her brain to release endorphins and serotonin, creating a temporary natural euphoria. But the mystery and intrigue of why she did this to herself still plagued her mind every time she chose to instigate this assault on her body. Why? Why couldn't she cope? Why couldn't she behave like all of the normal people in the world? Like all of the people who could rid themselves of too much emotion, or actually feel anything at all without inflicting physical pain upon themselves?
She knew that Ziva would take out her anger and frustration about little Annabelle's death with a set of throwing knives and a target. Tony would cope with any painful emotion brought on by the case by turning it into a joke, probably at the expense of someone else's dignity. Gibbs would probably be drinking hard liquor while sanding down his current boat-in-progress in a basement. Ducky would be venting his emotions to the cadavers in the morgue who had no choice but to listen. And McGee, well, he would probably be escaping into his world of make-believe by killing creatures in World of Warcraft, or by working on his latest edition to his best-selling crime novel series.
Not one of her beloved friends was so emotionally weak and incompetent that they would be left sitting on their bathroom floor, bloody scissors lying next to them when they were having a few little problems or were affected by a particularly appalling case. Why? She continually asked herself this question, but to no avail. She did not know why. All she knew was that it had to stop. Right now. This very instant. She needed to be strong and stop this foolish addiction. But the fear and uncertainty that she might not be able to stop made her thoughts of recovery vanish almost as soon as they had come. She couldn't do this alone, not something like this. She couldn't just give up her addiction, her release, all by herself. Did she even want to say goodbye to this friend of hers who she had come to both love and hate with painful intensity. Yes. Yes she had to say goodbye. She needed to get away from the toxic friendship she had developed with her blades.
Reaching for her cell phone on the top of the bathroom countertop, she thought of how this would end. She would call him, he would come over, he would find her and then he would become angry. But she would understand that he was so overcome with worry that he couldn't contain his distress and she would forgive him when he eventually apologised. She knew him like she knew the pale, scarred back of her hand. Her hand that never saw the light of day due to her incessant belief in wearing gloves and arm warmers to 'protect her delicate skin from the sun', or so she alleged whenever questioned about her penchant for the accessories that she adorned her arms with. Her co-workers didn't need to know her dirty secret. God, she was already open enough about the insignificant aspects of her life, they would surely be too tired of her constant, annoying chattering to care about this other tiny, little detail.
Ring. The realisation of what she was about to do hit her hard. Ring. Why on earth was she doing this? Ring. It wasn't too late to hang up now. Ring. No, she would stop this tonight! Ring. He would watch her like a hawk and she would never be able to find solace with a blade ever again.
"Abs?" Gibbs' voice, concerned and slightly surprised, flittered over the line. The familiar way in which he would say her name gave her some immediate reassurance. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as she thought, besides, it was too late to back out now. "What's going on Abs? Are you alright?"
"Gibbs, I need you to come over." She choked out, surprised at how her own voice was filled with emotion she hadn't realised she was holding in. She heard the line disconnecting and she knew he was running out the door, ready to break any inconvenient traffic laws to get to her as quickly as humanly possible. She felt a strong surge of love flow through her body, enough for a ghostly smile to flicker upon her white face as she placed the phone on her floor.
She stood up slowly, her body still quivering slightly with adrenaline as she stood in front of her mirror. She took a long, hard look at herself, at what she had become. Old scars littered her thighs, fresh cuts painted over the old. She couldn't remember exactly when this had begun, nor did she want to delve into those dark times of her troubled teenage years. All she knew was that it had gone on for far, far too long. She slowly sunk back down to the floor, too numb to cry.
Within what seemed like a matter of minutes, Gibbs had practically burst down the front door, while frantically calling out her name. It was now or never.
She saw him barge into the bathroom, saw his eyes flicker down to the scene before him, saw the look of horror, shock and panic spread across his features. "Abs, what did you do?" He cried out, rushing down towards her while grabbing a towel in the process.
"It's ok Gibbs, it's not that bad. I just needed someone to talk to." She croaked, attempting to calm his frenzied actions. His eyes had not yet met hers. She saw him take in her old scars and noted the realisation in his eyes and the notable tightening of his jaw as he removed her hand and the bloodstained tissue she was still clutching and pressed the more substantial towel to her thigh.
"Abby… how long?" He asked her, finally breaking uncomfortable silence that had ensued while he was tending to her wounds. She could hear the tension in his voice and knew he was about to enter the angry stage.
"Too long." She replied simply whilst trying to catch his gaze. She awaited his response but it never came. "Gibbs, look at me." She pleaded. "It's not that bad." She tried to rationalize with him again, and then she saw it. That inevitable anger he was holding inside had boiled to the surface.
"Not that bad!?" He practically yelled whilst jumping to his feet, startling her and making her flinch. "Abby, how is any of this 'not that bad?'" He stated, still in disbelief that she could simply pass something this serious off like it didn't matter.
"Gibbs, please…" She begged, her voice now mimicking that of a timid child. Anger. Just as predicted.
"No, I just… I can't believe you'd do this to yourself, Abs. Why?" The level of his voice dropping slightly as he ran fingers through his silver hair. He was entering the self-blame stage. "How did I not pick up on this?" He asked. "The gloves, the wrist bands, the arm warmers. I should have realized…" He said, more to himself than to Abby.
"Gibbs, in all fairness to you, I hid it well." She replied. It looked like she was doing the comforting tonight, not him.
"Abs, you need to see someone about this. A professional. Someone who knows how to deal with this and how to make you stop." He finally said as he sat down on the floor opposite her, reaching out to hold her hands in his. His blue eyes finally met hers and Abby saw the concern, confusion and anger darting around in a dramatic swirl of emotion.
"You're probably right. I just…." Abby trailed off, not bothering with an excuse. She watched Gibbs as he slowly turned her hands palm side up, and as he took in the scarring littering her inner wrists that would have usually been hidden by her cuffs.
"Does anyone else know about this?" He asked softly, meeting her eyes again.
"Kate knew." She said, observing her boss' subtle reaction at the mention of their deceased co-worker and friend's name. "She saw my scars one day when she was at my house, she tried to help me. She'd almost convinced me to see someone, but when she died, well…it got far worse." She explained. A sudden overwhelming sadness enveloped her as she reminisced her fallen friend's concern and love for her. The tears finally began streaming down her face, washing away the numbness that had previously engulfed her. Gibbs said nothing but moved next to her, putting his arms around her in a close hug. She clung onto him for dear life, not daring to let go as sobs wracked her exhausted body. He soothed her by rubbing circles on her back with his warm hands.
"You're going to be okay, Abby. I'll make sure of it." He whispered. "I'll help you get through this." Hearing those words sparked something inside her that hadn't been present since before Kate had died; hope. And for the first time in so long, she truly believed that everything would be ok. She would be ok.
End.
A/N: I do rather like reviews and, as this is my first 'angsty' fanfic, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!!! If you feel the urge to 'flame' then go right ahead! I shall laugh at your poor spelling and grammar the next time I feel like some entertainment.