There it was again. He'd been trying to ignore the sound, as soft as it had been, coming from the other side of his bed. Anyone else probably wouldn't have heard it. Anyone else would have probably been sound asleep by now if they'd had the day he'd had. But sleep was far from his reach and each time he heard the sound, which was both quiet and deafening at the same time, sleep seemed to move further away from his grasp. That sound, if it continued would keep him up all night.
A little jagged puff of breath being let out, accompanied quickly by a sharp inhalation.
He knew the sound. And it broke his heart to know that he'd been more than partially responsible for her making it. Abby Scuito, tough as nails forensic scientist who once took down a knife-wielding psychopath with nothing but a Caf Pow and some duct tape, was crying. And she was trying desperately to hide it. If she'd been with anyone else, she probably could have. But not with him. Never with him.
And when he heard it again and his heart hurt a little more than the last time, he knew he had to do something. So he gently rolled over and faced her back. Her shoulders were hunched and the curvature of her spine told him that she was curled up in a ball. She was curled up, probably hugging herself as she attempted to hide her tears from the person who had caused them. Upon that realization, his heart hurt a little more than last time.
"Abby…" he said softly, letting her know he was still awake. His tone wasn't harsh as it had been before. He needed her to know that he wasn't angry, just concerned.
But she was still angry and he knew this before she spoke, as her entire body tensed at the sound of his voice.
"Leave me alone, McGee," she responded. Her voice was quiet, and he knew that she hadn't meant for him to hear the sadness that laced it, but he had. And it made him attempt to comfort her once again.
"Abs, I'm sorry," he began, moving closer to her. He wanted to hold her. God, how he'd wanted to hold her. He wanted nothing more than to bury her in his arms and hold her till her tears subsided and until all of her fear was gone. That was what protectors were supposed to do. And this night, he was her protector. He'd failed her once already, but if she just gave him one more chance, he could get it right. He knew he could. He just needed that chance.
However, he was met with something other than a second chance. He was met with a shrill, angry tearful scream from the woman that was only inches away from him.
"Shut up McGee! Shut up and just leave me alone!"
He was sure that nothing could have hurt worse than those words until he heard the sob that followed them. And part of him was screaming at him to grab her and turn her in his arms and let her cry. And if she fought him and he ended up battered and bruised, then that would be that. But his instincts had been wrong earlier and it was his decision to leave her that had led them to this. So he ignored his instinct and instead followed the order that had been shrieked in his general direction. He rolled over, back on to his side with his back to hers. And he simply whispered, "I'm sorry." And he didn't just hope she had heard him; he hoped she believed him.
So Tim lay there, in the darkness of his own bedroom as Abby sobbed next to him. With each sound, he hated himself more for causing her pain, yet he couldn't get the courage to just turn over and be there for her. Eventually her sobs began to die down, and they were replaced with the original sound he'd heard. A jagged exhalation coupled with a short inhalation. And eventually those sounds stopped too, and they were replaced by the sound of steady, even breaths. When he thought it safe, he looked over and his suspicions were correct: she had finally fallen asleep.
And he hated himself. He slammed his head against his pillow, furious at the fact that in his protective custody, he had let Mikel get near her. He hadn't been there to protect her from him when he was in the apartment and he hadn't been there to protect her when he wasn't. Instead, he'd taken the cowards way out and the result had been Abby, strong, independent, fearless Abby, crying herself to sleep while he simply lay there and listened. He questioned what kind of a man he was, how he could have just laid there and let her cry. And he tried to sleep, but failing her twice in one night would not permit that. So he lay there, listening to her breathe and thanking whatever was responsible for the fact that for the time being, Abby was at peace. And when he finally could fight no longer, his steady breathing joined in unison with hers as sleep finally took over.