There had to be a way out of this current hell. There just had to be. Anything other than owning up, anything other than seeing his face when he realised the truth. That she had screwed up beyond belief and had essentially lied by omission in the process. Prowling around her apartment in the dead of night, Abby's chest was heaving with anxiety. She had been torn between charging over to Gibbs' house and screaming what had happened from the rooftops and running away to Barcelona all night long. So far, all she'd managed to do is wear a whole in her favourite rug as she marched up and down, muttering furiously with herself, arguing with herself. She saw every hour on the clock as it passed, unable to lie down in the merest contemplation of sleep. Finally passing out from sheer exhaustion alone at two in the morning, she awoke at seven from a fitful slumber. It took her a moment to remember why she felt so instinctually miserable, but when she did, she slumped back down onto her pillow with a nervous cramp forming in her stomach.
She couldn't do it. She couldn't see him again. Not today. Not with the secret that she kept.
Before she knew what she was doing her cell was in her hands and the all too familiar speed dial was being pushed. He answered on the second ring with the customary "Hey, Abbs," a little concerned she was calling so early in the morning, not expecting any sort of miracle on the case given its slow nature. Taking a deep breath and committing what she would later realise as emotional suicide, Abby crackled deliberately through her nasal passages and croaked out a verbal sick note, citing the rampant stomach bug that had indeed befallen many an NCIS staffer. Immediately offering to swing by and bring her to her doctor, Gibbs reluctantly agreed to allow one day's bed rest with plenty of fluids before frogmarching her to either Ducky or her own GP. By the time she had rung off from the call, Gibbs' concern had entered Abby's body like an airborne toxin that threatened to suffocate her where she lay.
Tears, fresh and salty, sprang up in her eyes as she slumped down and stared miserably upwards.
Just as her watery regret was about to break loose from her eyes and cascade once more down her cheeks, divine yet unholy inspiration hit her. Sitting bolt upright in the bed, her stomach knotted with the intensity of the fledgling plan as she whizzed through the pros and cons of it. Gibbs was an intelligent man, but he was about as computer illiterate as one could possibly be. NYU had divulged her transcript to her and her alone, their concern not being about who paid the bills, only that they were paid. Of course, the Director would be expecting her to report to his office sooner or later with a general outcome of her sabbatical, but he wasn't exactly the next Steve Jobs either. All she would have to do would be to create an exact replica of the transcript she had, minus the horrendous results it contained. Then, she could retake her classes online in three weeks, as the University had sympathetically offered, and ace them. It would cost her a significant chunk of her savings, but all in all, it was a price she was willing to pay if it meant not having to confess the unthinkable to her silver fox.
It would however mean lying for another six months, concealing her make-up studies.
Gnawing her lip as she pondered, Abby imagined the confusion on Gibbs' face if she were to tell him the truth. She couldn't do it. He would never need to know, she could make it right. Leaping out of the bed, she couldn't believe she hadn't experienced this particular brainwave last night. She'd been too upset to think straight she reasoned as she yanked her laptop from its bedside resting place. Sitting rigid, she worked frantically. She tweaked and finessed certain programmes, blending them together. Having long since snatched the dreaded transcript from her bag, her work of fraud took nearly two hours to craft into perfection. Looking at the finished product some time later, her hair was frizzy from the sweat coating her forehead.
But it was done. And it was perfect.
As she frantically pressed "print" on her keypad, Abby's heart suddenly sank. Transcripts from NYU didn't come on bog standard print paper. They came on thick carded A4, with the logo carefully embossed into the top centre. She bit her lip. She could replicate it, sure. But not with anything she had at home. Those sorts of tools were ensconced in her lab, guarded by Bert in her absence. Her stomach churned. She could wait till tomorrow, but she knew in her heart and soul that her gumption would be gone by then. She would wuss out and then be left with the awful reality of Gibbs giving her that look that was like having the world's largest iceberg shoved down your throat.
Thinking fast, she whipped out her cell once more and bit down on her bottom lip.
Ignoring the rusty tinge of blood that seeped into her mouth, she punched out a quick message and fired it off to Tim. He would be the least likely to think anything of her inquiring as to where they physically were at the present time, thinking she was simply bored and restless at home, anxious about the case. Fresh and hot guilt splurged through her as he messaged back quickly, first and foremost expressing his concern as to her health, before telling her that they were out at a new crime scene. Feeling horrendously guilty that she had used him in such a subversive way, she sent off a nondescript reply and dashed to change into some clean clothes. If she could just get in and out before they got back, she would have the fake transcript in her possession and along with it, some semblance of peace. She would then immediately get cracking on applying for the make-up studies that would decimate her bank account and social life for the next six months.
It would all be worth it.
She told herself that over and over again as she crept through the halls of NCIS about a half an hour later. She needed to avoid every single soul that she could and so, she kept her head bowed and her gait ferocious until she successfully scurried into her lab undetected. Taking a deep and steadying breath, she began setting her fingers flying across her work computer, retrieving the email she had sent to herself. Grimacing slightly as she viewed the attachments in her NCIS email account, a work of self-flagellation as she'd labelled them "real" and "fake", she downloaded the imposter and sent it to the printer. The next thirty or so minutes later were hell on earth as she worked frantically, glancing over her should ever two minutes. Rooting in her cabinets for impressionist tools and expensive paper, she forced herself to still her trembling hands and work in precise, concerted measures. This was all for Gibbs, she reminded herself. She would ace those classes in the make-up sessions, and he would never need to be hurt. It was a win-win. It was the best solution to a difficult situation and no-one needed to be any the wiser.
By the time the printer spat out the completely finished product, it was flawless.
Thanking whatever spirits that may be fervently, she tucked the transcript into her bag with care. Closing out the applications open on her screen, she was suddenly startled by a rustling at the entrance to her lab. Her hands spasmed in fear as she wildly closed tabs, desperate to hide all evidence of her subterfuge. When the final dialogue had disappeared, she whipped her head around to find a completely lost looking intern peering in through her sealed electronic doors. "Go away!" she hollered, her fear making her positively obnoxious in that moment. "No interns allowed in here. This is an intern-free zone. Turn around and leave and never ever come back!" Sandy, the timid freshman felt her eyes widen at the wildly gesticulating, screeching woman and bolted from the lab's entrance with the speed of an Olympic athlete.
Abby watched her go with a heaving chest and the now burning desire to flee.
Grabbing her bag, she darted from the lab as quickly as Sandy had and stealthily worked her way through the cavernous building. By the time she reached her car she was panting furiously and sporting a sharp stich in her side. Ramming her car into gear she screeched from the NCIS parking lot and double timed it all the way home. Galloping up her apartment building stairs she didn't pause for air until she was back in the safety of her apartment, her door triple locked behind her. Collapsing on the sofa with her prized contraband gripped tight to her chest, she let out a strangled whoop of victory. It wasn't right, it wasn't ethical but it sure as hell was a mission well completed.
Relaxation flooded through her as she closed her eyes and instantly felt the lulling pull of overdue sleep.
But little did Abby know that she ought not to be sleeping. Little did she know that she ought not to be whooping. Because in her haste, born out of fear from Sandy's arrival, her fleeing fingers had taken a bad situation and turned it into a WW3 inducing situation. She had closed her email with the speed of a lion in the midst of a hunger induced hunt, where she should have closed it with the precision of the eagle-eyed panther. As she descended blissfully into a cathartic sleep, the carnage was only beginning to unfold. Coffee in hand, Gibbs returned with the remainder of his team and settled down in front of the computer that McGee had poured his blood, sweat and tears into educating him as to the proper workings thereof. Although Tim had lamented in great detail the snail's pace of his upgrade-devoid machine, he waited patiently for it to sluggishly get its ass in gear. Having briefed the Director on the way down about their findings from today's scene, he needed to check his e-mail in the hopes that the favour he'd asked of Fornell had come through. Turns out Tobias had his own version of McGee, and between he and Tim, they were now both borderline computer literate.
"Tony, if I see you snap one more elastic band at Tim, you and I are going to take a walk."
He murmured this threat silkily as he waited for his e-mail to open, nodding his acceptance of DiNozzo's grinning apology. When the outdated programme eventually came into being, he scanned the very minimal inbox and sighed. Nothing from Fornell. About to close out of it, his eyes caught Abby's work e-mail address sporting an unread message. He frowned. He was sure he'd had a clean inbox yesterday and there was no way anyone could have accessed Abby's email account today. She had trojan protection on that thing to beat the band. Glancing at the date in the corner of the highlighted line, as Tim had painstakingly taught him to do, he saw it was indeed today's and his confusion peaked. Opening up the mail much more slowly than any normal person would do, he frowned in bewilderment at what he now saw was a forwarded message that had originated from Abby's personal e-mail account.
Two attachments blinked invitingly up at him, oddly dubbed "real" and "fake."
Assuming it was case related and hoping against hope for a break in the maddening crime they were working, he put his confusion as to Abby's work account being accessed in her absence to the side. Swigging some more coffee, he waited patiently for the "real" attachment to open. When it did, his eyes bulged in their sockets as the blunt NYU transcript shimmered up at him from the aged screen. It was Abby's. From the course he had greenlighted. It had her name and her student number. But it couldn't be hers because whoever this person was had failed every single class they had taken. If he was confused before it was nothing compared to how he felt when he clicked on the "fake" attachment. It was the same transcript, only this one had undergone a miraculous make-over. This Abigail Sciuto had gone from failing every single class, to acing every single class. Feeling his mouth drop open as the two transcripts conveniently aligned themselves beside each other, presenting their differences in a glaringly obvious light, Gibbs shook his head in bewilderment.
What the hell was going on?
About to pick up the phone to call Abby on her sickbed, not relishing the idea of informing her that someone must have broken into both her NYU and NCIS accounts and done…things, his hand suddenly snatched itself away from the receiver as if burned. Clarity was beginning to shimmer through the clouds of confusion in the sharp blue eyes as a nuclear tide of emotion began to lap at his gut. The weird behaviour yesterday, the what if I failed everything question, the sudden illness of today….it was all beginning to add up to a solution that sent a tongue of anger lashing through his gut. Taking a deep breath and reminding himself that any sudden movements or reactions would be noticed by the diligently working boys, Gibbs tried to bring himself back under control valiantly. But it was rather like putting the genie back in the bottle and far from easily accomplished. He scrubbed a hand over his face and thought rapidly, trying to come to any other conclusion that the one he knew instinctively to be the truth. After running through endless possibilities and crossing them off one by one, he knew in his heart and soul the truth…and that was that Abby had bombed her classes because she had been, as he'd feared, screwing around instead of working hard and had hidden that fact and lied to his face about it.
A cold, dangerous anger coursed through him as the transgressions and lies mounted and mounted.
He didn't know how he was going to deal with this, but of one thing he was certain.
His favourite though she may be…
Abigail Sciuto was going to rue the day she decided to pull this despicable mess over on him.
She was going to rue the day.
…..
TBC
….