Chapter Three – Disarmed
An hour or so later, Gibbs was watching Abby nurse her fourth cup of coffee. She was looking much better, having apparently made a total recovery from her earlier panic. Her bruising looked minimal, but he had noticed a red scrape where the seatbelt had cut her, just below her collarbone, which was probably the reason she winced a bit whenever she moved her right shoulder. It had stopped bleeding, but it's dull dark red provided a bizarre contrast to the very pale skin of her neck. Maybe it was that jarring image that made him insist that she allow him to bandage it up.
"It really doesn't hurt all that much," Abby insisted, adding "ow!" as Gibbs stretched a gauze pad, and then a thin bandage over the affected area.
Gibbs shook his head. "You don't want to let it get infected," he assured her. "The little scrapes can be more insidious than the more obvious injuries." Stepping back, he examined the bad job he'd done. The supposedly skin-colored bandage didn't match Abby's tone at all, and the result was that she now had a three-color palette playing across her neck. Abby, following the direction of his gaze, ran her fingertips over the bandage.
"Yes sir," she said complacently, sitting back to finish her coffee. "You know best." After a couple of sips, she added, "You've probably had all sorts of harrowing battle scars."
"Yes," agreed Gibbs simply, thinking that the worst battle scars were the ones you couldn't see on the skin. The really insidious ones were never physically manifested. They stuck around in the mind after everything else had closed up and been forgotten as anything other than a glory-giving mark of being a hero.
"But you're still handsome. Handsome in a…rugged sort of way. Not rugged like Harrison Ford rugged, but like…Pierce Brosnan with an edge. Obviously experienced, but mysteriously unchanged. And distinguished." She cocked her head to one side, apparently analyzing his resemblance to various movie stars. Gibbs raised an eyebrow at her, and she made a belligerent face. "Don't try to deny it, I can see you better than you can."
He didn't try it. Instead, he sat in mildly amused silence as Abby prattled on about whether or not he would do better as an action hero, or a romantic lead. "Clint Eastwood," she was saying, "only he's a bit too…craggy."
Gibbs glanced at the clock. It was already almost midnight. "It's getting late," he informed her, "and you're probably tired. We'd better get you home. Finish your coffee." He stood up from the table and headed for the stairs, but Abby's voice recalled him.
"Gibbs, are you sure it's okay?"
He turned to find her wrinkling her brow and watching him with what looked like a cross between trepidation and affectionate concern. Something pulled at his heartstrings, and, not for the first time, considered the fact that she had one of the best, most sincere puppy faces he'd ever seen. She could charm the most cold blooded killer, and, in fact, had once demonstrated this by taming an attack dog that had been a part of an investigation, purely by giving it a little bit of good-old-Abby love.
"Am I sure that what's okay, Abs?"
She made a face. "Don't play dumb, I mean you!" Rising from the table, she came to meet him and put her hand on his sleeve, biting her lip. "You look so…tired. Like, really exhausted."
Gibbs didn't say anything. He was tired, very tired, emotionally tired, physically tired…he needed a break, and there wasn't likely to be one any time soon…if ever. Abby spent a couple of seconds watching his face, and then suddenly threw her arms around him and hugged him, letting out one, long exasperated sigh as she did so. "Oh Gibbs…you're always so mysterious. I know you're not gonna tell me what's wrong, I just…want you to know that I want to know. You know?"
Gibbs smiled. He leaned over to give Abby a kiss on the cheek, and to his surprise he felt her lean eagerly into the kiss, the lashes of her closed eyes brushing against the side of his face. He stiffened and pulled swiftly away, to find her staring at him, a look of horror slowly making it's way over her features. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it again, and then managed to say "oh no," in a very small voice.
The next few moments happened very quickly. As Gibbs' mind reeled with the implications of Abby's reaction to his gesture, Abby herself was trying to push past him to the upstairs landing. He reached out for her arm to hold her back, but she struggled against him. "Abby," he said, trying to sound firm and collected.
She shook her head, not looking at him. "I should go home."
"I'll drive you," Gibbs insisted, but Abby was free now and on her way towards the front door.
"I'll call a taxi," she called back over her shoulder. Opening the door, she was about to make her exit, when she stopped, turned, bit her lip, and murmured "thanks, Gibbs. For the coffee." Then she was gone, and he could hear her feet pounding on the sidewalk outside.
I should have insisted, he thought. It's late, and she's upset now, she'll get into trouble. He started towards the phone, intending to call her and insist that she come back, before realizing that he couldn't insist, she wouldn't come. He'd scared her away with how suddenly he'd rejected her response, and he couldn't take it back just by pretending it hadn't happened. Gibbs had always known that Abby had a bit of a crush on him. The whole team knew, and she'd just been comparing him to Hollywood heartthrobs, for god's sake. It wasn't exactly a well kept secret. What had surprised him was the intensity of her response, the way that he could feel her heart suddenly start to beat faster the moment his lips had made contact. Poor Abby was having some trouble controlling her emotions, and based on her reaction, it seemed as though she hadn't realized the depth of her own feelings on the subject. No, he couldn't call her back. She had enough sense not to come.
