Author's Note: Hey everyone! Thanks so much for the kind words, you all rock. I'm hugging you all... in my mind... right now. XD But I get the feeling you're all going to hate me after this update! :D
And because Kelly said it and it amused me, I shall start this chapter with a phoof! Because I'm randomly pretentious that way.
Phoof! (Greyed-out shot of Abby glancing at Ziva and Tony as she leaves the club...)
"Do you wanna dance?"
The invitation comes sooner than I'd expected. I force a smile, hoping it looks natural. "I'm gonna hit the ladies' room, and then I'll dance with you. And if you're not here when I get back, you're really missing out…"
He raises an appreciative eyebrow, and I go cold at his appraisal. "Trust me, I'm not going anywhere," he says.
I head for the bathroom, sighing with relief as the door swishes closed behind me. I'm safe… for now.
"You okay, Abbs?" Gibbs asks.
The door opens behind me, and I jump out of my skin as Ziva appears. "Relax. It is just me."
I turn to the mirror, adjusting one of my pigtails. "Sorry. I'm a little jumpy."
"You're doing great," Gibbs says, and I bask in the glow of his approval, trying a smile as I direct my words to my reflection's camera feed.
"Thanks. Do I get my honorary Special Agent badge?"
"Just as soon as you get out of here," he replies wryly as I dig around in my bag for lipstick. I had it here somewhere. Where the hell is it?
"Here." Ziva hands me hers. It's not black, but it'll do. I scrub off the lipstick I'm already wearing and begin to apply the new coat, proud that my hand's not shaking too badly. "We are thinking this is our culprit, yes?"
"No, Ziva, it's the other tattoo-obsessed freak fawning over Abby." Tony's voice is tinny through the earwig and heavy with sarcasm, and she scowls in reply.
"I did not–"
Before she can get any further, I cut her off. I don't wanna talk about this too much. It's only gonna make me more nervous. I know what I have to do and I don't wanna give it much more thought than I already have. "I'm taking out the earwig."
"The hell you are." Gibbs authoritative growl cuts over McGee's and Tony's protests. And yeah, it makes me tingly. But I'm not thinking about that, either. I gotta focus.
"I'm gonna have to. He's already in my personal space, and now we're gonna dance? If he sees the earwig it'll scare him off, and then we'll have nothing."
"Abby is right, Gibbs." Surprised and pleased, I stare at Ziva, who continues, "In truth I am surprised he has not already noticed it. I did not think he would focus so much attention on her, but he seems as if he wants to eat her. There is no way he will overlook the earwig for much longer, especially if they are dancing."
For a long moment, the guys are all silent, knowing we're right. They're all so over-protective. I'm glad that at least Ziva isn't underestimating me. "I'll leave the mic and camera as they are. But the earwig's gotta go, whether you like it or not, Gibbs."
I can imagine his pissed-off expression as if he's here in person, but I'm not budging. And he knows it. "If you need to get out, Abbs-"
"Then having you chattering in my ear isn't gonna help. If I think things are getting scary…" Hmm. "Scarier… I'll start talking about caffeine. Deal?"
Reluctantly, he agrees. "Deal."
Ziva nods. "We will have her covered at all times, Gibbs."
"You better, David," he snaps.
"Any last words of wisdom before I do this thing?" I ask, taking a deep breath.
McGee is the first to reply. "Be careful."
I love my Timmy. He's such a sweetie. Which is why it would never have worked out between us. "I will. I promise."
"Get him to tell you a little about himself." That's Tony. "He might say something we can use."
"Got it." I can do that. I hope.
"Don't let him do anything you're not comfortable with." Gibbs, of course. And it's not a request. I get the feeling that by the end of the night I'm gonna be in the doghouse, cause leaving a club with a guy without a little mauling first? It's not gonna happen. I've already resigned myself to it.
I could tell him that, but it'd just get him annoyed for no good reason. "I won't. Wish me luck…" I take the earwig out before I lose my nerve and drop it into my purse, taking one final glance in the mirror before turning to Ziva. "I'm ready."
She takes back the lipstick I hold out to her. "We will stay close."
I should feel reassured, but as I walk back across the club, flashing my best seductive smile at Steve, I feel a growing sense of dread. He doesn't seem to notice, taking my hand and pulling me onto the dance-floor. "What is it about chicks and bathrooms?"
"They're full of mirrors and we're really vain?" It makes him laugh. A killer with a sense of humour, huh?
It's getting to the time of night when people are mostly hooked up, and the DJ's responding by playing the slower, sexier yet still totally hardcore songs in his collection. We fall in with the beat, keeping our distance at first, barely touching. He's waiting for me to make the first move, and I…
I'm scared that if I do, I'll start shaking, and he'll know I'm onto him.
But if I don't get it together, I'll lose his interest. Come on, Abigail! Just do it!
I step into his embrace, expecting him to draw back suspiciously at any moment. He doesn't. As I slip my arms around his neck, his fingers slide over the naked flesh of my back, and suddenly I know that method acting is the way to go.
I remember earlier on, the tentative hug Gibbs gave me, his hands touching me, right… there. Desire heats my skin. I close my eyes, shutting out Steve's face, replacing his image with one of the man I want so badly, the one person I can never have.
Steve – Gibbs, gotta keep thinking it's Gibbs or I'm gonna freeze up – kisses the side of my neck, his lips exploring my spiderweb tattoo. It tickles, and I allow myself a tiny giggle.
"How many tattoos do you have?" he breathes in my ear. I knew I was right about taking the earwig out. If I hadn't I'd be totally busted right about now.
"Eighteen."
He draws back a little, and I see the predatory hunger in his expression as he begins to count. Usually that kind of look turns me on. Tonight it just leaves me cold.
"One…" The spiderweb. I count right along with him, keeping Gibbs at the forefront of my mind. It's the only way I can keep my muscles from going taut.
"Two…" The smiling face on my middle finger, my most recent addition.
"Three…" The RIP on my left arm, his index finger tracing the letters. I watch its progress, imagining that finger running over the smooth framework of a freshly-sandpapered sailboat.
"Four…" The three triangles on the inside of my wrist. His thumb glides over them, and then he switches to my right arm.
"Five…" The infinity symbol, swirling across my flesh.
"Six…" A stylised letter 'P', the atomic symbol for the element phosphorus. I remember Gibbs' reaction to my explanation, given so long ago. A friend once told me I was glowy like phosphorus. He'd frowned at me, not even pretending to follow, and I just smiled and shook my head. You kinda had to be there.
Steve spins me in his arms so my back is to him, jerking me back to the present. We still move with the music, but barely.
"Seven..." His lips brush over the stick figure on my right shoulder, only just skimming the skin.
"Eight..." The stick figure on the other shoulder, innocently perched.
His fingers drift down my spine, exploring my cross tattoo. "Nine. Did it hurt?"
The question grounds me a little, reminding me who's really touching me: a murdering freak who gets off on tattoos. "Like hell," I say, hoping he'll attribute my involuntary shudder to the memory of the pain.
His arms tighten around me again, his chest pressed against my back, and we dance for a few moments, silent. Then his left hand drifts down, over my hip. Oh, god, he can't be…? Two fingers come to rest upon the hissing mouth of my snake tattoo, dangerously close to the hem of my teeny skirt. "Ten."
I can't help my ragged gasp as my brain flashes up a defensive image to save me from freaking out: Gibbs, holding me tight against him, following the outline of the tattoo's needle-sharp fangs with a finger as he whispers, "Where are the other eight?"
But it's not Gibbs asking me the question.
"One on each ankle," I say slowly, struggling to think past the warring instincts of want and revulsion. "A smiling face and a triangle made of dots. One on my stomach. A bat."
His fingers leave my thigh, travelling back over my hip-bone and pulling up my shirt, exposing my midriff to the entire club. The winged creature hovers over my navel, a tribute to Kate, who once sketched me as a pigtail-wearing vampire bat.
"And the other five?" Steve asks softly.
I feel my blush deepen, well aware that Gibbs, Tony and Ziva are listening in. And McGee, but he already knows where all my tatts are. "You'll just have to see, won't you?" I say, turning in his arms, smiling up at him. "I'm thinking about getting another. Right… here." It's a lie, a diversionary tactic. The ribs are supposed to be the most painful place to have a tattoo done, and I know he'll get a kick out of it. So I move his hand up, positioning it just below my right breast, over my ribs. I'd rather get felt up a little than discuss the rest of my tatts with the rest of the team eavesdropping.
"Really? Well, it just so happens I'm a tattoo artist." There you go, Tony. Think that's something we can use? "There's not much flesh between skin and bone in the rib area. I've had girls pass out from the pain."
I'll just bet you have, you scary nutjob. Right before you strangled them… oh god, don't think about it, don't think…
"I'll consider it an endurance test. And maybe if you show me a few more of your designs, I'll let you be the one to test me." I nudge back the sleeve of his shirt, exposing another section of his tattoo – which is still seriously cool, so I don't need to feign too much of my interest – and making it clear that I'm not talking about paper designs.
It's too much for him to resist any longer. He brings his lips down on mine, hard, and I fall against him, pouring my pent-up nervous energy into returning the kiss, my whirling thoughts once more returning to Gibbs. When we break, we're both breathless.
"Wanna come see my tattoo studio?" he asks, and I nod against my better judgement. He hasn't done anything we can arrest him for yet. If he gets GHB into my system, that'll be another story. Gibbs can get him on intent to indecently assault, and then throw the book at him for murder.
Gibbs is gonna kill me for being so reckless. If this guy doesn't get there first.
Steve pulls me toward the exit, and out of the corner of my eye I see Tony and Ziva immediately converge to follow us. "Let's get out of here."
Phoof!