Author's Note: Thank heavens for library computers! Still haven't got the internet set up in my new apartment, but hey...
Mike's reaction is predictable. Arriving back at the house the next morning to find Abby curled up against me on the couch, he halts in the doorway for a second. "Huh. 'Bout damn time." Without waiting for a response, he makes straight for the refrigerator and pulls out a beer, and the day continues on.
The time passes too quickly, and though we make the most of every second I always have one eye on the clock, mentally calculating how much longer we have together.
The morning of Abby's departure dawns grey and sombre. She stirs and opens her eyes, smiling a little as she realises I'm watching her. "What time is…?" She remembers what day it is, and sighs. "No, don't tell me."
For a second we lie in silence, trying to forget what has to happen. Then she bites her lip. "Damn it, I need to know. What time?"
"Around eight."
She reaches out for me, crestfallen, and I hold her close, stroking her hair. When her breath catches, I realise she's forcing back tears. "Hey…" I say softly, and she releases the air she's holding as a sob.
"This is so hard," she whispers.
I kiss the top of her head. "I know, Abbs." God, do I know.
It takes a couple of minutes for her to calm down, but it seems like an eternity. I know I'm the reason for her misery, and I've never felt so powerless. When she kisses me, her tears subsiding, I completely immerse myself in the moment. Her tongue teases mine as my fingers run over every inch of her exposed skin. Her body arches into my touches with a decadent languor that spurs me on.
The thing I've learned about Abby over the last couple of days is that she loves it hard, fast, rough, raw. But we both know this isn't the time for that. This is a goodbye, no matter how much we want to deny it, and there are things that need to be said, things that can't be expressed in words.
She gasps into my mouth as I slip a hand between her legs, keeping the touch slow, teasing her. We take our time, memorising each other's bodies, storing away the knowledge of what reaction each touch, each caress, will elicit. It's not until over an hour later that we force ourselves out of bed. She showers while I make coffee; then she packs while I take my turn under the hot spray.
I find her on the porch, her luggage beside her, staring with trepidation at her rental car. "Ready?" I ask gently.
"No." Her voice is distressed, her eyes full of tears again. "How do you make yourself ready for something like this? You just can't. I mean, I tried to psych myself up for it, I thought about it a lot, but it didn't work, and I-"
I silence her with a finger to her lips, belatedly realising I did the same thing when I left NCIS. Not the best move I could have made right then. Abby makes the connection too, but surprises me by smiling rather than letting it depress her.
"What?" I ask, curious to know what's going on in her ingenious mind.
She only shakes her head. "So, I guess this is it, then."
"You have the number I gave you?"
Nodding, she holds up her cellphone. "You're sure Camila's okay with me having it?"
"She was the one who suggested it."
Leaning on the railing, she shoots me an amused glance. "Remind me again why you can't just leave your cell switched on?"
"Don't wanna talk to most of the people who have the number." The time I switched my cell on for just long enough for her to trace it, I'd been thinking of calling her lab. I'd decided against it because I didn't want anyone else overhearing her conversation and trying to get in touch. I needed to be cut off from the outside world as much as Mike did, even if the outside world included Abby.
Now we have an arrangement; once a week, I'll call her. In an emergency, she can call Camila, who'll get a message to me.
Understanding, she rests her head on my shoulder. "Gonna miss you."
There's a thought that's been bugging me all morning. I can't stand the thought of her pining for me when I might not see her for months. As much as the idea of her being with other guys hurts, it's the way it's always been between us. "Abbs… Promise me something."
"Depends on the 'something'." She senses I'm serious and frowns up at me. "What?"
I force the words out. "Don't put your life on hold for me. If you find someone-"
She interrupts, rolling her eyes. "Gibbs, please. Like I've had a serious, one hundred per cent committed relationship since I met you, anyway."
I could mention McGee's name, or Mikel Mawher's, but now isn't the time. "Just promise me."
"If you promise me the same thing," she replies, seeming entirely unthreatened. It's as if she knows how much of a non-issue it's gonna be for me. I've been hit on by a couple of the women in town over the last couple months, but haven't been even vaguely tempted.
"Alright. Deal."
Nodding, she steps into my arms. "Deal."
I hold her tightly, casting a glance up at the sun. "If you're gonna make the border by tonight, you better get going." I force the words out, feel her sigh in response.
"This isn't goodbye, so I'm not gonna say it."
"Didn't expect you to," I reply, following her off the porch steps. We throw her bags into the back of the rental, and she leans back against the car.
"Gibbs, I…" When she looks up at me, her smile is apprehensive. "When you left, and you wouldn't let me say anything… Oh, god." Stepping away from me, she begins to pace, avoiding my eyes. "Okay, I've needed to get this out since I realised you were leaving, but I don't want you to say anything, cause if you do, I don't think I can walk away from you."
I wait, but although she stops fidgeting after a few moments, she can't bring herself to speak. "Okay," I say softly, reminding her I'm still here and listening.
She swallows, takes a shaky breath, and says the words that make the moment simultaneously better and worse. "I love you, Gibbs. Always have. Didn't stop when you left."
My stomach turns with the knowledge of just what I'm losing by letting her go, but it's a distant emotion compared to the fierce, possessive elation of hearing her say it. "Abbs-" I start.
She reads my response in my face, and throws up a hand to stop me from continuing, eyes tearful as she answers my half-smile with one of her own. "Don't. Please."
I kiss her instead, kiss her until she forgets her tears, until the hard knot of grief in my gut has temporarily unravelled into a tangled mess and all I want to do is carry her back inside the house. But I can't. And she's already an hour late leaving.
"Get going," I tell her, the words harsher than they need to be. But for as long as I've known her, she's been able to see past the things I say to what I mean, and she nods, no condemnation in her face.
With a last swift kiss, she slides behind the wheel of the rental, pulling the door shut behind her with a thud of finality. As she starts the engine and buckles her seatbelt, I retreat to the porch, taking myself out of reach of the driver's door handle before I can give in to temptation.
Abby puts the car in reverse, turns it towards town. Draws parallel with the porch, and hesitates. For seconds that seem more like minutes, we gaze at each other, her stricken eyes finding mine. She shifts in her seat, and for a fleeting moment I'm sure she's about to jump out of the car. But it passes. With a tiny mock-salute, she hits the gas and pulls away from the house.
I stay on the porch steps until long after the sound of the engine has faded away, lost in memories, thoughts, imaginings. And then, as I do with so many other things in my life, I put it to the back of my mind, heading for the refrigerator and pulling out a beer, grabbing my tools and ascending the ladder to the roof once more.
It's not until I get into bed that night that I let my thoughts return to her. My fingers brush against something under the pillow, something that feels like paper. Flicking on the bedside lamp, I sit up and stare at the parting gift Abby's left for me: a printout of a digital photograph, wrapped in a short note.
Remember this?
A.
Under her initial is a crudely drawn skull-and-crossbones design, her trademark signature. Smiling a little, I set aside the note and turn my attention to the photograph.
It was taken the day NCIS were issued with newer, higher-spec digital cameras, round about three years ago. DiNozzo had spent a good part of that morning taking pictures of everyone and everything in the office, and pissing everyone off in the process. We'd headed down to Abby's lab to check if she had anything to report, and DiNozzo had halted in the doorway, camera at the ready, as I'd put a hand on her shoulder.
The picture itself shows her gazing up at me as I hand her a Caf-Pow!, a smile pulling at the corners of my lips. To anyone who'd never seen us together, it would almost look as though we were lovers.
Of course, as soon as I realised DiNozzo was still carrying that damn camera around, I'd told him that if he took one more picture I'd have him transferred to a desk job by the end of the week. He'd handed the offending object to Abby, who'd told him she'd pull the photos from its chip and email them to him. She must have kept hold of this one.
I fold the note around it carefully and set it down on the nightstand, a reminder of the past few days. As if I needed it.
Next up (when I can get online again): Gibbs gets that phone call from Ziva... Yep, we're heading into Shalom territory!
