A/N: Hey y'all! :D I'm taking advantage of the three-day weekend my school issued, so I finally finished Chapter 9! In my absence, I've acquired a beta, one of my good friends outside school; I've also decided to discontinue the "walk-on roles." I dunno. Sorry for lack of interesting words - today (or yesterday technically) was my school's open house, so I'm terribly pooped and in desperate need of R+R and/or plain ol' sleep. Though, some R+R from you guys wouldn't be bad either ;)

BTW, I had to modify the last/final winner's role from the second-to-last trivia question; I originally had a character in mind, but I had to scrap it to keep the flow. Instead, two birds with one stone were killed in the making of this chapter XDDD

Without further ado, here is Chapter 9!

Much love, (~Annie)


"Say something, Abbs."

Abby hugged herself and rocked back and forth like a swing caught in the wind. Her eyes still jumped from photo to photo.

Gibbs grabbed at the corners of the table and Abby's chair. "Did he hurt you?" he interrogated, his stare fierce.

Abby continued holding her arms. The faint memory of pain in her body echoed, as if triggered by his words. "No...?"

"He must have done something to piss you off."

"I..." Abby laid her shaking head in her hands.

"You do remember." He nodded at the photos.

"Gibbs..." Her face twisted in agony.

"Abby...?" He hovered over her, still clenching the table and chair.

A throbbing aching that seemed to swell mercilessly – in waves that crawled up her spine and completely paralyzed her... Yellow light shone dimly in the corners of her vision...

"Pain..." Abby whimpered. "That's all I remember. Besides killing him, of course."

"Abby," Gibbs said tersely. He peered into her searching eyes that wouldn't look back at him. "Who hurt you then?"

"Myself?" she asked the lights on the ceiling.

Gibbs stood erect. "You almost did."

Abby winced. She tried to distract herself and touched one of the photos without really thinking. It was the one of the backseat. For some reason, she couldn't lift her eyes from it.

Her silver-haired fox took note of this. He came beside her, their faces next to each other, and examined the picture with her. Abby remained silent. It was the backseat of one of the smallest sedans he'd ever seen. Plain, gray fabric seats, old crumbs, and dust balls.

A minute, perhaps, passed like sand through the hourglass. Gibbs turned to Abby; one centimeter closer and he would've kissed her like he always would. It was very tempting.

"Was it here?" he shot in the dark, hoping to hit something.

Abby tilted her head. The unknown connection keeping her on that photo faded. "Was what where?"

Gibbs got up and sat across from her. He reached for her hands, which were now lying limp at the edge of the table. He didn't rest his gaze anywhere else but on Abby. He caught her jade, jaded eyes and kept them from falling away from him completely again. He felt Abby bring their hands together, her soft pulse beating against his rough skin. She dipped her attention back into the picture of the backseat. Gibbs breathed deeply.

"You still haven't moved from that photo."

"I know..."

He rubbed her hand with his thumb. "Go back."

Abby asked with her eyes.

"Back to last night. Back…there." He nodded at the picture.

"It's the backseat of a car," she shrugged. "With enough Dorito crumbs to last the little dust bunnies a life—"

"Was that where you were hurt?" he questioned.

Abby started to shrink and her body tensed. She kept looking and staring and analyzing the ridiculously plain photograph and still got nothing.

Gibbs rested his elbows on the table, blocking some of the other photos from her. "Were you and Jason together in the backse—"

"Gibbs!" she gasped. Abby ripped her hands from him and sprang from her seat. "For your information, Gibbs, not every relationship I enter makes me dive into his pants—let alone the backseat of his car! Ugh!" Her eyes sparkled. "There was a rare, rare sweetness about him that whenever we were together......."

"Together," Gibbs repeated. He had folded his hands quietly and mentally head-slapped himself.

Abby meandered through her thoughts, all the while whispering to herself, "Together…" like it was a magic word. She paced. "The more we get together...together...together..." she sang.

Gibbs perked up. It was the same melody he heard Abby hum in the showers.

"The more we get together, the happier we'll be," she sang louder. "'Cause your friends are my friends, and my friends are your friends – the more we get together the happier we'll be, Gibbs!" Abby jumped excitedly.

He wanted to say something to that statement... "I don't understand."

"It's a song!" Abby nearly shouted. "We used to sing it all the time just for fun, 'cause he'd always be away, and now I know why," she rambled. "We were singing it last night..."

"Shut up! Shut! UP!"

Fuzzy lights, more white than yellow. She stared right into them. She was looking up. She was lying down. But she was moving... It was the backseat of a car.

"Abbs," Gibbs called.

The girl didn't move.

She couldn't move. Her hands were bound with silver.

"Stop singing that fucking song!"

She stepped back, away from the disturbing backseat and its filthy fabric lining.

Her head fell to the side. She shut up.

Gibbs got up and examined Abby—who was shriveled into a ball in her chair.

"Gibbs..." she practically mouthed.

She tried moving her heavy head. The car was moving. The driver's eyes bore right through her.

Abby tightened herself.

Those dark, bottomless eyes... The cold, cold skin, like marble.

She wanted to suffocate herself. She hugged her knees until she couldn't feel anything.

Yellow warehouse lights swirled into view again... The pain... Everything.

It all made sense now.

*** *** *** ***

"Gibbs isn't picking up..." McGee tapped his foot.

Tony opened his mouth.

"Tony..." he eyed him.

The senior agent's face screwed up and he hissed like a cat. "I was gonna say, try Ziva. She's watching the whole show."

McGee had covered one of his ears with his finger after "Ziva." The dial tone rang three times before he reached the mossad officer. "Ziva?"

"Where are you?" Ziva asked in a strange, distracted tone.

McGee stated their location.

There was silence on the line.

"Ziva...?" His eyes darted from side to side.

A few more moments of silence passed before he heard Ziva utter something disapprovingly. Another moment later, Ziva replied, "We may not be dealing with a murder, McGee."

Some semblance of hope glimmered inside McGee. Arnold Knight continued to stare at him, however, and erased any trace of it. "We found another body," he dropped. "We believe he's related to Seaman Knight."

A long pause. McGee could barely breathe—his anticipation was palpable in the air around him.

"I should be there..." Ziva lowered to a hush, but in the same distracted tone.

"We all should be here," McGee agreed. He wavered, but added, "For Abby."

"Yes," Ziva nodded in McGee's head. "She should see the body, too. She could identify him."

McGee grimaced. "Why? And how? Does she remember everything?"

Ziva sighed the unknown disapproval she'd uttered before. "She's recalling something," she snapped.

McGee frowned with a raised brow. "Get Gibbs and Ducky over here, too, ASAP," he said anyway.

Ziva hung up.

*** *** *** ***

"Oh my god, oh my god—"

"Abby," he begged. He strode to her.

A step ahead him, Abby sprang back to life and ran headlong into Gibbs. Her head and fists crashed into his chest.

"Make it go away, Gibbs! Make it go away!"

She was trying so hard not to let the rest of her fall to pieces. Her body shook under Gibbs' firm embrace.

"You remember," he said. His gut confirmed it; it was something else that upset him.

"Dammit! I probably washed away everything by now – how the heck could I...?" Abby cried out. "I'm so stupid..." She squeezed his waist. Her heart pounded against his chest. "I should've beaten him with a fucking baseball bat—sliced him with a saw—bashed his head—ripped his—" she rambled in a distraught, silent scream.

Gibbs held Abby back, but didn't completely sever himself from her. He looked hard into her eyes: they were framed with a bubbling misery, but her eyes slowly started to burn with an unquenchable fire.

Her cheeks burned red, and she bowed and shook her head. Gibbs held her chin up with his fingers and stared at her with longing.

A tremor shook her lips.

"He's dead," he squeezed her shoulders.

Abby shook her head more furiously and pulled away from him. More tremors running through her limbs, she held herself again. Abby covered her face; her breaths were short and jagged.

"He raped me."

Gibbs' arms fell to his sides.

The intercom crackled with a second of static. "Gibbs. Your phone. Gibbs."

Abby raised her head and eyed him, the flame in her eyes accented by the delicate droplets from her lashes.

Gibbs shoved his hand down his pocket and mechanically tilted his head down to check his silent phone. He answered. "What."

A few stutters and sputters later, and the probie was talking. Gibbs glanced at Abby, then hung up without further word. "Ziva, head out."

He started walking. He tried ignoring the wrath spreading in his chest like a...like a stab in the heart—the pain unbearable, his anger pouring out like blood. He saw himself in the glass and tried to ignore the agonized yet incensed stare he shot at himself. But most of all, he tried with all his might not to dwell on what his sadistic imagination was showing: Abby pushed and shoved and violated again and again and again and again...

"Wait—" Abby embraced his warm arm and pulled him back. "Wherever you're going let me come, Gibbs!"

His eyes widened. "No."

Her chest collapsed and her lips twisted. She threw his arm down. "Dammit, Gibbs, screw NCIS—I'm under your custody! God knows how impossible it is to escape..." Her thoughts wandered for a moment.

He held her shoulders still. His hands slid down to her arms, to her elbows. "Abby..."

"Don't Abby me."

"Abby," Gibbs stood his ground.

"I want to help!"

"I want you—here."

She crossed her arms and pouted against the wall. "That had to do with me, didn't it?" she asked, referring to the phone call.

Gibbs blinked away more images from his mind. "Did Seaman Jason Knight rape you?"

Abby tightened her crossed arms and looked at the plasma screen on the wall. Those eyes... They couldn't have been Jason's, but they were the same color. Same dark hair... The whole revelation was hitting Abby harder as seconds passed. Was Jason a liar and a rapist?

Was Gibbs being an unreasonable bastard...?

Unwillingly, Abby nodded, sniffling, blinking, and hiding her eyes. "Son of a bitch," she muttered. Abby sunk her head lower and lower. "We had iced tea—iced tea at a frickin' club. He wanted to buy a six-pack, I think, so we could drink it somewhere else…and that probably wasn't sugar he put…oh god. That's just…wrong." She shook her head, defeated. "We were both so stupid."

"Do you know who Arnold Knight is?" Gibbs changed the subject.

Abby thought a bit. "His brother, I think. Arnold. Yeah." She nodded. "He mentioned him in a few harmless anecdotes during our dinner…" Her head slowly rose and revealed a relentlessly scorching gaze. "Why?" she glared.

"He was found dead, in a warehouse close to where you were found," Gibbs said.

"Warehouse..." Her lower lip curved downward, only to make her eyes turn cold. "I've never met him. For a while I thought he was fake." She looked at him. "Like everything else."

Gibbs tilted his head slightly and, slightly, his eyes narrowed.

Abby slit her eyes as well. "No, he wasn't there last night either. From what I remember."

Her boss continued to stare her down.

Those beady blue eyes were boiling the blood pulsing through her veins. Abby's hands began to shake, her eyes whitened with a simmering anger, and tension possessed the rest of her body once again. She put her fists on her hips. "Gibbs. I am sick and tired of being in here." Abby scrutinized him and squinted and tilted her head, copying him. "You're torn," she declared. "You wanna beat the crap out of someone right now...but you can't. And yet – " She shook her head. " – you don't trust me. That's sad, Gibbs."

The old bastard gave her a last look. "That's not—"

Abby stare-glared his mouth shut.

"That's..." he repeated. He frowned; he could feel the lines already etched into his skin become ravines on his face. His shaking head hung low. "It's not you, Abbs," he whispered.

He spun around before he could see the most likely crestfallen face Abby would wear. Ziva was probably still observing and "waiting," despite his order.

Gibbs locked the door; when he opened the door to the observation chamber, Ziva was, surprisingly, gone.

Abby, in his peripheral sight, stood motionless where he had left her. Giving up, the man gazed through the one-way glass and saw Abby trying to hold herself together. Her folded hands were over the red-thread heart on her black shirt. Her eyes were jade with misery, olive with anger, and somehow a soft emerald shade of something Gibbs had never seen from Abby... Her head tipped pensively.

Gibbs abandoned the rooms for the last time. He vowed, if the time came, he'd keep Abby safe elsewhere, closer to him. He hoped she would understand…

…Meanwhile, Abby had never seen Gibbs push the overprotective side of him before. What she felt when he left her a second time was indescribable; but as she watched him exit, she couldn't help feel sorry for him, strangely enough... It was strange that she hated Gibbs announcing his departure, when he would always ghost away without warning, like his usual magical self. No matter, she wanted to trace her fingers along the contours of his face. She'd always wanted to close his deep blue eyes with her fingertips and let them rest shut, as she simply embraced him, her embrace making everything else go away...

Out of the web of her thoughts, she heard the doorknob click! and turn. Abby gasped and craned her neck.

The door opened to a sliver of a crack.

Abby jumped to it, nearly flew to the door, and peered out.

"Do what you must."

Abby blinked.

"Shh." The mossad officer's flowing black hair bounced when she turned to leave.

Abby watched, jaw unhinged, as Ziva jogged down the hallway. Whatever just happened took a while to register.

But once it did—

"Ziva," Abby grinned mischievously to herself, "you are officially my new best friend."

Overnight bag in hand, the Goth girl peeked out the interrogation room door before swinging it wide open. Hugging Bert in her other arm, Abby strode down the hall.

"I'll show you Gibbs..."

Ding!

Lost in his thoughts, Gibbs walked into the squad room and headed for the sound of the opening elevator. His attention was divided between reality and the un-reality that Gibbs couldn't bear. He couldn't protect Abby from something that already happened. That hurt the most. Another frustrating, troubling feeling loomed over the special agent… He didn't want to believe Abby. The bastard that even dared to touch his Abby remained faceless, a black mask with a devilish smile; whenever he tried to see Seaman Knight in its place, Gibbs could only see the lacerated corpse on the autopsy table. Now that he remembered it, underneath the lipstick mark and the cuts, the sailor's face was placid, almost as if he were sleeping…

A hand wedged between the closing doors. Gibbs looked up from the floor.

Ziva's eyes cut through him. Her hand, still extended where it stopped the elevator doors, looked ready to strike. At this point, Gibbs was ready for anything she might throw at him; most likely he deserved it, he thought. The liaison stood beside Gibbs and pressed the close-door button. Every silent second that passed felt more painful than any hit Gibbs could imagine receiving then.

"Shoot, Ziva," Gibbs glanced at the ceiling.

Ziva adjusted the strap of her backpack and resisted. "You'll soon regret your actions," she said tensely. "I refuse to talk further with you."

Gibbs didn't bother asking.

*** *** *** ***

Minutes later, the sound of car doors slamming and swinging made McGee stand up. Tony was at the tool table, surveying tarnished metal with curiosity of a cat. The senior agent waved his hand away at McGee. "Get the door."

"I wouldn't touch anything," McGee said as he got up.

"I'm wearing gloves, McProbe, take a pill! It's all part of our case now."

The cyber agent rolled his eyes; he'd said that first. "Way to be original," he muttered.

McGee pushed open the door and was greeted by the NCIS truck and a silent Ziva. Her cap concealed her eyes, but her flat lips and erect pace made McGee step back and let her through. "Ziva," he said in place of a hello.

"McGee," she said normally, considering Ziva. "So this is the brother?"

"Uh, we…believe so," McGee said. "How did - ?"

"Abby told us," Ziva answered.

"Oh," he kept staring at Ziva and, more notably, the person approaching both of them.

"She's…busy at the moment," Ziva forced out at the moment Gibbs stood beside them. "Still back in NCIS." She looked away from Gibbs' presence.

Gibbs glanced at the body, secretly grateful that the face wasn't completely visible. The rest of the place possessed a haunted air about it that didn't settle well with his gut. The figments of his imagination started to play out on the dark, lime-stained, four-walled canvas set before him… Before he could lose himself again, Gibbs turned to Ziva's profile, the only part of her face she'd allow him to see. "Ziva. Help DiNozzo."

Ziva didn't respond.

"You can photograph the rest of the area," McGee struggled, with all the added tension clouding the air.

Unexpectedly, Ziva nodded. "I shall." She could have saluted him if she wanted; she was already marching toward Tony and his bottomless pit of inquisitiveness.

McGee stared.

"McGee."

The agent gulped and blinked out of his novel musings. His boss had somehow gotten awfully close to his face.

Gibbs pointed and hissed, "You're with me."

*** *** *** ***

Abby tiptoed through the hallways and rode only in the back elevator. Once inside, she had a sudden urge to visit Ducky, her wise confidante who seemed like the only person who would listen to her now. The tugging at her heart and the growing spite against a certain silver-haired man pulled her fingers closer to the button. Another thought occurred to her and stopped her fingers instantly; he and Palmer were probably leaving to go to that warehouse.

"The warehouse..." Abby shook her head furiously. She didn't want to see anymore convoluted, drug-induced memories. She needed to see the evidence for herself—the photos didn't help, as much as that man tried. Moreover, she became curious to see who had replaced her caffeine-powered genius...

She pressed the button.

A minute later, Abby arrived at her lab's floor. The elevator doors made way for her, and Abby hurried down the corridor as fast as her Skelanimals flip-flops would allow her. The closer she got, the more she could hear her stereo playing a song—"Helena," to be exact, one of her guilty-pleasure tunes—and a trail of muffled voices—which grew louder and harsher with every flippy-floppy step.

"...Well if you carry on this way // Things are better if I stay..."

"You don't mind if I pulled your strings, do you...?"

"I said what are you doing here?"

"So long, and goodnight // So long, and goodnight..."

Abby jumped and instinctively stuck to the closest wall like a fly. She was near the doorframe, but she couldn't see the arguing couple that was occupying her lab. The dominant voice was female, a little high-pitched under pressure, and was threatening her listener. Whoever else was in there was soft-spoken, possibly male from the pieces Abby picked out.

"Come on….for me." The male voice lowered his volume yet again.

"...Can you...hear me...? // Are you...near me...?"

"No—no, please," the female voice cracked, then followed the trend of the male's voice. "I can't—I won't cover up anything for you. You've done enough to ruin Jason's—both of their lives."

"Evidently."

"Can we pretend... // ...To leave, and then..."

"...One more time—or else," the male spoke up.

"No." Her voice squeaked, barely audible, smothered by efforted breaths.

"We'll meet again... //"

Smack!

"AHHH—!"

"...when both our cars collide."

Abby panicked; patiently waiting for her unwelcome guests to leave was no longer an option. Ignoring the slightly unstable swagger in her hurried steps, Abby dropped her things and headed into the lab. She nearly collapsed at the abrupt roar that seemed to smack her in the face.

"Don't you DARE make me —!"

Abby froze.

The pretty, spunky-looking, unfortunate girl with the torn lip and glazed eyes, was a petrified ice sculpture on the floor. She was also wearing a lab coat.

But almost all her attention was transfixed on the man at the evidence table.

"You?" was the only thing Abby could push from her lips.

His eyes morphed into two black holes, drawing Abby closer against her better judgment. It was his eyes—pools of black. His marble skin bulged with popping veins in his neck and temple. His jaw clenched shut.

"You..." He pointed at her, part enraged, part surprised, and part disgusted.

"No...it can't be. Not you." Abby heard herself squeak. She saw herself back away from the man. She couldn't believe what was forming in her head. Abby touched her parted lips and gulped. It wasn't him.

His fingers gripped the edge of the table and turned his already pale knuckles even whiter. He could have flipped the steel table over if he wanted.

Abby didn't have time to blink—the man flew—came into her face. His breath awakened her senses. His scent triggered a new, even sicker picture show in her mind. His hands brought the film strip to life...

The floor hit the back of her head as if struck with a piece of plywood.

"NOOOO!!! GET OFF ME, GET OFF ME!!!!" She scratched at his face and caught his wretched skin only once beneath her fingernails.

His body dominated her squirming one. Abby grabbed for his snug shirt, to no avail either. He straddled her waist and smothered her mouth and nose with something white and cottony, with a tingling, burning scent.

"You should have died," he murmured, in an eeriest tone, like he was hushing a child.

She screamed, breathed, choked—

And blacked out.


A/N:Just a side note - I like My Chemical Romance. Period. Any bashing of this band will not be tolerated. Do it somewhere else if you have the sudden urge. It's just that some of the ugly things I've seen on the internet are so disheartening and negative, just because a person likes a certain band/artist/character/ship/etc., and another person happens to abhor it/him/her/them. *sigh* Fin.

So...what do you think? One of my other friends actually already figured most of it out, lol. This is my first real "mystery" piece, so there's bound to be some holes. *hides shovel*

Questions, comments, concerns? Just one click away ;)

(~Annie)