Author's Note: It's been a while. I'm so busy at the moment... fail. But yeah, still working on stuff slowly, here and there. Hope this is okay!
"Oh, Gibbs… I don't know if I should." Abby stares at the Caf-Pow! with a mixture of longing and determination. "I want it, but I'm scared I won't be able to do without it when I go back to Scotland."
Gibbs shrugs, withdrawing the drink and looking toward the elevator. "Okay. I'll give it to McGee."
Before he can even take a step, Abby snatches the cup from his hand and takes a long sip, glaring at him. "That's a waste of Caf-Pow!," she tells him, when she finally sets down the cup. "McGee can't handle a whole one. He drinks half, then gets jumpy and wusses out."
He suppresses a smile and inclines his head toward her computer. "You got a hit?"
Though Christmas is just a few days away, Abby has stuck around the Navy Yard for the past couple, assisting Simon with the case and chatting with everyone who stops by her lab. In the wake of his epiphany, Gibbs has stayed out of her way, sending Ziva down here for results instead of coming himself.
He's spent his evenings his basement, putting the finishing touches to this year's toys for the children's hospital and mulling over this latest development in the strange case of Abby Sciuto.
Only, it's not a development; it's a complication. A regression.
A temptation.
Standing here now, with her gaze flitting periodically to him as she explains her findings, he wonders if she's ever felt the same way about him. From the way she begged him to tell her she's like a daughter to him, back when she found out she'd have to submit a report that would end his career… he guesses not.
Her explanation has evolved into six-syllabled words again, and he interjects with her name, pulling her back to language he can understand. Even then, his brain only processes the very basics; her voice grows husky with amusement, and he wonders how he could have been oblivious to its allure for all these years.
They catch a break in the case at around four-thirty the next day, and Abby departs with hugs for everyone, citing a night out to prepare for.
Gibbs makes it home by seven, and works on one final addition to this year's batch of Christmas toys. It was Abby's suggestion that he turn his talent for woodcraft to a charitable cause, the first time she walked into his empty basement after the Kelly was finished.
The topic hadn't come up until after she'd pleaded with him for twenty minutes solid to reveal how he'd gotten the boat out of the basement. He smiles at the memory, and then at another, remembering how excited she'd looked to be given the boat to examine for an NCIS case, a few months later.
Then again, when he'd told her with a heavy heart to take it apart in her search for evidence, she'd looked distressed. She always did have a knack for discerning what really matters to him.
"Tell me how much I've been like a daughter to you…"
What really matters, if not exactly how it matters.
His mood plummeting, he sets down the miniature boat and sighs. All this time, he's been trying to work out Abby's odd behaviour. Now that she's here, he can't focus on unravelling her motivations because he's too distracted by his own emotions.
Another hour passes, and he finishes up the tiny boat, sealing the painted colours with a coat of lacquer. As he sets the toy aside to dry, he hears his front door open and close, and glances at his watch. It's late, and he's not expecting anyone.
It takes him only a few seconds to put a face to the subsequent footsteps, though. Abby's boots are always easy to identify.
"I'm never gonna get used to a boat not being there, you know." She doesn't bother with a hello, descending to the basement with a brief smile. "It still makes my brain short-circuit when I try to come up with a logical explanation for it ending up outside this room, intact."
"We're not gonna have that discussion again, right?" He pulls a sawhorse over for her to sit on, and she takes her seat with a murmur of thanks. "You have fun?"
"I did. Loud music, alcohol and friends – what's not to love?"
"Loud music," he replies dryly. "Though it's been a while since you deafened me with yours."
"You know, I'd be happy to deafen you whenever you want. Good thing you and I both sign, right?" She catches his eye before continuing through gestures. Don't get much practice any more. I email my parents, and no one I've met at the university knows ASL.
Gibbs replies in kind, his gestures a little slower than hers, as always. Don't get much practice myself. Missed it. Then, after a slight hesitation: You, too.
If they'd been speaking, her response would have been, "Awwww!" Since they're not, she gives him the body language equivalent, clearly touched. You know, I think this is one of my favourite places in the world. Even though it's so quiet.
He wants to demand how she could leave it behind, if it means so much to her. Instead, he shrugs. It'll always be here for you.
Abby nodw and changes the subject, picking up one of the toys he's completed. "Awww! You made another batch this year."
The switch to speech eases the sense of intimacy between them, and he doesn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. "Kids loved last year's. Figured I might as well do something useful while I tried to figure you out."
She frowns at him, echoing his earlier words. "We're not gonna have that discussion again, right?"
Gibbs shrugs. "Even trade. You tell me what I did, and I'll tell you how I got the boat out of the basement."
"What you did?" She's sitting perfectly still, as if a single movement will give her away. "Why do you think it's something to do with you?"
He casts a sideways glance at her, not bothering to hide his impatience. "My gut."
She jumps up, choosing movement now, and begins to pace. "You didn't do anything wrong, Gibbs."
He reads between the lines easily. "Then what did I not do?"
Abby reacts like a cornered animal, defensive and snappy. "Are there any boundaries you actually respect? I've told you a million times, I don't wanna talk about–"
As she turns away, he grabs her wrist, and she jerks to a standstill, startled into meeting his gaze. Her pulse beats against his fingers, and the warmth of her skin sends a subtle thrill through him.
"Abby." His voice emerges so low that he's not sure she'd even have noticed it, if she wasn't looking at him. He shakes his head, releasing her. "Just tell me."
She rubs her wrist absently, though he knows he didn't grab her hard enough to hurt. "You didn't not do anything anyone could reasonably be expected to do."
The convoluted sentence takes him a few seconds to unravel, and by the time he's fully comprehended her meaning – that it's her unreasonable expectations of him that have driven her away, rather than his actions – she's already disappeared back into his kitchen, and her footsteps are fast retreating toward the front door.
There a million different things she could mean, but his mind can only contemplate one option. Wishful thinking at its most pathetic, Jethro. Diane's voice is back in his head, derisively amused.
"No kidding," he murmurs to himself, snapping off the lamp that sits on his workbench and ascending the stairs in the darkness.
The thought that Abby might have decided she needs time and distance to get over her unrequited feelings for him is too compelling to dismiss.
