The next week, Abby redid DNA on her clothes, with the very small amount of new information they'd managed to gather before getting distracted, something they'd agreed to forget. Obviously both failed, both knew they'd fail, but they tried to keep it to themselves. In particular, they both kept quiet about the way that, creepy and wrong as the whole thing should have been, it really didn't feel that way. It just didn't feel like Abby was stressed and vulnerable, or like Tim had allowed comforting and helping her to go too far. It felt good, really, deeply, properly good, not just anatomically good.

The investigation was going nowhere, apparently. The second set of DNA tests came back almost the same as the first, with the same people, and a similar balance. But what had changed was Abby. Slowly, events, like memories of dreams, came back to her. It was hard to sort memories from assumptions, suggestions and ideas, but slowly, a picture was building itself in her mind. A very strange picture. She decided that for a while at least, this was not a picture for McGee's eyes. He'd already been through so much, and she just wasn't sure. Yet.

Slowly, investigations rolled to a halt, but McGee's visits didn't. By the end of the week, he was frustrated with the lack of evidence, the lack of results, and frankly, her. She'd given up. She fought so hard for faceless victims, but when it was her, when she was the victim… Maybe not.

He left early on Thursday, angry with the world. And Abby felt it. Everything felt wrong. Everything was wrong. She knew, she'd known on Tuesday, Major MassSpec had kindly told her, that everything was wrong. But now it was somehow worse, just a little, it hurt.

Ducky was sitting at his desk, having sent Palmer home, pondering his previous analysis of a cold case, when he heard the elevator ding. He thought he was the only one left in the building, but wasn't overly surprised. He was surprised to see Abby, crying in a lab coat covered in blood. He jumped up and rushed toward her, scanning her body as he did. There was blood running down both her legs. The origin of the blood was fairly clear.

"Abby, I'm sure it's fine! Is it very painful?"

"No! It's not fine! Ducky, I'm pregnant!"

"Lie down, now" he said firmly.

Abby lay on an autopsy table in a growing pool of blood.

Ten minutes later, Ducky was sure it was no use. She was lying curled up on her side sobbing quietly, he covered her with a blanket and found painkillers and water for her before sitting by her side.

"I'm sorry Abigail, I'm so sorry"

"Don't worry Ducky." She said quietly "I didn't want it"

"I understand… But… You know… It might have belonged to Timothy."

"No, it couldn't… Why would…?"

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have presumed!" His face full of apology "I see. Best this way I suppose. You may never have known…"

"No, Ducky, I know. I know now. And maybe… Maybe if he had to, he'd make a good father." She gave him a weak little smile, then closed her eyes.

"I'll stay with you tonight. I think you've been through enough, I'm not going to make you go to the hospital… If you let me stay with you."

"Thank you Ducky"

The next day, Abby got up early from the couch in Ducky's office, leaving him sleeping on the floor. She thought of how much she owed him, and decided she'd do something about it. But not right now, right now she had other business. She went to Ducky's desk and neatly wrote a little note, signed it with a heart, folded it carefully, then left. She didn't plan to come back, not today, today would be spent in bed.

She delivered her short little note, of a heart and just one line: I lost our baby.