Jan 10
"There are no limitations to the mind except those we acknowledge." - Napoleon Hill
Abby Scuito hated inconsistencies.
Inaccurate results were enough to get her called into court on a cross examination which, in itself, was enough reason to double check every result her babies gave her. Sometimes, a result didn't make any sense. Putting it into context often required an extra pair of eyes; another opinion.
"Hey Abs, how-"
"McGee!" The Goth leapt at him. "You're becoming more like Gibbs every day. I was just thinking about how I need someone to help bounce ideas around with and then you show up. It's kind of hinky actually. I've tried telling you I'm telepathic but-"
"Abs." He cut her off. "What do you need?"
"I ran the trace from our victim's shirt through the GC-MS. It came back with these." She handed over the print out, watching him frown.
"Shampoo?" He guessed.
"Close. Hair gel."
"So it belonged to the victim and she rubbed it on her t-shirt? What's the problem?"
"Tony said there was no hair gel at the victim's home. It has to be from the killer. It's basic transfer." Pacing now, Abby began signing to herself. "It can't be this hard. I can figure this out."
"Abby, you do realise I can't understand most of that."
"It soothes me." She carried on pacing, keeping her eyes on him. Running a hand nervously through his hair, McGee sighed loudly. Reaching out, he touched her just as she froze in front of him, smiling. "You genius." She jumped forward to kiss his cheek, dragging him from the lab so she could tell Gibbs.