Set before episode 5.12, Stakeout.
McGee held up the tickets with a flourish. "Peace offering."
Abby's face crinkled in delighted confusion as she reached for the tickets with both hands. "Why? What did you do?"
"I had to miss the Brain Matter concert, and I know it meant a lot to you. So when I saw these guys were in town, I thought you might want to go."
"'Venetian Snares,' huh?" she read off the top ticket. "Will I hate them as much as you hate Brain Matter?"
He looked wounded. "I love Brain Matter."
Abby's eyes twinkled. "Sure you do."
"You won't hate them."
She tapped the tickets against her forehead and regarded him appraisingly. "Okay," she said, suddenly grabbing his hand and shaking it with enthusiasm. "But I already forgave you."
"I know."
"Good. Now we can enjoy this without me worrying that you're waiting for me to say it."
"No waiting for anything, just a lot of electronic surrealism."
"Ooooo. Maybe I won't hate them as much as you hate Brain Matter." She laughed as he rolled his eyes.
"You're yawning," Tony stated.
McGee belatedly put his hand in front of his mouth as he set down his briefcase.
"Rough night?"
"No," answered McGee, shrugging off his coat, "I was just at a concert and it went a little longer than anticipated."
Tony shuddered. "An extra hour of Yanni. I would've called in suicidal to work."
McGee faded out for a minute, remembering Abby's astonished demeanor from the night before. Her hands had kept pulling up towards her chest, the way they did when she got so worried or so excited it was like she had to hold herself together to keep herself from flying apart. She had definitely not been worried.
"Tim," she had said over and over, quietly but loud enough for him to hear, "I do not hate them."
Mind back in the present, he chuckled. "You're certainly entitled to your own opinion."
Tony cast a look of appeal at Ziva.
"He's right," she said. "Everybody's entitled to their own musical tastes."
Her partner threw his head back and cast an aggrieved sigh towards the ceiling.
"Me, I prefer music with more of a beat. Something that keeps my blood pumping while I'm driving."
"Which begs the question: would your driving improve once Yanni's dulcet tones had soothed you to sleep?"
As Ziva chucked her empty coffee cup at Tony's head, McGee noticed an inter-office mail envelope sticking out from beneath his keyboard. He pulled it out, opened it upside down, and a photo of a skull fell into his hand. He flipped it over.
"I promise never to be your pigeon," someone read sentimentally. McGee startled and Ziva laughed. "Thanks for a fun night," Tony continued. He straightened up and looked soberly back at Ziva. "I knew it," he said. "He's a closet pigeon fancier."
The elevator doors slid open and Gibbs stepped out, sending Tony hurrying back to his desk. McGee began fastening the picture to his cubicle wall, humming the tune to "Második Galamb."
Because Abby knew she had a wild life, and McGee knew that he would always be a welcome part of it.