The next day when Abby got to her lab and settled in for the day, reaching for her black lipstick and trying to ignore the FBI agent that was now stationed by her door. There was no back exit from her lab, so thankfully he didn't follow her around. Yet. Another incident like yesterday's and she was pretty sure she'd have three or four shadowing her every step. Yesterday had shaken Gibbs more than he'd admitted to the FBI; but she could see it. As she returned her lipstick to her purse, her fingers encountered something hard and metallic, and she pulled it out carefully, smiling bemusedly. At some point, someone had put her pistol back. Well, they'd replaced it with a pistol anyway – she'd never know the difference.
But yesterday had scared her, too, and her purse wasn't good enough. Abby leaned down and reached into the very back of her very bottom desk drawer and retrieved a rather dusty basic NCIS-issue holster she couldn't remember ever actually using, brushing it off and clipping it clumsily to her studded belt. Which, she noted, could be used as a weapon in and of itself. Sliding the handgun into the holster, she practiced drawing it a few times, making sure she remembered how the safety on the holster worked. She did. But then again, when Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs teaches you something it tends to stay taught, and way back when, she'd actually been just as intimidated by him as everyone else (though she hadn't let it show). A small smile lingered on her face as she thought of that day.
Abby was brand-new with NCIS, working alone in a huge lab with the most amazing equipment. The only downside of her new job, as far as she could tell, was the gun they'd issued her with only the most basic training to get her carry permit, and definitely no extensive training on its use. She was used to rifles, hunting weapons, but this little gun – and especially its holster! – were foreign and uncomfortable. But everyone seemed to wear them, so she did too. It was even more uncomfortable than wearing her lab coat all day, every day to hide her goth outfits, which she wasn't sure were exactly allowed. Now, though, she was ready to go home for the night so she reached for the gun to lock it away. As usual, the safety on the holster eluded her and she fumbled with it, unaware that she'd cocked the gun inadvertently until warm, rough hands suddenly covered hers and froze her in place, taking the gun away and rendering it harmless again, while she watched, with an ominous click. Her eyes journeyed upward to see who'd interfered and she met the inscrutable blue eyes of Special Agent Gibbs, one of the few of her new colleagues who was actually as intimidating as she thought all federal agents were supposed to be. He unloaded the gun and handed it to her, butt-first.
"Did anyone actually teach you how to use that?"
"Um, no…I mean, not really. Not the holster, I mean, I can use the gun I guess. It's not much different than my rifles except…it is." Abby knew she finished lamely, heck, she didn't sound certain of anything, but Gibbs merely frowned a little harder. He set down his coffee and reached for her holster (because, she noted, his was not standard issue) and to her infinite surprise proceeded to patiently explain how it worked, and then drill her in its use until she was quite sure she could have used it properly in her sleep. When he was satisfied, he asked her if she had the results of a test she was running for his team. She did, and she retrieved it and explained it to him. He told her she should have called him with the results. Abby felt like she couldn't do anything right, and realized as he walked away that she had missed her weekly bowling practice with the sisters. But she had more tests to run now, that she'd overlooked the first time and had only recalled as she and Gibbs discussed the evidence. She was feeling awfully frustrated when he stopped in the doorway and turned around.
"By the way, you're not a field agent, so you don't have to carry if you don't want to. And you don't have a dress code." He hesitated a moment and then said, "It's late. Don't work too much longer. The case can wait until tomorrow." Suddenly, Abby felt so much better.
It hadn't taken her long to figure out he was only gruff because that was the way he was, and not much longer than that to worm her way into his heart. The slosh of ice and liquid brought her back to the real world, and she looked up to see Gibbs in the doorway between the inner and outer room, shaking a Caf-Pow to get her attention. She bounced out to take it from him, grinning broadly.
"Gibbs! You haven't brought me anything new. I don't have anything for you."
"Tony, McGee, and I are going to Mexico to act on the warrants we got for some of Paloma's goonies." He told her, touching the ends of one of her pigtails almost as if he wasn't sure what else to do with his hand. Or like he was making sure she was still there. "Ziva's staying with you and dad at the house."
"Can't the FBI take care of the warrants?"
Gibbs gave her a look. "Our warrants, not theirs, and we don't have the permission yet to bring them back here, only interview them on Mexican soil."
"But-" But she knew that he had to keep working this case. To find Frank and his family, to keep the team and his dad and everyone else safe. Abby sighed, and he rewarded her acceptance with one of his rare smiles, though it was a sad one. She threw her arms around him, squeezing tight. "Be safe!"
He returned the hug, feeling the now-familiar guilt because she was wearing the replacement gun he'd gotten her openly today, and she'd even dressed more conservatively, a sure sign she wasn't doing so hot. Her t-shirt was white, which was as close to normal as he'd ever seen unless she was forced, and her usual skirt had been replaced by black cargo pants, though she still had on a chunky pair of real black combat boots, and her belt had metal spikes set into it. He kissed her cheek as a farewell, and turned to go, setting down the Caf-Pow on his way out. "Always am, Abs."