Timothy McGee had conducted many interrogations throughout his time as an agent, but never has he been on the other one on the other side of the table, though he supposed there's a first time for everything.

Tony hadn't scared him much. After all, he's seen him interrogate suspects to know all his tactics and, really, he had much more bark than bite.

Abby however shook him to his very core. There was something so unsettling about the bright eyed bubbly woman shifting from good cop to bad cop in a nanosecond that made him nervous. Abby was a wild card through and through.

"So," she slams a hand down onto the table and leans in closer to him, "Tell us everything you know."

He blinks, dumbfounded.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to know about." He answers, because he honestly has no inclination as to why he was dragged into interrogation.

"You're a slick one, you know that McGee? Well I'm not buying it."

"Abby," Tony says, placing a hand on her shoulder, "What the hell are you doing?"

She takes a step back and frowns, "I've never interrogated anyone before Tony, let me have my moment."

"You're taking the moment a little overboard. Listen, McGee," he says, looking towards the younger man, "When Gibbs sent you up to talk to the Director about the case, how was her mood?"

McGee pauses for a moment, "Her mood?"

"Stop playing games McGee, how was her mood?" Abby says, slipping right back into her previous persona.

"Uh," he says, "I mean, she seemed fine. A little glum maybe. She did make a comment about Gibbs not coming up and talking to her himself, but that was it."

"What was the alleged comment, McGee?" Abby says, placing the palms of her hands against the table top and leaning forward, eyes narrowing as she does. It occurs to him that she perhaps watches to many old time detective movies for her own good, but he knows better than to bring it up.

"She said it was unlike him to send one of us to speak with her instead of doing it himself."'

Abby nods and takes a step back, fiddling with one of her braids as she turns to look at Tony, "This is worse than I thought. He won't even go up to yell at her, and that never happens." She says, demeanor drastically shifting from what it was to concern.

"We need a better plan."

"You say that like we had a plan to begin with." Abby backfires.

"Hey," McGee says, cutting in, "Someone care to explain to me what you guys are talking about?"

"No." Both Abby and Tony reply, the each shooting a Gibbs grade glare at him.

He decided then and there that it was probably for the best that he not know.

———————

The morning following the unexpected kiss in elevator was an icy one. She had requested a driver that day, unwilling to get behind the wheel with the roads as slick as they were. It occurs to her that, if she does decide to take the job and move, she wont have to deal with the winter weather of the east coast again.

Then again, she was so accustomed to the cold that it really didn't bother her much.

"Your secretary called," her driver had said, just as they had rounded the corner to the parking lot, "She wanted me to inform you that Dr. Mallard would like to see you when you got in this morning."

"Hmm," she mutters, "Did she say what for?"

The driver catches her eye in the rearview, "No ma'am, she didn't say."

She cant help the suspicion the bubbles in the pit of her stomach; Ducky had seldom requested to speak with her in such a cryptic manner unless it was something overwhelmingly important, and even that hadn't happened since before she had left Gibbs' team.

Which is why she took her time to get there, taking slow deliberate steps through the building after thanking her driver. It was still early, the skeleton crew from the night before just beginning to trickle out of the building. She had always been one of the first ones to arrive, though Ducky was perhaps the only person who got up earlier than she did.

She had expected the sterile smell of bleach and Lysol to overtake her when she first entered the room; after all, the cleaning crew was nothing if not thorough when it came to autopsy. Unlike Ducky, not everyone was accustomed to the scent of bodies and embalmer.

Instead, the sweet aroma of tea overcame her senses.

"Ah, Jennifer." Ducky says, flashing her a soft smile, "I was hoping you would stop in before you started your day. Tea?"

There's two pristine white teacups sitting on the table, items the older man had been keeping in his work area for as long as she could remember.

She thinks back to the first time she had tea with him: mere hours after she had vomited watching her first autopsy. Gibbs had dangled it over her head for days after, laughing at her probie innocence with every chance he had.

She pushes him out of her mind as quickly as he entered.

"Of course." She says, because she truly can't say no to him.

"I hope English Breakfast is okay with you." He says, slowly filling her cup before sliding it across the table towards her with a smile.

"As much as I love coming to see you," she says, blowing on her drink in attempts to cool it, "Is there a particular reason you invited me to tea at 5:30 in the morning?"

"Can't I just catch up with an old friend?"

She shoots him a pointed look.

"Okay," he concedes, "Jethro came to visit the other morning-"

"Ducky, if this is going to be relationship counseling, I'm afraid I'll have to pass."

"I'm not going to counsel two people who are old enough to know how to conduct oneself when courting another person," he says, rolling his eyes, "I wanted to ask you about your job offer."

She frowns, "He told you?"

After the words escape her, she realizes just how silly they sound. Of course he told Ducky, there probably wasn't a soul on earth he trusted more to tell his woes too. She understood it all quite well.

"Right," she says, shaking her head, "Of course he told you. I suppose then he told you we were together?"

Ducky nods, taking a small sip of his tea in lieu of an answer.

"SecNav visited me the other morning, he and the FBI deputy director, who is going to be transitioning to the CIA. They offered me the position, which just happens to be located on the other side of the country."

"I see. So you accepted, then?"

"I-," she pauses, "No. I haven't give them an answer yet."

"But you are taking it, correct?"

She frowns, "I don't know, it certainly sounds appealing. I've worked hard, Ducky. I'm proud of what I've accomplished, and to be offered another directorial position? That's something I never dreamed could happen."

There's a sudden dryness in the back of her throat that even her cup of tea wouldn't soothe, and she wonders where the sudden onset anxiety came from.

"It is certainly a prestigious title. So then, what's stopping you?"

She freezes for a moment, fingers wrapped rigidly around the handle of the teacup, "I don't know. This agency has been my life. I put everything into it, sacrificed a lot of things to obtain the position I'm in. That isn't something I can just leave behind so easily."

He raises a brow, "Is that the only thing stopping you?"

The implication is clear, though part of her wants to steer around the subject of him, but she knows well enough that Ducky won't let the topic go until she addresses it.

"I didn't want to end whatever it was we had going, Ducky. Long distance isn't ideal, but I was willing to try and make something work. I wanted to talk to him about it, but he didn't give me an opportunity to explain. He jumped to conclusions and assumed I was leaving again, and that simply wasn't the case."

"Hmm," he mutters, "Jethro certainly is an enigma, though perhaps I could shed some light onto what he was thinking?"

"Be my guest."

"Though he would never admit to this," Ducky says, "distance is perhaps the one thing that scares him. You have to remember, he was thousands of miles away when Shannon and Kelly died. I think perhaps the idea of having another person he cares so deeply for being so far away threatens to uproot that fear once again."

Her mind flashes back to their fight. He had said it to her, that he learned his lesson the first time.

"I know," she says softly, pushing the teacup away from her. Suddenly it had lost all its appeal.

"Jethro has never been very good at communication," he says with a sigh, "And I feel sorry for him in that sense. If you truly feel that taking this job is what's best for you, then you have my support, and I trust it won't be long before that man comes to his senses and speaks to you properly."

She offers him a sad smile, because it's all that she can really muster in the moment, "That'll be the day."

With that, she stands to leave. It was well after 6am and her duties could only be put off for so long.

"Thank you, Ducky. We'll have to do this more often." She says, and it's one of the only things she's felt certain in saying all morning.

He smiles, "Anytime."

Before she can make it fully out the door, his voice stops her, "You do know he loves you."

She glances over her shoulder, not willing to fully make eye contact with him. Whether it's out of fear of what she'll see in his eyes, or what he'll see in hers, she doesn't know.

"I know. I love him too."