(A/N: So, this is the second chapter of my new, festive NCIS fanfic. Thank you so much to the people who've reviewed so far - I'm sorry I've neglected to reply to your reviews as of yet, so I hope I don't disappoint you with this chapter. I have to warn you, it's extremely angsty, with a fair bit of innuendo and a lot of Ziva/ Abby and... well, you'll see. And may I stress that, unlike many of my Zabby stories, this is in no way based on real life! As always, I own nothing. So here goes...)
Christmas was definitely on its way, and the annual NCIS Christmas - wait, Winter Celebration - Party was in full swing in the bullpen. The wine was flowing (courtesy of Tony, who had arrived already rather drunk, with several of the bottles looking suspiciously half-empty), the snack food was plentiful (though the mince pies Ducky's mother had so generously provided had been left well alone after the Director had discovered a large hairball in hers upon biting into it), the conversation was friendly - if becoming increasingly slurred and rambling - and festive music was piping through the intercom. The whole team were there, at least making an attempt at getting into the spirit of things.
Well, everyone other than the inebriated, heartbroken forensic specialist curled up in the darkness of the stairwell.
Abby sniffed and wiped her eyes fiercely, as if rubbing them harder would prevent more tears from falling - an idea that was proven to be incorrect, as three more large tears rolled down her cheeks when she blinked. Murmuring drunkenly to herself, willing herself to calm down at least enough to try and find a way to get home - driving, of course, was not an option - but every time she came close, the image of the scene that had caused her to come hurtling, devastated, to the soothing bolthole of the stairwell rose up anew in her mind and began the whole vicious circle again. This was anything but her idea of a fun night out. It couldn't get any worse... well, it could, if her so-called lover and that... that whore were to come down the stairs and stumble upon her. That would be sure to put a downer on their foreplay. Abby laughed, a bitter, humourless, alcohol-induced titter; and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and rested her head on her knees; closing her eyes as tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids and sobs wracked her whole body.
She'd always hated mistletoe, anyway...
The evening hadn't been so awful to start off with. In fact, it had been enjoyable, despite the distinct lack of Caff-Pow on the drinks table. The music had consisted of cheesy Christmas song upon cheesy Christmas song - she'd expected nothing less: it was after all, McGee who'd chosen the music and wired it up to the intercom system - the karaoke had been hysterical (oh, she hoped that someone had videoed Gibbs' tipsy, off-key, out of time rendition of "Hit Me Baby One More Time" - complete with the dance routine - for YouTube), and the food hadn't been all that bad - well, nobody had been dead by the time she'd exited the bullpen, anyway.
And, of course, Ziva had been there. She'd looked effortlessly stunning, wearing the deep red dress Abby had bought her for her last birthday with her hair loose and wavy - and she'd still fretted a little about the outfit as they prepared to leave Ziva's apartment, after Abby had arrived to pick her up.
"You look incredible, Zee" she had assured her, lifting the Israeli's dark hair to kiss the back of her neck, close to the clasp of her Star of David necklace. "Really", she had added. In the mirror, Ziva's eyes had sparkled and she had turned to wrap her arms around Abby and kiss her, suddenly and passionately, before whispering "Toda", and turning to leave, tugging a surprised but happy Abby behind her by the hand.
Ziva had been happy to go to the Winter Celebration ("Call it Christmas!" she had exclaimed. "Nobody in NCIS is going to be offended by a Christmas party. Least of all me, and I'm part of the reason the name had been altered!") party with Abby, despite usually avoiding parties such as this one and grumbling whenever they were made to go to a formal awards ceremony or other gathering by the Director. She had seemed to be enjoying herself, too; laughing at Tony's less-than-sober state and at the dreadful karaoke. At a push from Abby, she had given it a go herself- declared the winner after getting through the first verse in tune, and without falling over; a feat nobody else had managed. Her prize had been a box of mint chocolates, which she and Abby had eaten most of. Then Abby had gone to get another vodka, and when she had returned her girlfriend had been nowhere to be found.
Puzzled, she had asked a few people if they had seen her; and McGee pointed her vaguely in the direction of Jenny Sheppard's office. Abby was sorry, now, that she'd ever asked. She wished she'd been inebriated enough not to register Ziva's disappearance, or at least too wasted to make it up the stairs without staggering backwards and knocking herself out or worse. But she hadn't been, so she had gone to the Director's office to seek Ziva out. She was wondering if Ziva might be up for another session in the lift, courtesy of the blessing that was the emergency stop button.
Finding the right door, and seeing that it was open a crack, she decided to look through without going in, for fear of incurring the wrath of the Director or Cynthia by breaking something in there. And what she saw made her freeze, unable to look away - like a horror movie that you can't stand to watch for another second, but you can't make yourself tear your eyes away from the screen. Not even breathing, she had stood and gazed in utter shock at the scene taking place on the other side of the door, the two people involved oblivious to their newly acquired spectator.
Ziva and Jenny.
More accurately, Ziva and Jenny locked in an embrace beneath the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling of the Director's office, kissing like there was no tomorrow, Ziva's hand in Jenny's short hair, Jenny's arms wrapped around Ziva's neck.
And Ziva was loving it. Abby could see this for sure - as she looked on, wide-eyed and horrified, the true magnitude of what she was seeing slamming into her like a sledgehammer even through her tipsy haze; as Ziva - the woman she was in love with who she had believed was in love with her too, who had whispered those words countless times as they lay in bed with their bodies nestled close together and her arms around Abby's drowsing form - kissed the Director passionately; barely-audible moans escaping her as their lips crashed together again and again.
Abby hadn't realised she was crying until she brought her hand up to her mouth in shock. Stumbling away from the door, her hand pressed to her mouth to prevent a gasp or a sob escaping, she had turned and run clumsily towards the main stairwell. It was only when she had made it down three floors that she allowed herself to sink to her knees, her choking, agonized sobs echoing up and down the stairwell as her whole body shook with tears, shock, and drunkenness.
How could Ziva have done that? How could she do that to her? Abby couldn't understand it. They hadn't argued, not for several weeks, and she knew she'd apologised and made up to her girlfriend - if she could still call her that - for the last fight they had had. Ziva had always seemed happy in their relationship... But Abby knew she must have gone wrong somewhere, for Ziva to be driven away for her, all the way up to the Director's office to shove her tongue down Jenny Sheppard's throat under the mistletoe. Abby would never have seen this coming. She had never been unfaithful, always condemned the idea - what had happened to that? Or maybe it was always just a lie. Maybe there had been a whole string of secret lovers that Abby had never known about, never suspecting a thing of Ziva, too blissfully ignorant in her illusion that their relationship was something Ziva valued as much as she did. Her sorrow began to mutate into anger inside her, and she quickly became furious at Ziva's deceit. How dare she! No matter what the reason, if she wasn't happy she could have told her so that they could work on the problem or break it off, rather than... do that. Wasn't she worth the effort or the honesty? She knew that she, Abby, was worth that at least. But what was she worth, really, if she hadn't picked up on the fact that Ziva was unhappy, frustrated, turning away from her...? Perhaps Ziva had dropped hints, tried to talk to her - and she had brushed it off, said she was too tired or too busy, or somehow turned the conversation into their typical, pre-sex, innuendo-filled banter. That just about summed it up. She was selfish, concerned with only her own needs rather than those of the woman she claimed she'd do anything for - anything but really listen. What kind of a lover was she? Heartbroken, lonely, drunk and confused; despair overcame Abby and she put her head in her hands, tears leaking through her fingers.
"...Abigail?"
Abby had no idea how long she'd been sitting there when she heard a concerned voice call her name. Raising her head slowly, she looked up. The silhouette was one she recognised, but it look a while for her to make out through the dark and her tears.
"Duck-man!" she said, giving an attempt at cheeriness that was foiled by the tears still running down her cheeks, and her slightly slurred voice sounding as if she had a terrible-head cold. "What can I do for you?"
"You can explain why you're sitting on the floor in the stairwell, by yourself, sobbing your heart out" Ducky replied. Squatting down beside Abby, he looked at her, his eyes full of worry behind his glasses. He put a hand gently on Abby's shoulder, and she began to shake uncontrollably.
"Abby? Abigail, for God's sake, say something!" he said, desperately.
"Z... Zi - Zi..." Abby couldn't make herself say the words. Ducky's expression softened.
"Is it Ziva?" he asked gently. "What happened, Abby?"
Abby's mascara-streaked face contorted, and Ducky put his arm around her and drew her trembling form closer to him as she blurted out the words that tasted like acid on her tongue.
"I saw Ziva kissing the Director, Ducky..." she sobbed. She felt rather than saw Ducky inhale sharply in shock.
"Oh, Abby..." he said. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry..."
Abby shook her head weakly, unable to speak; resting her throbbing forehead on Ducky's firm shoulder as she wept uncontrollably. She couldn't stop, even when Ducky gently helped her stand and led her downstairs, and she was dimly aware of him saying something about driving her back to his home where he could look after her. She cried until her throat was raw and her head was pounding so much she could barely see - and she was too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to do anything but finally fall into a fitful, restless sleep.
(Like? Hate? Please let me know! I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as I can.)