Acts of Hubris - Part 8
by: Tamsin Bailey
Tony was rocketing up the stairs, swinging wide around the corners, blasting in and out of the huge rectangles of morning sun streaming through the windows. Things were still rotten. Terrible actually. And yet, today was shaping up to be one of the 15 Really Nice Days D.C. was alloted each year, and Tony couldn't resist the pull of it.
He came to a skidding halt at Abby's landing, catching sight of her sitting in the hallway, back against her own closed door. Her fingers moved in a wave, and he cocked his head back at her.
"Hi." Only hints of gravel remained in her voice.
"Hey Abbs." He hunkered down beside her. She would tell him, or not. No point in asking.
"I'm going for a walk."
"Okay." They watched her fingers idly twist against each other.
"Want me to go with you?"
She smiled over at him, so bright he felt his heart catch. "No."
"Okay. Mind if I sit here for a little while?"
"Sure."
He took a folded sheaf of papers out of his pocket, smoothing them against one knee. On page 3 she stood up, slowly, using the wall for leverage. He glanced up. She stood slightly hunched over, looking resolute.
On page 5 she put a hand on his bent head, fingertips squeezing a little, careful of his hair. He let himself be still under her touch, absorbing it.
When she was through the door to the stairs he stood and let himself into her apartment. Inside Gibbs was leaning against a window. Tony joined him, looking down onto the stoop of Abby's building. She appeared on the bottom step, head pivoting to carefully track the progress of a man and his dog. The pair ambled slowly, stopping to sniff the flowers, the curb, a leaf. When they were past she stepped down, pacing behind.
Dog and man went straight at the crosswalk. She turned the corner. Once she was out of sight Gibbs turned to look at him. Tony felt a sudden desire to explain himself. "She didn't want me to go with her."
"I know." There was a tight frustration in his voice.
"I'm guessing she didn't want you to go either."
"No."
She was gone for a quarter of an hour and came back holding a carton of juice. It went very precisely in the center of the table. Gibbs tented his brow and Abby beamed back at him. Her cheeks were stained scarlet and a pulse beat in her throat.
"You don't even drink orange juice."
"Proof of life. Now go to work."
He didn't move, and Abby's smile lost some of its perfect edge. "Please."
Tony drifted back towards the wall. Voyeurism was always fun, but seeing this made his insides crawl uncomfortably. Abby was perfectly capable of wheedling Gibbs. Of cajoling; jockeying; insinuating; even whining when necessary. But she never begged, and her voice never shook.
Neither noticed his retreat.
"Abby."
"Gibbs," she volleyed back, "In case you don't remember, this is my apartment. It's mine. So, please, please, go."
Gibbs frowned, glowered, then preformed the second wonder of the morning. He broke. "Alright. You'll call me?"
Abby nodded, relieved, but Gibbs had one last rally. He touched her cheek, just below the line of butterfly closures. "You sure, Abbs?"
She grabbed his wrist, leaning into his palm. Then she let go. "Yes."
Then they both looked at Tony, who wished, suddenly but with sincere passion, for the powers of teleportation. "DiNozzo!" Gibbs snapped, fitting outrage and irritation and threat of pain into three compact syllables.
Tony hopped to. "Oh, I, uh, brought the...stuff McGee wanted you to look at." He didn't know if Gibbs had told Abby about the picture, and there was no way he was going to jump the gun on that front.
Gibbs took the packet of papers, glancing them over. "He get any sleep?"
Tony nodded. "Drooling on his desk when I came in. His face was all squished up, like this." He put his palms over his cheeks, fingers against his ears. Pushing until his lips and forehead crumpled inward and his eyes were nothing but vertical slits. It made Abby smile, which was great. And Gibbs growl made it deepen which was even better. But despite the grin, her color had faded and she looked nervously towards the papers Gibbs held. She knew.
She licked her lips, outstretched hand demanding, "Let me see."
Gibbs pulled out a photo sheet, handing it to her. It showed a man's three-quarter profile, murky from low light and grainy from enlargement. "Jeeze, McGee," Abby muttered, eyes locked on the pixilated face, "use some filters wouldja."
Tony could feel the energy radiating from Gibbs. It made the hair on the back of his neck rise, humming like a high tension wire, ripe with the taunt potential of a ballistic missile just turning to plummet back to earth, a long trail of fire across the sky. Then Abby was handing the picture back, her eyes the only color in her face and the tableau shatter apart.
"Good, Abbs. Real good." Gibbs said. She nodded, collapsing bonelessly into the couch. Tony wondered if he even saw the despair that flashed across her face.
Gibbs grabbed his coat, still holding the packet, checking himself long enough to point at Abby and say, "You call." Then he was out the door, a snapped "DiNozzo!" trailing along behind him.
But Tony resisted the pull of his name, watching Abby. He hadn't seen her since that first night, when she had been as near to unconscious as nevermind. Hadn't been here to realized how the bruises had taken over until they made Abby nearly invisible underneath.
She smiled wanly."It's okay."
"Abby," he said, and knew that his time with Gibbs had not been in vain. Her name had just as much weight as the boss man could ever give it: reproach, and sorrow, and realization. It rammed into him and he remembered, oh how he remembered, the first time this had happened to him. After he had so un-wisely broken his own heart and the burning, crushing awfulness in his chest cavity made him believe he was dying.
Whatever showed on his face made her smile change into something that was for him instead of at him. "Tony," she said back softly and he felt a strange hitch in his breathing try to rise up from behind his navel. "Really, it's okay. Gibbs won't wait forever." But he was smart enough to know they were talking about the past and not the present state of abandonment. It was called subtext, and they loved to use it in the movies.
She stood up and he put his arms around her, squeezing as tight as he dared. Then he did as was told and left. Even though things were very far from fine. Grief, it was called. And there was nothing that could make it better except time, and even that was half crap anyway.
)()()()()()()()()()()()(
Back at the Navy Yard, Gibbs went for coffee. It felt good to have the whole team back at the office, but he needed some room to think. To sort though what they had.
Physically there was a print from Abby's collar, a few hairs, and a partial DNA sequence. It was enough to prove contact. That Jones guy occupying Abby's lab might even be able to prove that his hands were the ones that had given Abby the bruises. Knuckle span, or finger length, or some such thing.
So they could probably get all the way to assault. That was 2 years. Maximum.
Rape would get them at least 10, maybe 15. But how to prove it? Right now a first year law student could poke holes in the DNA evidence. Sequencing only 6 allele pairs was a joke. It meant the sample was hopelessly degraded, not to mention the other 136 people in the United States alone who shared the same sequence.
One out of every 12 million only sounded good until you did the math.
Gibbs crumpled the cardboard cup, tossing it into a trash barrel. They needed the guy. And then they needed a confession. And that, goddamn it, was exactly what he was going to get.
Back at the office his team collectively raised their heads at his entrance, like savanna animals sensing a coming storm. "McGee! You and David take that picture, flash it around the places that Ryan Banks told you these vampires hang out.
"On it, Boss." Tim nodded rapidly while Ziva stood to grab her coat.
"DiNozzo!" The younger man practically quivered. Gibbs let it stretch, just for a second. Even now he couldn't quite help it. "Your with me."
Tony bounced up, reaching for his gun and holster. "Where are we going?"
"Canvas blood banks."
Gibbs could see the connections sparking behind Tony's eyes. "Your thinking maybe he had some kind of steady supply?"
"Six months on half a gallon of bagged blood, to a pint from a real live girl all in one night. Pretty big jump."
Tony grunted discontentedly, shoving his service weapon onto his belt. "Why didn't I think of that?"
Gibbs stepped into the elevator. "You would have."
Tony had to jump to catch the car before the doors closed, surprise still on his face.
)()()()()()()()()()()()(
Ziva leaned her head against the steering wheel of her car. Just for a second. Anything can be tolerated for a moment. It ghosted through her mind, a throwback from Tironut, when the drill Sergeants had screamed it over and over to their sweating, panting, straining recruits. Back then she had adopted it as her own. Now she wondered sourly if that anything had included cowardice.
She was parked outside Abby's building. Not because Gibbs had sent her, and definitely not because Abby had asked. So why?
Maybe because going around with McGee had been awful.
They were surprisingly careful, these pierced and tattooed people. Meticulous. Each one frowning over the picture, lingering over the face, studying the background. Always just long enough to make hope swell. Then they would shake their heads. Over and over. Their head shake, and then their genuine distress when both agents deflated.
So different from the brief glances and irritated denials Ziva had come to expect from inconvenienced Americans. Somewhere along the way she had started to wonder if all that metal and ink was somehow necessary. Camouflage coloration and a protective exoskeleton that helped ward their heightened sensitivity from ridicule and intrusion.
Well, if it was, Abby's had failed. Someone had realized her bright colors were only a mimicry of poison and the metal was nothing but a thin shield.
Ziva picked her head up and shook it sharply. All of this was a fancy way of saying that Abby needed a friend. And here Ziva was, full of a desire to be that person. But only if she scraped up enough courage to get out of the car.
Pushing the bell required a bracing heave of air, and waiting for the door to buzz open was an eternity, but after that the option to run away was gone and it became easier. Inside, Ziva found Abby laying on the floor, legs up on the bed, watching the ceiling. The seal-sleek roundness of her head was still startling.
She hovered in the bedroom doorway, uncertain and feeling frozen, until the tips of Abby's fingers twitched, almost invisibly faint. Deciding to interpret it as encouragement, Ziva moved to sit with her back against the side of th bed, sliding to the floor next to Abby. Eventually the other woman spoke. "Being in bed makes my back hurt. Most people hold my hand. Is that an Israeli thing?"
There were times when Ziva could hold onto the thread of Abby's thought train for up to two minutes. Clearly today was not going to be one of those record breakers. "Is what an Israeli thing?"
"Not holding hands."
Well, obviously. "No, I do not think so."
"Huh."
They lapsed back into silence. Ziva watching the wall; Abby abandoning looking at her in favor of returning to the ceiling.
Ziva had seen strangers, even co-workers come to the wrong conclusion about Abby. They saw the clothes she wore, and assumed that anyone who so enthusiastically embraced darkness must be bent on self destruction. They could be stunningly unsubtle, these people. Always trying to catch a glimpse at the underside of her wrists.
But the ones who truly saw Abby understood that she had a better grasp on being joyously alive than almost anyone. She embraced being a Goth with the same fervor given to all things she deemed worthy, while she bounced, vibrated, and unexpectedly hugged her way through a hyper-kinetic landscape.
Now she was still.
For a quarter of an hour Abby had been perfect still, hands limp at her side while she watched a blank ceiling. Ziva knew that if people wanted to touch Abby, wanted to grab on and hold, it was through some hope that their own electrical heartbeat could jolt her back to what she had been not so long ago.
Ziva reached over and, very precisely, laced her own fingers through Abby's, pulling their linked hands into her lap.
Abby cut her eyes towards her companion. "Have you been thinking about that the whole time?"
"In an eggshell, yes."
Her lips curled up, just at the edges. "Nutshell."
Tentatively, Ziva smiled at her, pleased with the small moment she had created. Abby smiled back, and this time when her eyes drifted back towards the ceiling it did not have the exclusion of before.
For a while Ziva simply sat, holding hands and listening to the quiet drone of the bedroom, until Abby confided: "I followed him into the alley," to the ceiling. "I remember, he was beautiful, so I followed him."
Ziva looked over and saw the frayed ends of Abby's psyche. "It is not your fault, Abby."
Abby rolled her eyes towards Ziva. "I know, but if you left your door unlocked and someone stole your things, don't you think you might be an eensy bit stupid for having made it so easy?"
"Abby, this is not your fault." Ziva repeated.
"I know, okay. I didn't cause it. But there sure are some things I could have done to prevent it. Except I didn't do any of them. Not one."
Ziva traced the scabs that had finally formed over the missing skin on Abby's knuckles. "You did not make it easy, Abby. You fought, and even if he was physically strong enough to overpower you, that does not mean you gave in. We know it, and someday you will to. Until then, we will hold your hand, to help you across the gap."
Abby looked surprised. "Deep, Ziva."
"You will believe it, someday." Ziva said, undeterred by the flash of tension across Abby's face. Most things worth doing took courage. And time.
A/N: When I initially wrote this part the interaction between Tony and Abby was much shorter, nothing beyond the hallway. Credit for making it a little more in depth go to leelee0474 and partiularly AShauni21, who gave me an idea as to why Tony might have stayed away. Thank you both so much! You definitely helped make this a better story.