"Easy does it, Tony," said Ziva through her teeth as the two of them navigated the enormous box of evidence into Abby's lab. "This way… a bit more… all right, this will do."
The box landed with a thud on the floor as the two of them released their grip simultaneously, and Abby turned from her computer with a broad, delighted grin. "Well!" she exclaimed. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"
The two field agents were startled to realize just how appropriate the phrase was. They had both gotten in late that morning, and hadn't seen Abby since her early departure for a checkup the previous afternoon. As a result, when they were suddenly confronted by a lab tech wearing oval, black-rimmed glasses, they wondered momentarily whether they could have gotten into the wrong building by mistake.
"Going undercover again, Abby?" said Tony.
Abby glanced up at him. "Hmm?" Then she realized, and laughed self-consciously. "Oh… no, Dr. Maroney prescribed these. He says there's a little bit of astigmatism in my right eye – nothing serious, but he wants to nip it in the bud so I don't go blind when I'm eighty. So I've got to wear corrective lenses for about a week – which is a really weird feeling, by the way," she added, as she picked up a hamper of bloodstained linen and carried it over to her desk. "It's like my ears are being pulled forward, almost. It's not a bad feeling, really, but it's just… you know, weird."
"I like it," said Ziva thoughtfully. "It suits you."
Abby glanced back at her, and smiled. "Well, thank you, Ziva," she said.
"I agree," said Tony. "It's sort of like Wonder Woman's secret identity in the old TV show. It makes a guy think, if you just spin around a few times…"
He trailed off. Abby had always been good at giving him the shut-up-DiNozzo glare (having learned, no doubt, from Gibbs), but never before had she delivered it with such effectiveness as now, when she could shoot it over half-lowered eyeglass frames. He opened and shut his mouth a few times without any coherent result; then, with a hasty, "You know, I think I'll go see how McGee's doing with those cell-phone records," he strode briskly from the lab, followed by a broadly smiling Ziva.
Abby grinned, turned to her reflection in her computer's screen, and planted a kiss on the end of her index finger, which she then tapped to the frame of her glasses. "Nice work, boys," she said with satisfaction.