Chapter Five – Subversive

Monday morning at NCIS was, to say the very least, tense. Abby had gotten totally insufficient sleep the night before, and, still a bit bleary, she failed to notice at first the fascinated stares she was getting from co-workers on all sides. When she did look up to greet Ziva, who was just coming back from the elevators, the look on Ziva's face finally gave the game away, and, turning around, Abby watched as several pairs of eyes went hastily back to their keyboards, desktops, and reams of paperwork.
"Um," she said. "So I guess-!"

"I'm sorry, Abby." Ziva shrugged apologetically. "Tony was here early this morning."

Abby sighed and bit her lip. "Right." Marching over to Tony's desk, she put both hands down on it and loomed over him with all the menace of doom that her five feet, ten inches, and impressively heeled boots could give her. "Having fun talking about people behind their backs again, DiNozzo?"

Tony didn't even try to be overly sorry. "Look, Abby," he insisted, "it was going to come out eventually anyway. Just be glad that the report on your weekend escapades came from the lips of a caring friend."

This would normally have probably been almost funny. Abby liked Tony, and she definitely liked his sense of humor enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, when it was in any way possible. At the moment, she wasn't finding it so easy to do, and her narrowed eyes and unimpressed expression gave Tony all the impression he needed that he'd gone way over the line.

"Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut," Tony began, but it was too late.

"Escapades? That's what you call what happened this weekend? Escapades, like, we had some kind of exciting adventure?" Abby's voice rose as she let her anger build. Despite the incredible release that it had been to see, hold, talk to Gibbs the previous day, apparently she wasn't yet quite out of emotional strain, and at this very moment she was totally comfortable letting all of it out on Tony. "He could have died, Tony. He could have been killed, or…or horribly brain damaged, or something, and all you can think about is how we had such a great, sexy time this weekend? Do you have any idea what I must look like to everybody right now? The girl who compromised Agent Gibbs by getting into bed with him the night that he almost got murdered? You think people are smiling about that, Tony? Cause I'm not, I am definitely smiling."

"You," agreed Tony, suitably terrified, "are not smiling, no you're not."

"Abby?" Ziva cut through the tirade. "Abby, Ducky's been asking for you. He said to tell you-!"

"Don't interrupt," snapped Abby.

Tense silence hung between the three of them for a few seconds, during which Tony continued to look terrified, Abby tried to let herself cool off, and Ziva seemed as though she couldn't decide whether or not to be amused or offended. Finally, Abby shook her head. "Okay. Sorry, Ziva, that wasn't very nice of me. I'll go find Ducky."

***

"Ah, so there you are," said Ducky, as Abby walked through the doors to the autopsy lab. "Mr. Palmer and I were just discussing the-!"

"Yeah, I know," muttered Abby testily. "I can guess what you and Jimmy were 'discussing.'"

Clearing his throat pointedly, Ducky continued from where he'd been interrupted. "As I was saying, Abby, Mr. Palmer and I were just discussing whether or not he could spare me long enough for me to pay a brief visit to Special Agent Gibbs in the hospital this afternoon."

"I'd be happy to cover for you, Doctor Mallard," insisted Palmer.

"Yeah, um, yeah that'd be nice." Abby swallowed, feeling a little stupid. "He'd like that, I bet. Ducky, I'm sorry I kinda jumped down your throat like that, I shouldn't have…assumed you'd be acting like a little kid."

Ducky was smiling benignly at her. "No apologies necessary, Abigail," he assured her. "After the strain of the past weekend, no doubt a little venting would be a good step for you."

Abby laughed, a little darkly. "I don't need you to psychoanalyze me," she said.

"Why is it," asked the doctor, "that every time I make a friendly gesture towards someone, I'm accused of attempting to get inside of their heads?"

Palmer, over at the far end of the room cleaning off a set of very sharp looking tools, chuckled. "Hazards of the job," he said. "People have trouble seeing doctors out of the office."

Abby and Ducky both stared at him, surprised. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to Abby before that Palmer had any of that kind of insight into human nature.

"Yeah," she said, "that's…probably it. You tend to have issues like that? I mean, you know, in your social life?"

"Nah." Palmer shook his head. "Doctor Mallard's the psychologist, not me."

"Huh." Abby turned her attention back to Ducky. "Ziva said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes." Ducky's smile faded a little, and he spent a moment regarding Abby with an unreadably thoughtful expression on his face. "I got a call last night," he said slowly, "from Mr. Gibbs, Sr. Seems he couldn't sleep because of some questions he had on his mind, some he was sure that I would able to answer for him." He paused, as if allowing comment, but when Abby did not offer any, he continued. "They were all questions about Jethro's past, the part of his more recent past that his father seems to have entirely missed out on. Particularly," he said significantly, "his romantic past. Now, I ask myself, why would Jackson Gibbs suddenly become so intensely interested in these long-concluded amours?"
Abby, of course, knew why. When she'd grilled him about Gibbs' former wives, it hadn't occurred to her that Jackson may not have considered them before, may not even have been completely aware of how many wives there had been, or when the marriages had taken place. Apparently, after she'd left, Gibbs' father had begun to wonder whether it wasn't important for him to be aware of the deepest and most intimate parts of his son's personal life, and had called the only man who was likely to have that information.

"You're beginning something," murmured Ducky, giving Abby a stern, almost severe look, "something that you will find you have no power to stop again if things do not go according to plan. Whatever your own questions or personal inclinations may be when it comes to Jethro, you'd do best to leave his father out of it. There is a great deal of mending to be done there, and Jethro himself will do it in his own time. If you rush things, or bring issues between him and his father to a head before the right moment, you may find that the father/son bond you're so avidly hoping for will never be given a chance to form at all."

"What did you tell him?" Abby asked, feeling small and sufficiently scolded under the unyielding eye of a man who had almost always treated her with the most light-hearted, friendly affection.

Ducky shook his head. "I told him nothing, Abby, and, before you ask, no, I won't tell you anything either. It's hardly my business to go behind any man's back and gossip about his romantic history without his knowledge, even less so when it comes to Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Whether or not he's aware of the fact, I value his friendship very highly, certainly enough to respect his privacy."

Frustrated and more than a little embarrassed, Abby started to leave the lab, heading out towards the elevator where she intended to spend some time thinking over the significance of Jackson Gibbs' sudden interest in his son's previous passions. Just as the doors were closing behind her, she overheard Palmer say to Ducky, in what he must have thought was a low and inconspicuous voice, "So, is it true what they're saying upstairs? Did Abby and Special Agent Gibbs really…you know?"

So much, thought Abby with a grimace, for sensitive, perceptive Jimmy Palmer.

***

Several hours later, while she was running a diagnostic on on some of her equipment, Abby became aware that there was someone standing behind her. It wasn't the brooding, expectant, silent presence of Gibbs, but was more of a foot-shuffling, loud-breathing presence, the kind that belonged to the only other man who visited her in the lab on a regular basis. Swallowing hard, Abby wished uselessly that she'd spent a little less time worrying about the past, and a little more time planning for what she'd say and do when this moment finally had to happen. Taking a deep breath, she turned slowly around to face Timothy McGee.

"Hi, McGee," she said, sounding just as awkward and guilty as she was sure she looked. "I thought you were at Duckys, looking after Leyla."

"Tony relieved me an hour ago." McGee, too, sounded as though he was being extra careful to keep his tone of voice as normal and civil as possible. "He said you were looking for me."

"Oh!" Abby smiled hesitantly. "Tony…must be confused. I haven't been…I'm not exactly ready for…I mean, I'm not looking for you."

"Yeah?" McGee raised an eyebrow at her. "Why not?"