Warning: Minor mentions of suicide—don't worry, nobody's dying! By the way, I haven't been receiving nearly enough reviews...

As the days went by in the hospital, Abby was kept far from bored. There was always a constant vigil, even during the hours of the night, when she was asleep, a makeshift bed was set up on the floor by the window and someone would sleep the night with her. It wasn't as much for protection as it was for that feeling of familiarity that Abby clung to. She wouldn't admit it to them, but secretly, she loved their company, and they loved hers. It wouldn't make up for the missing hours in the lab, but it was better than nothing.

Occasionally, she would experience some of the leftover symptoms. Unless it got too bad, it usually passed pretty quickly, and soon started to cease occurring at all. Abby slowly regained her strength that had deteriorated with the methanol, and much to her relief, the memory of The Trap left her as well. Back in the comfort of her "family," she felt as if things might actually end okay, even so early in this whole ordeal. What "okay" actually meant she wasn't sure, though. Even so, she never shared her concerns with her team. They didn't deserve to be burdened now.

They were pushing their limits more than she was, truth be told. Ziva once stayed up two nights straight and literally passed out in the middle of saying something to Abby. The scientist later informed her that they had been having a conversation, and then Ziva switched into Hebrew and Abby had amusedly kept silent before Ziva stopped, seemingly in the middle of a sentence, and keeled over. At that point McGee replaced her.

That had been the worst, and most amusing, instance, however. They were all returning to their normal dispositions with Abby's recovery. Abby didn't see why her poisoning had taken such a toll on them. It wasn't like her life hadn't been endangered before. Besides, there were many worse situations that could take place. Whenever she insisted on this path of conversation with any one of them, Ducky and Jimmy included, they'd shush her but would never give her an explanation. It somewhat frustrated her but she kept quiet about it.

Mostly, she held up conversation during her last days in the hospital. After a while, though, even Abby couldn't keep up a constant stream of thoughts, so she'd sleep or watch television. Once or twice she dreamed about The Trap and she'd wake up, but there was always someone there to comfort her. Knowing what she did, this all agitated her, but she knew if she even mentioned it…

Once, she had the nerve to remind Tony of Sean's case. His smirk had quickly turned into a frown as he had studied her and she waited patiently. Tony would never admit, but her statement had reminded him they still had no leads and that the guy that had murdered Abby's brother and had dosed her with a deadly poison just to cause her pain was still out there. They hadn't done a psychic profile on him yet, what with everything that was going on with Abby and things had been moving at a snail's pace back at NCIS, and they had no idea if he would chance striking again. The thought shook him but he managed to change the subject before it really sunk in. The topic was forgotten.

The last two days in the hospital, Abby was walking steadily on her own and was experiencing no symptoms or nightmares. She seemed back to normal and all that remained was a ghost of what she had been feeling. The doctors had deemed her stable and that she would be fine on her own and needed no further assistance. The ethanol drip was removed, along with the morphine, and she was home rather quickly. The whole team had picked her up and dropped her off, seeing to it that she was comfortable at home. They bought her a few groceries, did a bit of cleaning, and then had to return to work. She'd be returning to work the next day. For the remainder of her first day at home, she slept.

When she did finally return to work, it was on her own, and she was warmly greeted by the team, Ducky and Jimmy, and even the Director. There was a bouquet of black roses waiting for her, taped to the doors of her lab, along with a card signed by everyone. It seemed childish, really, but nothing was too childish for Abby. That's even what the card said, in Gibbs handwriting. Any concerns Abby held vanished when she returned that first day and everywhere she went she had that signature Abby smile. Unfortunately, that only lasted for the first day.

After that, her smile returned to the one that didn't reach her eyes, and she made frequent visits to autopsy to see her brother. All she ever said was "I'm sorry," and then she'd leave. Ducky and Jimmy were always there to witness these little meetings and she never seemed to mind. They'd be curious, but they never asked her about it. It was extremely personal and, as Ducky had taught Jimmy, they had no business questioning her in the fragile state they pictured her in.

Mentally, she knew the way that they saw her in that way, like a porcelain doll that was just glued back together. Whether she actually felt that way, she wasn't entirely sure. She was still agitated and guilty about her brother's painful murder. It really was starting to get to her, now that she'd had the time to fully think it through. Gibbs and Ziva admitted to catching her sitting there at her computers, staring off into nothingness until they snapped her out of it. The small cases continually came and went and any idiot that bothered with a Naval Officer was quickly reprimanded and shipped off to prison.

The case of Sean Sciuto had gone cold, much to Abby's obvious anxiety. There were no leads, since he hadn't struck again—yet. Knowing this put Abby on edge and the visits to her lab became more frequent. They didn't help. What they didn't know is that no matter what they did, they would never help.

It was a week after having been released from the hospital that Abby came into work as normal, only to find an envelope closed with a seal on her desk, addressed to her. When she flipped it over to discover the absence of a return address, her blood ran cold. Letters like these were always suspicious, but she couldn't get her mind to think that way, no matter how rational Abby knew it was. She shouldn't open it, but she did anyway.

Thankfully, it was a simple letter, typed on a plain piece of paper in plain ink with nothing else accompanying it. Abby resolved to take the time later to double check it, and was about to read it before her lab phone started ringing.

Abby was somewhat glad that she was "saved by the bell," but saved from what, she wasn't sure. Carefully she folded the unread letter again and set it down on her desk, giving it one last questioning glance before answering the phone.

"Hey, Abbs. Tony and Ziva got takeout, they wondered if you wanted any," McGee's voice came through the phone.

"It better still be hot," she chirped, but unknown to McGee, lacking her smile. She didn't smile when she didn't have to.

Without another word, afraid McGee might get too McCurious as Tony might say, she hung up. She stole one last glance at the open letter on her desk before making her way back up to the bullpen to spend time with her friends, something she felt she hadn't done enough of lately.

"How can cookies predict the future?" Ziva questioned, turning a fortune cookie over in her hand, as if examining it for some mystical traces. The smell of chicken and rice filled the air.

"It's a fortune cookie, Zee-vah," Tony smirked. When he offered no further explanation, McGee stepped in.

"They don't."

"Nope, they just hold creepy little pieces of paper," Abby falsely smiled. It put the other three agents in a fake sense of ease. That was all Abby was aiming for.

Ziva gave them all a look before none too gently snapping the cookie in half and nearly ripping the paper inside along with it.

"Geez, Ziva, what did the cookie do to you?" Tony mocked.

"Nothing, but I have a whole lot more reason to do the same thing to you," she responded, and that shut him up pretty fast. McGee and Abby shared a grin.

Ziva held up the little piece of white paper with red text on it. She studied it for a moment before reading it aloud. "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," she read, frowning. "These are strange things to say."

When she turned the paper over, she read her lucky numbers aloud as well. "It says my lucky numbers are four, seven, eleven, and nineteen."

"Four is extremely unlucky in China," Tony remarked, acting as if he knew everything on purpose.

"There are seven of us, plus Gibbs, Ducky, and Jimmy," McGee pitched in.

When they could come up with nothing for eleven, Abby grimly supplied a correlation for nineteen. "My brother is—was—nineteen."

For the first time, the three agents studied her closely in surprise. They saw how distraught she really was as she let the obvious feelings mask her real thoughts. Her eyes were downcast and her frown was scrunched to the side in displeasure, her fingers subconsciously playing with a pen she picked up off Gibbs' desk.

A minute or so passed and everyone was unsure of what to say. They didn't blame Abby for putting them in this semi awkward situation; she had to get it out eventually, and what better time than over Chinese takeout and creepy cookies?

"Sorry," she apologized, breaking the strange silence of the bullpen.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Abby," Ziva instantly countered her.

Abby shook her head, feeling the air of the afternoon lost, decided it was best that she take the new awkwardness with her. It wasn't exactly pleasant, and her dedicated friends really didn't deserve it when it was all her fault anyway.

"I got a letter earlier, I should probably go read it," Abby excused herself quietly, slipping off of Gibbs' desk and accidentally untwisting the pen, letting the spring loose. As she had on the drunken night she spent with Gibbs while Mikel was after her, she just dropped the remaining plastic pieces of the pen on his desk next to the spring. "Oops" was all she said before all but running down the stairs to her lab.

"She needs some time to herself," Ziva stated rationally and the two men with her nodded slowly in wistful agreement.

Back down in her lab, Abby felt pulled to the letter. She couldn't exactly explain it, but whatever the excuse was that helped her out of that situation she had bestowed upon should be worth her attention. Automatically she checked behind her to make sure nobody was following her down as they had taken to doing before turning over to her desk and taking a seat. The letter stood still, folded neatly on her desk, taunting her. Finally, she opened it.

The text in front of her held no meaning at first. Even though her eyes raked over it, she couldn't bring herself to understand the words. It was as if it was in another language, or as if her mind were keeping her from reading it. She bit her lip gently and took a steadying breath before really reading it this time, forcing her stubborn mind to comprehend.

Abigail Sciuto,

Hope you had fun in the hospital. I didn't exactly enjoy my stay there, either. No thanks to you.

You know, I was… concerned for you once I did get out of that hellhole. Apparently, I've had good reason to be, haven't I? You know what I've observed?

You're so dimwitted sometimes, Abigail. Naïve, stupid, whatever you'd like to call yourself, if you can't even see what's right in front of your face. And you know what's right there?

What's right there is that they don't care, and nobody's left to. Ever wonder why your family never calls? They don't care about you. They let you leave in the blink of an eye, didn't stop you, didn't question you, now did they? What's worse is your current "family," Abigail. How long are you going to go on believing the same lie with them, that they really care? The business they're in, Abigail, they're good at creating illusions and false beliefs. That's what they do for a living. They need your skills, so they do that to you too. Don't you see it?

You're just the lab rat, Abigail. They take you for granted. Don't you remember when you told them how you felt? They cared for, what, a few minutes? They just pretend.

And you know what? I'm the only person left to bother telling you. I don't care, either. I hate you, Abigail Sciuto, but I'm sure you know that. I outright despise you. I hate you, and so does everyone else. Don't you ever wonder, or question? Right, you're too stupid.

Look, why don't you save the time and just kill yourself now? Nobody would care, nobody would notice, nobody does now, anyway. Save me the time, too, you rat. You're a selfish bitch.

Do us all a favor. Die.

Sincerely…

She didn't have to look at the signature to know who it was from. And as she couldn't help but read over it again, she saw the truth in his sick words, even though she knew that his words weren't true in the first place. They made sense to her. She knew that they cared, of course, but she was just the lab rat, the underdog, the one that was always taken for granted and not given the light of day enough, literally and metaphorically. That didn't mean she was about to take her life due to some crazy's theories, but it disturbed her to see that she wouldn't hold back, if given the chance.

She wasn't depressed. Not at all, not really, just afraid for others, as usual. Could she really be so selfish as to force them to go through this? If she did… no, she wouldn't… but… it would never be for him. Any course of action she took—she felt better putting it that way—would never be for him or influenced by him in anyway. He would never gain that satisfaction. Then again, she wasn't about to commit suicide.

There had to be a way out that didn't involve suicide, but did spare them at the same time. She knew his plan all too frighteningly well, and he was sending her this little warning on a piece of paper, sealed expertly into an envelope, hand delivered to her lab. At least he had that compassion.

For the remainder of that day she sat, thinking how this was so unlike her, but she had to, and they'd understand later. Eventually.

Then an idea came to mind.