A/N: I get the feeling some of you were a little disappointed with the ending of the previous chapter. Hopefully this is better
Abby fought to keep her breathing even until he settled down on the couch and turned out the lights. Then she drew her knees up close to her chest and opened her eyes. She felt bad, pretending to sleep when they obviously needed to talk. But she needed to think things through before they did, and she knew that once they got home, she'd have precious little time to do so. Working for NCIS was like that.
This crazy elopement had been her idea, she knew that. Everyone did stupid things when they were drunk, but there was always some variety of motivation behind them. Getting married would have been the last thing she'd suggest sober, but it had seemed like such a sensible thing to do last night. So what was her motivation?
Suddenly she recalled the rest of the memory; the missing few minutes before she dragged Tim into the wedding chapel. They'd been walking down the street when she'd bumped into a pair of obvious newlyweds, still clutching their marriage certificate. She'd apologised, but they hadn't heard her; they'd been too busy staring at each other. They'd looked so happy, and she'd wondered if she'd ever been that happy herself. Then she'd looked at Tim, and knew that she had been once. That's why she'd dragged Tim across the street, and why they'd gone to the nearby courthouse when they realised they needed a license.
Normally, she'd never even think of suggesting to him that they get married. But now that it was done, she had to admit she wasn't all that keen on undoing it. And then there was the attraction between them... Recalling the desire in his eyes, and the few fleeting flashes of memory from the night before, she felt her heart start to race. He was just over there, barely 20 feet away. All she had to do was climb out of the bed... No, she told herself. He'd said it himself; it was not a good idea. She didn't know who'd made the first move last night, but she was determined not to do so tonight. Last night could be written off as a drunken fling; without the alcohol, it would be another story entirely. She lay there and wrestled with her decision for what felt like hours. Impulse finally won out over common sense. Her heart beating uncomfortably fast, she flung back the covers and got out of the bed.