May 11
If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it. – William Shakespeare, Othello
Tony stared at the Goth. "No," he insisted.
She glared at him, placing her hands on her hips. He took an involuntary step back, afraid of what she might do to him. She looked furious. "Tony," she growled.
"Abs," he whimpered. "I value my life."
She cocked her head to one side for a moment. And then she changed tack and pouted. "Please Tony? For me?"
He wanted nothing more than to run out of the lab and never return. He couldn't resist her like this and she knew it. She had deliberately turned her music down, leaving the soft humming of her machines, so that he could not lose himself in the pounding beat.
"Please Tony?" she repeated.
"He'll kill me!" he protested. "You do it."
She shook her head firmly. "I won't have the opportunity," she argued. "It would look suspicious if I hung around his desk. But you are up there all the time."
"So he'll automatically suspect me," he pointed out. "He'll never think it was you."
She glared at him again, switching tactics. "Tony! For me!"
"I am not slipping laxatives into Gibbs' coffee," he pronounced. "He will kill me. Slowly and painfully. In a way known only to Marines. And then he would get you to dispose of my body."
Abby giggled. "But it would be fun!"
Rolling his eyes, he found himself falling for her charms. "I'll do it," he decided. She was his friend after all.