Two months have passed, and things begin to take a turn back towards normal, with a few exceptions.
She jerks back into consciousness. She sits up, in the bed, with her eyes open. She stares straight ahead, at the wall. The silence consumes her. In a split second she makes a rash decision. She wanders into the kitchen. She climbs up, on the counter. She opens the cabinet. She reaches in the back, and pulls out the bottle. She grabs a glass, and carefully lowers herself back onto the counter. She firmly plants her butt on the counter, and sets the glass next to her. She opens the bottle, and reaches for the glass.
She allows the bottle to linger, close to her face, after opening it. She smells the scent, of the amber colored liquor. She grabs the glass, and tips the bottle to pour. A strong hand grabs her wrist. Before her cat-like reflexes can overcome her sleepy state, a hand slips the bottle out of her hand. She looks at him, briefly. Without hesitation he takes the bottle, and pour it down the drain. He stares at her, in disappointment.
She stares back at him, in anger, and frustration. He places his hands on the counter, on either sides of her. Her bare feet, and legs dangle over the edge of the counter, against the cabinet. As he looks at her, lovingly, she doesn't relent. The expression on her face doesn't change. He leans forward. She doesn't move, and inch, even when his stubble grazes her ear.
"Tonight," he says softly, "let me be your drug of choice. Let me be your addiction. Let me be enough, just once."
She doesn't say a word. She leans in, and kisses his neck. She runs her fingers through his hair. He responds, by gently lifting her off the counter. With her legs around his waist, he carries him into her bedroom. He carries her through the door, towards his bed. He stops, and lowers her to the bed.
He crawls into the bed, with her. He kisses her. She pushes him away. He feels the frustration, and confusion course through his veins. She places both hands against his chest. He puts his nose in her hair, taking in the freshly shampooed hair. Her slides his hand under her neck. She leans forward, and whispers into his ear.
"Tonight, I just need you to hold me," she finally responds.
She rolls over, no sleep again, tonight. Another restless night. He feels her anxiety, as if it's his own.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"You know," she replies.
"It will be fine."
"You don't know that."
"The lawyer says..."
"Rule thirteen," she responds.
"I didn't have a choice."
"Why not?"
"Because you need me. I will do whatever I can to stay here, with you. With her," he touches her stomach.
"We don't know that, yet."
"Maybe you don't."
He pushes stray hair out of her face. He kisses her, and scoots closer to her. He whispers, "Now go to sleep."
His voice is like lyrics. His breaths, and snores, like music. She closes her eyes, and listens. As she lies there, with her eyes closed, she wonders, what other sounds will be added to the chorus of their lives. Cries, and coos, and a parade of sleepless nights. It would only be alright, if his music was there too. A part of a whole. A part that couldn't go missing in action. It would be like the Beetles without Paul, or the Jackson Five without Michael.
He walks through the doors. He steps through security. He pulls at his tie. His shoes click on the marble, as he moves towards the courtroom. He enters the waiting area, and he sees familiar faces.
Ducky, Tony, Palmer, and Tim wait outside the courtroom. Tim stands, as the others sit.
She looks around the room, at the women reading magazines. She feels very uncomfortable. Her eyes bob from one miserable woman, to the next. None of them wear smiles, behind their magazines, or newspapers. They are swollen, and tired looking. She turns to the woman, sitting next to her.
The one who wears black, and reads a magazine with a cover that is 90% black. She waits patiently. Instead of looking tired, or annoyed, she looks calm, and prepared. She is the only one in the room wearing a smile.
A nurse comes out the hallway. She calls them back. Abby doesn't look at the time, as she enters the exam room.
He walks out of the courtroom. He finds two familiar faces, sitting on a bench. He approaches them. He stops in front of them.
"Why aren't you in there?" He asks Abby.
"I couldn't go in," she admits.
"And you?" He turns to Ziva.
"I couldn't let her sit out here, by herself."
"So?" he questions.
"How's it going in there?" Ziva inquires.
"It's hard to tell. McGee has a damn good lawyer, though."
"What if that's not enough?" Abby wonders.
"Let's talk about something else," he suggests.
"Ok," Abby agrees.
Ziva elbows him, "Tell him."
"Tell me? Tell me what?"
"Oh, I have pictures too," she opens her bag. She pulls out the black and white images. She hands them to him. He takes them from her. He studies each one carefully.
"Everything is normal?" he quizzes.
"For the most part," Abby replies.
"What do you mean for the most part?"
"He has to come home. I need him."
"Abs, I know," he reassures her.
"I don't think that you do," she argues, she points to one of the pictures, towards the end.
He studies it. He rubs his eyes, and holds it out further. Then he holds it closer. His eyes drift to Abby's face. She smiles at him, and holds up fingers.