For all that she could talk and entertain, Abby could be quiet and listen to the silence – although there was some noise, white noise, from the television turned down low in the corner. Neither of them was really paying attention to it – some old movie in black and white, something Tony might have once known – but it was a diversion, a reason, an excuse for Gibbs not to talk. He'd turned it on after Jackson, Ducky, and Tony had left. Oh, he'd exchanged a few words with Abby - answered her questions of concern, accepted her reassurances – but he didn't know what to say, and he sure as hell wasn't going to share what he was feeling.
And he didn't need to; Abby knew.
He was scared – not so much for himself but for Tony.
She'd learned how to "read Gibbs" a long time ago, and she could see it, written plainly on his face – in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, the creases around his mouth.
But "reading Gibbs" had always been a silent appraisal – the results were never shared with him, just simply filed away for further contemplation. There had been times when she'd gone to Ducky, expressed her concerns, sought his counsel, and they'd attempted to decipher Gibbs together. And she knew that Ducky would sometimes try talking to him.
But Abby never pushed.
And so she sat, for almost an hour, in near silence, speaking when Gibbs spoke – simple questions and requests: what was the weather like, was it still raining, could she get him a cup of water. And she answered: cold, yes, be careful, not too much.
As she was taking the cup from his hand, she saw his eyes shift, past her, over her shoulder, toward the open door; she looked back.
Jenny was there, her eyes on him.
Abby could feel the connection, had often wondered about it, had accepted it, and, at times like these, was relieved that it existed.
She returned her gaze to Gibbs. "I'll go now," she said simply, leaning forward and kissing him on the forehead, smiling at the involuntary grimace that Gibbs gave her. "Be good for Jenny."
That earned her an exaggerated roll of his ice blue eyes, and Abby kissed him again on the cheek. "I mean it, Boss-man."
"He'll be good," Jenny said softly as she approached the bed.
Gibbs raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing.
Abby gathered her purse and coat, returned to Gibbs' side, planted yet another kiss on his temple. "I'll see you tomorrow," she promised, then headed toward the door.
"Abby?" His voice stopped her; she looked back. "How are you getting home?"
She smiled. "I'm calling Tim."
He nodded. "You wait in the lobby until he gets here."
"Will do, Papa Bear," and she saluted before spinning on her heels and leaving.
Beside him, Jenny laughed out loud, not even trying to suppress her amusement.
Gibbs scowled in her direction.
"She loves you," Jenny said, pulling a chair closer and sitting down. She picked up his hand in hers, held it firmly when she felt him start to pull away. "We all do."
"Yeah," he grudgingly admitted, "because I'm so lovable."
"It's part of your charm, Jethro."
"Yeah," he said again, turning his head away from her, eyes focusing on the window's half-open blinds.
She was silent for a few moments, and then, "You're gonna be all right, Jethro."
He winced at her words, swallowed hard, felt her grip tighten around his fingers. "I might not walk again."
Jenny's eyes instantly filled with tears that she desperately tried to blink away. "Your doctors say it's too soon to tell."
"But not too soon to be prepared." His voice was hard, final… like the ending of one of their fights.
She drew in a deep breath, tried to make her response sound light. "Since when are you a boy scout?"
He shook his head slowly. "Just an old marine."
"And a damn fine agent," she added, reaching up and rubbing the hair at his temple.
He trembled at her touch, and she saw the glisten of tears in his eyes. But they weren't for him. His next words confirmed that.
"Who will take care of Tony?"
~vVv~