Not Such a Bad Idea © 6/1/05
By Bridget Cochran

NCIS (Gibbs/Abby, 13+ - adult situations)

It wasn't a good idea. Getting involved with a beautiful woman never was a good idea, but it was one of his weaknesses. Like gallons of caffeine in a day. A weakness and a bad idea.

Eighteen hour days take their toll. He wasn't getting any younger or better looking - he needed to take a day off one of these days. So, when she turned to him and belched the soda he'd supplied her back into his face, he smiled. A slow, amused little smile touched his lips and infected Abby, who started giggling.

Eighteen hour days also made you punchy. Made you laugh at things that weren't funny. It was time to go home.

They were still giggling when Gibbs helped her into her coat. An old swing coat like his mother had years ago - all big arms, slash pockets and a button the size of the lid of his coffee cup. Black, of course. He hadn't worn a coat - had a sweater vest on under his sport coat. Kept him warm enough 'til the car warmed up. February wasn't that cold on the Beltway.

Being old school, he walked her to her door. Her neighborhood was quiet at two a.m., but that didn't mean it was safe.

"I go home by myself every night, Gibbs."

"Doesn't matter, Abs, I'm here now and I'm walking you to your door."

"Dinosaur," she muttered, preceding him into the foyer of the old building. He shook his head, but didn't deny it.

There were actual tin moldings on the wainscoting and a ceramic tile floor. A bronze and glass light fixture threw a soft light. It was an old place with character. A young character. She breezed past her mail box to open the interior door.

"You're not going to get your mail?"

"It's not Friday. Everybody I know emails me, so I only get bills and they can wait until payday." She stopped on the other side of the second door, at the foot of the stairs. Gibbs was stuck on the threshold. "Really, I can take it from here, Gibbs."

He stared down at her, waiting for her to blink first.

"Alright, whatever," she said when she figured out it wasn't possible for her to win this one. Flouncing up the stairs, she had her key in the deadbolt by the time he reached the second floor.

She turned to him and smiled a tired smile, like the mechanical doll was winding down. He could feel his own lips turn up as he lounged on the door jamb. "You're duty's done, boss."

He nodded, but couldn't take his eyes from her sleepy ones. "You really need to buy a car if you're going to be keeping late hours," he said, not ready to leave just yet.

"And become a slave to the capitalist society? I think not." She looked like she was winding up for quite a pitch, but deflated quickly. "I'm too tired to sing the song of the proletariat, Gibbs."

He nodded, his smile still easy. "Me, too. And I have a meeting tomorrow at ten."

Abby brightened at that. "So, if you're not going in until ten, I could maybe come in then, too?"

"Sure, you know how Uncle Sam is about compensatory time."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Sometimes neither of them could believe she worked for The Man - whoever he was.

"Do you want to come in," she asked after a moment, her face suddenly serious. They both knew what she was asking. They both knew how many different kinds of wrong it was. Work relationships were never right. Then there was the whole daddy kink. Not a pretty picture in his mind's eye.

But he was tired, and she was raising her brow and pouting so sweetly. "No, Abby. Bad idea."

"I know," she said, her pout deepening.

Gibbs pushed himself from the door jamb until he was standing full height. She looked up at him, blinking. He lowered his mouth to her upturned lips and brushed them softly. A sigh whispered across his lips as she reached a hand up behind his neck to pull him down into a deeper kiss. Her mouth was warm, inviting and still tasted of sugar. Sweet.

Pulling back was difficult, not wrapping her with his arms even more difficult.

"Bad idea," he groaned into her cheek.

"I know," she said as she pushed away. "Let's just chalk it up to sleep deprivation and…"

"Curiosity?" he asked, clearing his throat wondering again at how many kinds of stupid he was.

"Yeah, sure, curiosity. Maybe some good, old-fashioned horny, too." She looked up at him through her lashes.

He felt his smile spread from his eyes to his whole face. Her face lit up, too. "Yep." He bent and placed a peck on her cheek.

"Thanks for the ride home, Gibbs," she called softly as he walked back down the steps.

"Any time, Abs."

"Yeah, right," she said, then her door clicked softly and the dead bolt was turned.

Jethro couldn't help the smile on his face as he moved toward his car. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Am ende.

Like it? Hate it? Tell me at bjcochran@epix.net