They sat together on the plane, Abby claiming the window seat. This was nicer than the last few flights Tony had experienced. The idea of proper seats was enough to please him, but the last minute upgrade to first class was a miracle after the number of military transports he'd endured. There was something about not being crammed between army gear in the midst of high turbulence that appealed to him.

Abby stayed plugged into her iPod, flipping idly through a forensics journal for much of the flight, refusing to watch the movie. ‘Glitter' was underrated in Tony's opinion, if for no other reason than the amazing kitsch factor. It begged for heckling, but he didn't think his fellow travelers would appreciate his sense of humor and since Abby wasn't in the mood to talk, he watched in silence. That didn't stop him from grimacing at all the right moments, though, and some of the flight attendants seemed to share his pain.

Even with the sympathetic and mildly conspiratorial grins from the flight crew, he still wished Abby would pay attention to him. She'd been strangely quiet all morning, barely whispering a greeting when he picked her up, just smiling softly at his half-hearted attempts at conversation. He knew she wasn't particularly chatty before her first dose of caffeine, but even after the world's most overpriced and undersized cup of designer black coffee and a soda or seven, she was oddly calm. There was none of her usual impishness, and only traces of energy that always seemed to be whirling around her.

The movie ended and Tony turned his attention to watching Abby, shifting to look directly at her. She knew he was watching her, he was certain of that, and a tiny smile just barely touched her lips. The magazine closed and she held out her hand to him, still not making eye contact. He decided to take what he could get, and wrapped his fingers around hers, lifting her hand to his lips. He couldn't explain why, but it seemed like the right move, not that it was a move, not in the traditional sense. She wasn't a woman that called for moves, and Tony thought that any boy foolish enough to try would probably be left limping away. And he didn't think of her like that, not really. She was friend and sister and buddy and one of the most honestly beautiful women he'd ever known. So, it felt right to be kissing her hand twenty thousand feet above land.
*
Abby didn't have words. Not today, not after this week. Thoughts raced through her head faster than she could catch them, and after awhile, she surrendered, just letting them pass. She'd stopped feeling three days ago, running from the ache in her heart because she did not cry and if she stopped to feel, she'd do nothing else. Ever. The rest of her wasn't doing much better, surviving on minutes of sleep caught here and there and even though she knew it wasn't physically or chemically possible, she thought her blood stream had been replaced with a steady river of caffeine.

The case had affected her, without a doubt. She spent most of her days looking at some of the worst things people could do to each other, picking through tissue samples and blood, seeing the things that nightmares are made of. Most days, it was just work and she loved what she did. This case was different. It filled her lab with ghosts, and they followed her home, on the nights she made it home. Serial killer, targeting military families, parents with partners serving overseas and young children at home. The body count was fifteen by the time they got a break in the case, and eighteen when Gibbs and Ziva caught her. It would have broken twenty if they'd waited just a few more minutes.

Her work wasn't pretty, but there was an elegance about science, a certain artistic element to it. Ellison Cantwell's work had been ugly, and filled the lab with pieces of lives barely lived. Pieces of children hidden in Autopsy, kid bits, Abby called them in her more irreverent moments at the beginning. It took weeks to put it all together, hitting wall after wall. Her faith in science, and more frighteningly, her faith in Gibbs, were both shaken. She thought faith was meant to be tested, questioned, reaffirmed, she just didn't expect to find herself on such shaky ground with it. Feeling like at any second every certainty she held would fall apart.

Abby was grateful for this time away from the lab, from the rest of the team. She hated the required trainings, disliked her fellow forensics "experts," and generally found these little gatherings a waste of time, but she was glad to be away. Tony wasn't supposed to be with her. Kate had been scheduled to go, the arrangements were made almost a year ago, but Kate was dead and Director Shepard thought Tony could use the training hours. Gibbs didn't argue, and Abby was past caring. He wasn't bad company, and unlike McGee, he wouldn't try to take care of her and fuck it all up.
*
Tony wanted to take care of her, but didn't know how to ask. It was something that just happened between them, without being discussed. A matter of timing, mostly, knowing when to show up with a pizza, dark chocolate, Caff-Pow!. A lot of their caretaking was about food. Sometimes it wasn't, sometimes it was knowing when to give a hug, how long to hold on. Knowing when to fuck off and when to listen.

She scared him when she was like this, so still and so far into her own head. He'd dated a girl like her once, who wasn't really like her at all. The similarities mostly started and ended with being Goth, but Abby reminded him of Bela, the way she would just retreat into silence. Those lapses were almost always just the beginning, the opening melancholy that would lead into depressions so deep he worried she would never come back. He didn't like to think of her, and felt disloyal when he pushed her memory away because he did love her. He'd also been the one to find her. At first, he'd thought she was just sleeping, then he found the note. She made it through that time. The second time, he'd come home too late, and stepped on pieces of the mirror in the hallway. He didn't notice the blood until he was in the kitchen.

"Tony?" Abby looked at him now, and he realized how tightly he'd been gripping her hand.

"Sorry," he tried to let go, shaking his head, and she held on. The woman next to him merged for a moment with the girl in his head and a tiny shiver ran through him. Tiny grew into noticeable as Abby reached to cup his face, holding his gaze. It wasn't until then that he really saw how bloodshot her eyes were, how red-rimmed. The makeup did a good job of hiding most of it, but it was clear she had been crying. He wanted to kick himself for not noticing sooner and more so when Abby leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Did you enjoy ‘Glitter'?" she asked, settling back into her seat and seemingly into herself with the return of her usual open grin. He believed none it, not the easy tone or the expression. He was as skilled as she at pretending, putting on the face that said everything's fine, especially when it wasn't. And they both knew when it was bullshit, even when no one else could tell.

"It's a remarkable cinematic endeavor. A fine example of modern American film-making," he returned her grin, full force, and fully aware that they were still holding hands.

"That's one way of looking at it," she said, arching one eyebrow. Tony let her draw him into a comparison of other unfortunate films, finding himself defending the indefensible just to pass the time and just to keep her talking.
*
Abby thought Tony looked at home here, taking long strides across the parking lot with the sunlight playing off of his hair. His sunglasses were a little goofy, his blue cotton shirt rumpled from the long flight, but he seemed at ease. Abby fished for her own glasses in the huge black bag, balancing it on top of her small suitcase as Tony unlocked the rental car. Her hands, emerging from long black sleeves, looked ghostly in this light. Girls had stared at her as they'd made their way through the airport, and she had stared back. She wondered what they saw in her that made them turn away, flustered giggles reaching her ears. She wished she'd had time to stop and ask, but they had places to go. Funny thing about airports, everyone had some place else to be.

She threw her bag in the trunk next to Tony's and stood back to let him unlock the passenger door. As he slid past her between the cars, she felt his hand rest on the small of her back. She couldn't help it, she leaned into him, one hand reaching for his and the other on the door handle.

"Abs, you okay?" he said softly, mouth close enough to her ear for his breath to tickle her skin.

"What would you do if I said yes?"

"Take you on your word and be hurt that you lied to me," his voice was just a little husky, and his arms closed around her waist.

"Then no, I'm not okay and neither are you and can we stop pretending that we are?" she turned to face him, lifting her hand to the line of his jaw. "How long did it take you to find the right cover?"

"What?"

"I know he hit you. I was outside interrogation, you walked right past me, didn't notice. You did a good job covering up the bruise. Lucky he didn't break your jaw," her hands shook as she touched him. He winced, closing his eyes but didn't pull away, not physically at least.

"It's nothing. I pushed him too far. We were all on edge and these things happen."

"Not on our team and not with Gibbs," Abby's voice took on a hard edge, her heart hurting again. Emotions were inconvenient, distracting.

"He apologized, I apologized. It's fine," Tony insisted, avoiding meeting her eyes.

"Now who's lying? He doesn't get to make you his whipping boy, DiNozzo," she was the one to move, taking a step forward.

"What is this, an intervention?" he asked from the other side of the car.

"Maybe it is and maybe it's not my place to say anything, but he's the one who went too far," she finally opened her door and sat down, that simple motion taking more energy than she had. "He went too far and you let him and it scares me."

"It's not about you, Abby."

"Yeah, it is."

"What was I supposed to do? Go to Shepard so she could fire him? Hit him back? Tell me, Abs, because I did what I knew how to do. Just let it go," he said. She took a deep breath, considering her next words and watching his face as he steered them toward the highway.

"I love my job and I was afraid to go to work yesterday. I believe in a lot of things, but there are only a few that I trust, and until Monday, Gibbs was the one person..." she shook her head, voice breaking. "I've been shot at, held at knife point, suffered through Ziva's driving, and averted more explosions than I could reasonably account for, and I've never been afraid to be in my lab. My best friend had her brains blown out in the line of duty and I watch three of the men I love most in this world put themselves in harm's way every fucking day and I've never, ever doubted that you would come back. I've never not trusted any of you, and yesterday, I sat in my car for an hour before I could go into the building. So don't you dare say this isn't about me."
*

There was nothing Tony could say and Abby wouldn't answer him anyway. After her speech in the car, after starting to cry, she wouldn't even look at him. The punch had hurt, a lot. This was almost worse. None of it compared to Gibbs' apology, though, none of it was as bad as the brokenness and fear he'd seen in that man, not even the brokenness and fear he'd seen in himself that night.

Shame colored all of it, for not being smart enough to know when to stop, shame shared with Gibbs for seeing something so deep and primal. Shame that Abby knew, that he had been part of something that made her hurt, and that made her afraid for him and, worse, of Gibbs. He could understand, he had been afraid until it happened and as soon as fist met flesh, he saw it. He saw Gibbs fall, all the anger, all the strength, everything he loved and loathed and admired and wanted to be, crumbled behind those eyes. Just for a moment, but long enough for Tony to understand.

He didn't know how to tell Abby that it wasn't just that Gibbs apologized. Tony had forgiven him, that part was easy. The hard part was knowing that Gibbs would never forgive himself. She was right about one thing, he was lucky his jaw hadn't been broken. Gibbs had pulled the punch at the last second, the moment when Tony saw, as if he realized then just how far gone he was. There was too much force behind it to stop, but it could have been worse. Gibbs could have meant it, and Tony was afraid to think of what would have happened if he had.

Most of the time, he agreed with Abby that there was no excuse for violence, no way of rationalizing it, but he understood the urge. He couldn't imagine Abby ever hitting anyone, although he knew she had. Self-defense was different though, self-preservation.

These thoughts surrounded him as they approached the front desk. Abby was in charge of the logistics, and he barely listened as the clerk attempted small talk as well as customer service. He forgot how strong her hands were, they always felt small when he held them, and he watched her now, handing her card across the counter. She looked so tired and he had to stop himself from touching her again. He knew she was angry, but it was the sadness that poured off her in waves even as she smiled and took their keys. She barely glanced at him as she headed for the elevator and he sighed, following a few steps behind.

"We're sharing a room," she finally spoke as the doors opened on the thirteenth floor.

"I'll go back to the desk, see if there's something free," he said. He hated the idea, hated where they were and the distance that had developed between them. Hated the way she was looking through him.

"No. That's stupid. It's not like we haven't slept together before," and there it was, that funny half-smile that he'd come to know meant she hadn't entirely forgotten but they were okay. And she was making double entendre, not that they had ever... and he wasn't sure he'd say no but...

"So, that's why you were so anxious for me to come with you. Want a little DiNozzo, huh? I knew you could only hold out so long," he teased, slipping into familiar territory.

"Kate was right, you are a pig," she grumbled, but he could see her dimples as she ducked her head.

*
Abby yanked out her headphones, even the sounds of Merchant Death Syndrome wasn't enough to drown out the voices in her head. Sleep was not going to come for her. They needed to leave for dinner soon anyway. Tony's mumbling stopped as he shifted, drawing in his arms and legs as he rolled onto his side. She hated to wake him, she knew he'd slept about as much as she in the past week, possibly less. Plus, he was kind of pretty like this, almost innocent. In these moments she could understand why women fell so frequently and so hard for him.

She had known boys like Tony growing up, farmers' sons convinced of their immortality. So certain that strength would carry them through, the sort of boys who never seemed to think past the moment. The ones who thought admitting to feeling anything but hungry, horny or amused made them weak. Cocky and athletic, often pretty and impulsive, these were the boys given a free pass by most people, written off with an exasperated "Boys will be boys" from their mamas and later from their girlfriends. Abby learned that sometimes there was more to them, substance beneath all that sun-baked skin and those muscled arms. Usually, there wasn't much, but sometimes.

As a kid, she'd been a tomboy, one who was never afraid to take a dare, and that made her one of the boys. As she got older, she built a reputation for keeping her mouth shut, and that made her an ally, a sort of secret keeper for boys with crushes, boys with fears, boys with fathers who beat them and mothers who ignored them. Every boy that had come to her in her life told her something, some with words, some with the ways they kissed her, or didn't. And she always thought of them as boys, even Gibbs, with his age and silver hair, because at heart so many of them never grew up, not really. So many of them were just searching for a mother and didn't even know it.

All of them told her something and in return, she gave them what she could. She gave them what their pretty girls would not, what their dead or distant mothers could not, a safe place and soft arms. She didn't mind it because it made her matter to them. It was how she survived high school when the popular girls tried to break her, her boys found quiet ways to deflect the barbs. Now, it was how she survived NCIS, getting her caffeine habit fed, trading a listening ear for a backrub, subtle manipulations but if they thought they were taking care of her, they would let her take care of them. That way, none of them ever had to admit that they needed her, even though she knew it.

Abby took another look at Tony, again talking in his sleep, but looking at peace. She decided he was better off dreaming and headed for the shower.

*

Tony was standing on the front porch, fumbling for his keys in his backpack. Somewhere in his head he knew this was all wrong, this wasn't his house, hadn't been for a long time, but he knew he had to get inside. He found the right keys, in the pocket of his lettermen's jacket, and stepped through the door, bare feet sinking onto broken glass spread across the grass. A stadium full of people screamed his name as he ran, ignoring the pain spreading from the soles of his feet. He slipped into the huddle, Gibbs calling plays to Kate, McGee, Ziva and Shepard, faces barely recognizable beneath helmets. Tony followed them to the line and looked at the opposing team. There was row after row of players, football gear packed under street clothes, and the player facing him growled.

"Bela?" but she didn't even like football. It had been one of the things that charmed him, her indifference to his chosen sport, the way she humored him as he tried to explain how the game was played.

"You missed dinner, again, Tony," she said just before the game resumed. He knew the play, knew where he needed to be, but Bela blocked him. "You were late and you could have stopped this. All of this."

"Not now, Bay, I've got a game to finish," he rushed past her toward the end zone, crashing into another player. They landed on the barn floor, hay flying.

"Always want to be the hero, don't you, Special Agent DiNozzo?" Bela's voice still spoke to him, but it wasn't her. He couldn't quite place her but she looked familiar.

"Do I know you?"

"You could have saved me, you could have stopped this, but you were too late," the woman said, shoving him away from her. He stumbled, finding more broken glass on the hardwood floor. The woman shrank in front of him and multiplied. Three children spoke with Bela's voice, "We didn't have to die. You did this. Always want to be the hero but look at you."

"I... Bela?" he shook his head, holding a hand out to steady himself against the wall of his apartment.

"She won't help you, Tony. She's dead and you let her die. Just like me," Kate sat at the dining room table, fork paused half way to her lips. Blood dripped down from her forehead onto the plate, but she didn't seem to notice. Gibbs and Abby turned to look at him, McGee pulled out a chair. Tony sat down, and the arms of the chair snaked out to wrap around his waist and pin his arms to his side.

"You have so much blood on your hands, Tony. So much blood," Abby shook her head, holding up her own pale hands. "Mine are clean. See? Not like you."

"But I didn't..." he protested weakly. A hand reached from behind him to stroke the side of his neck, and he felt something warm run down his shoulder. More blood, from Bela's open wrist.

"But you did, baby, you did. And she'll never trust you, never again because you lied," Bela's lips touched his ear and they were in bed, Bela on top of him, rocking slowly. "She can see what you are, what you've done. You want her to be me, but she's not. We all see what you are, Tony."

Blood dripped on to his chest, sprinkled his face, stained the sheets around them as she rode him. As she began to moan, he turned away. He knew he'd come too soon if he watched her, so he looked for that spot on the wall, just where the paint was starting to peel. Instead he found green eyes staring hard into his, framed with spidery lashes and looking afraid.

*
"Tony," Abby knelt on the floor between the beds, touching his shoulder lightly. He curled more tightly into himself but grabbed her hand.

"Bela?" he said softly. It was the same name Abby thought he'd said on the plane, just before she kissed him. Probably a dumb move, but she'd had to do something. Besides, he had really nice lips, and right now, those lips looked like they were a second away from screaming.

"Tony, you're having..." she said, shaking him. His eyes flew open as he sat up. "One hell of a nightmare, from the look of things."

"Abby."

"Hey, sleepy head, you okay?" she eased herself up onto the bed next to him. He shook his head and leaned into her arms. She pretended not to notice the way he was trembling as she rubbed his back. "You're okay, you're awake and I've got you. And I'm certified in kicking the asses of monsters that lurk under little boys' beds, so you're better than safe."

"I'm thirty sev—thirty-something, not a little boy, Abs," he said, but he still clung to her.

"I know exactly how old you are, DiNozzo. I also know that a good bete noire can make us all miss our mamas, so shh..."

"My mother was never the kind to make bad dreams go away. Caused lots of them, but not so big on the comfort."

"Yeah, well, mine was and I learned from the best, so trust me," she stroked his hair, letting her fingers run over the side of his neck where she could feel his pulse racing and she felt him stiffen at the touch.

"Don't, just don't," he pulled away, closing his eyes again.

"Tony, I'm sorry. I didn't know," she said, reaching for his hands. She understood shrinking from touch, from certain caresses. She had a few triggers herself, and even though she didn't know what tripped this one in him, she was sure it wasn't pretty.

"It's okay, pretty girl. I'm okay. You can stop worrying," he lifted her hands to his lips again, kissing them each. "You're right, it was just a bete noire."

"Yeah," she sighed, squeezing his hands. She searched his face for reassurance, and found little. He looked like a man who was being haunted, the same terror and sadness he'd worn after Kate died, the same fear in his eyes that she'd seen the night Ari had shot into her lab. She didn't want to go back to that place and it hurt to see him heading there, especially when he was doing it to himself. It was easier when there was someone to hunt, someone to blame. "Dinner's in half an hour. Why don't you grab a shower and maybe we can make the open bar?"

"Sounds like a good idea," he moved to stand up. "Abs?"

"Tony?"

"Thank you for not asking," he said, kissing her cheek.

Hell, he couldn't have explained it to her anyway, he thought as he ducked under the water. The tub was huge and the water pressure close to perfect. He let the steam build around him, turning the spray to the massage setting. It had been years since he had really thought about Bela, and longer since he'd dreamed of her. Dreams were just dreams, right? Even when he could still feel her hands on him, still feel her around him. His hand automatically went to his cock, more to check that it was still there than anything else. He used to dream that she'd consumed him, starting there and drawing him so far inside her that he couldn't break free.

He tried to think of her in other times, other positions. Kneeling that first time in a dark corner of a crowded bar. So cliched, but she'd known exactly what to do, dyed head barely moving as her mouth made him forget everything but those shimmering pink lips. The two of them in her dorm bed, her roommate sleeping five feet away. In their rented house, the day they moved in, she had bent over boxes of linens and dishes, lifting her skirt and inviting him in. A few memories, a little soap and some quick strokes later he felt more like himself.

Tony dried off, tucked a towel around his waist and opened the door. He was amused to see that Abby had laid out clothes for him. She was the only woman besides his personal shopper who was allowed to do that, although more than a few had tried. Abby was good, though, able to read his moods and pick just the right thing. It had saved him from being late in addition to hung-over on several mornings.

"Mmm, Tony, I could get used to this," she purred from her bed, absolutely leering at him. It was creepy, but kinda hot. "I like you all steamy and wet, and that towel...yum."

"Abs," he rolled his eyes, trying to locate some piece of his dignity as he pulled on his underwear. He knew he didn't look bad for a man his age, or any age, but it was still a little strange to have her ogling him. He dressed quickly, more efficient than hurried, fingers moving with a slight tremble over the buttons on the black shirt. When he picked up the tie, Abby came and took it from his hands.

"Let me," she said. He couldn't find words to argue between the look in her eyes and the way she drew the silk between her fingers. He just closed his eyes and let her touch him, tilting his face into her palm as she stroked his cheek. His hands found her hips and pulled her closer, and he knew if he stopped to think about what he was doing, he'd lose his nerve. While he was thinking about not thinking, Abby did what he wouldn't. She tugged gently on the tie and touched her lips to his.

"You taste like oranges," he said, just a little breathless. He knew she'd know how to kiss, that much was evident from the peck on the plane, but this was different. This she had meant.

"Was that so hard?" she winked, releasing him. "Now that that's out of the way, we should get some dinner."

"You make it sound something you crossed off your to do list."

"It is," she pulled the door closed behind them. Tony didn't have a lot of pride, but what little remained was wounded. He hadn't had such a lukewarm response in years, and being completely dismissed? Never.

"I see," he said, considering their reflections in the hall mirror. Abby stuck her tongue out at him, the stud catching the light. He refused to think about the things she could probably do with that stud. That resolve worked about as well as his refusal to notice the way her hair fell around her shoulders, loosened from their normal pigtails, or the way he was not observing that her black corset dress revealed just enough skin to be erotic but was concealing enough to be called elegant. He was absolutely ignoring her fishnet covered legs and their length, and certainly not going to think about the patent leather high heeled Mary Janes on her feet.

"Give it up, DiNozzo. I'm impossible to ignore," she whispered, leaning close to him again. "And yes, you're on my to do list, but I'm not done with you yet."

"You know how you give me hell about my pick up lines? That was just bad, Abby," he laughed, taking her hand as they stepped onto the elevator. "Points for trying, but bad."

"Pick up lines are for the timid and weak, and I am neither," she tossed her hair, and he was forced to agree with her. "I just wanted to get your attention."

"You definitely have that," he said, watching the numbers drop.

*
Abby expected to get attention. She'd been to enough of these little inter-agency gatherings to know she'd stand out like the proverbial sore thumb, and she was prepared for blank stares, averted eyes, whispering and maybe even pointing. She was not, however, prepared for the slow once over from the hot butch at the bar. The woman had to be six two, dressed in a blue silk shirt (which clashed brilliantly with fire engine red hair), pinstriped trousers, suspenders and a blue-flecked tie. A women's symbol tattoo was visible on her wrist, even at a good ten paces, above a black leather cuff and below a rolled up sleeve. Abby felt herself blushing as the woman closed the distance between them in a few languid strides.

"The dress is gorgeous. Femme?" the woman asked. Abby blinked, confused and stalling. "I meant the store, pretty girl."

"Online, but yeah," Abby answered slowly, wondering what was up with this pretty girl thing. Not that she minded, because well, she looked hot and they should recognize that, but still. And when did NCIS get fine butch agents and why didn't anyone tell her? Didn't this rank a memo? Or at least an email with a picture attached and a health hazard warning because her heart was definitely skipping some beats as this woman looked at her.

"The collar, too?"

"Uh-huh," she said, self-consciously fingering the tooled leather. In the rational world, this was weird. In Abby's head, it not only made perfect sense, but was kind of sexy. Especially with those impossibly green eyes gazing down at her. "Who are you?"

"Special Agent Casper Meredith-Sparks, LA office," the woman said, extending her hand. Slender fingers, simple silver thumb ring, ladybug tattoo in the web between her thumb and forefinger.

"Abby Sciuto, DC, forensics," she shook Casper's hand and found herself reluctant to let go. "So, Casper, how is it you know so much about my clothes?"

"I own the company that made it," she grinned, just a hint of a blush forming on her cheeks. Abby noticed that Casper was almost as pale as she was. "Well, co-own. My partner, Danielle, designed your dress, and if I'm not mistaken, that was the last collar I finished for the store before I joined NCIS. You're wearing a piece of my history, hon, and I have to say, it looks good on you."

"Just to clarify, is that partner as in wife or partner business partner?" Abby asked as they moved over to the bar.

"Both, but we have a... complex relationship. What are you drinking?"

"Merlot, please," Abby said. This was turning into one strange trip. Smooching with DiNozzo, bathtubs the size of swimming pools, flirting with cute grrls who just happened to own her favorite clothing line. She was starting to feel relatively sure that no friend-murdering double agents would be shooting at her, and if she was lucky, no crazy lab assistant psychos would hold her at knife point, both a major bonus. And there no one to storm into her lab, turn off her music and yell at her (or hit Tony). This was the best trip ever.

*
Tony had lost Abby as soon as they walked into the crowded ballroom, although he was beginning to suspect it more that she had lost him. She certainly knew how to disappear and one second she had been right next to him, then she'd vanished. He tried not to think about it. She was a big girl, she could take care of herself. So what if he'd been looking forward to spending a little more time with her? It wasn't like they didn't see each other enough at home or weren't sharing a room or anything. It wasn't like she was his date. She was a lot of things, sweet, distracting, infuriating, and an incredible kisser but not his date. Not his. So why should it bother him that he could find no trace of her among the two hundred or so federal agents and various science geeks making small talk around him?

He took another quick glance around the room, ran a hand through his hair and prepared to schmooze. He might be surrounded by geeks and feds but that didn't mean he couldn't have a good time practicing his social skills. Tony noted that there were two bars, one on either side of the room, and headed for the one to his left. The line was relatively short, as was the man at the front of it. Two women stood in front of Tony and he looked at them quickly, taking in the vital information. The first had a laugh like a horse, no visible traces of a wedding band, and shiny brown hair recently highlighted. She stood as if her feet hurt and wore hose two shades too dark for her skin. The second giggled childishly, sported a rock that was most likely as fake as her breasts and her tan, and wore an expensive suit with PayLess shoes. Neither of them noticed him as they stepped forward to request Cosmos.

Tony got a scotch, thinking briefly of Gibbs, and made his way toward the center of the room. He settled into just a hint of a swagger, certain that he was being watched. Abby deserted him, but he knew how to bounce back. Just a little flash of the right smile, a bit of eye contact, and the right location guaranteed he wouldn't be alone for long. He settled at an empty table, leaning back in his seat, and waited. It took less than thirty seconds before a tiny brunette approached on delicate black heels.

"Is this seat taken?" she touched his shoulder lightly.

"It is now. Anthony DiNozzo," he extended his hand and she shook it firmly, stronger than he expected given her size.

"Well, hello, Anthony DiNozzo," she gave him a dazzling smile as she slid into the empty chair. "I'm Sara."

"It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Sara," he said, noting the lack of a last name as much as the draping neckline of her simple red dress. Wisps of curly hair framed her face, escaping from elegant french twist, and the only jewelry she wore were tiny diamond stud earrings. No visible tattoos, unlike some people, and he was relatively certain that her make up consisted of nothing more than a coat of clear mascara and a slightly tinted lip gloss. This was a woman who clearly knew her assets and how to leverage them without appearing to be high maintenance.

"So, Anthony, who banished you to the deserts of New Mexico?" she asked, tilting her head just slightly as she brushed his arm.

"NCIS," he answered. "And you?"

"I'm a forensic anthropologist. I'll be leading a session this weekend on the cultural contexts of serial crimes and the methodologies of evidence collection in mass burial grounds," she said. "I do hope you'll be there."

"I wouldn't miss it," Tony said, honestly believing that it was true even though he knew he was probably lying.

"Good. I find I have a better time lecturing with something pretty to look at," she smiled again, the dazzle turned up just a notch. Tony responded in kind, thinking it might not be a bad night at all.

*
Abby firmly believed that, for the most part, scientists and hip hop did not mix. Not at all. Scientists attempting to dance to said hip hop was just this side of hilarious. She and Casper sat at a table near the dance floor in the hotel lounge, Casper's arm casually draped across the back of Abby's chair. Over the course of the evening, they had acquired a third, Ella Morena, a recovering punk and ballistics expert who had admired Abby's spider web tattoo. The three had spent dinner talking, trading anecdotes from their offices, discussing music, and building a healthy banter about the merits of a variety of sex toys and bondage equipment.

Abby had spotted Tony a few times, at a distance, each time being chatted up by a different tiny girl in tasteful pearls and kitten heels. She watched as he left after dessert, on the arm of a leggy blonde with collagen lips. She hoped he found whatever he was searching for, and preferably not in their room. A decent meal and fantastic company had let her find yet another second wind, but she knew she had to sleep and soon. She barely stifled a yawn as the round of drinks arrived.

"You're starting to look beat, Abby. Should we call it a night?" Morena asked, squeezing the lime into her gin and tonic.

"No, I'm fine. This week's just been..." she shrugged, twirling the straw in her soda.

"You weren't working on the Cantwell case, were you?" Casper asked. Abby flinched, knocking over her glass.

"Oh, god. I'm sorry," she said, reaching for napkins as Morena jumped out of the way.

"I'll take that as a yes," Casper scooped up the fallen ice cubes. "Wow. Danie and I watched all of the news coverage, and... wow."

"I... I should go," Abby slid out of her chair. "I'm really sorry. I'll see you tomorrow," she said, just a little shaky on her heels as she walked away. She had almost managed to put it out of her head, almost managed to forget, as much as you could ever forget something like that. Casper didn't know. How could she, when Abby didn't even know she'd react like that? She stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button, tapping her foot absently.

"This is not me," she said to the empty space. "I do not freak out about cases. I do not bring ghosts home. I don't waste perfectly good carbonated caffeine drinks by spilling them all over adorable girls with sexy boots. This is not me."

*
Tony collapsed onto the bed, kicked off his shoes and turned on the television. Sara had been interesting but had begged off to prepare for her lecture. Tina, Miranda, Alison, and Jami were cute but he got weird vibes from each. He'd finally left with Kellye, JAG lawyer from San Diego, but after a few minutes of conversation, she admitted being a born-again virgin and inquired about his relationship with the lord and savior. So, he carefully excused himself, claiming jet lag and conceded to spending the night alone. He doubted he'd see Abby much before sunrise, if then. In the one glimpse he'd gotten of her at dinner, she'd been feeding strawberries to the woman beside her and nearly glowing as she threw her head back to laugh.

Whatever. He clicked through the channels, found a station showing Casablanca and decided that he didn't care if she ever came back. At least she seemed to be enjoying herself, which was a hell of a lot better than being a spaced-out mess. Or sitting across the room giving him those "come here, no, fuck off" looks. Or playing with his tie and taunting him. The strawberry girl had been wearing a tie. Abby was probably somewhere right now with it wrapped around her fist...

"Fuck," Tony yanked off his own tie and threw it across the room. He wanted her to come back. He wanted the room not to smell like her, that weird gunpowder perfume that had a way of lingering long after she was gone. He wanted to forget waking up to see her looking so worried and the way she'd held him. He wanted... he wanted a pizza and a beer and not to be in some hideous hotel room in the middle of the desert trying not to think about the fact that he had kissed Abby. Abby who was his drinking buddy, who was his co-worker, who had dated McGeek for fuck's sake. She was territory he just shouldn't even wander into. He wanted her to come back.

He wanted to go look for her. How much could she really know about this mystery woman? She could be dangerous. She could be killing Abby right now and no one would ever know. She could be insane and kidnap Abby, and have her hidden away in some shack on the edge of a reservation. She could have drugged her at dinner and have Abby chopped into tiny pieces by now that would get mailed to NCIS one by one with no trace evidence—not that there'd be anyone to process it, what with Abby dead and all. Of course, they'd have to replace her if she did die, but that would take months. Gibbs would be really pissed to lose another of the team and he'd blame Tony, and then he'd have to transfer.

Tony knew he was being irrational. Abby was more than capable. She'd proven that when she fended off Chip with nothing but a Caff-Pow! and duct tape. There was nothing to worry about. She was fine, wherever she was and she wasn't his to worry about anyway. Not really. She was out having fun, without him, and he had Casablanca and it was all fine.

By the time Abby slipped her keycard into the door her body was crashing as fast as her mood. Tony and his bimbo would simply have to die. She still had enough energy to do it without leaving a single piece of evidence, and then, maybe, she could get some sleep. She stopped just inside the door and listened. The television buzzed quietly with late night static and she could only pick out one set of breathing sounds, Tony's from the tiny sigh every six or eight breaths. She kicked off her shoes, noticing his tie on the floor and bent to pick it up. He was sleeping on top of the blankets again, feet crossed and still enclosed in those silly Italian loafers he loved. Most importantly, he was very definitely alone.

She found her pajamas and changed in the bathroom. Her makeup stained the crisp white washcloths, streaking it with black eyeliner and mascara. She looked like hell and felt worse. Yeah, she was pale, but her face was two shades lighter than the bright white of her satiny pajamas. Maybe she was finally disappearing. She had tried before and failed. Ironic that it would happen now, now when most days she had it all together, days when she wanted to be seen. So far from the kid who hid in the swamps with Exacto knives, seeing just how much pressure it would take to break the skin. She unfastened the vinyl cuffs at her wrists, laying them on the edge of the vanity, and looked at her arms. The scars were still there, fading as some scars do, the worst of them hidden under layers of black ink.

There was only so much of the world a girl could let in. Only so many stories, so many tears, so many secrets she could hold before she started to feel the undertow. She was better at swimming now, and she knew her way to many shores, safe ports to ride out the worst of the storms. What Abby knew now was that no matter how bad she thought it was, there was always something worse, and she had a choice to give into it or fight. Most days, she fought back with silly grins and bad puns, reveling in irreverence.

A knock on the door broke her train of thought and she pulled herself out of the mirror. "Hang on."

"Hey," a bleary eyed and still fully clothed Tony smiled sleepily as she opened the door. Again, she thought that he was such a little boy trapped in a man's body. All he needed was the footie pajamas. "Didn't think you were coming back."

"I could say the same for you. I saw you leave with the Christie Brinkley look alike," Abby forced herself to sound chipper, immediately knowing that she'd fallen short of the mark. She wanted to just fall into bed, fall into his arms, and sleep without dreaming. She wanted to wake up as herself. That's all. She started to edge past Tony but he stopped her. "What, DiNozzo?"

"Nothing," he shook his head and closed the bathroom door. She shrugged it off, and stood at the foot of his bed. She might regret it later, but right now, she needed it. He wouldn't say no. She knew that from other nights, and if she was lucky, she wouldn't have to explain. So, she pulled back the paisley polyester comforter and the top sheet and crawled into his bed. She was vaguely aware of him coming back and she curved around him, resting her head on his bare shoulder. She thought he said something that sounded like "sweet dreams" and he might have kissed the top of her head, but she was too far down to really be sure.

Tony dreamed of black and white movie sets, classic lines rolled off his tongue, and in every plot, he got the girl. He starred with all the greats, Ingrid Bergman, Sophia Loren, Greta Garbo. Final frames played in his head over and over, lingering kisses and the taste of oranges on his tongue. He didn't want to leave them, but he recognized the signs of waking up as it got harder and harder to keep his feet moving on cobble stone streets and the edges of buildings grew fuzzy.

There was a familiar weight across his body, holding him to the bed, one arm across his back and the distinct soft curve of a breast against his side. Abby, who also had one leg thrown across his thighs, her foot just brushing the back of his knee. Tony wasn't sure how they had come to their current positions, but it was going to make it damned hard to move without disturbing her. To make matters worse, moving wasn't the only thing that was damned hard, meaning this could also be incredibly awkward.

"Morning," Abby said, lifting her head from his arm. He turned to look at her.

"Hey, pretty girl," he said, and it was true. Some women looked like a train wreck in the morning after, providing plenty of evidence of why cosmetics companies existed. Abby was not one of them.

"After a night like that, you'd think you'd remember my name," she teased, dragging her nails lightly down his back. His toes curled in response and he realized that this would be a strange morning indeed.

"Abigail Sciuto, middle name omitted under previous threats of defenestration," he rolled onto his side, her leg still across his. She surprised him by moving closer, scratching him just a little harder, and he was aware that if she moved another inch or so, this moment was going to cease to be friendly flirting.

"Good boy, Tony," she said as her hand moved in small circles over his shoulders. Her shirt had risen just a little at her hip, and he rested his hand there. "Missed you last night."

"Yeah?" his breath caught as her fingers ran down his side and brushed his stomach. He knew she wasn't as harmless as she looked, but this was too much. He caught her hand in his and held it between them. "You seemed rather occupied the last time I saw you. Feeding fruits to a stranger?"

"Casper, her name's Casper. She made my collar," Abby rolled away now and he saw the danger signs. She had that mildly crazed look that said a tangent was brewing. "She's amazing, Tony. She works DVU out in California, but she's also a silversmith and does leatherwork for a company called Femme. We talked for hours and it was great. We're going to get tattoos together before the end of the weekend and she invited me out to LA next month when she's got some leave time to model for her."

"That's great, wonderful. I'm glad you had a good time," he said once he could find his voice. He'd completely struck out last night and she was planning to get ink with a stranger named after a friendly ghost. In Abby's world, that was tantamount to getting a puppy for two normal people, not quite married, not quite kids but certainly on that path. Abby reached for him again and he pushed her away. "Knock it off, Abs."

"What? You didn't mind a minute ago."

"Just don't," he said, feet hitting the floor. "Breakfast downstairs?"

"Sure, Mr. Crankypants," Abby wrinkled her nose as she fell back onto the bed. He hadn't even waited for her to respond, just slammed the bathroom door. Evidently, something had his knickers in a twist, which was too bad because they seemed to be having a nice little moment in bed together. Grrr... she hated when he acted like this, one moment so cuddly and wonderful, then it was like he was channeling Gibbs. Except Tony in a mood was like Gibbs having a warm fuzzy, which made it even more aggravating because Gibbs having a warm fuzzy was nice while Tony acting like Gibbs was not. Gibbs did silly things then like kiss her fingers and smack her bum, which was really just a step shy of sexual harassment. Except she didn't mind so much, because it was kind of sexy, flirting but not really flirting because he was Gibbs and there were Rules. And he was a bastard who couldn't hold his temper, and fuck, she didn't want to be thinking about seeing him in the tiny interrogation room.

She'd tried to forget, but you couldn't un-see something you'd seen. No amount of time or effort could make memory blind or change hindsight to anything other than twenty-twenty. Abby sighed, rolling across the bed, stretching over the space between the two mattresses to drag her laptop case toward her. When all else fails, check your email, and she did. Four messages from McGee, a misrouted memo from Gibbs forwarded from the NCIS auto shop about the gas budget, thirty two offers of Viagra, six for Fendi watches, and a picture of the Partridge Family up a pear tree. She saved the last one, skimmed the messages from McGee and sent short replies—Yes, No, What time? and She said WHAT about me?—for him to ponder.

She scrolled through the major news stories, paying particular attention to the latest on Brangelina, then found her favorite search engine. On a whim, she ran Tony's name and skimmed the results. Sports articles nearly twenty years olds, commendations from his prior departments, articles on the OSU college paper's site, a small write up about Kate's death. Abby skipped that one, opening the OSU page. Three of the articles showed pictures of a much younger Tony, same careless grin, slightly longer hair. The fourth was a different Tony, but one she knew. Shoulders bowed, standing with other students and wearing grief as clearly as the stylishly cut black coat. The caption said something about a funeral and Abby read the article.

"So that's... Bela Guaraldi...self-inflicted wounds... oh," she sat back against the pillows, mind whirling. The girl staring at her from the yearbook photo was lovely, startlingly blue eyes and a generous mouth painted glittering pink. Her hair fell in soft curls around her face, black with streaks of blue, and Abby just stared. She could hear Tony muttering to himself through the paper thin wall, something about Amazons and ties, and she finally closed the browser window. She didn't want to know this.

Abby shoved the thoughts down and dragged herself out of bed over to the closet. It was Thursday, he'd want to wear jeans, probably the darker ones, and she took them down from the hanger without really thinking. The purple-y blue shirt brought out his eyes, she found the tie that matched and placed them on the bed. There was no reason to do it, not really, but she liked that he trusted her taste, and she always made him look good. He could be sort of like a Ken doll sometimes, pretty, empty-headed, but if what she felt in bed was what she thought she felt in bed, he was quite anatomically correct.

He called her Career Girl Barbie once, and it was true. Director Shepard would pay for that in time. She'd also be billing NCIS for the necessary therapy to repair the PTSD from actually wearing pink. Today, though, she'd wear black, because it was a day that ended in day. She tossed her pajama top on the bed and wiggled into a thin black bra. Her hair went up in little twists, her own personal variation on Princess Leia and she considered adding a tiara but rhinestones weren't really day wear. At least not unless you came with a British accent and a long history of inbreeding. The lack of forking in the royal family tree disturbed her, but those princes were pretty boys. Pretty and Illegal.

"All the pretty boys are verboten," she said to her reflection and jumped to find a pretty pair of eyes watching her. Why were all the men in her life determined to sneak up on her? Tony looked away quickly, but not quickly enough. "Caught you, kiddo," she winked at him in the mirror, reaching back to grab his arm.

"Abby," he sighed, not even trying to pull away.

"Come here," she said, actually being the one to step back. She guided his arms around her waist, eyes on their image in the glass. He'd closed his eyes again, mouth set in a firm line. "Pretty and pose-able," she lifted her face to rub her cheek against his. He made a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl, but he didn't move, didn't let her go. He just parted his lips slightly and it was enough of an invitation. She curled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down, meeting his mouth with hers. Like the clothes, there was no reason to do this, not really, except she wanted to and she could. She liked that he was clean shaven, his lips soft, she worried about her own morning breath when his tongue brushed hers and he was minty fresh and she was distinctly not.

Self-restraint. Tony knew he had it, and by the truckload evidently. Self-restraint, his and Abby's, mostly hers, and he was watching her cross the dining room to the buffet when by all reasonable estimates, they should be in bed. If she had been anyone else, any other woman, a sane and reasonable woman, they would still be upstairs and he'd have had his hands wrapped around anything other than a glass of apple juice. Thank god for table cloths, for they hid what jeans would not, and he watched her hips sway as she balanced on the four inch heels of her knee high boots. She'd let him zip her into them, when it was the last thing he wanted to do. Unzipping was more his style, and he'd watched her dress, fascinated by the methodical way her hands moved, as if all of the little snaps and clips and hooks had logic. He wasn't sure Houdini could get out of—or more truthfully, in to—that skirt or remove the wrist cuffs or trio of collars she strapped herself into. The boots zipped, though, and he'd knelt before her, fighting to ignore the lines of her thighs beneath yet another pair fishnet stockings, ignoring the edges of the garter belt peeking out from beneath her skirt, and he'd thought of Cinderella after the ball as he held her foot in his hand.

She was turning him into a nervous wreck. She wasn't the first, he figured she wouldn't be the last, but it was damned unexpected. There had been a time, when he first came to NCIS, that he thought maybe he would make a play for her, but she was so... so Abby, and he figured it wasn't worth the trouble. He'd dated wacky, and wacky usually turned scary, and he didn't want to go there. It wasn't even that she reminded him of Bela, he didn't make that connection until much later, until after they became friends. The similarities were there if you knew where to look, but they were hidden beneath the black lipstick and hair dye. It was in Abby's eyes and the way she looked at him when she thought he wouldn't notice. Bela had looked at him like that, past the straight teeth and charming smile, she wasn't impressed by his clothes or his muscles. She wouldn't let him get away with being just another pretty boy, and the way she looked at him, it was like she saw through all of it, and liked what she found. Like there might be something there worth knowing, worth loving.

But Abby wasn't Bela, not at all. She was here and laughing across the room, holding the arm of that Casper woman as they walked toward him. He pushed his plate away and rose as they approached.

"You must be Tony," Casper extended her hand toward him. Her voice had the same raspy quality as Abby's, and she carried a feeling of quiet around her. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, there was something about the look in her eyes and the sound of her voice that disarmed him. Everything about her posture and presence seemed crafted to convey that she was not a threat, even though she was as tall as he and, judging from her handshake, probably easily as strong.

"Good morning, Casper."

"I see Abby told you about me. I was sad when she ran off on us last night, but now I see why," she gave him a blatant once over, ending an easy smile and a quick nod. "If she'd mentioned how cute you were, I might not have had abandonment issues."

"Ah, Casper, you're making him blush," Abby patted his back as she sat down, and if he wasn't mistaken, grabbed his ass while she was at it. "That's my job."

"Yes, Mistress," Casper gave Abby a half bow. What the hell? "I'm sure I'll see you later. I've got to get back to Morena. I left her in the middle of a hot and heavy debate over the uses of leeches in ancient healing rituals. You know scientists, it could get ugly."

"Meet us for lunch? Bring Morena, too," Abby called as Casper retreated. She picked at the plate of fruit, only fruit and only red fruit at that, for a moment. "She's not so bad, Tony," she said softly, covering his hand with hers.

"I never said she was," he had thought it, repeatedly, emphatically, loudly and in variations this morning but he'd never said it.

"Cherries and strawberries, and fresh fruit in the dead of winter," she sighed. "This place is perfect, Tony. Let's stay here forever." And when she looked at him, when she kissed his cheek and nuzzled the side of his neck, he thought that might not be so bad.

Abby's mind had died fifteen minutes ago. The COD? Boredom, in a major way. They'd gotten to the lecture late, a pesky hazard of distractions via public displays of affection. They'd been late and the seats were mostly filled and she ended up in a corner and Tony was in the middle of row somewhere behind her and she was Bored. How many times could a girl have basic fingerprint analysis explained? Sheesh. It was like the presenters assumed no one in the room had ever worked a case, let alone collected base level evidence. So, her brain died even though her skin felt alive where Tony had touched her, and the places he didn't touch were buzzing in anticipation of being touched, even though there was no way he was going to touch those places any time on this trip or probably ever. She had boundaries, and there were clear lines you don't cross with a co-worker.

Of course, those were the same lines she had skipped gleefully across with McGee in tow last year. He wasn't exactly kicking and screaming at the time, that came later, but he'd been hesitant. Whether that was about boundaries or Tim just being Tim wasn't entirely clear to her, even now, with months since the last time he'd shown up at her place on a Friday and didn't leave until Tuesday morning. They'd had some surprisingly athletic sex, what he lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm and stamina. Now, McGee had a girlfriend and she kept him on a short leash. Rachel didn't like her puppy playing in Abby's yard, so she didn't see him much outside of work. She kind of missed him but it gave her an idea.

She knew Tony had his cell phone in his left hip pocket. When she remembered how she knew, her face burned a little. She leaned over and dug through her bag to find her Treo, hoping she had service.

"Tired, baby?" she typed.

"Why? Am I running through your mind?" he replied quickly.

"Absolutely. I was wondering, DiNozzo, do you have a map? Every time I look at you, I get lost in those gorgeous eyes."

"What about you, Ms. Sciuto? I bet your parents were thieves because they stole the beauty from the heavens and gave it all to you."

"You haven't met my sister, have you? She's the pretty one. I'm the smart one."

"I find it hard to believe. You're over there with all those curves, and here I am with no brakes... could be tragic."

"Oh, Tony, you smooth operator. I'm receiving a ‘get busy' signal from you."

"Beautiful and funny. Do you need a light? Because I think we've found the perfect match."

"You know I don't smoke. Speaking of which, did you make sure they turned off the sprinklers? You're so hot they might mistake it for a four alarm fire."

"That's just wrong. You know if you were text on a page, you'd be fine print."

"If you were a laser, you'd be set to stunning."

"I bet you have sweet buns. Can I get a taste?"

"While we're making like fabric softener and having a Snuggle?"

"Got a first aid kit? I scraped both my knees falling for you."

"Oooh... Tony on his knees. We should talk about that one later...but if you're gonna regret it in the morning, we can sleep late."

"Come here often, Abs, or do you wanna wait until we get back to the room?"

"Bad boys get spankings. Kiss your momma with that mouth?"

"Tease. And no, but I'll call *you* mommy if you want."

"What's a hot boy like you doing in this dirty mind of mine?"

"Wondering if you're like an M&M. I bet you'll melt in my mouth."

"I'm easy, Tony, but I bet you're hard."

"You could find out. Sit on my lap and come over here."

"I'm rearranging the alphabet. So far I've got F,C, K. I just need U."

"Why don't we put U and I together?"

"Session's ending," she typed, grinning. "Let's blow off the next one while I blow you."

"Tease," he responded, the single word flashing across her screen before she turned the phone off.

Tony'd be on his knees, on his back, he'd stand on his head, stand at attention, walk on his hands if she asked. She wouldn't ask. This was just them, flirting because flirting was what they did, and if it was with each other, it was because they were there and it was convenient. The kissing didn't mean anything, it couldn't, not between them. And so what if she made him feel like he'd be hard pressed to remember his own name sometimes? It was just hormones. The past few weeks had been rough and of course they'd be looking for escape, and if they happened to find it together, well, so be it. If they didn't, that was good, too. Their friendship would be intact and they'd have some nice memories of the trip. No harm, no foul, right?

He slipped his phone back into pocket and moved with the crowd toward the double doors. Many of his colleagues were looking particularly well rested as they grumbled about the lecture. He looked around for Abby, but saw no trace of her, which was odd because today's boots made her taller than him. He knew her last text had been joking, like the rest of them, but he wouldn't have minded if it wasn't. He broke from the group and headed toward the elevator. Whatever Abby was doing, he wasn't sitting through another one of those presentations.

"Hey, sexy," a pair of hands covered his eyes as he waited for the elevator. He could hear the crinkle of Abby's vinyl skirt as she pressed against his back. "I'm only a tease if what I do gets you hot," she whispered in his ear.

"Breakfast Club," he responded automatically, her hands slipping down to his shoulders.

"Ooh, good boy, and good boys earn rewards. Can you think of anything you want?" she asked. He thought of several things as she rubbed her breasts against him, pushing her pelvis against his ass.

"I want an answer. Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because you need it," she flicked her tongue against his earlobe and he turned around, stepping back to put some space between them.

"Not like this," he said. "Not with you."

"If not me, then who?" she asked, reaching for him again. He grabbed her wrists lightly but firmly, enough to hold her but not hurt. She looked at him, playful being replaced by serious. He often wondered about how quickly her mood, her body language, could change between such extremes. "Tony, if I've done something wrong, I'm sorry."

"To add to our list of cliches, it's not you. It's me," he let go of her hands and stepped into the elevator. She looked uncertain for a moment then joined him. He couldn't look at her, not when she had that worried look again. He ran his hands through his hair, concentrating on the rising numbers on the display.

"Do... do you want to talk about it?"

"I want... I want things to be normal, Abs. I don't know what the hell is going on here, or what you think you're doing, but it stops now," he said. "I'm not McGee, not a fucking boy scout."

"You don't think I know that?" she said quietly, reaching past him to press a button. The elevator lurched to a halt. Christ, she could be like Gibbs when she wanted to, and with the look on her face, she could have been his daughter. "You know what, Tony? I'm not your dead girlfriend, either."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, backing against the wall as she stepped toward him. There was no way she could know about Bela. It wasn't in his records and he hadn't talked to anyone about her.

"It's amazing what a little internet search will get you. Come on, Tony, it's what I do for a living," she stood toe to toe with him, staring him down. He'd forgotten about the news articles, just a few lines in the town paper. Of course Abby would be able to find them. "You dream about her. You talk in your sleep and you dream about her. I know I remind you of her, and there's nothing I can do about that, but I'm here and I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, Tony. I thought you knew that."

Abby cried herself to sleep, kicking the room service pizza box to the floor. She'd watched the clock turn from one to two to seven, and he hadn't come back and she knew that she wouldn't find him. He was an agent, they knew how to disappear when they wanted to. He wouldn't have gone far, the car keys were still on the dresser, and she trusted him not to just leave the city.

She knew he was hurting, and she'd done nothing to soothe it, only made it worse. Continuing her web search had turned up more photos and another brief story about Bela's suicide from her hometown paper. Tony's name had been mentioned a few times, mostly by friends interviewed for their reactions. The police report said Bela had slit her wrists, cut her own throat, and Tony had been the one to find her. He had been suspected of killing her at first, until the note turned up.

And Abby had thrown it in his face. The picture had startled her, she never would have imagined Tony with a girl like that. A girl like her, with black, black hair wrapped into white girl dreads, tattoos on her arms, and wearing a pair of black angel wings with a velvet shirt in the most recent picture, the last picture. Abby had looked at her face for a long time, trying to understand. Bela didn't smile in the photo, didn't look at the camera, but she was lovely. Abby thought they could have been friends if things were different.

Abby woke up to a knock at the door and pushed herself out of bed with a groan. Her head ached from crying and the fifteen dollar margarita probably hadn't helped matters. She looked through the peephole to see a bedraggled-looking Tony on the other side and hurried to open the door.

"Did you know it rains in the desert?" he said, leaning against the door frame.

"Yeah, I did. I'll get you a towel," she gathered several from the bathroom and found him peeling off his shirt in the middle of the room.

"I forgot my key. Were you asleep?" he said slowly.

"Yeah. Where have you been?" she watched him run the towel over his face and wipe most of the water from his arms and chest. His jeans were soaked through to the knee and his hair dripped down over his neck. She hadn't heard the rain before, but now there were crashes of thunder outside the window.

"Walked for a while. Got lost. Caught a bus. Walked some more," he said. His hands were shaking, all of him was shaking as he unbuttoned his jeans. Abby looked away, opening the drawer to find him a dry tee shirt and sweat pants. "Cold out there."

"I can see that," she said softly, laying his clothes on the bed. She took his hands in hers, holding them flat between her palms. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, meaning I'm going to lie to you until it's true," he said, and there is was, that look again, his eyes closing.

"You don't have to lie to me. Especially not when I'm undressing you," she unzipped his pants and tugged them down slowly, pulling them away when he stepped out of them. She'd imagined doing this, more than a few times, but he'd always been warm and kind of sweaty in her daydreams, not squeezing his eyes closed with his chin trembling. "Let's get you dressed and under the blankets, then I'll order another pizza and some beer and we'll find a bad movie to make fun of."
*

Tony let her order him around, helping him slip the shirt over his head, tucking him into bed. He felt like he was six, except when he was six, he slept on satin sheets and under an ornate canopy. No one tucked him in, no one really noticed when he went to bed except the housekeeper, and it was only because he wasn't there to chase out of the kitchen.

He listened as she called room service, speaking with Javier, and laughing at something he said. She crossed her legs and tapped her foot, still in those tall boots, as she talked, ordering a pizza with extra pepperoni and triple cheese, a couple of bottles of Natty Boh and cheesecake. He knew better than to question why this hotel, in New Mexico, would have his favorite Baltimore beer, not usually available outside of Maryland, or how Abby knew that's what he wanted. He would just accept it. Questioning her wisdom led to tangents and lectures and he was in no mood for it.

"Fifteen minutes," she said, replacing the phone in its cradle. "Listen, Tony, I owe you an apology."

"Not now, Abs," he groaned. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm just going to lie here and pretend this whole trip has been a figment of my imagination. Let me enjoy that for a minute before you start babbling at me, will you?" he knew he was being a dick and didn't care. It was hard to be angry with her, she was just so damned forgiving and he didn't feel like being forgiven, or forgiving her just yet.

"Crankypants," she muttered. He closed his eyes again, but could hear her moving around the room, the sound of her boots unzipping, the skirt jangling with all it's hooks and hoops and attachments. The garters being unclipped, the smooth sound as she rolled down her stockings. All woman noises, and he pulled the pillow over his head. Still didn't silence the sound of her movements, or keep him from feeling the bed dip just a little as she crawled in next to him. "You can be a bastard all you want, but I still love you, Tony. Besides, you'll never out-bastard the Bossman."

"You don't even know me," he said, letting her tug the pillow out his hands.

"I know what's here," her hands were warm against his forehead. "And here," her hands moved to his chest. "And no, I don't know all of it, and I might never know it, but I want to. You can't scare me away, and I won't let you push me away. I'm not as strong as you, but we both know I'm smarter, DiNozzo."

"Isn't that the door?" he said, his heart pounding in his ears. She sighed and climbed out of bed. They were the right words, she knew the right thing to say. How had she known when he hadn't even known he wanted to hear them until after she'd said them? She came back, bearing boxes and a six pack of bottles, and he noticed that she'd changed into some sort of floaty looking black pants and a tank top.

"Find us a movie while I crack these open?" she set the pizza on the bed, the dessert on the dresser, and rooted around in her bag. "Fuck. My knife... Mind if I use your belt?"

"Go ahead," he watched her pop the top off one bottle with his belt buckle and took it when she held it toward him. She opened one for herself and settled back against the head board, balancing the pizza on her lap. "Most girls don't know how to do that."

"You might have noticed, Mr. DiNozzo, I'm not most girls," she talked with her mouth full, strands of cheese sticking to her chin. No, she wasn't most girls, but she was the one in his bed. The only sound for a while was chewing and drinking and the chuckle track on an episode of M*A*S*H. Tony finished his second beer, setting the empty on the nightstand, and moved the pizza box to the floor.

"Ready for dessert?" Abby asked, sitting up. He slipped his arm around her, pulling her back toward him.

"Not yet. Just...let's..." he couldn't say the words. He was Tony DiNozzo, and Tony DiNozzo did not ask for a cuddle. "You said you love me."

"I did, I do," she said, rubbing her nose against his cheek. "But I bet women say it to you all the time."

"They do. Usually, they're naked and calling me a god."

"Well, I'm fully dressed, and pretty sure you're just a man, and that's enough for me."
*

Jesus. Tony really was all muscle and so many of those muscles were full of knots. Abby pressed the heel of her palm just below his shoulder, rocking gently back and forth with her whole body. He moaned below her, and she echoed the sound, shifting over his hips. She knew this was a bad idea, but she was in full on pamper mode and backrubs were good things. Especially when she was straddling a beautiful man with strong shoulders. While her brain screamed this path led to Trouble, her body could find no real objection.

"You know, Tony, if this spot's giving you trouble, sometimes it's really a bundle of nerves in your pecs. Roll over for me and I'll work on them," she said.

"Later," he mumbled.

"Now," she eased off of him and smacked his ass.

"Abby, we're friends, right?"

"Of course."

"And you want us to stay friends?"

"Tony, just move," she pouted at the back of his head and poked his side.

"If I do that, I can promise our friendship will end."

"Why?" she asked. Surely he wasn't... oh, god. "You aren't...? Tell me you don't have..."

"A problem. A big one, in fact," he turned his head and looked at her out of one eye.

"I've heard it's not that big," she was fighting not to laugh. Laughing would be bad. Very bad.

"I don't know what you've heard, but it's big enough," he arched the eyebrow she could see, clearly defensive.

"Yeah, but you drove that ‘Vette. You had to be compensating for something."

"I was. A small paycheck."

"So you're really...? Huh," she could make matters worse or let it go. Ah, who the hell was she kidding? There was only one clear answer. She ran her hands down his back as she climbed back on top, leaning forward to press her breasts against his back.

"Abby, you really don't want to do this," he tensed beneath her. She smoothed his hair, running the tip of her tongue along his ear, making him moan again. "Damn it, Abby."

"If you really want me to stop, I will," she said and meant it. If he said no, she would absolutely back off, no matter how much she didn't want to.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into," he said, but it sounded more like he was speaking to himself than to her.

"Is that a yes or a no, Tony?" she lay still, her arms stretched out along his, fingers curling over his hands.

"I'm usually the one asking that question."

"You're stalling, which means you aren't sure, and if you aren't, we stop," she rolled carefully off of him onto her back, turning her head to meet his eyes. "We've got time if you change your mind."
*

Tony's mind was reeling. When the hell did he become a woman? If his dick hadn't been making its presence quite well known, he'd have sworn it had disappeared along with every ounce of testosterone in his body. He had Abby practically throwing herself at him and he'd turned her down not once but twice today. He, Anthony DiNozzo, had refused sex.

Not only that, but he was refusing what promised to be amazing, mind blowing, kinky, do-it-all-night-wake-up-the-neighbors sex with the only woman he knew who could probably teach him a thing or twelve about the various acts involved. He had no doubt that she'd be great, none whatsoever. Her energy, her enthusiasm for everything not vanilla, her passion for life in general, her balance of tender and wild, everything that was Abby screamed of barely controlled sexuality and he had turned her down. Gibbs was right, he just might be the dumbest SOB on the planet sometimes.

Abby had taken it in stride, rolling out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom, wearing that impish smile and swinging her hips. He could hear her singing softly over the sound of water filling the tub.

He repositioned himself on the bed, grabbed the remote and clicked through the channels without really seeing what was on the screen. Tomb Raider was on channel fifty one, and he allowed himself to be seduced by the almost inhumanly lush lips of Angelina Jolie. He dated a woman who looked like her once, blue eyed, hair a couple shades lighter. She'd been disappointing though. What good was a mouth like that when you were afraid to use it? He couldn't remember her name, but he did remember her throwing a vase full of water and three day old lilies at his head when he'd said they might want to cool things off.

He grimaced at the memory, reached for another beer, changed the channel. Food Network was showing Iron Chef, and that was a show he could never get into, but the chef from Britain was a cute little blonde with powerful looking hands and a huge grin even as the clock ran down to seconds.

It was always the hands that got him, more than breasts although those were important, and he couldn't forget the allure of a good firm ass, but the hands.... imagining how they'd feel digging into his shoulders, wrapped around his cock, how she'd look sliding them over herself, showing him exactly how she touched herself when he wasn't there. Yeah, hands were important.

The nails had to be just the right length, real or acrylic. If they were too long, it was a sign she'd hesitate to really let herself go. Too short, and she'd insist on being in control, always in control. Bitten? He'd meet a line of insecurities and a wall of defenses that would rival the Armed Forces. Painted was always better than bare, he preferred French manicures because they indicated a certain tasteful restraint and attention to detail. Certain shades of reds and pinks were good too, though.

Abby's nails were black, a color called "Midnight in Transylvania". He knew she painted them every other night, even though the enamel never seemed to chip during the day, no matter what she did in the lab. She kept them what he thought of as functionally short, the sort of nails you saw on WNBA players, just the right length to imagine doing a slow drag down your back but not long enough to interfere with work.

He looked up as Abby came back into the room, standing at the edge of the bed and staring down at him. "Yes?"

"Problem solved?" she smirked, looking pointedly at the pillow over his lap.

"I hate you," not the snappiest retort, not even close to the truth, but his mind wasn't exactly driving his thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah, all the boys say that at some point and you never mean it," she said. "If I promise not to look, laugh, touch, or point, will you accompany me into the bathroom?"
*

"Abby, I don't do bubble baths," he started to back away. She held her hands firm against his back, well hand, because the other one was still covering her eyes.

"You think I don't snoop through your bathroom cabinets every time I come over? I've seen the shelves full of bath oils and bubbles and all that fancy-schmancy shit and you cannot tell me that it's all for your dates," she said. "And can I look now? My arm is getting tired."

"There's only one way I'm getting in that tub," she felt him turning, then gently pulling her hand away from her face.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"You come with me," and suddenly her feet were no longer on the floor and there was water and a bit of undignified flailing and shrieking. Then she was laughing, trying not to breathe in the dense bubbles, scooping water in her hands and splashing the front of his shirt.

"You so suck, DiNozzo," she was indignant and amused and he was laughing, too. "You know, the last guy to manhandle me like that walked funny for a week."

"Eh, I'll take my chances," he shrugged, stepping out of the way as she threw her dripping pants at him. Her shirt followed, and she sat with the water rising almost to her neck, covering her bra.

"Come on in, the water is fine," she leaned against the edge of the tub, folding her hands under her chin and giving him her best come hither look. He laughed again and stepped out of his sweat pants, folding them and his shirt neatly on the counter, then climbed into the tub behind her. "Do you normally bathe in your shorts?" her fingers traced the edge of the black boxer briefs along his thighs, his legs stretched out on either side of her.

"Do you wear your bra in the tub?" he opened the clasp before she could respond, lifting the straps from her shoulders and down her arms in a fluid motion.

"I take it you've made up your mind," she looked at him over her shoulder.

"Abby, I'm sitting in my underwear in a bubble bath with a topless woman. What do you think?" his hands cupped her breasts and he guided her back through the water to lean against his chest.

"I think I need to hear you say it," she wondered who it was sounding all breathy and Kathleen Turner because it couldn't be her.

"Then yes, and before you ask, I'm sure. I'm absolutely, one hundred percent certain, just as certain as I am that we're about to trade a perfectly good friendship for the best sex you'll ever have."

"Awfully cocky, aren't you, DiNozzo?" she said, emphasizing the second word as she rubbed against him, water sliding between their bodies. She swore she could hear his grin as he found her piercings and tugged lightly on them, making her squirm just a little more. "You don't have to be gentle."

"What if I want to?" he kissed the side of her neck, just over the spider in her web. "What if I want to play with you all night? Keep you on the edge until you think you can't take it any more?"

"Gonna make me beg, Tony?" she floated up in the water, just a little, and rolled over.

"Not the first time. Never the first time," he said, his voice husky, arms circling her waist.

"Tell me about the first time, then."

"Get turned on by talking, do you, Abby?" he wore that amused look and she leaned forward, letting her teeth graze his nipple just above the water.

"Get turned on by you, like this," she shifted her weight again, kneeling up to kiss him, thanking whomever it was who thought to design whirlpool tubs the size of Olympic swimming pools for economy hotels. God, he could kiss, soft lips, firm tongue, teeth tugging at her lower lip, knowing just when to suck gently and when to curl his tongue against hers. She was breathless and he was grinning when he pulled his head back, steam from the bath making them both sweat, cheeks flushed.

"I'm not going to make you beg, pretty girl. I'm going to make you moan," and he did, kissing her neck again as his hands massaged her hips. "And writhe, and pant, scream until your voice gives out. I'll make you wetter than you've ever been, hotter, tease you for hours. Lick you, suck you, touch you exactly the way you need to be. I'll make you come, but I won't make you beg. Not this time."

"I dare you," she whispered against his lips.