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.