She's so young. Young enough to be my daughter, even. She listens to music I can't understand and don't really want to, she wears clothes that are more suited to a fetish club than an office, she lives on caffeine and sugar, and she hates the sun.
She's got me wrapped around her finger, and she knows it. All she has to do is smile the right way, or laugh in that beautiful husky voice of hers, and I'm sunk. I always have been.
I realized what she meant to me about six months after she started at NCIS. There was a case, some evidence got mislabeled by the guys, and we ended up with a minor explosion in Abby's lab.
She was all right, just a few scratches, but it took almost everything I had to keep from holding her until I knew she was fine. And it wasn't because I cared about a member of my team--although I did. It had everything to do with her and nothing to do with the situation.
I went home that night and proceeded to get stinking drunk. She was too young. She was too...everything I wasn't. She worked for me.
There was no way I'd ever let her know.
Problem is, Abby's too damned smart. I don't know how she figured it out or if she made an educated guess or what the hell she did. I've given up on trying to understand how her mind works. All I know is that she showed up at my door one night after work, around ten. I almost didn't answer the door, but I figured that anyone ringing my bell that late really needed to reach me.
I had no idea what she was doing there, and I really had no idea why she breezed past me, dropping her cape and her bag on my couch.
"Okay," she said, shaking out her pigtails. "So either you're going to fire me for this or you're not, and I'm really kind of hoping not, because I like this job and I'd like to keep it, and I like working for you, and--"
"Abs," I interrupted, holding up a hand. "What are you talking about?"
She chewed her lip nervously. "Well, either I'm reading you completely wrong or...oh, fuck it," she said, and threw herself into my arms and kissed me.
Oh. God. She tasted like coffee and sugar and light and I was too stunned to push her away the way I should have. Her arms went around my neck and my hands settled on her waist, and I had no idea if I was holding her close or trying to push her away.
I should have. God knows I should have. But...I couldn't. She made a soft, purring sound and arched against me; the next thing I knew my hands were on her ass, pulling her tight against me, and I was kissing her almost desperately.
"Wow," she said when she finally pulled back. She licked her lower lip and I closed my eyes, letting it thump against the wall. God, what had I done?
"Don't even start that," Abby warned me. She linked her hands behind my neck again, pressing up against me. "I started this. I was the one who kissed you."
"Why?" I asked, looking anywhere but at her.
"Because I wanted to." She kissed my collarbone. "Because I'm old enough to make my own decisions, and I want this. You. I won't tell if you won't."
"It doesn't work that way, Abs," I said, but I closed my eyes when she rested her head against my shoulder and almost unconsciously I found myself stroking her hair. "You work for me. I can't get involved. And even if I could, which I can't, you don't want me. I've had three wives, remember?"
"Yeah, and I'm not them. I don't want what they did." Abby kissed my neck, nipping it with her teeth. "I don't want any more than you can give me, Gibbs."
"Abby..." I bit back a groan of frustration and desire. "I can't. You work for me. You're too young. Find someone--someone else." Anyone else. Don't tempt me like this. Don't offer me what I want and can't have.
"I don't want someone else." She leaned up and kissed me lightly. "I want you."
"We can't always get what we want."
"I'm stubborn." I opened my eyes to see her grin, cheeky and bright. "I know you want me," she said, running her fingers over the back of my neck. "Don't even try to lie and tell me you don't."
"It doesn't matter what I want." I should have pushed her away, but--like before--I couldn't. Damn it. Damn me.
"C'mon, Gibbs," she wheedled. "It doesn't have to be anything more than it is."
But it would be, and I knew it. And Abby was too smart not to know it. Anything that happened--and when the hell had I started thinking in terms of could be and might be instead of definite no? This...this was impossible. Insane.
Abby kissed me again, and I didn't know whose desperation I tasted in it. And somehow I turned her around so she was sandwiched between me and the wall, and my hands were on the backs of her thighs, lifting her up, and her legs wrapped around my waist and her arms around my neck and I felt her heat even through her panties and my jeans. I let her mouth go, kissing her jaw, her throat, her shoulder; she made that same soft purring sound and let her head fall to the side.
When I finally looked at her, her pupils were dilated and her cheeks were flushed. "Take me to bed, Gibbs," she said in that beautiful, husky voice. "Make love with me."
I couldn't say no, any more than I could have pushed her away earlier. I let her slide down to the floor and she took my hand and led me up the stairs to my own bedroom.
And I made love with her in my bed, on my faded blue sheets, with the curtains half-drawn and the moonlight shining. I made her come on my fingers, when I was buried deep inside her, and later, after we'd slept a bit, with my mouth.
I woke the next morning and thought it had all been a dream. But then I looked over and I saw her sleeping, her black hair tumbled around her face and the beautiful, intricate cross on her back. My gut twisted and my heart sped up a beat or two and I realized just how much trouble I was in.
For some reason, I thought she'd wake slowly. I should have known better; Abby doesn't waste time on anything, and every minute she spends waking up is a minute wasted. She yawned, stretched, and rolled over to face me. The sheets were down around her waist and I tried not to look at her breasts, fairly unsuccessfully. My hands remembered what they felt like, my mouth what her skin tasted like. What she tasted like, wet silk under my tongue.
"Morning," she said, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Gonna kick me out?"
"It's too late for that, don't you think?" I flopped down on my back with a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. "This..."
"Should never have happened. I know." Abby moved to straddle me, her hands on my chest. "I don't care."
"What if I do?" I asked.
She leaned down and kissed me slowly. "Every rule has an exception," she murmured against my lips. "There's always one thing that doesn't fit."
"And you don't fit anything," I said wryly, running my hands down her back and squeezing her ass.
"Well, there's this adorable dress I bought that I don't fit, but..." Abby laughed. "I don't fit in any box anyone could possibly design for me, Gibbs. I don't want to."
"Abby..." I closed my eyes.
"This happened because we both wanted it. Don't try to tell me it didn't." She sat up and looked back down at me. "Now, I can do one of two things. I can get dressed and leave and pretend this never happened, and you can pretend it never happened, and we'll spend however long it takes acting like nothing's different. Or you can admit that maybe sometimes rules are made to be broken, and this was one of them. I won't tell anyone if you won't, Gibbs. And I'm old enough to know what I want."
Old enough to know, but too young to know what she was getting into. And I didn't know of anything I could say that would convince her of that.
"Face it, Gibbs." Abby grinned at me and trailed her fingers over my chest. "You're not going to win this argument, and you don't really want to anyway."
"What I want and what can happen are two different things," I told her.
"True." Abby shrugged. "You could want me to be able to bend like Gumby, but I can't, sadly. Or you could want me to bake bread, which I can't do either. But if you want me as more than a subordinate--if you want me as your friend or your lover--that can happen, Gibbs. And we both want that."
I couldn't tell her I didn't, but I couldn't tell her she was right. I didn't know what to do.
Abby slid down so she was lying on top of me. She crossed her arms and propped her chin on them, looking at me. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Gibbs. For one thing, I'm not a redhead. I could be, but it's not really my color."
"If you've got something else to say, now would be a good time," I warned her. Just because she'd ended up in my bed did not give her carte blanche with my personal life.
She stretched forward and kissed my chin. "Tell me no, Gibbs. Tell me no, and I'll leave."
I tried. I opened my mouth--but I couldn't. Damn me for being such a fool, but I couldn't say it.
"That's what I thought." Abby kissed my jaw, nuzzling my neck. "Face it, Gibbs. You're not going to win an argument with me."
I sure as hell wasn't going to win this one. I sighed and looked at her, wondering how long it would take before she got tired of me, before she wanted to move on to the next thing, the next person, and left me. I didn't know what I'd do when that happened.
But I couldn't tell her no, and...I didn't want to. I'd wanted to have her like this for a long time, warm and supple in my arms, laughing in my bed. I was only human, and holding out against Abby would have taken a hell of a lot more willpower and self-control than even I had. So I tilted her head up and kissed her and held her close until she squirmed against me, gasping for breath. I watched her as she rode me, how she slumped forward when she came, hair around her face and skin sheened with sweat. And I knew I was never getting out of this unless she let me.
I've learned a few things since that first time. I've learned that when Abby's moody or depressed or hormonal (not that she'll ever admit it), a few dark chocolate Hershey's Kisses will generally keep her from wanting to kill me. I've learned where all her tattoos are and at this point I can probably trace them with my eyes closed. I've learned what she tastes like, what she feels like. Where her sensitive spots are, that she can come from words alone, that she likes being held down or spanked occasionally. I've learned that she's a restless sleeper and she steals the covers.
And I've learned that I was wrong. Abby's given me absolutely no indication she's growing bored with me, or that she wants something else, something new. It's been two years since she first argued her way into my bed and she still gives me that beautiful, sleepy smile every time she wakes up next to me. It doesn't mean I've stopped thinking about it, but it does mean I've stopped wondering if this night will be the last. Abby doesn't hesitate to let me know when she's upset with me, and she's never said a word about leaving.
Compared to her, I'm old, and staid, and set in my ways. I don't know a damned thing about pop culture. My relationship with technology is armed truce at best, outright warfare at worst. I like classic rock, bands that were formed before Abby was even born.
She's so innocent, despite everything she sees. She's studied ballistics but she's never fired a gun outside of her lab. She's studied blood splatter and patterns but she's never smelled the sweet, coppery stench of a room drenched in it. She doesn't know what it's like to kill a man, and I pray to God she never will.
I don't pretend to understand her. I don't even try. I don't know why she stays with me, why she comes to my bed night after night, why or how she's convinced me to have sex in her office, in the lab, on almost any surface in my house--including the boat.
She has me wrapped around her little finger, and I know it. All she has to do is give me that smile, and I'm lost.
But I don't think I want a map.
Story Notes:
This does not belong in the Applied Psychology universe; it's a stand-alone.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I couldn't say no.
Chapter End Notes:
This does not belong in the Applied Psychology universe; it's a stand-alone.