"And you decided to cook dinner for fifty while I was in the shower?" Tony stares at the kitchen in naked wonder. Fifteen minutes ago, it had been just this side of spotless. Now, Abby's surrounded by more pots and pans than he thinks he actually owns, things simmering here, sizzling there. She's up to her elbows in something that appears to be bread dough and grinning insanely at him, her hips moving to the hip hop she's playing on the stereo.

"Have you ever seen Ziva eat?" she asks, turning the dough smoothly. "Woman can put away her body weight in carbs, and yet she stays so thin. And McGee? He loves my marinara. You'll be lucky if you even get a taste of it with him around."

"Uh-huh," Tony runs his hands through his still-wet hair, baffled and slightly afraid. "Should I be helping or running for the hills?"

"Helping is good," she decides. "How about you set the table, get yourself a beer, button your shirt and put on some pants, put the roses in a vase, rinse the salad veggies, come over here and give me a kiss?" she tilts her face hopefully, watching him cross the room.

"Love your domestic goddess, Abs," he laughs and kisses her as requested, sliding one hand over her back to rest on her ass.

"Eh, you love all of me and you know it, DiNozzo," she punches the dough down one more time, covering it with a towel before wiping her hands. She'll be lucky if she can get all the flour out from under her nails before dinner.

"It's true, I'm smitten with you, Sciuto," he rolls his eyes, buttoning his shirt as he sits down at the table. She moves to the stove, lifting one of the lids and releasing the strong smell of garlic. "Are we expecting to fight off a horde of vampires tonight?"

"First of all, don't be snide. Secondly, I understand why you spent your youth being chased out of the kitchen," she stirs the tomato sauce then leans down to peer into the oven. Behind her, there's a clatter as Tony drops the silverware.

"Abs?" he says, unable to look away as her skirt rises over her thighs. "Is that what you're planning to wear to dinner?"

"Yeah," she stands up, smoothing the little plaid skirt. "Is something wrong with it?"

"Not at all," he grins, picking up the stack of plates and heading for the dining room. He hums as he sets the table, glad the music has switched over to classic R&B.

"You used the good plates?" Abby whirls around with a little hop as he goes back to the kitchen and opens the fridge.

"Do I have good plates?" he opens a can of soda and looks at her.

"The yellow ones, Tony," she sighs, taking the soda out of his hand and taking a long drink.

"Then yes. When did you become a wife?"

"About the same time you turned into a husband," she winks at him.

"Yeah, that was a questionable decision," he says over his shoulder as he heads for the bedroom.

"You're the one who wanted to go to Vegas," she calls after him. "I said we should go to London, but you wanted to see Celine Dion."

"That's just cruel, Sciuto," he yells back, staring into the closet.

"Hey, don't have to yell, I'm right here," she says from the doorway.

"Don't you have, you know, kitchen stuff to do?"

"It'll be okay for a few minutes," she shrugs. The bed creaks a little as she sits down, smoothing her hand over the comforter. She watches him pull hangers from the rack, laying out trousers at the foot of the bed. "I think I'm going to go home tonight, Tony."

"Only if you want to," he decides on the black cargo pants, casual but not too casual, and starts to put them on.

"We go back to work tomorrow, and I think it'll just be easier if we..." she shrugs again, not wanting to say it. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right? Same rule should probably apply to vacations."

"Yeah," he agrees, reaching for his tie. "Yeah, you're right."

"I should get back to my chicken," Abby touches his shoulder on her way out. "Wouldn't want to ruin dinner."

"No, wouldn't want that," he shakes his head, staring into the mirror. "Wouldn't want that at all."

"Right, right," Tony nods sycophantically at something Gibbs has said. Abby watches him from the edge of the couch, only half-listening to McGee's tales of video game heroism. She tries to catch Tony's eye, but he turns his back to her, laughing just a shade too loudly. She doesn't know if it's the wine—he's on his sixth glass by her count—or just the presence of the Bossman after ten days away.
Finally Tony breaks away from Gibbs and Ducky, McGee leaves to find another soda, and Abby gets up to follow Tony down the hall. He ducks into the bathroom and she slips in just before he closes the door.

"Do you mind?" he glances over his shoulder, hearing the lock click.

"Not really. Just make sure to put the seat down when you're done. I don't fancy falling in," Abby leans back against the door, crossing her arms over her chest. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean? You're the one who followed me in here," he zips up, flushes, and leaves the seat up out of spite. It's his house, damn it, a man's house and men's houses have toilets where the seat is up.

"Not in here, out there, Tony. You've barely said two words to anyone but Gibbs and you won't even make eye contact with me. Ergo, something is hinky."

"It's nothing, really," he turns on the tap and looks at her reflection in the mirror. Still doesn't meet her eye, but how could he when she's wearing that little corset? He's only human after all.

"It's nothing which means it's something," she drops her arms, not that it makes a different. Her tits are pushed up to her chin and she probably should've worn something less revealing if she wanted to hold his attention for more than ten seconds, but it's her body and she'll wear whatever she damned well pleases. He'd just have to control himself.

"There's that patented Sciuto troll logic. Wondered when that would show," Tony grumbles, drying his hands on the black towel. She's blocking the door and from the set of her jaw, he guesses she's not planning to move anytime soon.

"Don't be a dick. There are a lot of things I could say about your logic, mister, that would be a lot worse than being called troll," she says, poking her index finger into his chest. He looks at her, taking in the line of her mouth, the hints of mischief in her eyes, the curve of her neck, and he does the only thing he can think of. She kisses him back, pushing her breasts against his chest and dragging her fingers over the back of his neck. Tony moves from her lips to kiss her throat, hands sliding over her ribcage to cup her breasts.

"One more night," he finally says, whispering against her skin. Abby sighs, tightening her grip on his shoulders as he bites her nipple through the layers of black lace.

"Just one," she agrees.

"Tell me, Abby dear, did you enjoy Las Vegas?" Ducky asks, passing her the dish of baked ziti.

"It was a blast. I visited the Vegas PD's crime lab—they're the busiest in the country—and I had breakfast with their team a few times. Warrick and Nick took us to some great clubs, too. Warrick was totally cute but unfortunately married. Plus, I think he kinda has a thing for his supervisor," Abby shrugs. Not that she'd know anything about that. Not at all. She holds Gibbs' gaze for a second before he looks down at his plate.

"Is it true that they have drive by wedding chapels in Las Vegas?" Ziva directs her question not at Abby but to Tony, seated to her left.

"Drive through," McGee corrects her automatically, quietly.

"Although with weddings, drive by might be more appropriate, eh, Boss?" Tony nudges Gibbs. "What do you think, Gibbs? You are our in-house expert after all," he smirks, and immediately regrets his choice of seats as a Gibbs' hand connects with the back of his head.

"You're ruining my appetite, DiNozzo," Gibbs grumbles, lifting another forkful of pasta to his mouth. Abby catches a particular glint in his eye as he glances at her.

"Tony, what about the chicks out there?" Palmer finally speaks up, and is sorry for it when Abby plants her elbow in his ribs.

"Oh, young Mr. Palmer," Tony does his best imitation of Ducky, who just smiles indulgently. "The women were amazing. A smorgasbord of blondes, brunettes, red-haired Irish lasses and sharp suited French businesswomen, a few Arab princesses, all lovely and hoping to get lucky in that glittering city. So many options, such little vacation time."

Abby rolls her eyes, mostly they had encountered pudgy Midwestern grandmothers risking repetitive motion injuries as they pulled the levers over and over again, and men whose expensive suits reeked of desperation and the need for a shower after three straight days at a craps table. Palmer was practically salivating, Pavlov's dog and Tony holding a bell, while Ziva was pretending to ignore Tony complete but really hanging on every word.

"I'd love to tell you all about it, Jimmy, but as the saying goes, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right, Abby?"

"Well, unless you're Britney Spears. Then it's on the cover of every tabloid in the world," she holds her hands in her lap, twisting the ring on her finger. The hematite set into the wide band feels cold and she concentrates on that.

"America's pop princess getting hitched was big news," Tony says with a hint of protest in his voice.

"Yeah, if you're a middle aged man with a Lolita complex," McGee says under his breath. He'd thought Tony would cry when they'd heard, and McGee was pretty sure he had cried when she married husband number two.

"I heard that, Probie. What about you and the Olsen twins? Counting down until they turned eighteen, that's just sick."

"That was purely out of intellectual curiosity. Besides, you did it, too. And what about you and that Jessica girl from Dark Angel?"

"She was already legal by the time it aired, and she wasn't the only reason I watched it, unlike some people," Tony refills his glass, thoroughly amused.

"Oh, yeah? Let me guess, you identified with Logan Cale?"

"Actually, I did think he was a lot like me. You know, if I were altruistic and terminally pissed off."

"DiNozzo, McGee," Gibbs says, completely lost in the conversation but certain that it needs to end.

"Yes, Boss?" they answer in unison, turning simultaneously to shoot each other dirty looks.

"Shut the hell up. People are trying to eat," Abby says in her best Gibbs voice. Gibbs, for his part, just smiles sweetly, if any expression of his can ever be called sweet, thinking that she's learned well.

"Abs, look at me," Tony touches her chin, turning her face toward him. "You've got chocolate on your nose," he dabs it away gently with his napkin.

"Thank you," she says softly. The conversations around them grind to a halt as she closes the space between them with a kiss. In truth, it's relatively chaste, downright puritanical for them, but there's a tenderness to it, a certain softness in both of their eyes that doesn't escape notice as they pull apart.

McGee stares determinedly out the window. Ziva stares at Abby and Tony, a million questions frozen on her lips. Abby looks up just in time to see Gibbs leave the room, coffee cup in hand. Palmer gapes openly at them until Ducky clears his throat.

"I think I'll put on another pot of coffee. Does anyone need anything?" Abby asks, forcing herself into happy!Abby mode, even though she'd rather just stick her tongue out at all them and climb into Tony's lap. Maturity is highly overrated.

"Abigail, you've done enough. Let me see to the refreshments," Ducky motions for her to sit back down. "Timothy, perhaps you'd be kind enough to give me a hand?"

"Ah, um, sure, Ducky," McGee shakes his head, avoiding Abby's gaze as he follows Ducky. Palmer, looking more uncertain than ever, trails behind. Ziva just smirks, leaning back in her chair.

"Think I'll go join the men in the kitchen," Tony scowls. What upside down and backward world is this? The men should be gathering around a game, not hiding in the kitchen, gossiping like old ladies.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," Ziva remarks, for once nailing the expression. "I didn't think he was your type, Abby."

"He's a friend, Ziva," Abby sighs, twisting her ring again. "No more, no less."

"You kiss all of your friends like that?" she slides over to the couch, not quite invading Abby's personal space.

"Some. Are you jealous, Ziva? Must be awfully lonely in a new city," Abby raises one eyebrow. She's Abby, she stares down Gibbs and wins. Sometimes. She will not back down in her own house—okay it's not her house, but she's still tonight's hostess, and Tony's her...something, so it's sort of her house. Anyway, she will not give this ‘ooh look at me, I'm a superspy' chick a single inch. She will not back down, for she is Abby. And she might be nuts, waving a red flag in front of a bull.

"I find ways to occupy my time," Ziva says smoothly. "McGee provides some lovely... distractions."

"Trust me, I know," Abby enjoys the tiny crack that appears in Ziva's cool. It's just a quick blink, but it's enough to make her smile as she follows the boys into the kitchen.