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Here's part two of Protected. It is for BJ, the cat.
There are two, slightly different endings. The second one is divided from the first with this:
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The second one is slightly mushy, but I think my mushometer rings the bell comparatively lower than others, so...It deals with Abby and Shannon.
Part Two.
Abby lay on her side, breathing deeply. She’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he’d lowered her to the mattress, but she’d fought it, telling him that she wanted to talk to him. He knew she was still beating herself up, but he wasn’t sure how to make her feel better.
She seemed to have relaxed in his presence, her fingers hooked through the metal links of his bracelet, an unconscious attempt to keep him close to her.
She was still in her clothes; grey pants with pockets all over them and a black stretchy cotton top, sleeves falling to her knuckles, v-neckline scooped low. He’d propped her up long enough to slide her multi-buckled belt from her waist, and it still lay, cast aside by the bed next to her shoes. He was glad at least that they weren’t the same clothes as when he’d last seen her. He supposed he’d have to thank Tony for taking care of her.
She shifted in her sleep, snuggling closer towards him, her belly pressed against his stomach, as he too lay on his side, facing her. He scanned every inch of her, as if she might have changed in three days. He was glad to see that, apart from the weary lines under her eyes, she had remained the same. He’d have hated to have missed something.
He couldn’t believe he’d been gone for three days. It hadn’t felt like it. He’d driven around a lot and at one point he’d visited Shannon’s grave. Lying in bed now, he shivered with regret at the memory of cursing Abby vehemently, steadfast in his belief that nobody could ever replace his first wife, least of all Abby. Seeing her, breathing deeply, fingers latched around his wrist in fright, he knew that wasn’t true.
She was six months pregnant, she didn’t need this kind of stress, and it was evident she had been feeling it. She’d even told him that Ducky had needed to give her something to help her sleep. Fury with himself building, he realized that Abby had it all wrong; she shouldn’t be blaming herself, she should be blaming him. It was all he could do to restrain himself from waking her up to tell her so. Abby had said something stupid, but it was a mistake that she recognized; something that had happened in a fraction of a second, when she’d been overcome with fear. He’d made a decision, and it hadn’t lasted a fraction of a second, it had lasted seventy-two hours until he’d been so overwhelmed with longing for the little growing baby and the house it lived in that he’d come back.
Whilst he was contemplating telling her of his thoughts, feeling deserving of her anger, she woke up, the tension in his body palpable. For the tiniest section of time she tried to move closer to him, but was quickly reminded of the bump in front of her.
Smiling, she twitched her nose to the left, a habit of hers that he found amusing. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
Disappointment with himself still washed through him, lapping at the inside of his skin and rocking from side to side in his chest cavity like a rickety boat on choppy seas. “I’m never leaving.”
There was a conviction in his voice, so strong, that her smile grew wider. It was painful to watch, and he averted his gaze to her neck.
“Gibbs?”
“I’m not leaving. I’m not.”
“I know.” She traced her finger along his jaw. “I know. I don’t deserve you.”
He sprang up from the bed, almost not hearing her sharp cry as her fingers bent, caught in his bracelet. He quickly sat down again, grabbing her hand gently in his. “Are you alright?” He inspected her fingers, but when she chuckled, he looked up at her.
“They’re just fingers, Gibbs. They’re not broken.”
“Are you ok?” he asked again, insistently.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Please don’t start being annoying.”
He pushed up from the mattress again, pacing at the head of the bed.
She sat up, struggling for a minute. “Gibbs, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Stop apologizing, Abby,” he said, as he scrubbed his hand over his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“You don’t need to keep apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong, I did.”
“What did you do wrong?” She stared up at him, wide-eyed in disbelief, crossing her legs underneath her.
Once again, he was struck by how much faith she had in him. Sometimes it felt like a burden, her innocent belief that he could fix and solve everything and was completely devoid of fault; a weight too great for him to carry, when carrying it meant so much. He worried every now and then that she didn’t really understand the nature of his past work. Sometimes though, it made him ridiculously pleased, that there was still someone in the world who trusted him so implicitly, who equated him with safety and protection. To have it be her, such an intelligent person, was reassuring.
That was what had jolted him, when she’d been afraid of him in the elevator. Gibbs was used to looking into the eyes of those who were about to die, but to see such terror in hers was startling. Now though, she looked up at him with nothing but trust, trust he wasn’t sure he deserved.
He remained silent. If he told her about his thoughts at Shannon’s grave, she might never forgive him. Or she might, and he didn’t know if he could deal with that.
She was all roundness and curves. Pale skin and dark clothes, eye-shadow smudged around her eyes, a sleepy, beautiful bundle before him.
He smiled sadly and shook his head. “I left you, but I’m back now. Do you want something to drink?”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Gibbs woke up when a hand slid across his chest. He blinked, staring up at the ceiling, before tiling his head to look at Abby. She was on her side, the only way she felt she could sleep these days, her eyes fluttering. He loved watching her wake up, she would always stretch, cat-like, wiggling her toes.
Blinking rapidly, her eyes focused on him.
“Mornin’.” Sometimes, when she was sleepy, her old southern accent would creep slightly in.
He didn’t reply, continuing to look up at the ceiling. He didn’t trust himself to look at her.
She poked him. “What’s up?” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “This is about that thing you were going to tell me last night, isn’t it?” She laughed at his shocked expression. “Yeah, I know you chickened out about something. So, you going to tell me? If you’re not, then you need to stop sulking, yes, sulking, don’t look at me like that.”
Gibbs didn’t think anybody had ever told him to stop sulking before, simply because he didn’t think he’d ever done it.
Thinking of a way to broach the subject, he asked tentatively, “how do you feel about Shannon?”
Abby stilled beside him, shrugging slightly. “I don’t know…I’m not jealous, if that’s what you think. I just think she was part of something really sad. Mostly, I just feel sad for you.”
“Do you think I love you as much as her?”
“Well, that’s a question to ask a girl when she’d just woken up.”
He stared at her, waiting for an answer.
She sighed exasperatedly. “I don’t know! How am I supposed to answer that? I think that if you loved her like I think you love me, then she’d be happy.”
“Very diplomatic there, Abby. Answer the question.”
She cast her gaze around the room, as if seeking inspiration from something. “I think…I mean, sometimes I think that if she was still alive, you would never have ended up with me. Doesn’t mean I’m glad she’s gone, obviously. Ultimately though, there’s no point in speculating on things like that.”
“You’re still not answering the question.”
She pursed her lips. “Yes, I think you do. I think you’re so sad that she and Kelly are gone that sometimes you can’t sleep, but I don’t think it means you love me any less. I used to think you’d swap me for her if you could, but I don’t think that anymore.”
Gibbs sighed. “When I was gone…I thought that I could never love you as much as her. That you could never replace her.”
Abby stilled beside him, taking his words in. She averted her gaze, looking down at her pillow.
“Then, in seventy-two hours, I missed you as much as I’ve missed Shannon all these years. I couldn’t bear being away from you.”
Abby looked up at him. “Well, that’s ok then.”
Gibbs reeled in shock.
“People say crazy things when they’re upset, Gibbs. I said something I didn’t mean, and so did you. So, you didn’t mean it?”
“No,” he replied quickly, forcefully.
“Well, that’s ok then. Even you, Mr. Grouchy-Stoic-pants, still has feelings that they can’t always control. Now, if it’s alright with you, all this talk is making me feel hungry. I think, as punishment for your crimes, you should make me some toast.”
“I make you toast and I’m forgiven?”
Abby chuckled. “When has anything else about me been conventional?”
That, Gibbs had to concede, was true.
Also, here's a little Driven post-ep drabble that I couldn't really find a home for.
The elevator door pinged and Gibbs stepped out of it. Rounding the partition walls of the squad-room, he turned to his desk, only to discover it was already occupied.
Abby, still in her red evidence jumpsuit, was sitting in his chair, upper body on the tabletop as she rested her cheek on her arms pillowed in front of her. It was obvious she was asleep, but as he drew nearer to her, it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t sleeping easily. Her breathing was hitched, slightly gasping. Her face scrunched up and she coughed.
Putting his coffee on his desk, he knelt down beside her and brushed her hair from her face.
“Abs. Wake up.”
She choked slightly, and her eyes sprung open, wide and scared.
He curled his fingers around her neck, thumb moving slowly up and down and his other hand to her side, helping her to sit up and breathe easier.
“You ok?”
She nodded, blinking rapidly. “Hey.”
He smiled. “Hey.” Leaning forward, her kissed her temple.
“Heard you got a little grumpy in Interrogation today.”
Nodding, he chuckled. She coughed again and he rubbed her back gently, before hooking his arm around her and lifting her up.
“Let’s get you home.”
Comments are love. I don't normally post in parts, so don't worry.
There are two, slightly different endings. The second one is divided from the first with this:
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The second one is slightly mushy, but I think my mushometer rings the bell comparatively lower than others, so...It deals with Abby and Shannon.
Part Two.
Abby lay on her side, breathing deeply. She’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he’d lowered her to the mattress, but she’d fought it, telling him that she wanted to talk to him. He knew she was still beating herself up, but he wasn’t sure how to make her feel better.
She seemed to have relaxed in his presence, her fingers hooked through the metal links of his bracelet, an unconscious attempt to keep him close to her.
She was still in her clothes; grey pants with pockets all over them and a black stretchy cotton top, sleeves falling to her knuckles, v-neckline scooped low. He’d propped her up long enough to slide her multi-buckled belt from her waist, and it still lay, cast aside by the bed next to her shoes. He was glad at least that they weren’t the same clothes as when he’d last seen her. He supposed he’d have to thank Tony for taking care of her.
She shifted in her sleep, snuggling closer towards him, her belly pressed against his stomach, as he too lay on his side, facing her. He scanned every inch of her, as if she might have changed in three days. He was glad to see that, apart from the weary lines under her eyes, she had remained the same. He’d have hated to have missed something.
He couldn’t believe he’d been gone for three days. It hadn’t felt like it. He’d driven around a lot and at one point he’d visited Shannon’s grave. Lying in bed now, he shivered with regret at the memory of cursing Abby vehemently, steadfast in his belief that nobody could ever replace his first wife, least of all Abby. Seeing her, breathing deeply, fingers latched around his wrist in fright, he knew that wasn’t true.
She was six months pregnant, she didn’t need this kind of stress, and it was evident she had been feeling it. She’d even told him that Ducky had needed to give her something to help her sleep. Fury with himself building, he realized that Abby had it all wrong; she shouldn’t be blaming herself, she should be blaming him. It was all he could do to restrain himself from waking her up to tell her so. Abby had said something stupid, but it was a mistake that she recognized; something that had happened in a fraction of a second, when she’d been overcome with fear. He’d made a decision, and it hadn’t lasted a fraction of a second, it had lasted seventy-two hours until he’d been so overwhelmed with longing for the little growing baby and the house it lived in that he’d come back.
Whilst he was contemplating telling her of his thoughts, feeling deserving of her anger, she woke up, the tension in his body palpable. For the tiniest section of time she tried to move closer to him, but was quickly reminded of the bump in front of her.
Smiling, she twitched her nose to the left, a habit of hers that he found amusing. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
Disappointment with himself still washed through him, lapping at the inside of his skin and rocking from side to side in his chest cavity like a rickety boat on choppy seas. “I’m never leaving.”
There was a conviction in his voice, so strong, that her smile grew wider. It was painful to watch, and he averted his gaze to her neck.
“Gibbs?”
“I’m not leaving. I’m not.”
“I know.” She traced her finger along his jaw. “I know. I don’t deserve you.”
He sprang up from the bed, almost not hearing her sharp cry as her fingers bent, caught in his bracelet. He quickly sat down again, grabbing her hand gently in his. “Are you alright?” He inspected her fingers, but when she chuckled, he looked up at her.
“They’re just fingers, Gibbs. They’re not broken.”
“Are you ok?” he asked again, insistently.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Please don’t start being annoying.”
He pushed up from the mattress again, pacing at the head of the bed.
She sat up, struggling for a minute. “Gibbs, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Stop apologizing, Abby,” he said, as he scrubbed his hand over his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“You don’t need to keep apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong, I did.”
“What did you do wrong?” She stared up at him, wide-eyed in disbelief, crossing her legs underneath her.
Once again, he was struck by how much faith she had in him. Sometimes it felt like a burden, her innocent belief that he could fix and solve everything and was completely devoid of fault; a weight too great for him to carry, when carrying it meant so much. He worried every now and then that she didn’t really understand the nature of his past work. Sometimes though, it made him ridiculously pleased, that there was still someone in the world who trusted him so implicitly, who equated him with safety and protection. To have it be her, such an intelligent person, was reassuring.
That was what had jolted him, when she’d been afraid of him in the elevator. Gibbs was used to looking into the eyes of those who were about to die, but to see such terror in hers was startling. Now though, she looked up at him with nothing but trust, trust he wasn’t sure he deserved.
He remained silent. If he told her about his thoughts at Shannon’s grave, she might never forgive him. Or she might, and he didn’t know if he could deal with that.
She was all roundness and curves. Pale skin and dark clothes, eye-shadow smudged around her eyes, a sleepy, beautiful bundle before him.
He smiled sadly and shook his head. “I left you, but I’m back now. Do you want something to drink?”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Gibbs woke up when a hand slid across his chest. He blinked, staring up at the ceiling, before tiling his head to look at Abby. She was on her side, the only way she felt she could sleep these days, her eyes fluttering. He loved watching her wake up, she would always stretch, cat-like, wiggling her toes.
Blinking rapidly, her eyes focused on him.
“Mornin’.” Sometimes, when she was sleepy, her old southern accent would creep slightly in.
He didn’t reply, continuing to look up at the ceiling. He didn’t trust himself to look at her.
She poked him. “What’s up?” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “This is about that thing you were going to tell me last night, isn’t it?” She laughed at his shocked expression. “Yeah, I know you chickened out about something. So, you going to tell me? If you’re not, then you need to stop sulking, yes, sulking, don’t look at me like that.”
Gibbs didn’t think anybody had ever told him to stop sulking before, simply because he didn’t think he’d ever done it.
Thinking of a way to broach the subject, he asked tentatively, “how do you feel about Shannon?”
Abby stilled beside him, shrugging slightly. “I don’t know…I’m not jealous, if that’s what you think. I just think she was part of something really sad. Mostly, I just feel sad for you.”
“Do you think I love you as much as her?”
“Well, that’s a question to ask a girl when she’d just woken up.”
He stared at her, waiting for an answer.
She sighed exasperatedly. “I don’t know! How am I supposed to answer that? I think that if you loved her like I think you love me, then she’d be happy.”
“Very diplomatic there, Abby. Answer the question.”
She cast her gaze around the room, as if seeking inspiration from something. “I think…I mean, sometimes I think that if she was still alive, you would never have ended up with me. Doesn’t mean I’m glad she’s gone, obviously. Ultimately though, there’s no point in speculating on things like that.”
“You’re still not answering the question.”
She pursed her lips. “Yes, I think you do. I think you’re so sad that she and Kelly are gone that sometimes you can’t sleep, but I don’t think it means you love me any less. I used to think you’d swap me for her if you could, but I don’t think that anymore.”
Gibbs sighed. “When I was gone…I thought that I could never love you as much as her. That you could never replace her.”
Abby stilled beside him, taking his words in. She averted her gaze, looking down at her pillow.
“Then, in seventy-two hours, I missed you as much as I’ve missed Shannon all these years. I couldn’t bear being away from you.”
Abby looked up at him. “Well, that’s ok then.”
Gibbs reeled in shock.
“People say crazy things when they’re upset, Gibbs. I said something I didn’t mean, and so did you. So, you didn’t mean it?”
“No,” he replied quickly, forcefully.
“Well, that’s ok then. Even you, Mr. Grouchy-Stoic-pants, still has feelings that they can’t always control. Now, if it’s alright with you, all this talk is making me feel hungry. I think, as punishment for your crimes, you should make me some toast.”
“I make you toast and I’m forgiven?”
Abby chuckled. “When has anything else about me been conventional?”
That, Gibbs had to concede, was true.
Also, here's a little Driven post-ep drabble that I couldn't really find a home for.
The elevator door pinged and Gibbs stepped out of it. Rounding the partition walls of the squad-room, he turned to his desk, only to discover it was already occupied.
Abby, still in her red evidence jumpsuit, was sitting in his chair, upper body on the tabletop as she rested her cheek on her arms pillowed in front of her. It was obvious she was asleep, but as he drew nearer to her, it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t sleeping easily. Her breathing was hitched, slightly gasping. Her face scrunched up and she coughed.
Putting his coffee on his desk, he knelt down beside her and brushed her hair from her face.
“Abs. Wake up.”
She choked slightly, and her eyes sprung open, wide and scared.
He curled his fingers around her neck, thumb moving slowly up and down and his other hand to her side, helping her to sit up and breathe easier.
“You ok?”
She nodded, blinking rapidly. “Hey.”
He smiled. “Hey.” Leaning forward, her kissed her temple.
“Heard you got a little grumpy in Interrogation today.”
Nodding, he chuckled. She coughed again and he rubbed her back gently, before hooking his arm around her and lifting her up.
“Let’s get you home.”
Comments are love. I don't normally post in parts, so don't worry.