(no subject)
Well. It's been a while! Hope you're all well!
This is sort of rubbish, but it's irredeemable rubbish, hence the posting. The muse has been elusive the past few days, so I said to myself, "Self! We must write Jane's christmas fic. If the muse won't help, then it's up to the two of us!"
Ok, that is true, but I've also been consumed by Stargate: Atlantis.
So, for Jane, who is dealing with stupidity on the left, sadness on the right and no tinsel fics in front!
. . . .
Gibbs deals with how different Abby's clothes are from everything he finds normal.
The tricky thing about Abby was that she made people look at things differently. Particularly her. It wasn’t deliberate, she wasn’t really the sort of person to force anybody’s opinion unless it was important. What people thought of her was a triviality when compared to the wonders of chemicals and fingerprints and Gibbs’ gut.
She’d crash landed into a Federal building, and in one fell yet innocent swoop the NCIS staff were confronted head on by buckles, heels and fishnets. An inhuman coffee consumption level was something they already had a bit of experience with, which helped to cushion the blow. Federal personnel, in their ironed skirts, starched collars and neatly knotted ties were thrust into a world of bouncing cheeriness wrapped in black. To everybody’s surprise, they fell slightly in love with her. They didn’t see their affection as a concession; didn’t see being nice to her as a necessary step in getting results in the lab, but rather something she quite unknowingly elicited from them that they were happy to give.
People found themselves learning about the world of Goths. Learning that there was room for spikes in an Investigative Service where there hadn’t always been before. By the book security guards, analysts from straight-laced families, laid back yet quick-thinking agents and ordinary folk were bowled over by the bundle of happiness, quirkiness and intelligence that was Abby.
For Gibbs, growing accustomed to her clothes had been a process. At first, he’d been thrown off, thinking that her unusual attire was indicative of her being strange, but inoffensive all the same. He’d quite quickly grown to like her that way. Eventually, he’d reached the point where the thought of her dressed like the agents he supervised was unnatural, not the other way around.
It was only years later, long after the dust that accompanied her arrival had settled that things got trickier for him. They’d reached the point where he was the one, apart from herself first and foremost, that she was dressing for. His attraction to her wasn’t based on her clothing. The issue was that when Abby dressed for effect, he had to learn what she was going for.
None of the women he’d even been with dressed the way she did. For years, he’d responded to a bit of leg and curves under clothes. He wasn’t the sort to be focused on looks, but he responded to them all the same. Being with her meant he had to re-evaluate things; figure out what was normal and what was sexy. Were fishnet sleeves over a black tank top par for the course, or were they a signal of fun in the future? After a while his mind seemed to make itself up subconsciously, and things that he’d never really considered sexy suddenly caught his eye. He learned where her skin was softest and therefore what he liked to see the most; the skin of her wrist held as much appeal to him now as red hair had to him in the past.
Ultimately though, he didn’t think about it too much. He wasn’t that sort of guy and Abby was amorous come rain, hail or shine, whatever she happened to be wearing.
This is sort of rubbish, but it's irredeemable rubbish, hence the posting. The muse has been elusive the past few days, so I said to myself, "Self! We must write Jane's christmas fic. If the muse won't help, then it's up to the two of us!"
Ok, that is true, but I've also been consumed by Stargate: Atlantis.
So, for Jane, who is dealing with stupidity on the left, sadness on the right and no tinsel fics in front!
. . . .
Gibbs deals with how different Abby's clothes are from everything he finds normal.
The tricky thing about Abby was that she made people look at things differently. Particularly her. It wasn’t deliberate, she wasn’t really the sort of person to force anybody’s opinion unless it was important. What people thought of her was a triviality when compared to the wonders of chemicals and fingerprints and Gibbs’ gut.
She’d crash landed into a Federal building, and in one fell yet innocent swoop the NCIS staff were confronted head on by buckles, heels and fishnets. An inhuman coffee consumption level was something they already had a bit of experience with, which helped to cushion the blow. Federal personnel, in their ironed skirts, starched collars and neatly knotted ties were thrust into a world of bouncing cheeriness wrapped in black. To everybody’s surprise, they fell slightly in love with her. They didn’t see their affection as a concession; didn’t see being nice to her as a necessary step in getting results in the lab, but rather something she quite unknowingly elicited from them that they were happy to give.
People found themselves learning about the world of Goths. Learning that there was room for spikes in an Investigative Service where there hadn’t always been before. By the book security guards, analysts from straight-laced families, laid back yet quick-thinking agents and ordinary folk were bowled over by the bundle of happiness, quirkiness and intelligence that was Abby.
For Gibbs, growing accustomed to her clothes had been a process. At first, he’d been thrown off, thinking that her unusual attire was indicative of her being strange, but inoffensive all the same. He’d quite quickly grown to like her that way. Eventually, he’d reached the point where the thought of her dressed like the agents he supervised was unnatural, not the other way around.
It was only years later, long after the dust that accompanied her arrival had settled that things got trickier for him. They’d reached the point where he was the one, apart from herself first and foremost, that she was dressing for. His attraction to her wasn’t based on her clothing. The issue was that when Abby dressed for effect, he had to learn what she was going for.
None of the women he’d even been with dressed the way she did. For years, he’d responded to a bit of leg and curves under clothes. He wasn’t the sort to be focused on looks, but he responded to them all the same. Being with her meant he had to re-evaluate things; figure out what was normal and what was sexy. Were fishnet sleeves over a black tank top par for the course, or were they a signal of fun in the future? After a while his mind seemed to make itself up subconsciously, and things that he’d never really considered sexy suddenly caught his eye. He learned where her skin was softest and therefore what he liked to see the most; the skin of her wrist held as much appeal to him now as red hair had to him in the past.
Ultimately though, he didn’t think about it too much. He wasn’t that sort of guy and Abby was amorous come rain, hail or shine, whatever she happened to be wearing.