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Title: God Laughs/Distractions
By: sandersyager
Pairing: Abby Sciuto/Tony DiNozzo
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: Fairly PG-13 at this point
Spoilers: vague and broad references to Season Three
Notes: Very much a WIP because I never finish anything before starting a new project. Throwing it out for constructive criticism.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Abby makes a deal. Tony makes a list. McGee makes his debut as a writer. Gibbs makes some coffee. Ziva makes an appearance. Unresolved sexual tension like a mofo.

***

Wednesday

“Just give me a week. Seven days, seven nights,” he said, steering his car into his usual space. On the other end of the phone, she sighed, glancing at the monitor again.

“A week? You think you can convince me in a week?” she turned the screen off with an impatient gesture.

“Call it a trial period. If you don’t like the toy, just return it to the store in it’s original packaging,” he grinned, glancing in the mirror. He straightened his tie and opened the door. “I’m confident that you’ll enjoy the experience.”

“So cocky,” she shook her head, urging the results to move faster.

“I’d also need you to agree to a few more things,” he said.

“I’m giving you the week, what else do you want?” she asked, twirling in her chair. Her pigtails swung just a half second behind and it amused her.

“I’ll get back to you with a list. I’m at the door and the boss is catching up,” he cast a glance over his shoulder, seeing Gibbs struggling with something in his car.

“You’ve got two hours. Tell my silver haired fox that I’m expecting chocolate for the surprise I’ve got waiting down here,” she laughed and the phone went dead in his hand. He hated when she did that.
*

“So, I’m told you’ve earned chocolate?” the gentle voice startled her and she nearly fell from her chair at the hand on her shoulder. He caught her smoothly, that knowing and apologetic look on his face.

“I’ve earned all the chocolate in Hershey, PA, in fact, which is actually a lot less than you’d think You’d be better off with Swiss-made imported bars or maybe Cadbury, from England? And dark, not milk, it’s better for you,” she grinned. “Or there’s the Chocolate Bar in New York. They’re great for domestic—”

“Abby,” gentle turned to the warning tone she loved and she put on her serious face.

“So, those prints on the handle of the knife? Not just blood, chocolate. The stains on the sheet? Chocolate. Well, and blood, but the chocolate is a particular brand, all organic and only sold in three stores near the hotel. I got the surveillance tapes from the stores last night and guess who shows up buying three bars on Monday afternoon?” Abby pressed a quick series of buttons and pulled up a still from the tapes. “Ta-da!”

“Great job, Abs,” Gibbs was already gone, his voice carrying through the closing door. Damn, she hated when he did that.
*

“I did it, okay? She was a fucking bitch and got what she deserved,” the suspect, a thin, moderately attractive woman in her thirties, sat back in her chair. Behind the mirror, Tony passed McGee the box of M&Ms, and both were surprised when Gibbs reached over and tipped a few into his own hand.

“Better than cable, huh, boys?” Gibbs said softly, watching Ziva lean back in her own chair, carefully reflecting the other woman’s posture.

“More like free p—yeah, Boss,” Tony winced but the slap didn’t come, just another of those soft chuckles. He relaxed, reaching for the bottle of juice at his feet. Then the smack came. One day he’d learn.

“So she deserved to be stabbed forty three times?” Ziva asked in carefully measured syllables.

“Yes. She manipulated my little sister into marrying her, risking her entire military career, then goes prowling for women while Cara’s in Afghanistan risking her life for this country everyday. Yeah, she deserved it, and a lot more,” the woman’s voice carried clearly through the small speakers.

“Well, I believe we’re done here,” Ziva closed the file in front of her and rose. She joined the others in the hallway, saying nothing.

“Nice job, David,” Gibbs finally broke the silence as they entered the bullpen. “I expect the reports on my desk by six, then you’re free to go.”

“I must be dreaming,” Tony slumped over his desk. “An actual night off. An actual night off with time for a date. Thank you, God.”

“I’m not God, DiNozzo, although more than a few have made that mistake,” Gibbs called over his shoulder.

“You have big plans then, DiNozzo?” Ziva leaned casually against the edge of his desk, a little too casually for his taste.

“Only the biggest. Say, Ziva, you’re a woman,” Tony said as if it had just occurred to him.

“Yes, Tony, I am, and no, Tony, I don’t care if you’re a man. I told you no and I meant it,” Ziva moved quickly to her own chair.

“Not where I was going and you’ll change your mind. I was going to ask for your opinion, but I guess I’ll have settle for McGee.”

“I...I’m not a woman, Tony,” McGee looked over his monitor at the two, wishing they’d just shut up. His head was still pounding from getting punched earlier and he’d give his arms for an ice pack and a nice soft bed, but Ducky said no sleeping for at least eight hours.

“I know that, Probie, and it’s a good thing you aren’t because, man, you’d be an ugly chick.”

“And you’d probably try to kiss me,” McGee muttered.

“Tony, I didn’t know you had a thing for, what’s the word? Transsexuals?”

“I don’t. It’s a long story, and one I’d rather not tell, thanks,” Tony felt his face burn just a little at the memory. Wasn’t so bad at the time, it was just that people kept talking about it. “Know what, guys? Just forget it.”

“Oh, Tony, you can tell us. You know how I hate it when you pout,” Ziva smirked.
*

Abby scowled in her lab, staring at the neatly printed list, written on the back of a pizza receipt. She couldn’t be considering this, not seriously. It broke at least half a dozen of the rules she didn’t have, and probably wouldn’t be following anyway, but this was major.

“Seven days, Abby girl, it’s only seven days,” she reminded herself, reading the list again. Most of it was basic stuff, things she already owned. A few she’d have to buy, nothing that surprised her, and everything that told her his plan didn’t exactly require a new wardrobe. For the most part, it looked like her usual grocery list.

It was the last item and the note that bugged her, a key to her apartment and the words anytime, anywhere. Her apartment was her sanctuary and she didn’t want anyone just walking in. Of course, he wasn’t just anyone, and he’d been there loads of times, but she never gave out keys. Granted, Gibbs had one, but that was only for emergencies. Like when she would run out of caffeine in the middle of the night and he’d hit a wall with the boat and so he’d come over and they’d watch the sunrise from her couch. This was different.

She was still thinking about the list when the doors slid open.

“Oh, hey, McGee,” she smiled tiredly, tucking the list into her pocket.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Go? Oh, the reading. Sorry. I was just thinking about...” Abby reached for her jacket.

“Everything but me?” McGee said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m getting used to it.”

“You know that’s not true. I still adore you, Tim,” she rubbed her knuckles against his cheek. “And I’m so proud of you for doing this tonight and so glad you invited me.”

“Invited you where? Can I come?” Tony asked loudly from the doorway. McGee blushed and Abby frowned.

“None of your business and no,” Abby said firmly, taking McGee’s hand and pulling him along as she walked out.

“Maybe we should ask him, Abby,” McGee said softly as they waited for the elevator. Tony stood a few feet away, conspicuous in his attempt to be inconspicuous. Another second and he’d start whistling and then McGee would be forced to kill him. Despite the aspirin, his head was still at a dull throb.

“It’s your gig, McGee,” she shrugged. As McGee turned his back to her, she pulled the list from her pocket and caught Tony’s eye.

“I’m, ah, doing a reading tonight. Abby’s coming as moral support. If you, um, wanted to tag along, Tony,” McGee stammered. Abby saw Tony bite back a laugh, and mimed ripping the list then signed ‘quid pro quo,’ one of the few signs she’d been willing to teach him.

“Sure, McGee. I’d love to,” Tony threw an arm around Tim’s shoulder, ever so subtly flipping Abby off as he did so. “This reading, there will be girls there, yes?”

“Ah, I believe so,” McGee shot Abby a doubtful look and she just shrugged.
*

The small girl with the severe haircut and unfortunate glasses cleared her throat for a fifth time and Abby considered taking her a glass of water or better yet, a shot of something to calm her nerves. Tony sighed for the seventeenth time and flashed her a tortured look. McGee was getting the third round of drinks and blushing profusely at the flirtations of the barista.

“She walks like night, brings sunshine to us all, eats fear like breakfast cereal, breathes peppermint and love...” the girl on stage continued, eyes firmly glued the notebook in her trembling hands.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Tony said under his breath, wishing the place at least sold beer. You’d have to be drunk to enjoy this, although Abby seemed pretty content. Goths couldn’t be trusted for their taste in poetry though, everyone knew that. Give ‘em one faux-Poe and a little melancholy and they were hooked, he thought.

“Be nice, Tony. It’s her first time,” Abby whispered, lifting his hand from her thigh for at least the fourth time. “And keep those paws to yourself.”

“Have you thought about the list?” he asked, folding his hands on the table like a good little boy.

“Come back to my place when we’re done here. I have some questions,” she said, watching McGee’s return. He tripped, as she expected, over the backpack of the twelve year sitting two tables away. He also recovered well, only spilling a little of Abby’s soda on his shirt.

“All right, guys, I’m up next. Wish me luck?” he looked only at Abby as he bent down to pick up his laptop. Yes, he would be reading directly from his computer. Geek, Tony thought, with a surprising amount of affection mixed in with the usual extreme irritation.

“You know it,” Abby smiled, standing to lean over the small table and kiss him. She questioned the wisdom of it when she saw how red his face had grown as he headed for the stage.
*

“That was...weird,” Tony said later, buckled into the passenger seat of Abby’s car. It was also weird that she was driving an SUV, but he decided to leave that conversation for later.

“What?” she yelled over the radio, reaching to turn down the latest sounds of Merchant Death Syndrome or some equally oddly named band.

“That was weird, the reading,” he said again, his ears ringing.

“Yeah, a little on the maudlin side, but McGee did good,” she danced in her seat, to some beat in the music he couldn’t have located with a GPS system and a guide.

“He’s actually a decent writer. If you tell him I said that, I’ll kill you.”

“Love to see you try, Tony. I’m quite handy with a roll of duct tape and a soda, just think what I could do with a little time to plan,” she said, grin plastered in place and slightly threatening in the shadows. “Speaking of plans, wanna clue me in on yours?”

“Does that mean you agree?”

“Not yet. I told you, I have questions. Questions best answered over a pizza and a movie, I think,” she parallel parked across the street from her building, edging the truck smoothly between two smaller cars. He followed her inside and onto the elevator.

“Have a movie in mind?” he asked, leaning against the wall. Abby thought he did that a little too often and a little too well, looking a little too much like a cat lying in wait for prey. And she liked it a little too much. It would be easy to step across the space between them and press the length of her body against his, tucking her face into the space between his neck and his shoulder. She stayed where she was, carefully balanced on her tall boots, keys in her hand and bag on her shoulder.

“Not really, but I thought we could decide together for once.”

“Hmm... something from the John Hughes oeuvre perhaps? Molly Ringwald, Anthony Michael Hall?”

“Sixteen Candles or Breakfast Club? I can’t do Pretty in Pink, not tonight,” she said, unlocking her door. Tony headed straight for the shelves, and Abby left him to it, dropping her bag in the bedroom and peeling out of her vinyl pants. When she returned, he was on the phone to the pizza place, and she was in pajamas.

“Food’s on the way, movie’s ready to go, your Caf-Pow’s on the table,” he said as he placed the phone back on the cradle. She folded herself into the space between the couch and the coffee table, handing him her brush. He pulled the bands out of her braids gently and handed her the remote.

“Do you ever think maybe we’re a little too comfortable with each other, DiNozzo?” she turned to look at him.

“No such thing, Abs,” he touched her head, turning her back toward the television. Honestly, he didn’t mind pampering her, just a little. He liked the way her hair felt under his fingers, and the way she tilted her head just a little against his thigh when he was done. She curled her hand around his ankle, scratching lightly along his calf under his jeans and he liked that, too. The women he dated didn’t always appreciate the small touches, at least not enough to give them, although they’d accept them gladly.

“So, your list,” she said finally, fifteen minutes into the film. “I’m totally down for most of it, and totally curious, but I’m not giving you a key.”

“Okay. I can live with that,” he said, drawing the brush over the length of the strands in his hand. He gathered all of her hair, just the way she’d shown him, and wrapped it into a loose bun, letting his fingers linger a little longer than necessary on the back of her neck.

“And this anytime, anywhere thing? I assume we won’t be doing anything that could result in Gibbs accidentally-on-purpose shooting you or either us of standing on an unemployment line?”

“Well, I did have this thought about Madam’s office, but we can scratch that if you’d rather not,” he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder, tracing the spiderweb along her neck.

“Are you trying to distract me?” she asked. Whatever he said, she was already thoroughly distracted and had been since he’d started playing with her hair. Rubbing her neck was not helping the thoughts to form or the words to be coherent.

“Maybe,” he answered honestly. “That whole no touching at the reading, that was hot. And kissing McGee to make me jealous? That was kind of hot, too.”

“Wasn’t about you, Tony. Besides, it’s not like you’re my boyfriend,” she nipped at the inside of his thigh, just above his knee, knowing he’d barely feel it through the denim. He stroked the back of her head, smoothing her hair.

“Boyfriend? No, definitely not,” he said, leaning forward. He didn’t know what the hell he was to her, actually. Definitions hadn’t been big on either of their lists lately. “I haven’t been anyone’s boyfriend since I was seventeen.”

“Yeah? Was she a cheerleader?” Abby asked. He kissed her neck before answering, taking his time and making her squirm just a little. He was learning, slowly, what she liked, what was allowed.

“They, cheerleaders, plural. It was messy,” he said as the doorbell rang. Abby sprang up to answer it, and he took the moment to let out the breath he’d not quite been holding. They’d been doing this slow dance for weeks, late night movies, the odd phone call, touching just enough to make his jeans uncomfortable but not a damn thing that would give any release. If it were anyone else, they’d be in bed by now. The courtship, if that’s what this was, would’ve taken about fifteen seconds, but this was Abby. So, god only knew what it really was.

“Did they find out you were tumbling with the whole squad?” she asked, returning with two boxes and a stack of napkins. She settled on the couch beside him this time, thigh pressed against his.

“Exactly. The head cheerleader missed being crowned Homecoming Queen because the alternate gave her a black eye,” he said around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni.

“I wouldn’t have bothered with the other girls, I’d have kicked your ass,” she gestured at him with her breadstick. “It’s something I’ve never understood, going after the other woman, or in your case, women, rather than the guy.”

“Oh, they came after me, but it was less physical and more rumor mill. I had to start dating college girls three towns over. Wasn’t so bad, really. I learned a few things,” he got that soft nostalgic look, and Abby rolled her eyes.

“I’m not sitting through another bracing tale of young Anthony’s amazing sexual discoveries. Not tonight, please,” she flopped dramatically against him, careful not to bump his glass. “I’m begging you.”

“Begging, huh?” he said, voice just a fraction lower. “Not yet, but you will be.”

“Back to that. When does the week start?” she sat up again, reaching for her soda.

“That’s your call.”

“Friday after work? That gives us the weekend if you want it and assuming we don’t catch a case,” she said. They hadn’t had a Sunday off in six weeks, and free Saturdays were becoming a distant memory, but it was worth hoping.

“Friday after work,” he agreed.

***

Next story in series: God Laughs/Subtle.