Title: Without Question
Rating: R
Spoilers: Hmm. The Ari arc, Twilight, Frame Up, Bloodbath, Hiatus, season four.
Summary: It isn't a relationship. It's never been a relationship, and that's why it works.

Note: I started writing this and then read a couple of similar stories - one of which was iheartGibbs' A Walk Home (go read it, it's ace!) and I can't remember the other (if it's yours, give me a yell and I'll stick your name here!). I stopped writing it cause I didn't want to tread on toes, but I managed to finish it today, so thought I'd be okay sticking it up if I explained myself. :)

It isn't a relationship. It's never been a relationship, and that's why it works.

It started way back when, with a drunken encounter. At the time they lived practically in the same neighbourhood, only a few minutes' walk from the bar they, along with the rest of Gibbs' team, had been hanging out in one Friday night. He walked her to her door, concerned for her safety in her tipsy state. She smiled, thanked him, invited him in for coffee, which he declined.

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, as was routine by now. A split-second before his lips met her flesh, a cat knocked over a trash-can down the street, causing her to jump and turn her head. He wound up kissing her lips, and they froze that way for what seemed like an eternity, her wide green eyes staring into his.

She tentatively leaned into the kiss, her eyelids fluttering closed, and he couldn't help but respond, his body betraying him despite his good intentions. The moment stretched on, ending the possibility that he could step back, apologise, make light of the situation. He slid a hand up to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss, and she melted against him, a small sigh of pleasure escaping her lips.

He pulled back, his conscience screaming at him. We're both drunk. She'd never even consider this otherwise. "Abby…"

She rolled her eyes, anticipating his words. "'Abby, you're drunk, I'd be taking advantage, and I'm so much older than you…'" Smiling a little, she shook her head. "I'm old enough to know what I want, Gibbs. So I've had a few beers. Does that mean I don't fantasise about you when I'm sober?"

He took a breath to protest, but she clamped a hand over his mouth. "I'm not asking you to marry me. It's just a little fun." Before he could resist, she pulled him through her front door, shut and bolted it in record time, and kissed him again, slow and deep.

Hours later, when the enormity of what had happened hit him, he apologised. She mildly raised her head from his chest and told him to shut the hell up. They argued. She won, mainly because he didn't regret his actions one bit. Life went on as normal.

Years later, their friendship is as strong as ever. They never discuss this aspect of it. They begin and end relationships as they come; he takes up with a mysterious redhead for a while, she dates Tim McGee on and off for a year or so. They don't compare notes, or show more than a cursory interest in one another's personal lives.

But occasionally, when things get rough, he will catch her arm as she runs from one point in her lab to the other, pulling her up short to ask her if she's free that night. Or she'll catch his eye in the elevator, raise an eyebrow, and silently sign I need you.

And without question, no matter if there are significant others in their lives at the time, he'll appear at her door. They'll spend the night together, making love over and over, never speaking of the events that have prompted the encounter.

As Gibbs' obsession with Ari Haswari grows, he visits her often, taking out his frustration on her, fucking her almost violently. She understands, even encourages it, giving herself to him completely. When Kate is killed, she buries her face in his neck to hide her grief as he moves inside her. After she narrowly escapes death at the hands of Chip, he drives her home, pushes her back against the wall and buries his head between her legs until she screams out and slides to the floor.

When her Mikel Mawher problem comes to light and she spends the night at his place, he cures her fearful insomnia, kissing her until the anxiety is overshadowed by a tingling need. She takes control, riding them both to an intense climax, and then falls asleep atop him, legs still wrapped around his.

Only weeks later, as he puts a finger to her lips to silence the torrent of words that want to spill from her lips – Gibbs, no, please, think about this, I know you're angry, I know you're heartsick, but please, don't leave me! – she knows he'll visit her later that night. And when the doorbell rings, she brushes away her tears and flies to the door, flinging it open to throw herself into his arms, anaesthetising their pain with her kisses.

Four months later, she opens her door with a puzzled frown to find him standing there, tanned and bearded. For the first time in the entire time he's known her, she's speechless and motionless. He reaches out a hand to skim her cheek, unsure of his reception, and she finally surges forward with a cry of joy, kissing him so hard it almost hurts.

Life gets back to normal very quickly after that. For the first couple of months, he visits her a couple times a week, unasked, healing the rift that a third of a year's distance had caused.

After a while, as her newfound sugar-dependency fades and she stops being terrified that he'll leave again, they revert to their old signals. Abby begins dating Marty, and Gibbs starts a tumultuous relationship with Lieutenant Colenel Hollis Mann.

Neither of them has any qualms about lying to their partners. It's not cheating. It's Abby; and it's Gibbs. It's their secret, because it has to be. The truth would cause too many complications, and commitment is out of the question.

They keep it to themselves, and live without guilt. It's not a relationship, and that's why it works.