Title: Connected
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Bloodbath mainly.
Summary: Abby has always insisted she and Gibbs have a psychic connection, but when Mikel Mawher escapes from prison and abducts her, leaving no trail, will that connection be enough to save her?

Author's Note: I have no idea where this one came from, but I felt like writing something surreal. Hope it's not too random for people!

Gibbs' cell rings, the invasive trill slicing through the silence of the darkened room. He struggles up from sleep, answering the call before he's even processed what's woken him. "Gibbs."

His only answer is the dial tone, and he sighs, slamming the phone back down on the nightstand and closing his eyes.

He's just about to slide back into slumber when the cell rings again. Growling with exasperation, he grabs it and smashes his thumb down on the button to answer. "What?"

"Boss, we have a problem." It's DiNozzo, and there's a note of urgency in his voice that makes Gibbs forget his irritation in a second. "Mikel Mawher escaped from prison."

Gibbs' mind clears of fatigue instantly, and he gets out of bed, already reaching for his clothes. "Abby?"

"Just tried to call her. Home phone was off the hook, cell's going to voicemail. Boss, I think she-"

"Get over to her place right now. I'll meet you there." Before DiNozzo can respond, he ends the call and looks back through the call log. The hang-up he got five minutes ago was from Abby's apartment, and he hits redial, unable to take Tony's word for it.

Her phone's off the hook, as he said. Gibbs tries her cell as he heads for the door, and her chirpy, pre-recorded voice answers him, asking him to leave a message. By the time the beep sounds, he's tearing down the street toward her place, breaking the speed limit and not giving a damn about it.

He reaches Abby's apartment before DiNozzo does, entering the code to her building from memory and taking the stairs two at a time. Her door stands open, the lights on, a lamp and her telephone knocked to the floor. A Caf-Pow! cup is overturned on the kitchen tiles, spilling red fluid and melting ice.

He's visited Abby here countless times, and always there's been music filling the apartment. This time, there's nothing. Gibbs listens to the faint drone of the dial tone emanating from the fallen phone in numb disbelief, staring at the mess, unable to process the facts for critical seconds.

Hurried footsteps approach behind him, and DiNozzo arrives in the doorway. He surveys the scene with a whispered curse. "Where would he take her?"

The question jerks Gibbs out of his temporary paralysis, and he snaps into action, putting his personal feelings to the back of his mind. "Get David and McGee down here. I want this place sketched, shot, bagged and tagged within the next hour."

DiNozzo nods, taking out his cell and hitting his speed-dial. With a final glance around Abby's apartment, Gibbs heads for the door.

"Uh… Boss? Where are you-"

When Gibbs looks back at him, Tony flinches at the rage in his expression, although he knows it's not aimed at him. "Mawher's cell. I wanna know how the hell he got out, and why he had enough time to come here and take her before anyone saw fit to let us know!"

"We're gonna find her," Tony says quietly, his voice filled with a conviction Gibbs can tell he doesn't feel, deep down.

"You better be right, DiNozzo," he says, shaking his head. "You better be damn right."

"Special Agent Gibbs!"

When Jenny uses his full title, he knows she's seriously pissed off. But he's none too calm himself. "No, Director! You don't get to call the shots on this one. I'm in the middle of an investigation involving a member of my team, and I'm gonna run that investigation my way."

She meets his stare with one of her own, trying for icy, but she can't hide her concern. "Abby is a forensic scientist under the agency's employ, Jethro; not yours. Her safety is paramount." He opens his mouth to retort, but she cuts across him. "However, you're not functioning at full capacity right now. You haven't slept in over thirty-six hours, and you might have your team resting in shifts, but they're not working to the best of their abilities, either. I'm simply asking you to go home and get some sleep, letting Special Agent Stansfield's team take over while you rest. Then you can come back on the job and pick up where you left off, and-"

"Jenny." His eyes are grainy, his mind unfocused and his temperament less than rosy. She expects him to rant at her for a little longer, and his abrupt switch to quiet and reasonable jars her. Folding her arms, she waits for his words.

"With any other member of my team," he says, because whether Jen wants to admit it or not, Abby's always been his, "I'd agree with you. But Abby isn't an NCIS agent like DiNozzo and McGee. She's not Mossad, like Ziva. She's a forensic scientist with enough intelligence to know what can go wrong in these situations, and no field experience to help her avoid it. She's alone, she's scared, I need to get her back here, and no one's going to stop me."

Jenny takes a breath, but he cuts her off. "Regardless of rank."

They stare each other out for long moments. Gibbs is exhausted, but in the obstinacy stakes he's always had her beaten. She looks away first, sighing. "Do it your way, Jethro. Just bring her back safely."

He leaves her office without a word. It's been thirty-eight hours since Abby tried to call him, thirty-eight hours since he just rolled over and waited for sleep to claim him. The rational part of his brain knows that the five unsuspecting minutes between her call and DiNozzo's wouldn't have helped Abby even if he'd known what was going on. The part of him that's sick with anxiety and guilt, on the other hand, wants to dominate his thoughts.

Draining his twelfth cup of coffee, he gets back to work.

The room is small, claustrophobic rather than cosy, with faded floral wallpaper peeling off the walls. There's a bed, a threadbare armchair, a bookshelf loaded with tatty paperbacks and a dresser complete with a vanity mirror. A door stands half-open that leads to an en-suite bathroom.

The room could be anywhere; any town, in any country. And sitting in the armchair, a book lying forgotten in her lap, is Abby. She's pale, exhausted and scared, and as she looks up and notices him her eyes fill with tears.

"Gibbs…"

It's just a dream, but he can control his actions. Crossing the room to her in three rapid steps, he kneels in front of the chair, taking her in his arms. "Abby… Thank god."

"At least now you know I'm not dead," she says, squeezing him as tightly as he's holding her.

"Wish I did," he replies softly, reluctant to let her go.

She pulls back first, looking him in the eyes. "No, seriously, Gibbs. This is totally our psychic connection at work. I kept telling you, but would you listen? Guess it took me fearing for my life to make it work properly, but-"

"Abby…" he says, shaking his head as a wave of pain washes over him. Seeing her in this vivid dream, hearing her speak and rationalise things exactly as she would if she were there with him… it makes him crazy. And at the same time it's oddly reassuring.

"You don't believe me." Her face falls, and she bites her lip, fidgeting. "You have to, Gibbs! This is the only way I have of helping you find me – please, just try not to be such a cynic just this once! For me?"

Her desperation strikes an uneasy chord within him. Although he knows it's insane, he decides to humour her; what harm can it do? "Help me, then. Where are you?"

"I don't know," she murmurs, defeated. "I don't know anything. All I know is that I got in from Club Alterna at around four, and I locked the door but I was a little tipsy, so I didn't put the security chain on. And I went to the refrigerator and pulled out the Caf-Pow! I'd been saving, and then Mikel was there and he was trying to grab me. I ran for the phone and tried to call you, but he knocked it out of my hand, and then bam! Lights out, and I woke up here."

He gets to his feet, crossing to the drapes and yanking them open. The window beyond is boarded up, without a hope of seeing out. He tries the door next. Nothing. It really could be any room, in any town, anywhere. "I need more to go on, Abbs. Your trail's completely cold. We got nothing."

Her composure crumples just enough for the tears to fall, though she swallows back her sobs. "I don't know. Gibbs, I don't know anything – if I did I swear I'd tell you, you know that, right?"

He kisses the top of her head, calming her. "Has he hurt you?"

Quickly, she shakes her head. "Apart from a bump to the head and a world of mental scarring? No. I'm fine."

"Has he touched you?" He needs to know, though he hates having to ask the question.

"No. I can't figure him out, Gibbs. He brings me food and sits and talks to me, and then goes away again. He doesn't want anything, he doesn't try anything... If you want the truth it's creeping me out."

Footsteps sound down the corridor, faint but getting louder. Abby's voice is full of dread as she whispers, "That's Mikel. I can't keep this up."

Gibbs turns to face the door, but she grabs his arm, holding his attention. "Listen. The other day I dropped a CD down the back of my dresser, and I kept meaning to drag it out but I forgot. It's Desolation Avenue by Plastic Death. Go look – it's there, trust me. Then you'll know this isn't a dream."

Behind them, the doorknob begins to turn, and he reaches for a weapon he isn't carrying. Just as the door cracks open, the scene fades into blackness.

"Don't give up on me, Gibbs." Her voice follows him into consciousness, and he slowly becomes aware of the bustle of the office around him – phones ringing, agents conversing, keyboards clicking.

He glares at the clock – he's been asleep for thirty minutes, and during that time anything could have happened. Running a weary hand through his hair, he gets up from his desk, studiously ignoring the protests his body makes as it begs for a decent rest.

McGee's shrugging out of his jacket and logging onto his PC, looking only slightly more refreshed than when he left to catch a few hours of sleep. Tony's already left the office to do the same, and Ziva's in the middle of a phone conversation, stifling a yawn.

Gibbs knows how she feels, and it's only that knowledge that stops him from snapping at her. "Anything?" he asks her as she hangs up.

"Nothing. I am sorry."

Nodding, he checks his desk for messages, even opening his email account on the off-chance there's something relevant there. The whole time, the Abby dream haunts him. It seemed so vivd, so true, but he knows it's just his exhausted mind playing tricks on him.

This is totally our psychic connection at work… I dropped a CD down the back of my dresser… Go look – it's there, trust me.

Abruptly he gets up, tells McGee to call if there's any news, and heads for the door.

Sooo... any thoughts? :D I'm totally trying not to abandon my other WIPs, but this one is just so tempting...