Title: Delicate
Rating: T to be on the safe side. A very mild T, though!
Spoilers: None
Summary: Gibbs has always been there to catch Abby when she falls. This time is no different. Set in my Sir/Little Tease 'verse.

Author's Note/Warning: This fic's actually based on my own experience – sub-drop is a bad, bad thing if you don't have your top around to reassure you! This fic deals with a more negative side of BDSM play, but it doesn't happen all the time and the severity depends on the scene, the sub and the degree of aftercare given when the scene's over. In my opinion, the positives far outweigh the negatives, but I wanted to write this little hurt/comfort fic just to see how it would turn out. It might be a little depressing for some people. Take it or leave it! :)

When I walk into the lab at four a.m., a stray evidence bag from the trunk of the sedan in hand, I'm struck by the silence. I called Abby an hour ago, asking her to come in, and the lights and her computers are on, indicating that she's here somewhere. The lack of music is uncharacteristic, though, and I can't help but be concerned.

As if reading my thoughts, Abby walks into my field of vision, seeming oblivious to my presence as she sits in her desk chair and draws her knees up to her chest, hugging them. She's wearing a hooded sweatshirt a size too large for her, and her hands are tucked inside the sleeves as if she's cold. Something about the way she moves – carefully, hesitantly – bothers me, but I can't pin it down.

"Abbs? You okay?" Leaving the evidence bag on her workbench, I head through to her office.

She's been staring blankly at the computer screen, but at my voice she wearily raises her eyes to mine. "Hey, Gibbs."

Looking into her face, I can pinpoint what's going on with her in a heartbeat. Her expression is distant, disconnected, and I feel a surge of anger toward whoever left her like this.

"How hard were you playing, Abby?" I cross to the futon she keeps stashed under a desk in the corner, pulling it out. There's a neatly folded blanket on top, and I grab it.

"What?" Not expecting to hear the question from me, she blinks, disorientated. Her mind is still hovering on a delicate strand between subspace and normal function, and I choose the tack that will get me answers: I tap into her mindset.

"If you make me ask again, Abby, you won't like the consequences," I say, setting just the right edge to my tone.

"Sorry, sir," she says without thinking, as I drape the blanket around her shoulders. "I was playing pretty hard."

I'd suspected as much. Encouraging her to her feet, I ask her, "The scene go wrong?"

Abby instinctively draws the blanket tighter around herself, and shakes her head. "No, sir. It was all good – we set limits, safewords, all the usual stuff. And the play wasn't more than I could take."

It's a relief to hear it, and a part of me that was coiled tightly around my fury relaxes a little. I guide her over to her futon and get her to sit, making sure she's fully inside her blanket cocoon before dropping down beside her and enfolding her in my arms. She leans against me with a sigh, and I feel her trembling calm a little. "Then what happened?"

Abby shrugs. "It's just sub-drop, sir. You get an endorphin rush from pain, and when it wears off your body can react badly. It's kinda like being in shock." She doesn't seem to realise that explaining the concept of sub-drop to me, while calling me 'sir' and letting me take her through the basic steps of aftercare, is a little unnecessary.

"You should've told me you were too sick to come in, Abbs. Your top could've taken care of you."

I feel moisture on my neck, realise she's crying and hold her tighter, stroking her hair. "He got a phone call after the scene. A friend needed him for something, so he took off."

I grit my teeth in angry disbelief – leaving a sub to recover by herself after an intense scene is stupid and dangerous. "Why didn't you call someone?"

"I was going to, but it hadn't hit me yet. Then you called, and I thought if I came in I could distract myself, and maybe the drop wouldn't be so bad. But I spaced out when I was driving in."

I close my eyes, not wanting to imagine her driving her hearse in this state. "Don't play with that top again, Abby." Somehow, I manage to resist the urge to demand she give me the guy's name, though I'd love nothing more than to beat the hell out of him right now.

"Wasn't planning on it, believe me." She burrows deeper into the blankets, so that only her eyes and the top of her head are visible.

"How badly are you bruised?" I dropped the authoritative tone a while back, and gradually, as her comfort level rises, she seems to realise who she's talking to.

"I've had worse – I'll be sore for a few days, but no permanent marks." I nod, and she gazes up at me, her demeanour a little more cognisant. "How do you know so much about this?"

"Same way you do." I consider holding out on her, but it's the obvious conclusion she'd come to anyway.

Intrigued, she stares at me. "You gotta be a top." When I incline my head in agreement, she raises an eyebrow, made bold by the affection I'm showing her. "We should play sometime."

I'm about five years ahead of her with that thought, and now isn't the time to entertain it. She's in no condition to play, and won't be for days. The sub-drop's making her needy, and I'd be taking advantage if I pursued the issue now. "Can you stand up? You can't work tonight, not like this. I'm gonna get you home."

"But, the case-" she protests weakly as I help her up.

"We can do without the forensics for one night," I tell her, and knowing she's about to ask why I called her in the first place, I clarify, "Extenuating circumstances. Don't get used to it."

As she grabs her belongings, I call DiNozzo, telling him to take the lead on the investigation for now, explaining that Abby's sick and I need to get her home. When I hang up, she's watching me.

"You're staying with me?"

Nodding, I put a hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the door. "Aftercare's important, Abbs. I'm not leaving you alone until you're through this."

I drive her home, make her coffee, wrap her in her duvet and install her on the couch, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her to reassure her that I'm nearby. Slowly, she begins to surface from the sub-drop, but despite the coffee, her eyelids are heavy, and she smothers a yawn.

"You should sleep," I tell her, and she nods agreement, getting slowly to her feet and trailing through to her bedroom.

"Will you…?" She hesitates over the words, but I know what her instinct is, and I'm happier than I want to admit that she's asked for it.

"Yeah."

She curls up on the bed, still wrapped in the duvet, and I lie beside her, an arm around her waist, my chest against her back.

"Thank you, sir," Abby whispers, and the inflection she puts on the title tells me exactly what she's thinking right now.

"Don't push it, little tease," I warn her, and even through the duvet I can feel her body thrill at the words.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," she says softly, and lets silence fall over the room. Within minutes, she's asleep, and I relax, knowing that when she wakes the worst will be over.

It doesn't occur to me to question the wisdom of starting this with Abby. With me, I know she'll be safe, and if eventually we decide to stop playing, I know from her past relationship with McGee that she doesn't hold grudges and can keep her professional life separate from her personal one.

If she still wants me when she recovers from this, we'll talk. Until then, I'm just glad I was there to catch her when she fell.