This has been sitting on my computer for over a month now, and I've been tweaking it every few days. I finally just had to post it, so I'll stop fiddling with the damn thing. Full-on McGee/Abby romance, and longer than 500 words! Finally!

They were supposed to go to lunch and then he was supposed to help her pick out her brother's birthday present. But Gibbs had kept the agents at the office late the night before, and McGee had begged her to let him just sit for a half hour and watch Ace of Cakes and then they'd go out and he'd take her somewhere nice for dinner…and now it was an hour and a half later, and McGee was asleep, and the remote was on the far side of table next to his side of the couch.

Which is why, when he woke up, she was essentially straddling him, reaching for the remote. "Wha…?" he mumbled, still half asleep.

Abby tapped it lightly on his arm. "I hate Iron Chef America," she informed him. She was shifting to move back to her previous position next to him when she felt him tense. Studying his face intently, she attempted to read his expression through his closed eyelids. "Timothy McGee…" she began teasingly. "What exactly are you thinking about right now?"

She could practically see him deciding whether or not to lie. "Decomposing bodies, the expression on Gibbs' face right before he smacks me upside the head, and really cold, icy lakes."

Though she liked to consider herself a kind person, she was also only human. And she loved teasing him. "Let me rephrase," she said, settling herself on his lap. "What exactly are you trying not to think about right now?"

His throat moved as he swallowed, hard, and he still didn't open his eyes. "How good you smell, where you're sitting, and the fact that I haven't had sex in a really long time."

"What, no babes in the Cyber Crimes unit?" she asked, only half joking. His eyes flew open at that, and he glared at her halfheartedly. She grinned and leaned forward, resting her forehead lightly on his shoulder. "Yeah, Forensics is pretty barren too."

McGee laughed a little, though he still didn't relax. "That would be because you're the only one down there, Abs."

The only problem with teasing him, she'd found, was that it tended to backfire just a bit. Because now she was concentrating on the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt and the fact that he smelled pretty good, too. Abby smiled. "True." She lifted her head and made a face at him. "Been a while for me too."

He made a face back at her. "We need to get out more," he said, finally relaxing just a bit. "Abs, my legs are going to fall…" He trailed off as her gaze turned speculative. "Abby…"

Her name came out as a warning edged with pleading. Abby leaned in, stopping with her lips a hairsbreadth from his. "What can it hurt?" she asked, and she tried to squelch the note of neediness she heard in her voice. Because she did need him, and she hated admitting it.

"Abby…" Less warning this time, more pleading. She leaned in closer, until her lips just barely touched his. And then she felt one hand on her back, and the other gently – so gently, which she remembered well – cupping her jaw as he finally gave in and pulled her into the kiss.

This was what she missed, every now and then alone at night, or just after he left her in her lab. His mouth on hers, his hands, sometimes holding her tight, sometimes trailing over her skin and touching just the right places to set her on fire.

God, nobody had ever taken the time to learn how to touch her like Tim.

Working her bracelets off her wrists carefully, so that he could lightly kiss the faint red marks where they'd been. Unbuckling her collar so that he could press his lips to her throat, softly at first, and then more hungrily so that she arched in his arms. "Hang on," he murmured against her neck.

She groaned. "Timmy, if you're going to change your mind, you should really know better than to tell me to stop when you're kissing me there…" She felt him chuckle.

"No," he told her. "I didn't mean stop, I meant hang on." His arms tightened around her and she grasped his meaning with just enough time to cling to him as he stood up. She stifled a shriek of surprise and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"This is new," she managed, taking advantage of her position to nip his ear lightly.

He'd transferred his attentions to the other side of her neck. "Weightlifting," he informed her between kisses. "I hate it, but it makes collaring criminals and hauling around pretty girls a little easier." He grunted and shifted her weight as they headed for his bedroom. "Not easy, unfortunately, but easier."

They were almost to the door when they heard the faint growl behind them. McGee froze. "Abby. Could you inform the dog that I am not carrying you off to bury your body?"

She peeked over his shoulder at the German Shepard that was currently watching them warily. "Jethro," she said sternly. "Down, boy. Stay." The dog slowly settled onto his stomach, never taking his eyes off them as the bedroom door closed.

"Why do I have a dog who really only pays attention to you?" he asked, lowering her carefully to the bed.

Abby laughed and tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head. "We'll discuss that later, Timothy. Right now…" She stifled a moan as his hands slid along her waist, and wound her fingers into his hair, tugging him down to her. "Just please, please don't stop kissing me."

He smiled, and proceeded to take her at her word.

She lay sprawled bonelessly across Tim's chest, exhausted but sated. At some point, she became aware of the low-grade whine coming from the other side of the door. "You should let him in," she mumbled.

"I don't think so," he responded, folding one arm beneath his head. "Somehow, having something named 'Jethro' in the same room when we're naked in bed just seems…wrong. On many, many levels."

Abby giggled. "True. I hadn't thought about it that way." She stretched lazily. "I forgot how good we are at that," she sighed, content.

"Mmhm," he murmured. He was absently tracing the cross tattooed on her back.

Just two not-quite-syllables, but she could tell something was off. With a near-heroic effort, she lifted her head, propping her chin on the back of her hand. "What's wrong?" she asked softly, not wanting to disturb the moment any more than they had to.

McGee hesitated for a moment. "Abby…I don't think I can do this."

She smiled at him, trying to keep it light. "I don't know if you're having short-term memory loss, McGee, but you just did 'this.' Very thoroughly."

He wasn't smiling. "Abs." He folded his other arm behind his head as well, and she immediately missed his touch. "You know what I mean."

She laid her head down on his chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. Dependable. Constant. Like McGee himself. Qualities she knew she sometimes took advantage of. "I'm sorry," she whispered, suddenly feeling guilty. "I shouldn't have –"

"No," he interrupted. "It's not your fault. Believe it or not, Abby," and a spark of humor came back into his voice, "I am capable of resisting you, when I put my mind to it." She felt his hand on her back again, trailing up and down her spine. Soothing. "You're right," he agreed. "We are good at this." He hugged her tight for a second, and she squeezed him back, planting a quick kiss on his chest. "And we're good together at work," he continued. "And when we hang out, that's good too."

Abby turned her face into his shoulder and closed her eyes. "Tim," she whispered, and it was her turn to plead. "Don't."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "I just don't get it, Abs. I never really got it. Haven't we been friends long enough now that you can at least try to explain?"

It was her turn to sigh. "Rule 12," she said finally. "Kind of." She felt him take a breath to speak and propped herself up on her elbows, giving him a warning look. "Let me finish. 'Don't date your co-workers.' It makes sense. Things end badly, it screws up your work environment. And you were getting all serious on me, and I didn't want you to. And you were my friend, and I didn't want to screw that up either." She smiled, tentatively, and ran her fingers through his hair. "And now… This was a mistake, and I'm sorry. Because now if we get involved and it ends badly," her voice dropped to a whisper, "Now I would lose you. And I can't let that happen."

"What –" His voice was choked, and he cleared his throat. "What makes you think it would end badly?" Or that it would end at all? his eyes asked.

She laughed. "Look at me, Timmy. I'm –" she stalled out for a second, "past… thirty," the corner of his mouth quirked up at that, "and the longest relationship I've ever had only lasted a little more than a year. The last remotely serious relationship I had? Was three years ago and ended with the guy stalking me." She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. "I don't do serious, and you've got it written all over you." He slid his hand up along her face and she leaned into his palm, enjoying the feeling while she could. "It always ends, Timmy," she murmured. "Sooner or later, badly or not. He figures out I'm not what he wants, or I figure out he's not what I want. It always ends."

His face fell. "I'm not what you want," he said resignedly, as though she'd confirmed something for him. "I'm too…" He made a sweeping gesture that she took to encompass himself, the bed, and in a more general sense, his entire life. "…dull. Boring."

"McGee!" Abby glared at him. "I don't let other people talk about my best friend that way. Why should I let you? Well, except I let Tony give you a hard time about your sex life, but only because you won't let me serve as a witness for the defense." He started to say something, and she laid a finger over his lips. "Anyway, it could just as easily go the other way. What if I'm not what you want? What if you woke up some day and wished you'd picked Gina Marie, with her J-LoGlo and her ladybug toothbrush?" She smiled, but it wavered. "Maybe I'm too…eccentric. Weird."

He stared at her, and she experienced a rare moment of being totally unable to figure out what he was thinking. Then suddenly she was flipped over, flat on her back and pinned between his arms. She punched him in the bicep once she got her breath back. "McGee! Let me –"

McGee cut her off with a kiss, long and hard and intense. When they finally broke apart, gasping for breath, he leaned down, resting his forehead on hers. "Abby," he said, "listen to me. For once, don't interrupt, and don't argue. Just listen. If you don't like what I say, we will get up, get dressed, and I'll take you out for dinner, and we'll never talk about it again. But just listen." He took a deep breath. "I don't love you because of your pigtails or your tattoos or your spiked collars or your boots or your coffin. And I don't love you in spite of them. I just love you. I love you because you always know when I walk into your lab, even when your back is turned, and you finish my sentences, and you drink ten Caf-Pows a day and you always fall asleep when we watch movies. I love you because I never have to explain anything to you, because you almost always understand what I'm thinking, and when I can't figure out a problem you know what to say to make it make sense again." He sighed.

"I'm not stupid, Abby, and I'm not a masochist. I haven't spent my time pining over you, and I'm not going to start if you don't want me. But you're right, I am serious. And I want you in my life, forever, any way I can have you. I would rather be with you than a dozen Gina Maries, and if you let me," he smiled, and brushed his thumb gently over her bottom lip, "if you let me, Abby, I will love you every minute of every day for the rest of my life, until you are buried in that coffin of yours and they scatter my ashes over the top of your grave, and probably past that. And that's about as serious as it gets." His voice cracked a little on the last words, and he held her gaze for a long, silent moment.

She could feel his heart beating a perfect counterpoint to hers.

Finally, he rolled over and sat up, his back to her. "Where do you want to go for dinner?" he asked, his voice even.

She sat up too, watching him. His elbows were on his knees, his head in his hands.

He wanted her in his life, forever, just the way she was. And she wanted him in her life, forever, just the way he was. And when he touched her, her skin caught fire and when she kissed him, her stomach quivered.

Maybe she did do serious after all. Because that was about as serious as it got.

Slowly, she moved closer, sliding her arms around him from behind. She rested her chin on his shoulder. "I don't want to go anywhere," she told him.

He turned his head to look at her, surprised, and she leaned in, bumping her nose against his once, twice, making him smile just a bit. Hesitantly, she kissed him, barely letting their lips touch.

It was a funny little kiss, almost chaste, and oddly, incredibly satisfying.

When she drew back, McGee had the look of a man who had begged for just a sip of water and been given a full bottle of wine. His small smile slowly spread into her favorite grin, the one that crinkled the edges of his eyes. "Abby…"

"Don't get so excited," she said, and then saw his smile slip for a second. She laughed. "Just because I want to stay here," she kissed him quickly, and the smile came back, "with you," another kiss, "does not mean you are off the hook for feeding me. I require sustenance, McGee, and you promised me dinner, so therefore it is your responsibility to see that –"

It was the second time that day he'd silenced her with a kiss, and even though she usually hated being interrupted…

…today, she found she didn't mind in the least.

FIN