Title: Silent Serenade
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Summary: Communication with Gibbs is a little different.

Author's Note: Written as a drabble meme response for ashzidi, with the prompt 'serenade'. That was a tricky one to come up with something for... Hope she likes it! :D

Every year, Abby takes part in a twenty-four hour sponsored silence, to raise money for deaf charities in the local area. She continues to work as normal, and communicates her findings to her colleagues via email, but from midnight until eleven fifty-nine on the chosen day, she doesn't speak a word.

Communication with Gibbs is a little different. He's the only one she's close to who knows American Sign Language, and on each day of her self-enforced silence he visits her often.

As the hearing child of deaf parents, Abby is used to long periods of quiet – tolerates it, even, if she doesn't have her music for company – but not long periods without communication. Even when alone in her lab, she talks to her machines for company, and Gibbs understands that she needs an outlet for the thoughts zipping around her busy brain.

He keeps her well-supplied with Caf-Pow! on her sponsored days, enjoying the way her eyes light up at the sight of him. Her hands flow into motion immediately, and he sets the drink down on the nearest available surface instead of handing it over, unwilling to interrupt her.

If not for Abby, he wouldn't be able to recall much ASL these days. He learned it in the Corps during his first tour, back when a couple of guys in his unit lost their hearing in an explosion. He was out of practice when Abby was hired at NCIS, but once he realised she was fluent in sign language, his skills returned quickly.

This year, he taps her on the shoulder and deposits the Caf-Pow! on her desk, and she whirls to hug him with a grin. He never speaks to her aloud on her silent days; it seems more natural to communicate in their shared language.

You're welcome, he signs when she draws back. How's the silence going?

I almost had a crisis moment when I gave myself a paper cut, but I managed to stop myself from yelling, she replies, wiggling a finger at him with a wry smile. And I found out which poison killed your Petty Officer.

She begins her spiel of scientific chatter, having to spell out so many words letter by letter that she stops herself before he can interrupt her. Once she's filled him in on the bare facts that he actually needs, he lingers to keep her company.

His hands move with minimal thought, his brain focused on communication rather than the technicalities of the language. She's telling him about the money she's already raised, spinning to show him a page on the internet that he already knows will make no sense to him.

Even when the subject matter is out of his depth, though, talking to Abby is never uncomfortable. When her signed words become incomprehensible, he focuses on her movements, her expressions, her gestures. All three captivate him, whether she's speaking with her mouth or with her hands. Everything about her calls to him, a silent serenade that tempts and teases.

He can't resist the siren's song any more.

She senses the change in his demeanour as he makes up his mind, abandoning her topic of conversation with a cock of her head and a slightly confused smile. What?

He leans in and brushes his lips against hers, and her breath catches, her eyes wide as they gaze into his. When he pulls back, seeking her reaction, she draws a breath to speak, her vow of silence forgotten.

Gibbs lays a finger against her lips, reminding her to keep quiet, and then steps back. Her expression is intrigued; full of surprised revelation. Underlying it all is a thread of white-hot desire that steals his breath and almost breaks his resolve.

He turns away as soon as he's sure of her feelings; they have a lot to talk about, she's silent for the rest of the day and he has a case to work. A sudden, staccato sound halts him, and he looks around to see her tapping a pen against her workbench to get his attention.

She doesn't sign anything; her expectant expression is enough for him to interpret. With a grin, he resumes his journey back to the elevator, signing a single word to her.

Later.

The rest of the day flies by, and at eleven fifty-nine that evening, he's unsurprised to hear her booted footsteps clatter down his basement stairs. With a sense of anticipation he watches her approach, and when she pulls him into an alluring kiss, he forgets the idea that talking comes first.

They don't speak until long past midnight.