Traitor

Author: Gosgirl
Rating: M /NC-17 for later chapters
Pairing: Abby/Gibbs
Category: Post-episode, first time, angst, romance, smut
Spoilers: Last Man Standing, Collateral Damage, Cloak and Dagger
Summary: Abby's help in unmasking the mole at NCIS becomes a catalyst for change.
Author's Note: Thanks to Zivacentric for her support and her terrific beta efforts. She inspired and encouraged me to post this first fanfic, much to her surprise and bafflement no doubt given her preferred pairing (the clue's in the name!). Go read her stuff; she rocks! Thanks also to Chiragul, Jo_R, ncislove, bbfan and many others who have brought the world of Gabby to life. Reviews welcome.
Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters are the property of DPB and CBS. Let's face it, if I had a silver-haired, blue-eyed Marine to play with, do you think I'd have any time for writing?

Chapter 1 - post Collateral Damage (the question)

Wallowing in an uncharacteristically gloomy mood, Abby spent most of a rainy Friday evening climbing inside a tub of chocolate ice cream and washing it down with far too much wine. Therefore, the knock on Abby's apartment door late in the evening wasn't initially welcome.

Another tough week had left her feeling more than usually tired and depressed, which was a reflection of the stress and pace of recent months. Jenny's death, closely followed by the disbanding of Gibbs' team, their gradual return and the hunt for the mole within NCIS, culminated in Langer's death and apparent unmasking. The last months had left them all drained, however seasoned they might be, and Abby had found herself with no appetite for her usual Friday night relaxation of clubbing with friends... either that or she was finally showing her age.

Emerging from the shower intent on finishing the wine and getting thoroughly drunk, her first thought on hearing the knock was surprise that anyone was out in the deluge which was forecast to continue well into Saturday. Her prepared grumble faded, however, as she peered through the spyhole to see a familiar silhouette outside.

"Gibbs, what brings you here so late?" she asked as soon as she opened the door.

"Need to talk to you, Abbs," he explained, as she stood back to let him in

He looked drenched, even in the short walk from his car. Holding up a bottle of his usual bourbon almost as a peace offering, he moved past Abby into her apartment. Catching her usual scent overlaid with her shampoo, he only belatedly registered that she was dressed in a loosely fastened, red silk robe peppered with small white skulls and realized, somewhat to his dismay, that she was fresh from the shower.

He glimpsed the straps of a satin camisole peeking out where the robe was slipping off one shoulder and black pyjama pants completed a tempting ensemble. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders, still damp and curling slightly from the steam of the shower, making his fingers itch to bury themselves in the black mass.

Finding it hard to resist Abby even when most of her was hidden under a lab coat and he was stone cold sober, he knew he was fighting a losing battle in his current state. He swallowed a moan as his senses reacted to the sight and smell of her. Wanting to cut and run before his bourbon-drenched libido took over but not able to think up a suitable excuse for such a sudden exit, he walked rapidly into her living room, opting to put some distance between them as he tried to calm himself.

Following him, Abby reached for his overcoat, unable to stop her nose wrinkling as the scent of cigarette smoke reached her. By way of explanation, he offered that he'd been to the bar just outside the Navy Yard; the one where photos of agents lost in the line of duty occupied one wall, 'The Fallen'.

Returning after hanging up his coat to dry, she handed him a towel, conscious that water was dripping from his hair, chasing down his face and soaking into his shirt collar. Mesmerized by a few drops traveling down his strong neck, she resisted the urge to grab him and follow their path with her lips and tongue.

Get a grip, Scuito…

… her inner slut immediately sat up and begged… Gladly.

She had to get out of there before she did something to embarrass them both and retreated to the kitchen.

She frequently had to refrain from wrestling Gibbs to the floor of her lab on a good day. Being tired and with a fair amount of booze inside her made her defenses against him almost non-existent. She wasn't sure if he was aware of the effect he had on her; sometimes she thought she caught a reflection of the same heat in his gaze that she was sure must be written all over her face. They'd been the closest of friends for years but coping with the stress of the past months had seen them gradually drifting closer. She had begun to hope that perhaps they could become more than friends, but hadn't yet plucked up the courage to do anything about it.

Trying to focus more on why he was here rather than the fact that he was, she collected two glasses from the kitchen. She returned to find Gibbs, head in his hands, sitting on her couch. He looked so drawn and tired that she couldn't resist touching his shoulder in concern as she sat down beside him.

"Are you okay, Gibbs?"

She knew the grief over Jenny's death was still very fresh, coupled with the lingering stress from losing his team. He had missed his A team, his family, and especially Tony and Ziva, as much as she had. At least McGee had still been on the Navy Yard, if not a member of his team. Dealing with their less than impressive replacements had only served to point up just how effective were her three musketeers. When Vance had revealed the reasons behind reassigning his original team and then effectively dumped the mole hunt in Gibbs' lap, events had led swiftly to the unveiling of Langer as the mole and his death at the hands of Agent Lee.

As if that hadn't been enough to cope with, Gibbs had then experienced a personal betrayal by a friend, Senator Kiley. Trust and loyalty were an integral part of Gibbs' moral code and the Senator and his wife had brazenly exploited their friendship, and she knew that their actions had wounded him deeply. As strong as he was, she saw that Gibbs was hurting and was, above all, virtually exhausted, both mentally and physically.

The only bright spot in the past dark months was his reunion with his father. The interlude in Stillwater was also one of Abby's fondest recent memories; she'd grown very fond of Jackson even in the short space of time she'd known him.

Gibbs raised his head at her gentle touch, gave her a half smile, and reached up to squeeze her hand before pouring them both a shot of bourbon.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"Not hungry," came the weary reply, as he reached for his glass and downed it in one shot.

Judging by the aroma of smoke and alcohol hovering around him, this wasn't his first bourbon of the evening. She resisted the temptation to follow suit and just sipped her drink. Although she suddenly felt the need for some Dutch courage to cope with his nearness, she knew from experience that mixing her drinks usually provoked the hangover from hell the next morning.

Taking a stab which she hoped was not quite in the dark as to why he'd spent the evening at that particular bar, she asked hesitantly, "Were you there just to pay your respects to everyone … or were you there for another reason?"

He gazed at her, clear blue eyes intense, not sure how to begin. "Just adding Langer's photo to the memorial wall."

Ah…so that's it, she thought.

"Your gut's churning, isn't it?" she continued.

"Something like that."

He wasn't anywhere near drunk but two bourbons on an empty stomach was having a faster, mellowing effect than usual. He was also finding her closeness and scent more than usually distracting.

"You don't think Langer was the mole, do you?" she ventured softly, turning to face him, knees almost touching.

Not altogether surprised she'd either made such an intuitive guess or worked it out for herself already, he shook his head, "No, I don't, Abbs."

Meeting her worried green eyes and pouring himself a refill, he told her, "Langer had many faults as an agent and as a man but a traitor?" Gibbs shook his head, "No, I don't think so. He was handed to us on a plate, all too neatly."

Sipping his drink this time, he finished almost too quietly for her to hear him, "He didn't deserve this."

Thinking through the events surrounding Langer's death and the past weeks, she didn't like where her thoughts were heading. Too restless to stay seated, she resorted to her usual thinking technique and leapt up and started to pace, her hands gesturing animatedly. She succinctly summarized everything that had happened with Langer and the steps that had led them all to believe that he was the mole, but she approached it from a different angle; the one that had begun to haunt him in recent weeks.

He followed her with his eyes, drawn to her swaying hips, her silky outfit rustling as she moved. He allowed himself a small smile as he realized the only thing missing from this familiar picture of her thinking aloud was her boots making her bounce and her flying pigtails. The tie holding her robe loosened with her energetic pacing, gaping open, letting him glimpse how snugly the camisole hugged her curves. Becoming uncomfortable with this reminder of how enticing a figure she presented, he dragged his eyes up to her face, determined not to let his gaze wander further.

Concentrate Gunny.

Seemingly oblivious to the effect she was having, she wound down in her summary. He watched her connect the dots as she thought aloud, impressed as always at the speed of her analytical brain.

"So, Langer was set up to be the patsy?" She paused briefly, looking over to him and he inclined his head in agreement at her intuitive logic. Resuming her pacing, she continued, "So if you follow that thought through to its logical conclusion, the obvious person to set him up is the one who shot him."

She sat back down beside him with a resigned sigh. "You think it's Michelle, don't you?" sipping her drink and feeling the strong liquor burn down her throat as the implications of what she'd said hit home.

"Maybe..." Gibbs hesitated and then seemed to reach a decision, "Yeah, I do but proving it is another matter."

Her response was immediate. "Then how do we flush her out?"

"We?" He was rueful as that's exactly why he was here, to gain her support and help.

"Sure. That's why you're here, isn't it, Gibbs? Not even you can do this one on your own – not this time, surely?" Catching his gaze, she looked at him, beautiful green eyes serious. "What do you want me to do?"

Shaking his head at her fast thinking and unquestioning trust in him, Gibbs looked down at the glass in his hand, "I guess I've had enough of these now to ask if you'll do what I need you to do."

Putting his glass down unfinished, he turned to face her, resting an arm along the back of the sofa and staring at her intently. Her pulse rate reacted predictably to his clear blue eyes and she tried to cover how flustered she was by looking down, sipping her drink and breaking his gaze.

Explaining in more detail where his thoughts of the mole hunt were leading him, Gibbs outlined how he saw Abby's role. Slightly dismayed at how she would have to deceive not only the mole but also her friends, his team, she was nevertheless touched that he would turn to her first for help and was determined not to let him down. It wasn't a hard decision in the end to agree to help. She's always been prepared to do anything he asks of her; she trusts him that much.

Reaching out to cover the hand, Abby merely said "When do you want to do this?"

Meeting her eyes, seeing some nervousness in them but no hesitation. "There are a few details to iron out but next week if we can, Abbs – hit her while she's confident she's fooled us all."

"Will Lee believe it though, or rather, believe that everyone else thinks that I'm a traitor?"

"That's why I need the team's reactions to be genuine and why we can't tell them. Rule 4"

Abby quoted automatically. "The best way to keep a secret is keep it to yourself. The second best way is tell one other person... if you must. There is no third best."

Gibbs turned his hand over and laced their fingers together. She looked down at their joined hands, her slender one almost swamped by his large rough palm.

Focus, she chided herself as the warmth of his hand permeated her skin and she had to fight the urge to lift his hand and brush her lips across his knuckles. They talked some more, batting the pros and cons of his plan back and forth, both feeling the alcohol buzz lowering their inhibitions but trying to concentrate on what he was planning rather than on each other.

Abby contributed her usual practical ideas on how they could set the trap, trying not to be distracted as his other hand came off the back of the sofa to play with her hair. Her previous mood was lifting, predictably, not only with his presence but with a science problem to concentrate on and the importance of what they were about to attempt.

Satisfied that they'd covered the plan from every angle for the moment, Gibbs finally allowed himself to relax, feeling his tension drain away. He leant his head against the back of the sofa, more relieved than he'd care to admit that she was with him on this. She'd always had the ability to center him, to ease his dark and often maudlin thoughts, even if she didn't realize it. His need to see her tonight stemmed not only from wanting her help but a need just to be near her, to have her bright presence soothe his anxiety and settle his mind.

"It's not going to be easy, Abby, are you sure?"

He had to ask, knowing that she could handle the scientific and evidentiary side with ease, but worried that she hadn't thought through the implications of lying to the rest of the team. Only the Director would be aware of her real role. She had a fine poker face when she needed to, but her face could also be an open book when she was unsure of herself or nervous.

"As you said already, Langer didn't deserve this. Whatever Michelle's reasons for doing this, and I can't believe money can be her only motivation either, she went too far when she decided his life could be sacrificed to save her cover. I'll help in any way you want me to… you only had to ask, Gibbs."

"Abbs, you're amazing'." He was slightly taken aback by her neat summary of exactly how he felt about the situation and warmed by her determination.

"Of course I am! Have you not noticed before?" she teased, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, her eyes sparkling and a cheeky smile curving her lips.

"Oh, I've noticed," his voice suddenly husky as he turned to look at her again, still holding her hand, and catching his breath at how beautiful she looked with her face scrubbed of make-up.

The urge to nibble on that full bottom lip was almost overwhelming. Maybe it was the effect of the bourbon, the grief and stress of the past weeks or her close proximity, but Gibbs found himself struggling to keep himself under control.

Leaning in he brushed his lips across her cheek, breathing in her distinctive perfume but this time he didn't draw back to a safe distance as he would have done in the lab. Instead, he couldn't resist nuzzling his way over her ear and burying his nose in her hair before moving down to press his mouth against her neck, over her pulse point, feeling it jump under his lips and not missing her slight gasp at his actions.

His familiar scent washed over her, mingling slightly with the whiff of bourbon and the less pleasant lingering effects of the smoke from the bar. Tilting her head to give him better access, pulse pounding in her ears, she reached up and ran her fingers along his jawline and into the salt and pepper hair at the nape of his neck as he nuzzled into her neck.

Trying to get her heartbeat under control, she felt dazed at the speed with which the atmosphere had turned from solemn and serious to charged and electric.

Certain she'd never have the courage to say this if she were completely sober, she took a deep breath, "Stay?"

TBC...