Sapphires & Emeralds
Copyright© 2009 by Taylor Gibbs
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 8 - NCIS fanfiction.An undercover assignment leads to an entanglement for NCIS. Will Abby get trapped in a web of lies? Who IS that blue-eyed stranger who sets her on fire with his touch? Gibbs and Abby pairing. Alt. Universe. Co-written with Zabby.
Ducky and Palmer had been working on a terrible case, the body of a man who had been on oxygen for a lung condition who lit a cigarette anyway. It had been a grisly task, but Ducky had been honor bound to make sure there wasn't any foul play involved.
After an arduous day, he stretched his back and nodded to Mr. Palmer. "You've had a very long day. Why don't you go home? I'm going to check in with the director and do the same."
"All right, Doctor. I will finish up in here. You have a good evening." Jimmy grabbed his headphones, but waited for Ducky in case the doctor had any other instructions, before he would put them in.
"And you too, Mr. Palmer. I'll expect you after your classes tomorrow then. Do drive carefully, dear boy."
"I will, Doctor Mallard. Have a good evening," he said in farewell. Turning around, Jimmy put the earplugs in and set to work.
Ducky nodded and then began closing up shop himself. The remains had been stowed away by Mr. Palmer earlier and Ducky was just left with a final disinfecting wipe down then a thorough hand washing. He'd update the director and then come back down here to collect his coat and hat before returning home. Perhaps he'd dine at the nice French restaurant in Arlington that had opened up recently. Right now going home held little appeal.
Ever since Mother had gone into the home, the house in Reston seemed too oppressive. Ducky had his bridge nights and social engagements but it wasn't the same as sitting at home with a medical journal and a glass of Scotch, his mother slumbering away in another room. He wondered if he might persuade Mike Franks to come over. Mike would no doubt wish to play poker and drink whiskey but he was quite a genial and amusing fellow, even if Ducky wouldn't call him friend.
Ducky hummed "Scotland the Brave" as he reached the elevator and rode it up, knocking courteously on the outer door before nodding at Cynthia, who motioned him to the other door. "Director?"
Looking up from his desk, Morrow waved him in. Gesturing to the chair across the desk from him, he said, "Come on in, Ducky. What can I do for you? There seems to be something on your mind."
"Terrible situation, Director. Major Vargas simply needed that nicotine so badly he risked expiring in a most explosive fashion. I'm afraid there was nothing that could have been done and the hospital personnel were not at fault. You'll have my report on your desk come morning."
"I will make a note of that, Ducky. The staff at Bethesda has enough to deal with when it comes to NCIS. I'd rather have to flex the strength of this agency when and where it's more greatly needed, not when a Navy officer can't follow a few rules in regards to safety."
Ducky leaned in close, watching Director Morrow's face. "Is something the matter? You seem very concerned about something. Are all of our men and women unharmed or am I needed somewhere?"
Shaking his head, Director Morrow sighed, "No, Doctor. Our men and women are safe, for the moment. Unfortunately, Franks made some rushed decisions on his most recent op that put Abby in jeopardy. I am finding his recklessness more tiring with each case. Though sometimes I wonder if it's his actions, or the fact I'm aging, Ducky," he said, trying, poorly, to make light of how disturbed he was at the situation downstairs.
Of his entire staff, of the entire agency, Abby Sciuto was the most special, the one who, despite her dark looks, brightened up most situations with simply her personality. And the fact that Franks would use her with almost no regard to her safety, weighed heavily on the director.
"Abby is in jeopardy?" Ducky started to rise but restrained himself. "What happened? Do I need to tend to her? Is she harmed?" Ducky wanted to ask a lot more but he held himself in check—barely. This was Abigail here and she was most special to them all.
"From what I can gather from Franks, she's not in jeopardy physically, but probably emotionally. Seems she had something happen to her when they were alone. She's shaken up, but not hurt. Might be a good idea to head down to her lab before you leave, to check on her. She trusts you like family, Ducky. She may need you now."
"They who, Director? She and Mike?" Ducky knew Mike was a brash individual, but he thought the world of Abby—they all did. "If you can provide me with more details, I'll know how best to approach the dear girl. Wasn't Mike's team going to some sort of charity event in the hopes of bringing their case to an end?"
So much of this didn't make sense. Ducky wondered if the dear girl might care for some French food and the pleasure of his company.
"Abby and the suspect, Jet Brooks. I think it's better for you to talk to Abby about what happened. My only version has come from Franks and you know how he is about Abby." Shaking his head, Morrow said, "She'll probably just need you to listen or even to just be there for her."
"Abby and a suspect? Oh dear me. I'll see to her right away, Director." Ducky nodded, standing as swiftly as his old bones would allow. "I'll bid you good evening, sir. Would you like me to check in after I've spoken with Abigail?"
"Unless there's a problem or a situation you think I need to handle tonight, I see no reason to. Just make sure Abby is okay. Good night, Ducky, and thank you."
Ducky nodded and hurried out.
Mike smoked two cigarettes the whole way down before entering the building again and taking the elevator up to the squad room. He'd check and see how their guest was doing and then see what the boys had for him. The dirtbag could cool his heels for a while.
Mike opened the door to the observation room, catching sight of Ziva standing guard outside of Interrogation. "Everything okay, Ziva?"
Seeing Mike approach down the hall, Ziva tapped twice on the door to interrogation, hiding her action with her body. She didn't know what was going on in there, though she could hear murmuring and movement inside. But knowing Abby as she did, trusting the girl to call for help if she needed it, Ziva was confident to stay outside.
"Everything is fine, Mike." Preparing for an outburst, she added, "Abby is in there with him, taking prints."
"Alone?" Mike asked, eyebrows shooting up. "She isn't to be alone with him, Ziva! Why did you allow that. ABBY!"
"Mike, she's perfectly safe..." But he wasn't listening to her and was already charging into interrogation.
Hearing the knocks, Abby looked to the door in shock. "Ziva," she whispered in worry. Not worry for herself, she couldn't believe Mike or Tony would ever really get mad at her, and would never hurt her — and Tim never fit into an equation like that anyhow. Her worry was for Jet and what they would do to him.
Looking back at Jet in almost panic, she whispered, "Get back in your chair and put those cuffs back on, or both Ziva and I will get it. And you..." She let that hang in the air. Straightening her hair and clothes, she turned from him.
Scrambling back to her kit, she pretended to be putting her stuff away, though it was already secured. She could only hope, for his sake, Jet was following her suggestion.
Jet responded to the urgency in her voice by sitting down and refastening the cuffs, just as a man rushed in.
"Abby!" Mike glared at her and then stared down the dirtbag. "What the hell you doing printing him alone?" He turned his rage and fury on the dirtbag, grabbing a fistful of the designer tux shirt and lifting him out of his chair before slamming him back down so hard something thumped audibly.
With fury rising as the dirtbag didn't react or look intimidated, Mike socked him once in the jaw, making his head snap back and almost knocking him off the chair. He would have gone flying if Mike hadn't been holding his shirt. "That was for terrifyin' her. There's more where that came from when this room is dark. Watch your back, dirtbag. Jet. Whatever the hell your real name is."
Right fist impacted left side of jaw and cheekbone now and the dirtbag went flying out of the chair, slamming his head into the corner of the table before he crashed onto the ground. "And that's for whatever you're thinkin' now. You wanna keep pushing me, do it 'cause these boots were made for kicking."
Mike knew he had to rein himself in. The bruises could be explained by a bad van ride here, but more than the couple and there would be trouble. Tommy let him get away with a lot but doing more than roughing up a prisoner a little would cause problems. And Abby was a witness ... Least the room was dark.
Mike turned to look at Abby. "What the hell ya doing in here? You got a death wish?"
"Mike!" Abby screamed, "What are you doing?" Pulling his shirt, she turned Mike around and shoved him on the chest, away from Jet.
Dodging past him, she fell on the ground beside Jet. He was unconscious now from the double impact on his face and head. Pulling his head onto her lap, she turned on Mike. "I was doing my job, Franks. And he didn't do a thing to me. I wasn't terrified. I wasn't injured. I'm perfectly fine. He was a gentleman and treated me like a lady. He did nothing. But you ... you..."
Gesturing at the door, she yelled, "You come in here, a barbarian and punch a handcuffed suspect, someone who is supposed to be protected by you! Innocent until proven guilty, remember? Or does your rage let everything else fall to the wayside? What the hell is going on with you?"
"Jet, Jet? God, Jet. Are you okay? Please wake up." Calling out, she yelled, "Ziva? Ziva!"
Busting in, she took in the situation with one glance and put herself between Franks and the two on the ground. "What happened here?"
"Never question me!" Mike raged "You don't know, Girlie! Don't you question me!" Mike looked at Ziva. "Nothing happened. He looked threatening, I had to subdue him. Not my fault he clocked himself when I was restraining him."
Mike didn't like the accusatory looks on by Abby's and Ziva's faces. Pissed him off. "He's a dirtbag. A pretty dirtbag in nice clothes, but still a dirtbag." Mike rounded on Abby now. "Get the hell away from him. He's a suspect. You aren't to touch him. And you never question me, Girlie, or I'll have Morrow reassign you so far away your little tattooed neck'll spin."
"What are you going to do, Franks? Hit me too?" Abby threw out, accusations painted over her face. She knew what she said wasn't fair, but Mike was out of control. She'd never seen him like this before. "He was in handcuffs, seated. How in the world is that threatening?"
Shaking with anger, she bit back sarcastically, "Yeah, really easy to do, hit yourself in cuffs and leave those kind of bruises. Gotta try that sometime."
Mike glared at her, furious, angry beyond reason. "Don't ever question my methods. He was threatening, Sciuto. I know dirtbags and I've run into him before." He had to be a bad guy. Mike had the impression of drugs, of a murder. He growled up, glaring at Abby.
"Your prince charming is a frog."
"I can and will question your methods, Franks, if those methods are lacking, if they're illegal, if they're reprehensible." Meeting him glare to glare, she shot back, "Then it's a good thing I prefer frogs to princes."
"Kissing frogs is gonna get you warts, Abby," Mike growled.
Abby laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "You can't get warts from frogs, not even from kissing them."
Jet shook off his grogginess and aching jaw, blinking eyes open. He took in the situation immediately and moved out of Abby's touch. He wasn't going to put her in a more awkward position.
Sure was different being on the other side of justice, Special Agent Franks's style.
Jet looked at Abby, willing her to relax. "I'm okay," he told her in a gentle voice, barely resisting the urge to touch her, to reassure her in some way. His head and face were aching and he was incredibly dizzy but he knew that would pass.
Hearing him reassure her that he was conscious and okay as much as he could be, Abby stood up and confronted Mike, something she never thought she'd have to do. "You can try and reassign me, Franks, but you and I both know I'm the best forensic scientist NCIS has, and there's no way the Director would let me leave. And you," she continued, poking him in the chest, "don't get to tell me what to do. I went undercover, for you. I don't have a tat on my neck anymore, for you. I had it removed for the op, your op. I put myself out there, for you, no one else. I wouldn't have done that for anyone else. I can touch whoever, when ever I want. You have no say. You just lost the right to give me orders or advice."
Watching frozen because of her boss' behavior, Ziva moved next to Abby, standing beside her friend, lending silent support. Though she was the assassin, the killer, even she was shocked that he reacted with such explosive violence.
Jet took in everything, the fact that her job was threatened, the fact that he'd been in Abby's face and barely resisted the urge to get combative with the man. But he knew that things would get much more explosive.
When Ziva moved up next to Abby, Jet nodded slightly, offering what thanks he could. He was pretty powerless here and he had to tread carefully, even though every instinct screamed to knock Franks' block off. He made a conscious decision to stay quiet, for Abby's sake. If she caught his eye, he'd sign something for her.
Ziva moved her head in agreement, a moment of understanding between two people on opposite sides of the line. Though she was on the side of investigating him, she knew that a connection like they had was rare, much like what she had with Tony and Tim.