Sapphires & Emeralds
Chapter 12

Copyright© 2009 by Taylor Gibbs

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 12 - 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.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Fan Fiction  

Finally making it to the sanctuary of her lab, Abby donned her lab coat and got to work downloading and running the photos the team had collected that evening. When one of Jet in his evening attire came up, she ran a light finger over his face on the screen before going back to work.

Sighing, she went over to her stereo to blast some tracks from one of her favorite groups. Settling back into her chair, she let the photos run while she looked into her microscope at her latest intrigue.

Tony noticed Abby wasn't there and as Ducky left the room, he called down to her lab. "Abby. Pick up," he muttered before he put the cell on speaker for McGee's benefit as well. Mike had disappeared again, probably to brood, but Tony wanted information and details and he didn't dare go up to Cynthia, so Abby was the next best bet.

When her phone started ringing, she felt her heart leap in shock. She'd been so absorbed in her search that the ring made her jump. "Hey, Tony!" she said, answering the phone, "What's up?"

"Hey, you. What's going on? Have you spoken with Mike? He decked the guy from the party and now we just learned he's a fed. Undercover, I guess. McGee and I are coming down for a gossip session. McTech here will text Ziva and Duckman and we'll have a party. Things are looking pretty wild in interrogation. The FBI director is there, Abby. And this Brooks guy ... he doesn't look as bad as we thought he was. Maybe we owe you an apology."

Maybe they owed Brooks one too, but Tony wasn't about to admit that yet.

"I'm in my lab, running the pictures you guys took of the people entering the party tonight, seeing if I can't find a connection, somewhere. I was there, Tony, when Mike hit Jet. Ziva and I both were. He was ... well, when you and Tim get down here, I'll tell you about it. It was frightening, Tony, to be honest. But anyhow, I can't wait for you guys to come down. And I don't need an apology, Tony. Never from you. Never from Tim. I just miss you guys, in a weird way. Plus, Bert misses you guys, too."

"McText 'em, McGee." Tony said, clapping the other man on the shoulder. "Let's get outta dodge, McPony. I'm feeling the need for a western film fest. What's your favorite western? You a Blazing Saddles kinda guy, or you like a real western?"

Texting Ziva and Ducky to meet them in Abby's lab, Tim said, "Well, honestly, after you made such a big deal about Gary Cooper, I went out and rented 'High Noon.' That one's probably one of my favorite westerns. What about you?" he asked, as they started to head to the forensics lab.

"Did you?" Tony beamed. "And I made you take the stairs that day, did I?" Tony frowned when asked what his favorite is. "McDuke, that's like asking Abby which of her babies is her favorite. Or Ziva which weapon she likes best." They stepped into the elevator and he waved his hands in an expansively broad gesture. "There's a great big world out there filled with movies, McGee. And I love every one."

"Well, if we're going for a film fest, you're probably going to have to limit the number we watch. Otherwise, we'll never get back to work." Pressing the button for Abby's lab, Tim leaned back and waited.

"John Wayne film festival, my place. Mel Brooks the next weekend. You bring the popcorn and some stuff to sleep in and we can share my bed. It's a king size, ya know..." Tony realized what he said and trailed off, gulping a little. When the elevator dinged, he couldn't help thinking "saved by the bell" and he stepped out, feeling a lot awkward all of a sudden.

Shocked, Tim just stood there, mouth gaping as Tony left the elevator. As the doors almost closed on him again, he lunged for the opening, hoping it wouldn't crush his hand. Thankfully it didn't and he was able to leave. Stumbling out of the elevator, he hoped his goof wasn't caught by Tony. He was still shocked, but didn't know what to think of that comment. So, instead, he left it alone for now and made his way to Abby's lab.

Stupidest comment ever, Tony kept telling himself as he hurried toward the lab, knowing his face was bright red. He hadn't meant for that to come out like it had.

"Abbs!" he said, almost desperately.

"Tony!" Abby exclaimed, turning around. "Tim! What? No Caf-Pow? Of all days to need Caf-Pow, you don't bring me any? I know I've had a few so far, but..." She trailed off, noticing the confused and reddened faces of the guys. But before she could say anything, her thought processes were interrupted.

"Do not worry," Ziva said as she came into the lab. "I decided to make a stop and get you one before coming down here." She started laughing as her friend pounced on her and gave her a hug. When Abby let her go, she greeted the other two. "Hello. Are you having a pom-pom down here?"

"A what?" Tony asked, momentarily distracted by the thought of psychotic cheerleaders slashing their way on his big screen and him cuddled up to Abby—not MCGEE! What the hell was wrong with him? It wasn't as if he wanted to go probing Probie's geek depths.

"A Caf-Pow, Tony. You know. My life blood!" she teased.

He looked up at the sound of someone whistling. "Saved by Mr. Belvedere," he muttered in relief. "Hey Ducky!"

"Anthony, Timothy, ladies. I just had a call from Cynthia. Did you know that the director has organized some food for us? It should be arriving shortly. I took the liberty of getting some coffee, and soda, and even a two liter bottle of Abigail's favorite."

Ducky paused, giving all of them a look, noting that Mike wasn't a part of this. "I gather that is our hint to stay put for the moment."

Grabbing for the bottle, she put it in her fridge since she was currently occupied with the one Ziva had brought her. "Thanks so much, Ducky. I didn't even know we were having a party down here 'til Tony called. And food will be great! I'm starving. Plus, if the Director let Cynthia order, it'll definitely be good!"

"Do you think so, Ducky?" Ziva inquired, wondering what was exactly going on upstairs. "I wonder what they are planning."

"Indeed, Ziva. They're bribing us with food."

"Well, we're easy that way," Tony retorted, coloring deeply. Did he have to make sexual comments? Couldn't he stop himself?

Ducky chuckled, wondering at Tony's unease. "Do you boys have some more comfortable clothing upstairs or in your cars perhaps?" They looked a bit uncomfortable in their tuxedoes. Ducky knew that Tony owned his, but McGee's had to be rented.

"Oh, yeah." Tony smiled, nodding. "Abbs keeps my bag down here so that I won't have to go out to the car. She keeps one for you, doesn't she, Probie?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tony crossed into the ballistics lab and grabbed his bag, closing the door and changing quickly into a pair of well worn black jeans and a long sleeved green T-shirt. He threw on a new coat of deodorant and a squirt of cologne and stuffed the tux shirt and pants into the bag. He'd get 'em dry cleaned later. That done in a minute flat, he emerged, sighing happily.

"Much better. You getting comfortable too, McBond?"

"Do you sit at home, thinking of ways to murder my name, Tony?" Tim shot off before going into the room Tony had just exited.

Quickly changing into some jeans and an MIT t-shirt, his routine was a bit similar as he finished getting changed. Coming out of the lab, he held out his arms and sighed. "Much better."

Hearing his stomach grumble with an echo from someone else's in the room, McGee asked, "So when's the food getting here? Anyone know?"

"Hey, Bond is a classic. It was a compliment, McNerd. Shaken, not stirred," Tony said in his best Sean Connery voice. He had no idea when the food was arriving and shrugged, looking at Ducky.

"She said in twenty to thirty minutes. Italian. We eating here or upstairs in the break room?" Ducky much preferred upstairs but he knew how much tonight's events had rattled Abby. They would all do whatever made her most comfortable. "I believe they'll want to speak with us about what happened with Mike."

Tony frowned, nodding, remembering that Abby said Mike and Ziva were there. He opened his mouth to speak, but was saved when Abby spoke.

"It doesn't matter, Duckman. But with all the evidence in here, we should probably eat in the break room. Don't want to accidentally get some crack in our pasta. I'll be back, babies. Keep working hard for Momma." Laughing, Abby grabbed up her Caf-Pow and headed to the elevator.

Turning to wait, she pressed the up button as the others filtered over to join her. She knew that she probably seemed a little high strung, and she was trying to come down from everything that happened. But she was grateful that her friends were letting her come down on her own, not pushing her to talk about what had happened or how she was feeling. Normally, she was the most open, sharing person in the world. But in that moment, she wanted to keep some things to herself.

Tony grabbed the extra Caf-Pow and soda and followed the others out, snagging his bag as well, watching as Ducky turned the music off. "Ducky, you really like Android Lust?"

"Sometimes, dear boy. It can be quite invigorating, Anthony."

Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Okkkay, Duckman."

Tony slid into the elevator last, still shaking his head and chuckling a bit. "You're an original, Ducky."


Martin followed Tom into a conference room and automatically took one of the heads, motioning Gibbs and Fornell to sit beside him. Tom had called Franks and they waited for him, Gibbs looking tired and a little ... dreamy? Martin had never seen that expression on his face before. Fornell just looked watchful.

Martin poured himself water from a pitcher that was placed in the center of the table by a beautiful woman. "Cynthia, right?"

"Yes, Director."

"Good to meet you." He peeled off a couple of hundred dollar bills from a money clip and placed them in her hand, curling her fingers over them. "You and Mellody have a nice dinner somewhere, Cynthia. Make sure neither of you discuss any aspect of this evening's events with anyone."

"Thank you, sir," Cynthia gave him a smile then turned to Morrow.

"Sir, I have some of your private stock set aside. She wouldn't—couldn't—admit that there was alcohol on site, but if the director thought it prudent, she would bring some down. There are four different platters coming. An antipasti plate, Lasagna, chicken Parmesan, and fettucine alfredo. Cannoli and tiramisu for dessert. Coffee is brewing. After the food arrives, will there be anything else you require?"

Tom Morrow nodded at his assistant. "Wonderful job, Cynthia, as always. When it comes here, are you going to send some down to the squad room? Or maybe Abby's lab? I don't know where they are, actually. But I'm sure we can call and find out the location of the agents and Ducky. If not, we can call and get a couple of the guys to come and grab it." Settling into the chair at the opposite end of the table from the FBI director, he waited to start their brainstorming session. He knew that they needed to be able to salvage both operations. But he had to be certain that Abby wouldn't be put in unnecessary danger. "Bring some of what you mentioned earlier," he added with a wink and a smile.

"I'll do that, sir. They break the platters into two and I'll have some directed to the main level and the Major Case Response Team and I'll inform them. The other food and drink I'll have sent directly here. Anything else you need, sir?"

"Once the food has arrived, you're done for the evening, Cynthia. But in case something goes down and I need you, make sure you keep your phone on. Otherwise, go take Mellody out and have a wonderful time on us."

She looked up as Senior Special Agent Mike Franks slunk into the room. Cynthia had never seen him like that before. He didn't look beaten exactly but he did look very contrite. Cynthia looked at the battered man, then to Special Agent Fornell and finally to the two directors. She couldn't figure out the tension in the room but she would linger as long as she was allowed. It would make for some good gossip at dinner tonight.

"We'll both keep our phones on. Thank you, Director Morrow, Director Fletcher. Have a productive evening and enjoy the food, gentlemen." Humming 'Get This Party Started', Cynthia sashayed down the hall, a bounce in her step. It was late but she was almost done and she and Mellody would have a fabulous night that would start right when the food arrived."

She left messages at the MCRT members' desks and then went downstairs to await the food.

Morrow smiled fondly as Cynthia left. But as she was walking out, his expression changed as his most senior agent sat down, sulking.

"Director," Franks muttered, slipping into an empty seat away from the two FBI agents. He was pissed at himself. He should have known it wasn't as simple as a good man going bad like that. His gut had let him down, and his emotions and fists had sealed the deal. And he felt like an ass for it. "Director Fletcher," he continued softly. "Fornell and ... Gibbs."

"Glad you could join us, Franks," Morrow greeted him, almost caustically and definitely sarcastically. "Cynthia has arranged dinner for us with a nearby Italian restaurant. Director Fletcher and I have decided to try and reclaim both of our ops, to hopefully combine them as a joint venture between our two agencies by possibly putting Gibbs back undercover with one of our people."

He had an idea that Franks would not support the idea. But at this point, his opinion mattered little to the director. "If we, as NCIS and the FBI, can guarantee her safety, we may be putting Abby back out in the field with Gibbs. With this gathering of our teams, we are going to hash out this endeavor, to make sure that all of the aspects are covered this time."

"No," Mike said succinctly. "Abby doesn't belong in the field, use someone else, Tom. You didn't see her after he..." He gestured to Gibbs. "Whatever happened between them shook her up real bad. Abby's not your girl. Use Ziva instead. Or someone else, like you told me earlier."

It was a mistake in judgment that Mike wouldn't make again.

"Mike, I may respect you in the field normally, but you lost the right to say 'no' when you attacked a man who was restrained and in our custody. Your presence here is to help guarantee Abby's safety by considering all aspects of our joint operation. Though we have yet to be briefed on Gibbs' actual involvement in that op, Ziva has far too much experience to be convincing as a companion to him in that capacity. And as you pointed out in our previous conversation, there is no one else available." Morrow was still furious with Franks' behavior and had yet to dress his senior agent as he wanted to. Instead, he would deal with him in the best way he knew how.

Mike set his jaw and glared at Morrow. "Fine. Then I'll just sit here and shut up." He reached for a case file and opened it, finding it was the op that Gibbs' wife and kid had died on. "You know I'll guarantee Abby's safety," he added after a few moments, his voice hostile. "But I don't trust Special Agent Gibbs," he said in a mocking tone of voice. "Far as I can throw him."

"How so, Franks? Because your gut was wrong for once in your life, you can't figure how to change your mind. That, Franks, is why your opinion isn't necessary, only your expertise. That and the fact that you punched him." In fact, Morrow wouldn't protest if Gibbs decided to return the favor and socked him back.

"Because the dirtbag shook Abby up," Mike said, growling. "Don't care who he was or is. He shook Abby up." He stood now, looming over Gibbs. "She's like a daughter to me. That bombing you were in will seem like paradise if you hurt her again."

Gibbs didn't even stare down the guy. He was tired and he remembered that Franks had gone to bat for Shannon and Kelly. When he spoke, it was in a low and controlled voice. "She knows her heart, Special Agent Franks. You might have put something into motion but you aren't finishing it."

"Sit down, Franks," Morrow ordered, his tone of voice brooking no argument. "You're lucky you're not on administrative leave right now, and that the FBI haven't pressed charges against you. You're on thin ice as it is. Don't help push yourself in. And last time I checked, Abigail is just fine. Nothing wrong with getting shaken up every once in a while. Now. Sit. Down."

Mike threw himself back in the chair, glaring at first the FBI men and then Morrow, and finally the FBI director, who was sitting there with a little smile on his face.

"Can we get down to business?" Martin asked, sighing. "We're working with Interpol on a jewel thief ring. Jethro ... Special Agent Gibbs ... has been undercover for nearly eighteen months, building his reputation in various cities around the USA. We also sent him to Monte Carlo and the French Riviera. His cover is as a businessman. Impeccable cover, we're very thorough. We need to break this jewel thief ring wide open and NCIS can't get in our way. Over seventy-eight million in rare gold coinage and jewels have been siphoned off in the last thirty-nine months. The very real concern is that they're being fenced and the money used to fund terrorist cells, both inside our borders and internationally."

Martin looked at Jet. "He's got a knack for being in the right place at the right time. We're getting close to having answers, may have this evening if..." He allowed himself to trail off.

Arching his eyebrow at his friend's double dig on his agency, Morrow responded, "If you had actually tried to inform a sister agency of an investigation in their territory? That's what you meant to say, right Martin? After all, the party tonight was held with a heavy Marine and Navy presence, was it not?"

"Wasn't a military ball, despite you people having a military presence, Tom." Martin shook his head with a smile. "We're not going to go back and forth on every detail, are we? Reminds me of one of our tennis matches."

Laughing, Morrow went into a brief explanation of NCIS' operation. "Ours is not so widespread, but of a concern to the safety of our military personnel. Some person, or persons, is lacing cocaine with a substance that causes convulsions and death. There have been eight reported deaths so far. We haven't discovered the substance as of yet. Abby was running the toxicology on the cocaine before she went undercover."

Since Franks had run the op without Morrow's knowledge of Abby's involvement, the Director now had to take the position of being in on that decision. "While she may be a bit inexperienced in the field, Abby Sciuto is a highly intelligent, highly capable agent, though her position is mainly as the forensic scientist for NCIS. In fact, she's the best I've seen in that position. Her undercover training may have been minimal, but she was well prepared and very dedicated to the mission."

Remembering Abby's expression, he went on, "She even went so far as to have one of her tattoos removed; a very visible spider web on her neck. Abby was quite attached to that tat, as she put it, but for the benefit of the op, she underwent the procedure. In her physical state, she then presented an easy mark for whoever was distributing the drugs. A Marine widow, in almost desperate straights, left alone in a room full of high-ranking military men. It was unfortunate that she instead attracted your agent. However, in the end, it may prove to be an advantageous accident."

"No NCIS presence advertised there, Tom. If I'm at fault, so are you. It wasn't a military event, as we just established," Fletcher shot back. "More civilians than uniforms there and you know it."

"You sent your forensic scientist who was trying to find answers on an undercover op? You made her make a permanent change to her body?" Jet asked incredulously. "Thought you always said these guys were top notch, Director. Not children playing with guns. I'm not risking my cover for an agency who puts their so called beloved friend at risk. Not risking the op, and sure as hell not risking a woman who means more than an op to me."

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