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Title: Must Be Tuesday
By: sandersyager
Pairing: Abby Sciuto/Anthony DiNozzo
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: R
Prompt: 089. Work
Word Count: 2,602
Spoilers: Frame Up, Silver War, Head Case, Under Covers. Most of season three so far, and mostly quite mild.
Summary: A partial victim, a complete identity, and conversations Abby and Tony probably should not be having at work.
Author's Notes: Follows 'Just a Morning Moment' but also stands alone. Loosely followed by 'Quack!Fic'.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.

***

"DiNozzo, glad you finally decided to join us," Gibbs says, coming down the stairs. "Where's David?"

Tony looks at McGee, who just shakes his head and looks away. "Haven't seen her, Boss. Did you try—"

"Cell, home phone, everything but send up a smoke signal. We've got a dead girl at the Lucky Six and I'm missing an agent," Gibbs stops in front of the elevator, certain that McGee and Tony would join him. Must be Tuesday, Tony thinks.

Tony notices that Gibbs is missing his usual cup of coffee, which explains the extra measure of crankiness. Nevertheless, the boys follows, and Tony regrets it fifteen minutes later. It's another hair-raising, life-flashing-before-your-eyes, glad-to-have-skipped-breakfast kind of car ride with Gibbs behind the wheel.

"Looking a little green there, Probie," Tony staggers a little as he and McGee follow Gibbs' steady stride toward the motel room.

"Think one day they'll take his license?" McGee wonders under his breath.

"I'd love to see the person who tried," Tony's grin dies on his lips as they step just inside the open door. The room is small, barely big enough for the bed and dresser. There is a doorway, but no door, to the right, and a smashed sliding glass patio door directly across the room. Also, there is half of a naked girl on the bed. Most of the room is sprayed in drying or dried blood, and if Tony isn't mistaken, there is hand on the desk missing a body.

"Wow, deja vu," Tony says. "Whatever happened here, I want it known that I had nothing to do with it and I have an ironclad alibi."

"It must be Tuesday," McGee turns a more urgent and violent shade of green. Tony just hopes he won't vomit, contaminating the scene would just make everything harder. Plus, Gibbs would probably kill him and then there'd be two bodies and even more paperwork.

"Everything goes back to Abby, boys. If its not nailed down, bag it," Gibbs barks.

"Wherever David is, I hope she's having a better time," Tony mutters, digging his camera out of his backpack.
*
*
"How soon, Abs?"

"Christmas?" Abby hears Tony mutter under his breath. She desperately wants to agree, but knows better.

"Couple of hours, Bossman. Less if I could get some help."

"Good. DiNozzo, help Abby."

"But, Boss—"

"McGee, Ziva, you're with me."

"But, Boss—"

"Stay, DiNozzo," Gibbs gives him that look, the one that dares him to argue, then follows McGee toward the door. Ziva looks at both of them, then reaches over to ruffle Tony's hair.

"Aw, stay, Tony. Such a good dog," she smirks, winking at Abby. "Such a sweet puppy."

"David," Gibbs' bark makes her turn and scurry after him. Abby joins Tony at the table, two small suitcases and other assorted debris from the Lucky Six Motel splayed across the top.

"What did I do?" Tony asks. "What did I do to get stuck down here?"

"Got framed by a psycho. Lightning might not strike twice, but we seem to get an awful lot of recycled cases," Abby sighs, leaning against his shoulder. "Gibbs probably just wants to keep you out of it. Besides, you get to hang out with me, and that's a good thing, right?"

"I'm an agent. I should be up there, doing my job, not down here like I'm McGee," Tony grumbles, moving away.

"McGee's an agent, too, Tony. If you'd rather go fight it out with Gibbs than help me, feel free," she pulls out two pairs of gloves, slapping one down on the table. "Otherwise, I don't have time to listen to you piss and moan."

"Abs, I'm sorry," he says after a moment, touching her arm. Abby tucks her fingers inside his, giving his hand a squeeze well out of range of the security cameras. The quick look between them is not and Abby reminds herself that the last thing they need is an audience.

"I know and I get it," she slips her rings off and sets them in a dish at the end of the table. "Glove up and we'll figure out what treasures you've brought me today."

"All the good activities require latex these days," Tony grins, snapping a glove against his wrist.

"At least between us," Abby says, sliding one of the cases toward him.

"Just what are we doing?"

"Sorting. This girl certainly liked her Prada," Abby steps back to look at the suit jacket. "Doesn't the Director have the same one?"

"In red, probably without the blood stains. What I can't figure out is why a woman in Prada was shacked up with a Navy boy dressed in K-Mart's finest," Tony holds a battered denim jacket between two fingers. Abby figures that was the closest he's ever been to discount clothing. "By the way, Abs, I was asking about us, not the case."

"I know but wasn't it great how my answer worked either way?"

"You are a strange and infuriating creature."

"Like you're the first to tell me that," Abby grins at him, then gets serious again.

"So, we've got blood, half dozen receipts, paper scraps, and a shit load of partial prints. A suitcase full of clothes worth more than our combined incomes, a second one full of blue light specials, wine bottle that's both a good year and still corked, three types of glass shards, a hand, half a girl and dinner at eight?"

"That's optimistic, don't you think?"

"Oh, we'll totally be done by then."

"No, I meant that you'd ask me out with only hours' notice, assuming that I'm free."

"Well, aren't you?" she asks, flipping open a bloodstained date book.

"Actually, there's this woman I met at the supermarket. We're supposed to have drinks," he glances up to find her studying him, eyebrow cocked.

"We really have to play poker sometime."

"Ah, you went two whole minutes without a non-sequitur. Must be a record."

"Not so much. You're bluffing and your poker face is for shit."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Three things. First of all, you never go to the grocery. Secondly, it's never just some woman. You always give me a full description, usually down to her shoe size and who did her boob job."

"I do? Yeah, I guess I do," he frowns. "You said there were three things."

"You were the one who pointed out that you haven't gone out with anyone else in weeks. So, why start now?"

"Maybe I don't want you getting too comfortable, thinking you don't have competition," he says lightly. "Maybe I don't want you taking me for granted."

"Okay, we're so not having that discussion," Abby shakes her head, moving to the other side of the table. "Not now and not here, and not when I have sharp objects within reach."

"So, what? We're at the point where you just assume we're going to spend time together?"

"You know what, Tony? I liked you a lot better this morning when you were drooling over Ziva," she says, mimicking the way he breathes her name. She examines one of the knives recovered at the scene, carefully swabbing the edge of the blade for a blood sample, then begins lifting fingerprints. Tony watches her for a moment then goes back to sorting through his side of the table.

"I was not drooling. I was merely asking why you disliked her."

"So all that extra preening once her name came up was just incidental?"

"I don't preen," he says, mildly insulted.

"And I never wear black," she snorts, moving on to the chainsaw. "I also don't think I'm the one taking things for granted."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know what it means," she says, peeling off her gloves as the phone rings. "Lab."

"Abby, whatever DiNozzo did, smack him. Just once," Gibbs says, projected by the speaker phone. "Don't get carried away."

"Uh, Boss, you're on speaker phone," Tony points out, placing another bloodied sling-back Manolo on Abby's side of the table.

"Abs, do it, and take me off the goddamned speaker," Gibbs growls. Abby shrugs, and punches Tony in the arm.

"Son of... that hurt," he yelps. Abby sticks her tongue out at him and picks up the receiver.

"Okay, I know you didn't call me just for that, Gibbs, but thanks. I really needed that."

"I thought you might. I'm sending a car back to the garage for you. Virginia state P.D. found it not too far from the motel. Just giving you the heads up."

"Aw, Gibbs, you never do— damn it," she slams the phone down, having been hung up on yet again. "I hate when he does that."

"It's just his way of showing he still cares," Tony gave her a bright, and patently fake, smile. "Kinda like letting you smack me around."

"Yeah, well, somebody has to do it," she returns his smile and ups the ante by genuinely giving him the finger.

"Oh, that's mature," he says, reaching into the front pocket of the suitcase.

"How about we play a little game, Tony? The next one to talk loses," she yanks on a new pair of gloves, ripping straight through the right one. She closes her eyes, counts to fifty and breathes.

"Abby?"

"What?"

"I know I lose, but what do I get if I found something?"

"All rewards are directly proportionate to the importance of the discovery. Abby's rule number forty-one. Also, the reward decreases in magnitude the longer I have to wait, so tell me."

"Passport copy. My guess is our vic," he holds up a sheet of paper.

"If you're right, Tony, and it's not a fake, that's a big reward. I'm talking five gold stars kind of reward," Abby snatches it from him and hurries to her computer. "I'm still cranky, by the way, but this helps. If you go find me a Caf-Pow, I'll think about upgrading to mildly pissy."
*
*
"Boss, not that I don't love spending time with Abby, but isn't this usually the Elf Lord's job? Wouldn't I be more useful upstairs?" Tony asks. He hears the whoosh of the smack just before Gibbs' hand makes contact with his head. "What?"

"Told you to stop calling him that, Honey Buns. You'd be more useful in Kansas, but the Director thought you could use some lab time, some garbage about cross-team skills building nonsense," Gibbs wears that strangled look, the one that comes when confronted with patently idiotic ideas. "Meanwhile, she's at some damned Senate Committee ass-kiss luncheon and McGee's upstairs cleaning up a virus on her computer instead of doing his damned job. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Abs?"

"They never call me for lunch. I keep hoping but the invitation just never shows up. Do you think it's lost in the mail?" Abby bats her eyelashes and Tony thinks she looks guilty as hell. "And Honey Buns? How come Tony gets a pet name and the most I get is 'Abs' in a growl?"

"How about knucklehead? As in, have you two knuckleheads found anything?"

"I think I'd rather be an Elf Lord," Abby grumbles, twirling once in her chair. "And actually, yes. We found something. Our partial vic has a complete identity and a wardrobe straight off the pages of Vogue. Didn't buy much off the rack and when she did, she didn't buy cheap."

"Abby," Gibbs says in that warning tone that makes her all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Monica Carter of 68 Houston, Sussex. She was a long way from home, Gibbs."

"Any indication of why?" Gibbs asks.

"Not yet. I've got her Blackberry and, I know, keep looking."

"The car should be down in the garage by now. David's doing the initial processing and she'll bring everything up to you. Until then, keep looking," Gibbs calls over his shoulder.

"Oh, great. A visit from Ziva, Tony. Won't that be nice?" Abby gives him that saccharine smile again, settling back at her computer to wire the Blackberry to her machine. Tony thinks that the wise man would ignore her, and for once, he takes that route, continuing working at the table. "Tony?"

"Yeah, Abs?" he looks up from the photographs McGee sent down.

"Are we—never mind," she turns back to the computer. Tony crosses the room to stand beside her chair. Abby doesn't look up, typing with one hand faster than most people do with two, her right hand wrapped around her Caf-Pow. Tony watches the screen, seeing everything and understanding nothing.

"Did you really hack the Director's computer?" he asks, tossing his gloves into the trash.

"Nope," Abby's eyes scan the screen. "I know nothing about it. Not a single thing. Although, if I did know anything, it would be that whenever she types any variation of her name, she gets an error message that says 'Revenge of Career Girl Barbie.' Also, it's possible that her icons have been replaced with little doll shoes, and if she tries rebooting, her computer makes some truly disgusting farting sounds. Annoying, but not harmful. Other than that, I know nothing, and neither do you."

"Right," Tony nods. "And it'll take McGee how long to repair it?"

"Not long."

"And he's in on it?"

"Do you think Tim would do something like that? Really, Tony," Abby shakes her head, draining the Caf-Pow. "However, he might just be loading a different version of the virus to give it a two hour window of functioning before the shoes change colors. By then, Gibbs'll have him back in the field and the IT guys won't know what they're looking at for at least twelve hours."

"You're an evil genius, Abigail Sciuto."

"How nice of you to finally notice," she smiles wryly, pressing a few buttons.

"I've always noticed you," he says softly, rubbing the back of her neck. She shrugs him off with a little whimpering noise. "Abs, come on."

"I'm trying to work."

"Take a break," he turns her chair so she has to face him. She crosses her arms, crosses her legs—kicking him in the shins in the process, and looks at him.

"Well?"

"Wanna tell me why you're acting crazy or do I have to guess?" he leans back against the desk. "I know it's not PMS and you don't have a history of mental illness, so what's really going on?"

"There's nothing going on, Tony. This is me," she says. "This is me in a relationship, even though you won't admit that it is one. I get stupid and insecure and I don't deal with it well, okay? I don't like who I am when I'm like this and I don't want to talk about it, and don't you dare laugh at me."

"I'm sorry," he tries not to, but there is definitely smirking. "I'm not making this any easier am I?"

"No, but I still kind of like you," she says, reaching for his hands.

"Ahem," Ziva clears her throat. "Abby, I've got trace from the car. Should I come back later?"

***