She knocks smartly on the door and then folds her arms, making sure her face is carefully arranged into her best Gibbs-scowl, booted foot tapping impatiently.

When Tony finally opens the door, almost two whole minutes later, looking tired and ruffled, she takes note of it but jabs a finger at him anyway. "Listen here, mister!" she scolds. "I've tried to call you six times! Six! You're in clear violation of rule number three!"

His smile limps but it doesn't break, and he stands back to let her in. She drops her bag on the couch, pulls off her platforms, shimmies out of her trench coat and lets it fall in a heap on the floor, and then turns to glare at him when he seems content to watch her comfortable invasion of his home with nothing more than an amused eyebrow.

"What are you waiting for?" She points very bosslike at the couch, and he must feel so icky if he hasn't even come up with anything smart-aleck to say yet. She checks his temperature when he sits down, which he allows with a good-humored eyeroll, goes to grab a water bottle from his notoriously empty fridge and a bottle of pills from the cabinet above the sink, and places them on the coffee table just in case. And when she puts in V for Vendetta, and tucks herself against his side with an accomplished sigh, Tony finally speaks.

"Nothing better to do on a Saturday night?"

Abby leans over and reaches into her bag, pulls out her Hello Kitty blanket, spreading it over the both of them and tucking in the edges meticulously.

Tony brags, and preens, and teases. He'll ham up a papercut, moan and groan at the weather, and will compare any possible situation to a movie scenario whether you like it or not. But for all that, he has no idea he's worth anything outside what he knows he's worth as a federal agent.

She knows it's the product of a lifetime of being taken for granted, she knows it's just hard for him to understand that his team would love him even if he wasn't a super heroic senior field agent. His sense of self-worth is a little hinky.

So Abby makes it easy for him whenever she can, and takes matters into her own hands those times she absolutely has to; and right now, as he's sick and pale and on the verge of leaning into her arms but not there quite yet, she absolutely has to.

"Better than this? Get real, Tony."

He grins at her, a quick, beautiful thing that she considers a personal victory, and she grins right back.