Title: Rewards
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Summary: Abby decides Caf-Pow! isn't enough…

Author's Note: Concept from a prompt given to me by my lovely friend Cassy – you rock!

He walks into her lab, stopping short in the doorway as he takes in the scene before him. Her music is turned up to an obnoxious level, some sort of heavy guitar riff mixed with intermittent blips and bleeps. She moves between her mass spectrometer, electron microscope, centrifuge and workbench, working with rhythmic efficiency, her hips swaying to the beat.

She has no idea that he's there. He briefly wonders if he should keep it that way for a while, then decides against it.

"Abby!" he shouts over the noise, touching her arm when she shows no sign that she's heard him. She whirls, wide-eyed, barely keeping hold of the test tube she's carrying. Her shock turns to recognition, and she gives her trademark grin.

"Gibbs! Isn't this awesome?"

He has no idea what she's talking about. Rather than shout over the music, he signs it to her.

Taking her cue from him, she switches to sign language, carefully depositing the test tube back in its rack. It's the new Plastic Death CD! I've been waiting for this for eight months, and it was so worth it!

He laughs at her enthusiasm, and her eyes brighten as she realises she's amused him. Out of consideration for his ears, she grabs her remote and turns down the volume. "So, the DNA result," she tells him, switching to professionalism without having to be prompted. "It was a match. Tina Marshall definitely killed Petty Officer Johnson."

DiNozzo and McGee are already on their way over there. He calls Tony, passing on the information and hanging up without bothering with idle chit-chat. "That's a good job, Abby," he tells her, depositing a huge cup of Caf-Pow! onto the table next to her, then turning to leave.

"C'mon, Gibbs, is that all I get?" she asks, her voice playful. When he looks at her, only the barest edge of nervous anticipation can be seen in her otherwise teasing expression.

He already knows where this is heading, having had all the same thoughts a thousand times over. "I brought you Caf-Pow!," he tries, keeping his face impassive as his eyes sweep over her expectant posture.

She sighs, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Caf-Pow! is for results that I'm working on, Gibbs."

"I take you out to dinner sometimes," he reminds her, already knowing it's not going to placate her. Hoping his intrigue doesn't show in his face; pretty sure it does.

She takes a small step forward. "Okay, that's a start, but it's not what I meant."

He stares her out, hoping she'll back down. It's not that he doesn't want her; it's that he can't bear to ruin what they have. Every relationship he's ever had has ended badly. The thought of hurting her destroys him.

She doesn't take the hint. "See, I was thinking there should be a sliding scale here. Why should the reward for finding an incriminating fibre, which can take less than an hour, be the same as a DNA match, which can take whole days?"

"Abby…" he growls, warning her to change the subject, fast. A tiny shiver thrills through her, almost imperceptible, and he realises that hearing him say her name is a major turn-on for her. He wishes he could take it back, almost as much as he wants to say it again.

"So maybe if we say a kiss on the cheek for a fibre-find, a peck on the lips for a positive ballistics result, a proper kiss – with tongue – for fingerprint matches, and a minimum of five minutes making out for a DNA match?" Her voice is casual, her light tone never slipping. If he didn't have fifteen years' investigative experience behind him, he'd have mistaken it for a joke.

"You don't wanna go there, Abbs," he replies, torn between amusement and frustration.

She sighs melodramatically, shrugging and smiling, and turns back to her test tubes. He leans in close and brushes his lips over the soft flesh of her cheek. The scent of her gunpowder perfume fills his nostrils; he draws away before he can think too much about it, and heads for the door. Just as he's about to step into the corridor, she calls after him.

"Okay, but I'm keeping track of how much you owe me, and pretty soon it's gonna amount to so much that you're gonna have to sleep with me…"

Her eyes are mischievous, and he can't help but laugh, relieved that she doesn't seem to be hurt by his brush-off. He takes a breath to speak, but she cranks up the volume of her music again, cutting him off with a little wave. Leaving her to it, he crosses the hall to the elevator, wondering just how long it will take before she'll bring up the subject again, and whether he'll have the willpower to resist her.