I have two reasons that I haven't updated in so long. One is that come on, it's summer! Who wants to be sitting inside writing when they could be outside tanning? I'm playing tons of tennis, so that pretty much takes up all my nights.

My second reason/excuse is sheer embarrassment. I've been taking some time to read the amazing stories on this site, and realized that my writing falls far, far short of some of the more accomplished writers. But after a while I realized that some people do seem to enjoy my work, so I swallowed my pride and will post.

I'm a little tentative about this chapter because action isn't really my thing, but I did my best!

The music of Brain Matter was reverberating through Abby Scuito's small apartment, emanating from the state-of-the-art stereo system in the corner. Her black pigtails were bouncing up and down as she bobbed her head and shook her hips to the beat. She was in her element here, maybe even more so than in the "Labby" as she lovingly dubbed her lab. McGee believed that if she hadn't gone into forensics, she probably would have become a musician of some sort. She had a beautiful voice and she wasn't the type who minded having the spotlight on her. And she would have been successful, because Abby was the driven type who was successful in her every endeavor.

McGee, on the other hand, didn't share the taste of eclectic music that Abby possessed. . She had tried to drag him to a concert time and time again, but each time the job saved him from what would have been torture. His reasons varied- a big case, Gibbs was making them do paperwork, a stakeout.

Right now he was lying in the furthest spot from the music, a pillow over and under his head, trying to sleep. He had tried running on caffeine once instead of getting his beauty rest (he could hear Tony in his head making an immature joke about that one), and it had not gone well. He didn't know how Gibbs did it.

He could hear the music lower and then the distinctive clip-clop of Abby's platforms on the tile floors. "Timmy, come on in here! I'm lonely." Abby whined at him. He arose tentatively, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Okay, Abby, as long as you keep the music low. It's getting late and you do have neighbors, you know" he said threateningly, knowing that he had to pick his battles wisely with the Goth scientist.

"Fine," she huffed, and subsequently grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the other room. She grabbed the remote that controlled the stereo from a side table and McGee glared at her, thinking she was going to raise the volume despite what he had said. Instead, to his surprise, the music changed beat to a slow love song.

He asked Abby questioningly "What is this?", and her cheeks erupted in a fierce red blush. Abby didn't blush; nothing embarrassed the usually shameless forensic scientist who found it perfectly normal to talk to and name her lab equipment.

Waiting for her response, McGee stood there awkwardly in the middle of the room, his weight shifting from foot to foot. Suddenly, Abby closed the small distance between them, wrapping her arms around McGee's neck, their heights perfectly matching.

McGee was in full-blown shock mode at this point, entirely freaked out at Abby's weird behavior. She had told him she loved him, hugged him and kissed him on the cheek enough times, but he had never thought it could possibly be true love. It was just how Abby was- with no concept of personal space and appropriate behavior, and everyone, including him, loved her for it.

His musings were interrupted by the shrill sound of the doorbell ringing followed by frantic knocking on the wood door. Abby immediately extricated herself from him and skipped to the door to get it. Seconds before she was about to open it, McGee's protective instincts kicked in.

"Abby, don't open it!" he said loudly. She whipped her head around, pigtails bouncing.

"Why?" she asked innocently.

"Just back away, Abs," he said gently. He whipped his gun out from its holster and released the safety. Hey, it was better to be safe than sorry. He stuck his eye to the peephole, and it seemed to be a delivery man on the other side of the door. McGee looked back to Abby, asking her if she was expecting any deliveries.

She responded excitedly, "Yeah, my custom bowling ball is supposed to come soon!"

"Of course it is," he responded, and slowly opened the door, lowering his weapon, still apprehensive as to this late night visitor. His fear was confirmed when he suddenly felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against his forehead. His eyes quickly darted around the room, trying to form some plan of escape. McGee's eyes rested on Abby's visage- she looked petrified, and he couldn't blame her. He could feel the terror eating up at his insides as he inhaled the sweet air around him, trying to savor his last breaths. He met her hazel eyes and gave her a small smile in a futile effort to alleviate her fright, that he would be fine. Surveying his surroundings, he found nothing that would allow him to prolong his life and resigned himself to his fate. His last act would be noble, as had been his life. He would save Abby.

"Abby, run!" he screamed, his voice cracking with the panic that wracked his body and dulled his senses. She shook her head defiantly, refusing to oblige and save herself.

"Abby, save yourself," he tried once more, mimicking her thoughts. She had never been the martyring type, but she wasn't going to run out of here like a coward and leave McGee to die. And who knows, this man could have an accomplice and she would be in far more danger than she was now. Now, she just felt helpless.

McGee met the eyes of his soon-to-be murderer, hoping that maybe if he connected on some level with the man, he might escape with his life. The gift of life had never seemed as precious as it did when you were about to lose it. Once he took a good look at the fellow, however, he knew that his last bit of hope was for naught.

The man had heavy brows shadowing his intense dark eyes which were entirely devoid of emotion. His olive skin looked sallow in the fluorescent lighting of the apartment; the stubble on his cheeks showed that he hadn't shaved in a few days. If McGee had to wager a guess, he would have predicated that this man was a Mossad officer. He actually seemed quite familiar- he looked more gaunt and more haunted, but this may have been the man who had been Ziva's partner on the ill-fated Somali mission

Maybe if he explained to him his relationship with Ziva, it would help matters. This was likely not the case, considering Ziva had entirely abandoned Mossad and her father after her harrowing summer experience. But, hey, it was worth a shot.

"Um…I work with Ziva David at NCIS. I'm…I'm sure you know her. This must be a mistake of some kind." McGee stuttered.

"This is no mistake. It is because of her that someone is going to die. But it is not going to be you, Agent McGee. Miss Scuito is my target, not you." The man stated flatly.

To corroborate his statement, he withdrew the muzzle of the gun from McGee's forehead and he took in a large breath, sucking in the precious oxygen around him. Before he could make any sort of move, the butt of the gun collided with the back of his head, and he crumpled to the floor.

The man slowly strode up to Abby, his weapon still cocked. She hadn't been this scared since McGee's crazy stalker fan tried to kill her. Or when she was trapped inside Otto. Or when Ari shot at her. Or maybe when Mikel was stalking her. Or when Chip came at her with a knife. She really was employed in a dangerous line of work. But right now she should be focused on this man coming at her with a gun.

He took short, quick steps toward her, and she mirrored them with steps backward. She knew she was backing herself into a corner, but at least this bought her more time to think. She was well trained in self-defense, but she was no match for a trained Mossad officer. He had come to the US months ago to try and implicate Ziva in the murders aboard the Damocles.

Ziva had never divulged the intimate details, but Abby knew that it was a rigorous training process to become a Mossad officer, especially a prestigious one. To be part of the elite Kidon unit you had to be the best. Ben-Gidon likely excelled in hand to hand and weapons combat, basically telling her she had no chance of defeating him. She was as good as dead.

I hope you liked it! Please R and R- constructive criticism or anything!

Dolphins