I don't know if you're watching NCIS: Los Angeles, but this is set just after the episode where Abby goes out to guest star investigate a serial killer and is kidnapped by him (and ultimately rescued by the L.A. NCIS team).
"Hi McGee," Abby says cheerfully, navigating her rolling suitcase with one hand and her cell phone with the other. "I was going to text Gibbs but then I realized Gibbs doesn't text so I thought I'd text you but then I couldn't text and walk at the same time so I probably should have gone back to Gibbs but I already had your number dialed."
"I take it you're on the ground?" Timmy sounds a little out of breath; Abby thinks she probably interrupted him in the middle of running some kind of bizarre late night Gibbsian errand.
"You take it correctly!" she tells him, stepping around a family of five (the little girl staring after Abby's Doc Martens and dog collar, which wasn't the best choice ever for an airport security day). "Baggage bagged, security circumvented, and door about to be ... dove through. Dived through?" She wrinkles her nose. "That alliteration didn't work out the way I'd planned. Ignore that."
She pulls her suitcase out into the big area where -- actually, she doesn't know the technical term for it. Arrivals gate? Giant open space where people wait with bated breath for loved ones and wave homemade glittery signs welcoming them home? Abby totally digs that part of traveling, watching the happy reunions and all, but her flight from L.A. arrived in D.C. at 12:16 A.M. EST (man is that a lot of acronyms at once), which makes it barely 9:00 in Abby's still-in-California mind, which is always disconcerting. But anyway -- getting in after midnight means that there are less travelers and not so many little kids wanting to hug Daddy home.
"Hello?" she asks into the phone. "Hel-lo? You know, McGee, that long pause after someone stops saying something is usually a cue for you to--"
"Sorry," he breaks in. "Sorry, I just had to -- There you are."
Abby frowns. "There what is? What in the name of Linux is Gibbs making you do for him?"
"Gibbs isn't making me do anything for him," says McGee, his voice echoing strangely, and then she looks up and sees him standing about five feet away. Cell phone held to his ear, he gives her a wave even as he breaks out into a smile. "Hi."
"McG--" Abby starts to say into the phone, then she stops, closes the phone, and drops the handle of her suitcase. "McGee, what're you doing here!" She launches herself at him, beaming, and from the way he holds fast even after being hit with an onslaught of Goth, he's either been working out lately or knew that was coming and braced himself for it. Maybe both!
"I thought you might need a ride home," he says into her hair, his arms wrapped around her almost as tight as hers are around him, and Abby smiles with her mouth closed against his shoulder and her eyes squeezed shut.
(1/2)
guest starinvestigate a serial killer and is kidnapped by him (and ultimately rescued by the L.A. NCIS team)."Hi McGee," Abby says cheerfully, navigating her rolling suitcase with one hand and her cell phone with the other. "I was going to text Gibbs but then I realized Gibbs doesn't text so I thought I'd text you but then I couldn't text and walk at the same time so I probably should have gone back to Gibbs but I already had your number dialed."
"I take it you're on the ground?" Timmy sounds a little out of breath; Abby thinks she probably interrupted him in the middle of running some kind of bizarre late night Gibbsian errand.
"You take it correctly!" she tells him, stepping around a family of five (the little girl staring after Abby's Doc Martens and dog collar, which wasn't the best choice ever for an airport security day). "Baggage bagged, security circumvented, and door about to be ... dove through. Dived through?" She wrinkles her nose. "That alliteration didn't work out the way I'd planned. Ignore that."
She pulls her suitcase out into the big area where -- actually, she doesn't know the technical term for it. Arrivals gate? Giant open space where people wait with bated breath for loved ones and wave homemade glittery signs welcoming them home? Abby totally digs that part of traveling, watching the happy reunions and all, but her flight from L.A. arrived in D.C. at 12:16 A.M. EST (man is that a lot of acronyms at once), which makes it barely 9:00 in Abby's still-in-California mind, which is always disconcerting. But anyway -- getting in after midnight means that there are less travelers and not so many little kids wanting to hug Daddy home.
"Hello?" she asks into the phone. "Hel-lo? You know, McGee, that long pause after someone stops saying something is usually a cue for you to--"
"Sorry," he breaks in. "Sorry, I just had to -- There you are."
Abby frowns. "There what is? What in the name of Linux is Gibbs making you do for him?"
"Gibbs isn't making me do anything for him," says McGee, his voice echoing strangely, and then she looks up and sees him standing about five feet away. Cell phone held to his ear, he gives her a wave even as he breaks out into a smile. "Hi."
"McG--" Abby starts to say into the phone, then she stops, closes the phone, and drops the handle of her suitcase. "McGee, what're you doing here!" She launches herself at him, beaming, and from the way he holds fast even after being hit with an onslaught of Goth, he's either been working out lately or knew that was coming and braced himself for it. Maybe both!
"I thought you might need a ride home," he says into her hair, his arms wrapped around her almost as tight as hers are around him, and Abby smiles with her mouth closed against his shoulder and her eyes squeezed shut.