Chapter 135: He's A Fucking Weasel
It's not a secret that Tim is jealous of Abby's past
lovers and that she feels similarly towards his. During the years they didn't
date, they didn't strenuously object about each other's "friends,"
and they both genuinely wished the other happiness, but neither of them was
particularly thrilled about the other dating someone other than themselves.
Sort of a if-I-don't-get-to-
have-you-no-one-else-does-either vibe.
Now, for Abby, this is not a big deal. Sure, Tim has
ex-girlfriends, but not a ton of them, and he tended to date outside of their
social/work set. So, it's possible that they might run into one of his exes,
but it's unlikely.
For Tim, this is a somewhat thornier problem. Abby has probably four exes to every one of his, and she has dated people they work with, at least on occasion.
And she's remained friends with a decent number of the
guys she dated.
So, running into one of her exes was bound to happen
sooner or later.
At least, he thinks the guy standing in Abby's lab, in a fedora and vaguely hipsterish outfit is one of the exes.
He's watching her the way an ex would. Eyes hungry and
staring, devouring her curves under her lab coat, lingering on her lips,
undressing her with his eyes.
Tim's been in the lab for, oh, nine seconds, and he
already loathes the guy in front of him.
Abby looks over at him, grins, and says, "Tim, this
is Greg Sanders. Greg, Tim McGee. We met at a forensics conference back
in..."
"'01." Greg smiles at him and offers his hand.
Tim smiles back limply, while shaking.
"So, which lab are you out of?" Tim asks.
"None anymore, I'm a CSI out of Vegas now. I started
in their lab, but got into field work a few years later." Tim feels
himself drifting closer and closer to Abby with each word Sanders says. By the
time Greg's done with the sentence, he's holding her hand.
"So what brings you so far from home?" Get
the hell out of my wife's lab and go back to your own!
"My publisher has me giving a seminar on true crime
writing, and since I was in town, I thought I'd look Abby up."
"Really. You write? Who are you with?"
"Harper Collins." Tim nods, impressed against
his will. They tend to make good books.
"True crime?"
"Yeah, I write about Vegas during the mob days. It's
a hobby."
Great, he's standing there, leering at Abby, eye fucking
her, or trying at least. She's not returning those looks. And he's a writer.
And he's a cop. And he's about the same age Tim is, maybe a tad younger.
Certainly cooler. Tan. More handsome. In slightly better shape. Tim wraps an
arm over her shoulders, eye narrowing, and growls, very, very softly. But Abby
notices and turns to him.
She does not look particularly pleased by him at this
moment. "Anything you need, McGee?"
"No, Mrs. McGee. Just wanted to tell you the OB
called, our appointment got moved from ten to ten-thirty."
This tells Abby that Tim's on the verge of a melt-down of
some sort, because that appointment had been almost a month ago, and though he
may call her Mrs. McGee on occasion, (like when they're having sex) he's never
done it like that before.
Greg looks up at her and smiles. "You're
pregnant?"
"Yes, we're having a baby in July," Tim answers.
That couldn't have backfired worse on him if he had tried.
Greg grins at them and pulls Abby into a tight hug, and since Tim already had
his arm around her, that means he more or less got hugged by Greg, too. Then
Greg shook Tim's hand again-which Tim responds to by not breaking his hand,
though he wants to-and says, "This is awesome! Can I take you out to
dinner?"
"No," Tim says it, voice flat.
"But I'm free for lunch tomorrow," Abby quickly
replies. "How about noon?"
"That sounds great!" Apparently Greg finally got
the clue that he didn't need to be in the lab anymore, and left.
Before he's all the way out of the door, Tim had pulled
Abby even closer to him and was kissing the daylights out of her. She lets him,
for a minute, and then puts her hands on his arms and pushes him back.
"Could you have been more rude?"
"Yes." Tim's nodding emphatically. "And I
would have enjoyed it!"
She rolls her eyes and looks exasperated. "Okay, what
is going on?"
"Insane jealousy. I mean, Palmer told me about it,
but it really is insane. Look, I trust you. I absolutely know that nothing is
ever going to happen with that Sanders guy. But the way he was looking at you
was just... And I was watching it... And just... Insane."
"Okay, so you know what you did was completely not
cool."
"Yes."
"Are you going to apologize to him?"
Tim shrugs. "I'd really prefer not to. I'm not in any
way bothered about being rude to him. He deserved it."
"Do you trust me?"
He kisses her again. "Utterly. Nothing is going to
happen. He was all but fucking you with his eyes, and you didn't even blink at
him. You and me, we're good. He's a fucking weasel."
She's giving him a look somewhere between amused and
annoyed. "So, it's not about trust."
"No." He's shaking his head. "Trust you
absolutely. It's more about wanting to wipe that smirk off his face, preferably
with a lot of force and a good deal of pain, and make sure it's tattooed into
his brain that you are MINE."
"Pissing contest?"
"Yes." Tim's nodding emphatically at this, too.
"Eye fucking?" If you were to ask Abby what that
encounter looked like, she would have told you it was two friendly colleagues
chatting with each other. Sure Greg's attracted to her. What guy isn't?
Especially now, pregnancy boobs are insane. But there was absolutely nothing he
was doing that was out of line.
Tim, on the other hand, is glaring at the memory of
Sanders watching Abby. "He was staring at your breasts, like he really
wanted to see them, again, and your lips, like he knew exactly how delicious
you are and what you can do with them."
Her eyebrows shoot up as he says that. "You think
we've—"
"I know how I used to look at you, and that looked
awfully similar to me."
"Huh." Okay, yeah, of course she and Greg slept
together, but she didn't see any of that in how he was looking at her. But if
Tim noticed it...
"Have you two...?" he asks, looking like he
can't believe he let those words come out.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Only if the answer's no."
She looks him straight in the eye. "No. We've never
slept together."
He nods, takes a deep breath, and kisses her quickly. When
he pulls back he says, "Eventually, when I'm sane again, I might ask
again, and that time, tell me the truth?" It's not that he's calling her a
liar, not exactly. It's that he knows that she knows that right now any other
answer isn't a kindness. And the little sane voice in the back of his head
knows that asking her that, and then telling her that he can't handle the
answer really isn't fair.
"Sure."
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He kisses her again. This time softer, and longer, and
more of just touching her to touch her, less about marking her as his. And this
time she lets him until he finishes.
"Can I go to lunch with him without you having a
fit?"
"Yeah. As long as I'm not watching him eyeball you,
I'll be fine. He knows we're married, right?"
"Well, if he didn't before, he does now. That Mrs.
McGee thing wasn't subtle. The fact that I introduced you as Tim McGee when
that's the same name on my ID badge, and the name on my Facebook profile, you
know, the way he let me know he was going to be in town, might have also tipped
him off. Or, since he's a cop, he could have noticed the matching wedding
rings, and if he's really sharp, he could have possibly noticed that
this," and she touched the lip print on her throat, "matches your
lips."
"Okay."
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