"Hey, Abs," Burley managed, wheezing through his crushed lungs.
Abby had grown out her hair. It was the same ashen black, like matted charcoal streaks on a canvas, but now it was long enough to be pulled it into two pigtails. The only woman he knew with hair that could drown out the colour around it. Her expressions hadn't changed though. Her smile had grown wider and the tattoos had multiplied, but she still looked the same, really, even with the extra knowledge of half a decade slung across her shoulders. She was still Abby, full and playful and smiling, and for the first time since Burley had stepped foot in the building, he felt the surge of familiarity.
Abby squeezed him tightly with that large grin plastered across her lips. "I've missed you!"
"Missed you too, girl."
He planted a chaste kiss, a brother's kiss, on her cheek and pressed his nose into her collarbone and closed his eyes. The spikes on her choker pressed into his neck - - not too sharp, but not too soft. Just the way he remembered they used too.
It was good to see Abby. Really. He had hoped that she and Gibbs and Ducky would miss him and would know that he had missed them, but he hadn't realised before now how much he really had missed them. He had been lonely. Abby and Ducky had both offered to visit him whenever he docked or had been in Washington but he had always tastefully declined, forever worried that any contact with his old team would just reawaken his deeply buried regret with his decision to leave them. And he had hoped that they had understood, and hadn't held it against him. Abby had lit up like it was Christmas, so he supposed she hadn't.
But he had needed to leave. He had needed to move on and move up. He couldn't spend the rest of his life under Gibbs' wing. He wasn't a child anymore, despite Gibbs' tendency to often see him that way. But he was still young - - and that youth was coupled with a kind of innate innocence that made him seem even younger than he was. And even though he had become ashamed - - not of Gibbs, but of his reasons for staying - - he still liked the childish memories, the feeling of being protected and treasured. And that was probably the reason he had decided to return.
Burley sincerely hoped that he didn't look as stupidly happy as he felt about this.
Or as stupidly happy as she looked, really. He could feel Abby's plump, deep scarlet-lipped smile pressed into the side of his ear.
Absence did make the heart grow fonder.
Abby continued to crush her arms around him for a few seconds.
"Havin' a tad of trouble breathin', Abs," Burley finally said.
"Oh, sorry." Abby lowered herself to the ground, still smiling broadly, before letting out a huff and swiftly thrusting out an arm and whacking Burley hard against the shoulder.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"You have missed bowling practice for the last..." Abby began counting on her fingers, "Two hundred and twenty-eight weeks! The nuns are furious with you! Well, the ones who's Alzheimer's hasn't gone to second term... But even they've noticed that our scores have slipped below 390!"
"I'm sorry, Abs. I just... I couldn't ever find a replacement! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good bowler willing to play with nuns every Thursday night?"
"Yes," she stated. "It's easy."
Abby pointed behind her to McGee, who'd been silently watching the exchange between the two of them with an expression of complete confusion and utter bewilderment for the last few minutes.
"He even wears the outfit?" Burley asked.
Tony and Kate had seen Abby's costume. Their eyes both lit up as they turned to face McGee.
McGee himself now suddenly leapt from his chair. "No, no, no, no! Now, that we had altered. The nuns bent the rules a little for me, you know. The pink shirt just... I don't know if it was quite me."
"Is that right?" Burley smirked. "Personally, I thought it was rather flattering."
"Only on you, Burley," Abby smiled teasingly.
Burley smiled back. He missed this familiarity. The instant familiarity in the exchange of a simple few words. He missed the knowing sideways glances as well as the usual flirtatious ones. The "I know what you're thinking"s and the "Don't even think about doing what I know you're about to do"s.
McGee stepped cautiously over to the agent and eyed him steadily. "I don't think we've met. Tim McGee."
"Stan Burley."
They shook hands.
"How do you know Abby?" McGee asked, still confounded. He thought he knew most of Abby's friends.
Burley smiled. "I used to work here. For Gibbs. I transferred five years ago. I met Agent DiNozzo and Agent Todd last year when Gibbs agreed to help me out on a case."
"Ah," McGee said, finally understanding. "And you're..."
"Here about the Burke case," Gibbs said as he strode through the desks and up to Burley. "Nice to see you again, Stan."
"You too, boss." Burley eyed him suspiciously. Something had just caught him slightly off-guard. He ignored it.
Gibbs didn't look as happy to see him as he'd expected.
"Why do we need help with the Burke case?" Tony asked, the words coming out a little more defensive than he'd anticipated.
Gibbs glanced over to Tony but ignored his question. "Long flight?" he asked Burley.
"Would've gone quicker with reading material."
Gibbs smirked through a pained expression. "Brief him, Tony."
"Lieutenant Harrison Burke," Tony said, still eyeing Burley with a glimmer of distaste in his eye. He pressed a button on the remote, bringing up a picture on the plasma.
"Harry?" Burley suddenly stammered. "Harrison Burke? David's son?"
The four other agents looked toward him.
"You know David Burke?" Kate asked.
"Harry... Harry's dead?" Burley's eyes quickly lost the raw and eager glimmer that they'd entered the building with.
Gibbs looked to him, his silence expressing a confirmation.
Burley's eyes widened in horrified realisation. No discussion. No comments. No information. No files. No reason to say no. And Gibbs knew damn well that he'd never deny his old boss a favour. Gibbs knew him too well and he hated it. He hated that after five years of absence, he could still be played by him. How could he walk back into his old home, his old office, and his old boss' company and expect anything else? And the thing that annoyed him the most was that he couldn't even summon the self-respect to be surprised, let alone pissed off.
"Gibbs..." Burley stumbled, flashing his eyes up in the direction of his old boss. "Gibbs, you know I can't..."
Burke. David Burke. Every person living and breathing in Washington, and many that were dead, knew the name. Multi-billion dollar media mogul. The President Pro Tempore. Highest ranking senator in the United States for ten years running.
And Stan Burley had walked by his side for eight of them.
"Can't what, Stan?" Gibbs asked condescendingly.
The three other agents furrowed their foreheads in confusion.
"I love my job, Gibbs. I'd like to keep it."
"You don't work for him anymore, Stan."
"Gibbs - - You know Harry and you know David. You don't want to mix me up in this." He was surprised by the begging sound in his voice. "I just... Harry... I can't believe Harry's dead..." he hesitated, his eyes falling away from the screen momentarily. "Gibbs, if we begin to officially dig up what we both already unofficially know..."
"Who says that's going to happen?" Gibbs asked. "We're investigating Harry's murder, not David's political agenda. I want you with me for this case because you knew Harrison. Not because you worked for his father."
"You were David Burke's aide?" Tony asked, remembering their hostile conversation twelve months ago.
Burley's eyes felt blurry. Harry Burke was dead. He didn't understand it and it was making his head ache. The cheer of seeing Abby had fizzled out of him, and all that was left was a blinding confusion and hurt.
He ignored Tony. "Don't make me do this, Gibbs."
"I'm not." Gibbs' eyes bore into him.
Yes he was.
Burley's head was pounding, his heart was racing, and the adrenaline from the sight of seeing his old team was fading away just as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling hung-over and suddenly tired. So hateful, too, were all of his frustrations coming out here, and he wasn't going to care about Gibbs' case and whether or not he really should help him out with it because Harry was the victim here, and he was a friend, and David's son, and he was beginning to see red, and Gibbs was asking him to betray a friend's trust, and Gibbs had helped him, and Gibbs had been there, and Gibbs had saved his job when it needed saving and given him second chances when he hadn't deserved them, and Harry was dead.
"I know you and Harry were close." Gibbs words seemed warbled.
"Harry was like a brother."
"Then help me find his killer."
There was a killer. Burley stood with his knees locked and his skin pale, staring blankly at the picture of Lieutenant Harrison Burke on the plasma. Someone had killed Harry. It was hard to avoid the look of mixed anger and sorrow on Burley's face. Harry - - Harry Burke was dead. Which was ridiculous, of course, because it was Harry, and people like Harry didn't die. Couldn't die. Except he had, and probably so horribly that he couldn't even bring himself to picture his death. It just tried to flicker in between memories, like a changeover in a movie. Harry was teasing him, his eyes interested and playful as he pointed out the girl at the other end of the bar, and then, Harry was pale and blue at the lips, and hanging, or foaming at the mouth, or beaten, or stabbed.
"How?" Burley's words caught in his throat.
Gibbs was silent.
"Shot," Kate said, looking bewildered at the human wreck that was standing in front of her.
"I..." Burley sighed.
"Stan, you know you're going to hunt down the bastard."
Burley's throat felt swollen and dry and he tried to swallow.
"It's just a matter of whether you're going to let me help you."
Burley finally turned to look at Gibbs. His eyes weren't distant and cold like he'd expected them to be. They were pale and glossy and pleading with Burley to let him in.
Gibbs knew that Burley needed his help.
And Burley had no choice.
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