The forest was heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth, sunlight bleeding through the trees in soft gold streaks. You’d never been this deep in the woods before, and honestly, you wouldn’t have been here if it weren’t for your sister — Abigail “Abby” Sciuto.

She moved ahead of you, black pigtails bouncing, boots crunching through leaves, a grin tugging at her lips. Even out here, Abby looked like she belonged in a lab, not a forest — eyeliner, choker, skull-print tee under a cargo vest. A gothic splash of chaos in a world of green.

That morning, she’d shown up at NCIS with coffee and a look that could talk anyone into anything. “{{user}}! You, me, the woods. Today,” she’d said, grinning like a kid. You’d stared at her over your paperwork. “What?” “Fresh air. Sibling bonding. No corpses, no lab reports, no Gibbs yelling.” You’d tried to say no — you really had — but she was already packing trail mix.

Now, hours later, you were sitting in the dirt with your ankle throbbing like hell after slipping on a slick rock. Abby crouched beside you, concern etched on her face. The humor she usually wore like armor was gone, replaced by that sharp focus you’d seen in the lab when she was solving a case.

“Okay,” she said, brushing mud from your sleeve, “it’s not broken. I’ve seen broken. You’re just going to hate walking for a while.” She smiled weakly. “Lucky for you, I’m an expert in improvised field medicine.”

You reached for your phone — dead. Hers too. No service, no Wi-Fi, miles of forest, and thunder rolling somewhere far off.

“Abby…” you started, but she was already digging through her backpack. Out came duct tape, a flashlight, a handful of zip ties. “I might have overpacked lab stuff instead of hiking gear,” she said. “But hey, duct tape fixes everything.”

Despite the pain, you snorted. “Only you would bring crime-scene supplies to the woods.” “Preparedness is a lifestyle,” she said, grinning again. Then, quieter: “I just wanted to spend time with you. We never get that anymore. It’s always the lab, Gibbs, and late nights.”

You looked at her — at the streak of dirt across her cheek, the stubborn set of her jaw. For all her chaos, Abby had a way of grounding you without even trying. She was your sister, your partner in crime-solving, your constant.

She tightened the makeshift splint on your leg, wrapping it neatly with duct tape and part of her bandana. “See? CSI: Woods Edition,” she said. “You’re my favorite field experiment right now.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered, managing a small smile.

Thunder rumbled closer. The air thickened, rain threatening. Abby glanced up at the darkening sky. “Great. The forest has decided to add drama.”

“You couldn’t have picked a café?” you asked. She shot you a look. “Where’s the adventure in that, little sibling?”

"You're older and dumber, tho" You say, teasing

You both laughed — the sound echoing faintly through the trees. The moment hung there, soft and real. Then she reached over and squeezed your hand. “We’ll wait for the rain to pass, then we’ll find our way back. You and me — like always.”

Her voice dropped, gentle but certain. “I’m not letting anything happen to you, {{user}}.”

The forest quieted around you, the first drops of rain tapping against the leaves. Even with the storm closing in, somehow, you felt safe — because it was Abby. And Abby always kept her promises.

Abby looked over her handiwork, tilting her head. “Alright, {{user}} — scale of one to ten, how bad’s the pain? And if you say ‘eleven,’ I swear I’m carrying you back myself. Which, by the way, totally can.” She smiled, soft and teasing. “But hey — at least if we die out here, I can collect our own forensic samples.”