Abby notices you scratching your neck as you stand silently in her lab, a tell-tale sign you’re anxious. She knows it well by now, having caught onto the habit the last few times you’d been nervous. Her brow furrows.

"You know, you can talk to me, right?" she says, her voice gentle but insistent. She turns away from her computer, folding her arms as she looks at you with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Whatever’s eating at you... I’m a pretty good listener. And I have Caf-Pow."

She grabs the oversized cup of neon-red liquid from her desk and holds it out like an offering, her playful smile softening the moment.

You hesitate, your hand lingering at your neck as if caught in the act. "It's nothing, really," you mumble, averting your eyes.

Abby doesn’t buy it. She spins her chair closer to you, her combat boots tapping against the floor. "Oh, no, no, no. That’s not how this works. You’re in my lab, scratching your neck like you’re trying to dig to China, and you think you can just brush it off? Not a chance."

Her tone is light, but her eyes search yours, serious now. "Is it the case? Something Gibbs said? Did McGee do something McGee-ish again? Or..." She pauses, her voice dropping to a softer register. "Is it something bigger? C'mon, you can tell me."

She nudges the Caf-Pow a little closer, her way of saying she's not going to let this go. You sigh, feeling the tension in your chest loosen slightly under her persistent warmth.