Author’s Note: This is a McGee-Centric fic, so even though the POV changes characters, the longest ones will be McGee’s. Samantha Poe is a character I created; she does not exist on the show. I am using creative license, but under no circumstances do any characters besides Samantha belong to me. All credit for other characters goes to NCIS, CBS, etc.
He rolled off his bed, sitting on the edge for just a moment before glancing at the glowing clock on his side table. The bright red numbers exclaimed 6:30 AM, and a wave of fatigue settled over him as he stood and drug himself into the shower. It was Monday morning and after spending Saturday and Sunday up until hours working on his new Thom E. Gemcity novel Tim was not eager to go into work.
His morning routine seemed mechanical as soft jazz wafted through the few rooms of his small apartment. With one hand he cracked a window, and with the other he put the cover over his typewriter and closed his free-writing binder. The next few minutes played host to breakfast, pulling on his coat, donning his gun and badge, and finally walking out the door.
A fresh-looking coffee cup sat perched on Leroy Jethro Gibbs’s desk when McGee walked into the bullpen. He smirked to himself, dropped off the latte he’d picked for Ziva on her desk and continued to his own. He logged on to his computer, quickly checked email, and then went online for the news. Soon after he’d read up on a plane crash in New York, Ziva David walked into the squad room and gave a cheery smile, a “thank you” for the coffee, and an unmistakably female “good morning.” He’d replied with the same.
As soon as the deep, rumbling laugh was heard, it was clearly and widely known that Tony DiNozzo was present in the building. He strutted into the squad room like a peacock, giving Ziva a wink, and popping his gum like a senior quarter-back arriving at homeroom.
McGee rolled his eyes and ignored the senior field agent, focusing solely on a new email from Abby about the last case and a possible hinky side affect it may have had on her knuckle tattoos—she was convinced a substance she found had turned them a different color, but it was really just the fact that she had been looking at the tattoos while intoxicated. Tim skimmed the email while Tony noisily crumpled some notepad paper and tossed it absentmindedly—or so it seemed—in McGee’s direction.
Tony continued with senseless banter that achieved attention from Ziva eventually, but McGee stayed strong, ignoring him until Gibbs walked into the squad room, picked up his coffee cup and said, “Dead Petty Officer in one of our favorites. To Bethesda.” He was all the way to the elevator with his gun and badge before he said, “Tony, gas the truck. McGee,”—he perked up when he heard his name, a single paper ball bouncing off his shoulder—“call Ducky.” Gibbs gave another order, this time to Ziva, but McGee was already on the phone, waiting for Ducky to pick up.
The first thing McGee noticed when he glanced at the address was that it was extremely close to his childhood home. He ignored the thought, brushing it off as a coincidence, even though he knew very well how Gibbs thought about them. Still, a lot of people were killed each year and Maryland, his home state, was no exception.
The case began with Ziva and Tony snapping pictures and sketching, McGee breaking out the evidence bags/jars and bagging and tagging everything within reach, Ducky breaking out his liver probe, making the insertion needed to find the time of death and then saying to Jethro, “Petty Officer Jackson Marks died approximately 78 hours ago, Jethro. Rigor’s resolved itself and he seems to have fully lost all his color.” Carefully, the good doctor rolled over the body of the 30-something man and said, “No wounds on his back or shoulders. Just the three taps in his chest. There doesn’t appear to be an exit wound, so I dig the bullets out, give them to Abby and when you four find the gun—”
“You have too much faith in us, Duck,” Gibbs interrupted, “None of us can find the gun. But…” He gestured to McGee, who took out the evidence bag he’d just labeled. “McGee found a knife. With blood on it.” Gibbs took it from McGee, handing it to Ducky, who examined it carefully. McGee knew he was being dismissed, so he turned, continuing to label bags.
Wow, he thought to himself, Abby’s gonna be drowning in evidence.
The thought had just been dismissed to the back of his mind when he stood and noticed Ziva and Tony conversing very quietly in the corner. As if sensing she was being watched, Ziva stiffened, grumbled something to Tony and quickly moved back to the crime scene.
Anthony DiNozzo smirked when Ziva pulled him into the corner of the room, whispering directly in his ear, “What happened last night?”
“Well, see, it got real dark out and this thing called the moon came up—”
She slapped him in the gut with the back of her hand just hard enough to shut him up. He whined quietly, but recovered just the same.
“Relax. You got a little drunk and called me. Nothing happened.”
She winced. “What exactly did I…say?”
A grin on grew on his lips and Ziva knew that the answer could not be good.
“Oh, little Miss David… Remember Paris?” he asked, a very enticing twinkle in his eyes. When Ziva nodded, he continued with, “You just said you enjoyed it. Very much.” She felt an inward blush spread around her, but Ziva being Ziva, she did not let it show. Instead, she scowled.
“I was intoxicated. You cannot take anything I said to be truthful.”
The statement made Tony frown slightly. It was at this moment that Ziva felt eyes on her back. She hissed quietly to the man in front of her, “Tony, how do you Americans say… Get over it?”
Unfortunately for Tony, that saying she had gotten correctly.
It was a while since Jethro had worked a case in Bethesda. He enjoyed the city—Kelly had been born in Bethesda Hospital. The preliminary examinations of the crime scene were done and he had just ordered his team to pack up when he’d heard a phone ring. He growled, but ignored it, knowing that the call had to be important.
He heard Tony answer the phone, say, “Yes, Abs,” and then he was clicking his phone shut and saying to the rest of his colleagues, “Abby says Vance wants us back ASAP.”
Gibbs grunted in response, slipped into the front seat of the car and revved the engine, urging the team to hurry up. McGee helped Ziva load the evidence into the truck while Tony called, “Shotgun!” and ran towards the car. The gray-haired fox in the front seat rolled his eyes. Soon after Tony slid in, Ziva and McGee were joining them, and Gibbs was pulling out of the lot and gunning it towards HQ.
Removing his sunglasses to get a clear look at the bodacious blonde by Gibb’s desk, but still facing the rest of the squad room, Tony entered the squad room after dropping off all evidence downstairs. He took a long and very unsubtle leer at the woman before sitting at his desk. She was about 5 foot 11, legs that went to heaven, a nice pencil skirt protecting them with a frilly, but not to feminine, blouse tucked into it. Her suit jacket matched the skirt and her hair was tied up so that it cascaded only to her neck, though it looked like it would drop to her waist if she let it down.
Tony grinned at the picture she made while agents David and McGee entered behind him.
“Can I…”—he took another long look down her body—“help you?” Tony asked, sitting back and propping his feet up on her desk.
“I’m looking for Special Agent…” She hesitated, reached into the bag slung across her shoulder, and read from a piece of paper, “Timothy McGee.”
Disappointment and shock rumbled through Tony as he glanced at McGee. He was looking at his computer, but when he heard his name, he looked up.
“How can I help you, Miss?” McGee asked, looking up, but not even being visibly affected by the very attractive, very young, well dressed woman.
She smiled, walked towards McGee’s desk and Tony scowled. Still, he paid close attention to their conversation. The blonde opened her jacket, gesturing inside. “Assistant Director Samantha Poe, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Tony chuckled quietly, suddenly not wishing anymore that he were in McGee’s place.
He wrinkled his eyebrows together, slightly confused.
“Okay. What can I do for you?”
“Maybe Director Vance told you, but I am need of your assistance, Special Agent McGee.” She smiled slightly, her very young face glowing just a little in McGee’s eyes. Suddenly, he realized how very beautiful she was.
He shook himself internally. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t aware. But since when, did the FBI appoint such…young agents as Assistant Director? If you don’t mind me asking,” he hastened to add when Poe started to look offended. “And since when do they make face-to-face appearances?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been an agent for…10 years.” Impossible, McGee thought to himself. She couldn’t be over 26. When she noticed his disbelieving expression, she added, “I was a part of the FBI’s J90 program.”
McGee glanced at his colleagues and easily noticed that neither of them knew about this program either. Samantha sighed.
“J90 is a program for students right out of high school that have extraordinary talents in the fields of investigating. How they figure this out, I have no idea. All I know is I graduated high school top of my class, while skipping eighth and ninth grade, and was Valedictorian. The FBI recruited me, trained me, and I was a full-fledged FBI agent with a college education by age 18.”
Tim quickly brought up his search engine, typing in the appropriate search name for the J90 program. Still, NCIS was not allowed access. He looked up and Samantha was still smiling. “So that would make you 28?”
“Eh, 29, but who’s counting?” She took another step towards Tim desk and leaned over, allowing her blouse to accidentally allow easy visual access to some things Tim was sure she did not want him to see. “J90 is actually extremely secret. No talk on the FBI website, etc, etc…” Her voice went lower and out of the corner of his eye, McGee would see Tony leaning in, trying hard to listen. “But, let’s get back to my problem, shall we, Agent McGee?”
McGee was still staring at Tony out of the corner of his eye when Samantha asked that question so he faltered a bit before answering her. “Um, yes… What?”
Samantha licked her lips and said, “A portion of our files have been hacked and I’ve checked—you are the only person with high enough jurisdiction that knows how to fix this and track the hacker. So, I’m requesting your services—”
“Not today, Director Poe,” a deep but calm voice came from behind and above McGee’s head. He turned and saw Director Vance standing on the stairs. “I’m afraid I was unaware of the fact that Special Agent McGee is already currently working a case, and our agreement states that he can’t go with you unless he is available.”
The whole team noticed the very clear scowl-hidden-by-a-suck-up-smile on Samantha’s face, but she still nodded, thanked McGee, promised to get back to him and exited the NCIS squad room quickly. McGee couldn’t help but think he didn’t mind watching her walk away.
Eventually Gibbs entered the squad room again and the team gave him the low down on Petty Officer Jackson Marks. His birth, any significant history, etc, and then they were separated again, working like a well-organized, well-oiled machine.
The day went by fairly normally—then again, nothing crazy happened, so that was reason enough for the team to think something was abnormal. When McGee’s bottom half started to feel numb from sitting too long, he stood, deciding that it was time to visit a certain forensic scientist of the Goth persuasion. Unfortunately for him, he did not get the chance to stand.
Abby Sciuto, black hair up in pigtails, clad in a white button-down shirt with a black tie tucked in after the first couple buttons and a black vest unbuttoned, as well as red and black jeans and her five inch platform boots, came clomping into the squad room, a look of fear on her face. When she saw McGee, who was staring with a worried expression, she ran up to him, sat in his lap, hiding her eyes in his shoulder.
“Oh, Timmy,” she said, “I got hacked!”
And with that, the power in the building went out with a click. Darkness melted in and McGee wrapped his arms around Abby, knowing that with the sun setting outside, it was nearly pitch black in the room. Murmurs spread and Abby whispered in his ear, “Oooh, nice timing, huh?”
The team slowly discovered that the desk lamps and televisions still worked, but computers, MTAC, and phones did not. McGee’s cell phone was facing some kind of interference that he couldn’t explain, but soon enough, it was to be explained.
While the team sat, waiting for information, Cyber Crimes in the sub-basement of NCIS was gossiping about incredibly top secret information being hacked right from underneath their noses. Someone, they said, was going to be fired…
Director Vance came down the stairs, a flashlight in his hands. He stopped at the squad room, pointed the flashlight at Tony, whom McGee noticed had decided to take a nap in the present darkness, then on Ziva, who was trying desperately to get her computer to turn on, Gibbs’s desk, which was currently occupied by its owner who was grumbling unintelligibly and staring at the ceiling, and finally McGee’s desk, where Abby sat in a very compromising position. Tim blushed, swallowed, and gently nudged Abby off him.
“Director?” Gibbs asked.
He glared at McGee for a moment longer and then turned to Gibbs, letting McGee breathe slightly easier. “Cyber Crimes got hacked. Nobody is getting in or out until we figure out what’s going on. I suggest you use the time wisely.” Again, he turned to McGee. “Agent McGee, I have a project for you.” Instead of continuing, he turned and proceeded to walk back up the stairs. Three seconds after he reached the top, the flashlight went off, and two seconds after that, the lights came back on. McGee took that as a hint he should follow him.
this is just chapter one, and i will be posting more. it has not been edited and it is a rough draft. i'm working on this just as a fun side-project. it's McGee-Centric and there will be some gorey stuff later, i promise. lol.