A/N- Sorry if this seems a little Mary Sue-agey! My first-person stories tend to do that.

This is the first story I've posted, ever! I've already written most of first chapter is really short and boring. Sorry.

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or Numb3rs or Starbucks. I don't own any of the characters. Except my OC. She's mine.

Chapter 1: The Gofer

I finally had a job! It was surprisingly difficult to find a job in DC, and I needed to get my feet wet for the job I was pursuing. My cousin in LA had pulled lots of strings, and I was working for NCIS. It was only as a gofer, but still…

I stood by the elevator, holding four coffees. It opened, and Gibbs stepped out. I handed him his coffee—black battery acid.

"My peace offering." I explained. He smiled, took the cup, and kept walking. I followed him into the bullpen and distributed the coffees to the empty desks.

"Suckup," Gibbs muttered, then pointed to the desks. "Agents David, Dinozzo, and McGee," he said as I finished. "Go down to the lab and give Abby a Cafpow. Visit autopsy, too."

I cocked my head to one side. "Um… Ok…"

In the lab, I was confronted by a goth-girl in a lab coat, towering over me.

"Who are you?" she snapped. "Only Gibbs brings me Cafpow. You are not Gibbs. You are a very short person."

I bit my lip. "I'm, um, I'm Maggie Roosevelt…the gofer."

Her gaze softened. "Are you brown-nosing with caffeine?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." She smiled "That's nice! I'm Abby, can I hug you?"

The look on her face was priceless. I held out my arms.

"You're so cute and little!"

I laughed awkwardly.

After a very brief visit to autopsy, I headed back to the squadroom to meet the team. according to Mr. Palmer, they were "worse than actors." I hoped they like my coffee—everyone likes Starbucks.

I made my grand entrance, and Dinozzo looked right at… Oh, hell no. McGee jumped up.

"Hi."

"Uh, hi."

"Yeah, hi, I'm Tim. McGee. Tim McGee. Just call me Tim."

"I'm Maggie…" He was a geek. A complete geek.

Dinozzo stood up, too. "I'm Tony. You're short."

I looked at Gibbs, desperately, but he was laughing.

"Tony, I think we're scaring her," Agent David spoke up. She held out her hand. "I'm Ziva. You must be our gofer. Welcome to NCIS."

I shook her hand and smiled. "I'm nothing special, really, I just buy you guys coffee."

"Was that from you? That was good. I love Starbucks."

"Who doesn't?"

We heard the "click" of a phone being hung up, and, like Pavlov's dog, the three agents scattered, retrieved bags from under their desks, and marched towards the elevator.

"Dead Marine," Gibbs explained as he walked past me. "Stay here."

I was in the middle of an Abby-Cafpow-Run when my cell rang. It was Charlie.

"Whaaaaat, Chuck?"

"I need help again."

"Am I your new Megan now? What is it?"

That was the job I wanted—profiler. Since Megan had left Don's team in LA, my cousins would call me for a professional opinion. Why they did just call Megan, I didn't know.

My first month at NCIS had gone great, despite the ridiculous requests from the team. ("Maggie, go buy a footlong sub and a bucket of blue paint" Really?)

But then, one Friday afternoon, as I was getting ready to head home, Gibbs approached me with a serious face.

"Maggie? We need you to go undercover."

Oh, hell no.