Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Title: Mission: Improbable
Summary: During Ellie Bishop's first week at NCIS, she accidentally breaks Rule 23. If she wants to live to see her second week, she better learn how to rely on her quirky, new team.
Rating: Mild Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers through Season 11.
Author's Note: Already complete. Written for the Reverse Bang on LJ. Posting this chapter early to be able to link for the story post. Full story will be posted here (and on AO3 with art) tomorrow.
Enjoy.
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Ellie Bishop tries to ignore the questioning glances from her new teammate, Tony DiNozzo. She knows how strange she must look. Sitting on her desk, laptop on her knees, earbuds buried in her ears, and candy bar wrappers strewn everywhere. When she first arrived, she was perfectly content to work on the floor behind her desk. That didn't last more than a few days before her boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, growled, Use the desk. So, she is just doing what she was told.
Her eyes flick to Tony. "Is something wrong?"
His lips move before he pauses, clearly waiting for an answer. Then, he smirks. At the moment, she realizes the surveillance audio from their case is still pumping through her earbuds. Ripping them out of her ears, she flushes fiercely.
"Too much Lady Gaga again?" Tony asks.
She shakes her head. "Audio data from our case. Did you know Phillips was a Gemini?"
"I do now, but I'm not sure how it's relevant."
"I just thought it was interesting," she says, twirling the earbud wire around her finger.
He half-nods. "Sure."
"Agent DiNozzo." When he stares at her, she flinches. "Tony. Am I doing something wrong?"
"The desk thing. It's a little weird. Okay, more than a little weird." He waves his hand at her current state. "They make chairs for that, you know."
"I think better when I'm sitting like this."
He raises his eyebrows. "Criss-cross applesauce?"
"Tailor-style," she corrects.
"What's with all those Twix bars?" Tony asks, gesturing to the growing pile by her knees.
"Breakfast," she replies.
His grin broadens. "Of course."
Tony apprises her for a long moment, tilting his head as though she is a specimen under a microscope. Her skin crawls as she twists the earbud wire around her finger until he hurts. He opens his mouth, but he seems to think better of it. He looks back to his casefile.
Ellie is just about to return to the audio when Leroy Jethro Gibbs swoops into the bullpen. He deposits his omni-present cup of coffee on his desk. Then, he glares at Ellie.
"Thought I told you to use the desk," he barks.
She glances down at her seating arrangement because she is using the desk. She didn't interpret his order to use a chair and sit at it like Tony right now. Before she has a chance to ask him to clarify how exactly he expects her to use it, he turns to Tony.
"Where's McGee?" he growls.
"On his way," Tony says confidently.
Gibbs' face pinches. "He's late."
Tony checks his computer clock. "Boss, it's 0753. Yesterday, you said 0800."
Apparently, Gibbs doesn't operate on the normal space-time continuum. Granted, she arrived at 6AM—0600, she corrects herself. Part of her wanted to impress her new team, the other part just needed to soak up her new environment without any distractions. She wanted to find her new safe place, the place to retreat when she needed a minute to herself. Because Gibbs barking orders and breathing down her neck constantly is so not helping her adjust.
"Got anything?" Gibbs asks.
"Not yet." When Gibbs glares at him, Tony sports an easy smile. "Phillips is a Gemini."
If looks could kill, Tony would be pushing up daisies right now. Somehow, Gibbs' nasty glower doesn't even phase him. If anything, Tony's smirk seems to challenge him. Ellie slowly sinks into her desk chair. She feels a bit like Rodin's The Thinker, but being a statue is far better than the receiving end of Gibbs' ire. Suddenly, she needs to know what Tony had for breakfast to give him such balls of steel. Maybe she'll try that instead of Twix bars tomorrow.
At that moment, Gibbs' cell phone rings. He flips it open.
"Yeah, Gibbs." There's a long pause. "On my way, Abs."
With another scowl at Tony, Gibbs rushes out of the bullpen. As soon as he's gone, Ellie finds herself able to breathe again. She glances at Tony, who is now grinning.
"Saved by our resident forensic goddess again," he says.
"Is he – " she drops her voice " – like that a lot?"
Tony's expression goes blank. "That? That was nothing. Gibbs is actually in a good mood today."
Ellie's heart drops. Maybe taking this job was a horrible idea. When she left the NSA, her former boss wished her luck when he heard she was working for Gibbs. At the time, she thought it was just an expression, a nice send-off. Now, she thinks she might just need it.
"What's he going to do to McGee for being late?" she blurts out.
"Well, technically, he isn't late until – " Tony makes a show of watching his desk clock " – now."
As if on cue, the doors elevator open. Tim McGee hustles into the bullpen, cheeks ruddy and backpack slung over his shoulder. He drops it behind his desk, shucks off his jacket, and fires up his computer. He collapses into his chair purposefully like he was there the whole morning.
He smiles broadly. "Good morning, guys."
After returning it, Ellie gets back to work. She keeps one eye on Tim and Tony's conversation and the other on her computer screen. She doesn't restart the audio surveillance. She is busy doing her own surveillance right now by learning how this team interacts. Then, she'll know how—and, if—she fits in.
"You're late, McTardy," Tony announces.
"It's 0800," Tim shoots back.
"That's not what Gibbs thinks."
Tim's pleasant expression suddenly sours. "Has he already been in?"
"Oh yeah." Grinning, Tony sing-songs: "You're in so much trouble."
Tim glances at Ellie, who carefully nods her agreement. Tim checks the time on his computer, his cell phone, and his watch. He frowns deeply as he twirls a dial on his watch. He tweaks his cell phone clock too. He types at his keyboard for a moment before stopping abruptly. Tony is staring him down.
"What?" Tim says, clearly annoyed.
"You're wearing the same thing you did yesterday," Tony replies.
Tim flushes ferociously. "Am not."
"Are too."
They both look at Ellie for her input. Biting her lower lip, she surveys Tim's clothes: blue oxford, black dress pants, dark grey jacket. A neutral color pallete made to look professional without trying too hard. However, the odds of pulling that color combination two days in a row and the odds of having two sets of the exact same brands is highly unusual. Ellie starts a rough calculation of the odds before stopping short. The clincher is a small spot of mustard on the collar of Tim's shirt. Yesterday for lunch, he had a turkey sandwich with Dijon mustard—really? Who eats Dijon mustard anyway?—while Tony and Ellie both had corned beef. Instantly, Ellie is hungry again.
She makes a face. "Sorry, McGee, but – "
"Aha, told you!" Tony interrupts. "Even the Probie can tell!"
Somehow, Tim's face turns even redder.
Tony wolf-whistles. "Did someone get McLucky last night?"
Tim leans forward. "So what if I did?"
Tony studies Tim for a long moment before shaking his head. "No, you didn't. I can always tell. You should take advantage of an opportunity when a woman takes you home. It can't happen all that often."
"I'll have you know, what Delilah and I have is special. There's a real connection." Looking away, Tim unconsciously smooths his jacket. "I don't want to rush it."
"Rushing it? You two have been dating for months, Tim." He draws the word out again, "Months. You're moving slower than that steam roller in Austin Powers."
At the sudden turn in the conversation, Ellie clears her throat. Tony gestures at her as though to say, See? The probie agrees with me. She just doesn't want Gibbs to catch them discussing their personal lives when they should be working.
Tim dramatically rolls his eyes. "We'll get to it when the time is right."
Tony mutters something under his breath. Tim narrows his eyes at Tony.
With the lull in conversation, Ellie can finally get back to work. She decides to take a break from the audio surveillance. She launches into a background search for their victim: Ransom Phillips, a Marine from New Jersey. She pulls his service record to check his birthday. August 8, 1982.
"Huh," she murmurs. "That's interesting."
Tim peers over. "Got something, Bishop?"
"Yeah, I – uh, maybe." She wavers. "Phillips' birthday is in August."
"And?"
"Well, on the audio tapes Phillips said he was a Gemini."
When Tim stares at her questioningly, Tony quickly explains: "If he were born in August, he would be a Leo or a Virgo."
"Since when are you into astrology, Tony?" Tim asks.
"Since Mercury went into retrograde," Tony says. "And Tim, your week is going to be a doozy."
Tim turns back to his computer. "I don't want to know."
"Suit yourself." Just as quickly, Tony switches gears. "That means whomever is on those tapes might not Ransom Phillips. Bishop, put the audio file and Phillips' service record on the plasma."
For a moment, Ellie thought Tim and Tony forgot she was even here. Glancing at her Mac, she frowns deeply. Even though NCIS' IT department issued her a PC when she arrived, she just couldn't get used to it. There were too many buttons on the mouse and the Windows operating system was surprisingly counterintuitive. After the first day, she needed—no, craved—the familiarity of her old computer. After a requisition request—maybe, just a little begging—IT managed to get her a Mac and while it increased her productivity, there were a few things it just doesn't work with…like the plasma screen.
She gestures at her computer. "Tony, it's a Mac."
"And?" He acts like it isn't a big deal. When it so is.
"It isn't exactly compatible with your network. I'd have to download a program to convert the data to Window. Then, I can put it on the plasma."
Ellie swears Tony's eyelid twitches.
Tim pulls a cable out of his desk. "I've got something to help with that, Bishop. It'll connect the Mac – " he says the word like a curse " – to the plasma."
"Thanks, McGee," she says, smiling.
Jumping to her feet, Ellie grabs the cable from Tim and bounds towards the screen. She holds her Mac like a serving tray while attaching the cable to a port before hooking it up to the plasma. She places it on Gibbs' desk without looking. She hears a splash before her sneakers feel wet.
Gibbs' coffee cup is sideways on the floor. The lid is gone, the liquid soaking the carpet dark brown. Tony, who is in the middle of flicking a paper football at Tim, stops dead. Tim bites his lower lip. Both men scramble to their feet to join Ellie. They stand beside her with their hands on their hips as though they survey a crime scene.
"It's gone, isn't it?" Tony whispers.
"Oh yeah. It's completely gone." Tim sighs. "This is just great."
Nervous energy washes over Ellie like when her husband gives her the silent treatment. She doesn't understand why Tim and Tony are so anxious. She stoops to pick up the empty cup.
"What's wrong?" Ellie asks.
"Rule 23," Tim says as though it explains everything.
She wrinkles her nose. "What does that even mean?"
Tony nods seriously. "Gibbs has a set of rules to live by. One of the most important is Rule 23: 'Never mess with a Marine's coffee if you want to live.'"
Ellie genuinely laughs. "It's just coffee."
"She thinks it's 'just coffee,' Tim." Tony clasps Tim's shoulder dramatically. The younger man shrugs him off. "Just coffee. That's like saying my suit is just a suit. Does this look like a suit to you?" He holds open his jacket to display the blood red silk lining.
Ellie studies the black suit Tony wears. It fits him well and it has a slight sheen, but it still has pants and a jacket. Her husband has a closet full of nearly identical outfits at home.
That must be a trick question.
"Of course, it's a suit," she says definitively.
Tony is affronted. "It's Armani, which is – "
"Not important," Tim interrupts.
Tony shoots him a dirty look, which Tim returns. They turn to face each other. They're squaring off again, trying to assert dominance over the situation. If she hadn't grown up with a house full of brothers, Ellie might find the situation awkward. Instead, it's funny because the pecking order will always be the same: Tony ordering Tim around solely because of age and job title.
Ellie starts out of the bullpen. "I'll be right back."
"Where do you think you're going? Tony calls.
"Down to the cafeteria to get Gibbs more coffee."
When Tim and Tony break out in raucous laughter, she comes back. For the life of her, she doesn't understand what she could be missing. Maybe they weren't kidding about Gibbs' rule earlier, which means…well, shoot. She is a little too attached to living to give it up now. Not to mention, she really doesn't want to go through the headache of getting another job. She doubts the NSA will take her back.
"What's wrong with the coffee here?" she asks.
Tony grins. "'Back when I was picking beans in Guatamela, we used to make fresh coffee—right off the trees, I mean. That was good. This is shit. But, hey, I'm in a police station.'"
Her eyes dart around the bullpen. "I didn't think Washington had the appropriate climate to grow coffee beans."
Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, Bishop. It's from The Usual Suspects. You know, when Kevin Spacey as Keyser Soze is talking about the coffee in the police station."
Ellie just stares at him blankly. When Tony checks with Tim, the younger man furrows his eyebrows. Tony sighs like no one will ever understand him.
Tim presses his lips together. "I think what Tony is trying to say is NCIS coffee is disgusting. Gibbs won't touch it with a ten-foot pole."
"Then I'll just get him another one," Ellie says.
"It isn't that easy, Probie. Gibbs gets his coffee from…" Tony shoots a questioning glance at Tim, who shrugs. "Apparently, we have no idea. Great, now he'll be even more Gibbsian than normal."
Tim mirrors Tony's serious expression. Ellie doesn't want to know how Gibbs could be even worse than he already is. She picks up the empty cup to study the logo. It's black and green with a cup of coffee in the center, surrounded by the words Hot Fresh Coffee.
"The logo is pretty generic," she says hopelessly. "I have no idea what store it's from."
With a nod of resignation, Tim heads back to his desk. Something flashes in Tony's eyes as he scoops the cup out of Ellie's hand. He examines it for a long moment.
"You know, I bet we could figure it out," he says.
Tim sinks into his desk chair. "I think we should focus on our case."
"You're already in the doghouse, McLate."
"I was one minute early!"
"According to your unsynchronized watch, not Gibbs' gut. Do you think the punishment will be better or worse if Gibbs is properly caffeinated?" Tim tilts his head as though to say, I'm listening. Tony dips his shoulders forward. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to determine where this coffee came from and obtain a new one. This message will self-destruct in 5 seconds."
Tim leans back in his chair. "Tony, no."
After what Ellie suspects is the count of five, Tony wiggles the fingers on his free hand. He mutters, "Kabrrrrm," under his breath. Tim's eyes nearly roll out of his head.
"We aren't doing this," Tim says.
"Come on, McPhelps. It'll be fun." When Tim doesn't back down, Tony tries again: "Our Probie needs us. From one Probie to another, you should want to help her."
Ellie plasters the most pathetic look she can manage on her face. Tim sighs at the sight of her.
His expression pinches. "This better not be difficult."
A shit-eating grin spreads over Tony's face. "'This isn't mission difficult, it's mission impossible. Difficult should be a walk in the park for us.'"
"What does that even mean?" Ellie asks, face paling.
"We're going to replace Gibbs' coffee without him knowing."