I don't claim to be a good author. This idea just popped into my head. Don't throw bananas at me. :)

I, Pheobe Blythe, and Timothy McGee; we were complete opposites. A rich, trust fund girl and a NCIS agent slash computer geek. He was the Elf Lord and I was a girl merely wanting to get out of her life of meaningless parties and constant judgments. How did we, the unlikely pair, come to be, you ask? Well, it started with a cup of coffee...

I tapped away on my iPhone 5, walking along the smooth floor of the coffee shop. The "click-clack" of my heels created a rhythm for my typing. Just as I hit "send," a large mass collided with me, sending myself and my belongings crashing to the floor, as well as a cup of coffee onto my dress. The hot liquid had drenched the entire stomach area of my dress, creating a burning sensation on my tummy.

"Oh-Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" I looked up at the source of the masculine voice to find an attractive male, standing quite tall above me. His eyebrows were crunched together and his eyes were clouded with worry. His brunette hair was styled perfectly, and he wore a button up shirt, an older looking blazer, and slacks. I'll put together, but he made it work. On his shoulder he was carrying a black backpack labeled "NCIS." He bent down and picked up my purse and iPhone, then stood upright and reached his expansive hand toward me. I gladly took it and was finally able to stand.

I smiled lightly at the man. "It's fine," I said. My southern accent shined through at that phrase and I mentally cringed. "No, it's not. Y-You're dress is ruined and I spilled my coffee and I'm going to be late and I missed the bus." I shook my head. "I don't really like this dress, anyway, and you can always get another coffee. I'll drive you to work, and hopefully your boss won't be too bad. What's your name?" "Special Agent Tim McGee. You really don't have to drive me to work, I can walk." Um, no? "I'm driving you to work, Tim. End of story. I promise I'm not a physco killer. Even if I were one, I wouldn't have enough time to kill you. I have a meeting in two hours with my company. Let's go." He sighed, defeated. I'm guessing that he figured out that I wasn't going to let this go.

"Can I at least know your name?" he inquired. "Pheobe Blythe," I called over my shoulder. "I'll be at that table over there. Go get your coffee, here's ten bucks. Go." I gave him a look that dared him to try to deny the money. He took it silently and went to the counter. I then noticed he was still carrying my possessions. Um, no. I need that phone to live. I walked over to the counter where he was ordering. I tapped his shoulder and he slightly turned toward me. "I want my stuff." "Of course. Sorry." I shook my head. "You apologize was too much. Don't apologize." The guy at the counter gave me the up-down. "You're girlfriend's hot," he told Tim. Tim's ears and cheeks burned crimson. "Sh-She's not my girlfriend." I looked sharply at "Jerry," as his name tag said. "I do not appreciate being called 'hot.' That is a term used for temperature, and it is quite objectifying to women." Jerry blinked. "Um, okay. Here's your coffee dude."

As we were walking toward my '66 Mustang, he said, "You certainly handled that well." "I don't like it. Women are 'pretty,' 'beautiful,' 'gorgeous,' not 'hot.' And did you see the way that man gave me the up-down? And come on, he had to be like, sixteen. I'm twenty-two. I really don't like short guys that are younger than me, and I'm not into pedophilia. I prefer tall guys a bit older than me. A tall guy my age would do, I just hate short guys. How awkward would that be for me to have to bend down to kiss my boyfriend? Spill that coffee in here and I will hunt you down and murder you. I don't care if you're a federal agent."

I started the car. "Well, I've always had to bend over a bit to kiss my girlfriends. It's not that weird." I made a face as I started towards the Navy Yard as he had instructed on our walk to the car. "First off, Tim, you're a human giraffe. Second, it's just a bit different for girls. Imagine leaning up to kiss your girlfriend." He gave this some thought. Left turn. "I see your point." I grinned and looked at him for a second. "Aha!" He slightly smiled and shook his head. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he spoke. "This goes against everything I was taught as a child. You know, don't take rides from strangers." I slightly bit my lip. "I think you're safe. I'm a sweet little girl, too innocent to kill." He laughed loudly. "If there's one thing I've learned by working at NCIS, it's that you always should look out for the innocent looking ones. Hey, we're here! On time, too. Did you speed?" "Good thing you're not a cop," I replied. When I started getting out, Tim gave me a questioning look. "Doesn't Jimmy Palmer work here? I'll give him a visit, haven't seen him in years. He lived across the street from me, and I've always seen him as a bit of an older brother. He's a bit older than me, but we've always gotten along."

"I'll wait for you while you're getting your visitor's pass. Palmer doesn't come in for another hour, you could wait at my desk," he offered. "Thanks, that'd be cool. I think I'm going to re-schedule my meeting. Hold on, I need to go get my laptop." It took about fifteen minutes to get the pass and up to his floor. In the elevator, he warned me about his co-workers. "Gibbs, my boss, he won't be so bad. He'll mostly sit there with his coffee and maybe say hi. Ziva, she's nice. Israeli could kill you in two seconds. Headstrong like you, maybe a bit more. It's Tony you've got to watch out for. Just... well... you'll see." I nodded in acknowledgement of this information. "How do I know which is which?" "You'll see; it's obvious." The elevator door opened, and we stepped out. We rounded the corner and went into a square-type space with four desks at each corner.

A tanned man, a little older than Tim, exclaimed, "McNerd is here! And he brought a McGirl!" I raised one of my recently waxed eyebrows. "Tony?" I murmured to Tim. He nodded. "Very funny Tony. Her name's Pheobe. She drove me to work after a little coffee accident and she's a friend of Palmer's." I smiled and stepped towards Tony, my hand out. "Pheobe Blythe." He shook my hand. "Tony DiNozzo. Did little Timmy over here wet himself again? Was that the accident? I'm sorry, it happens when he doesn't eat breakfast in the morning. It's a medical condition, quite serious. We're worried, but he just won't get help..." I threw my head back and laughed. "I like him, Tim. He's quite the character." I turned to the woman. Her dark hair was down and wavy, and she was absolutely gorgeous. "I love your hair!" I told her. "What do you do to it in the mornings?" She furrowed her eyebrows. "I brush it?" "Well, I wish my hair looked like that naturally. I'm forced to straighten it. Pheobe Blythe." "Ziva David." I gave her my best smile. "It's nice to meet you." I turned to Tim. "The one beside Tony's is yours?" I asked, indicating the one with a picture of him, Ziva, Tony, and a gray haired man, who I assumed was Gibbs. "Yeah. Tell me when your laptop's on. I'll put in the password," he said, referring to the password to use NCIS's internet connection.

I nodded and settled myself at his desk. I pulled ay my blue MacBook Air and set upon the desk, turning it on. About thirty seconds later, the faces of my dad and i popped up. We were on one of the sets of The Bourne Identity, a movie we both adored. Our arms were around each other and we were grinning from ear to ear as we were directly beside where Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) had "killed" one of the many men that were after him in the first one. It was my favorite photo of us before he became ill. That's a story for another time, though. Tim gasped. "I'll be right back; I need to go see Abby. I promised to let her borrow the new Black Ops!" He tore an X-Box game from his backpack and he rushed off, presumably to wherever this "Abby" was. He immediately turned around, came around his desk, typed in the password, and then again rushed away.

Tony leaned on Tim's desk and spoke. "McGee and Abby are the only two of us who play video games, so they bond over that and computers." I nodded and logged onto my Gmail account. "Tim, he's a great guy. Small muscles, big brain, the heart of lion. I tease him, but at the end of the day, everyone loves him, including me. He usually had trouble with girls. Did you grow up together or something?" Quite straight forward. I shook my head. "This morning, he spilled his coffee on me, hence the big brown splotch on the stomach of my dress. He said he missed his bus and was going to be late to work, so I gave him a ride. I got a new car the other day and I want to drive it as much as possible, so aside from Tim being absolutely awkward and adorable, I used that as an excuse to drive my car. It's a '69 Mustang." He nodded. "Respect for the car. But you find McGee adorable? Tall, skinny, socially impaired, Timothy McGee whose ears stick out too far? Him?" I shrugged. "He's attractive, he's cute." Ziva jumped up.

"I know this one! Americans use the term 'cute' when they find something somebody does endearing, no?" Tony patted her on the shoulder. "You are learning, young one." "Cute is when a person's personality shines through the way they walk. Tim's just... cute. And from what I've gathered, he's got certain mannerisms that I like." I turned my attention to the e-mail I was sending to my employees/coworkers and my personal assistant that the meeting needed to be rescheduled. After that was sent, I shut my laptop and pulled out my phone. "Is that an iPhone 5?" Tony inquired in awe. "Yes." "Oh my God, you're not one of those girls that mooch off of their rich daddies, are you?" I pursed my lips. People always assumed this due to my age. "No, I'm running the company my dad started years ago. He can't anymore because of his health. I'm the reason it's still in the family." "I'm sorry, it's just- Well- You just looks so young!" "It's because I am young. I'm twenty-two." He poked my nose. "Aw, you're just a kid!" I shot daggers at him. "Don't call me a kid." He put his hands up. "So-rry. No need to kill me. That's Ziva's job." I peered over at her and she shot me a smile. "I'll take note of that."

Tim, after what seemed like an eternity, returned. He eyed Tony, who was still leaning on his desk. "Tony hasn't been bothering you, has he?" "Not exactly bothering, no. Just getting to know each other." "Sure," he said with a disbelieving undertone. "Can I have my seat? I'm sorry, but I really need to send one of my buddies at Metro an e-mail." I playfully pouted. "But I don't wanna get up!" "You could always sit on his lap," Tony joked. Tim stared at me. "Fine," I sighed. I got up, but as soon as he sat down, I hopped in his lap. "Wh- What are you doing?" Tim questioned. I half-way turned my head to look at him. "I'm doing what Tony suggested. I must say, you're quite the comfortable seat, Mr. McGee!" Tim didn't seem to know what quite to do or say. "Do you want me to get up?" I laughed. "No, no, you're fine. Um, I'll just get started with that e-mail." He put his arms awkwardly on either side of me and started typing.

Ziva had a small smile on her face as she looked at us. She whispered to Tony, "This is a budding romance, no?" I wasn't meant to hear, but I'm (most of the time) able to read lips. I fought a grin. That would be pretty cool if this turned into a romantic relationship. He seems nice, if not a little shy. That's perfectly okay. I've been described on multiple occasions as outgoing, so that would work. Of course, I've known him for a grand total of an hour and a half, so this wishful thinking really should wait until we know a smidge more about one another. I leaned back, farther into his chest. Tim was quite warm, and as mentioned, comfy. It was also easy to be comfortable around him. He had a warm personality. He was welcoming and friendly; unlike the people I must surround myself with at work, where I spend the majority of my time. It made me wonder who he was. What he liked to do in his spare time, what his favorite food was, if he had any siblings. What went on in his head, basically. During my flood of thoughts, the gray haired man from Tim's photo strode into the room.

"Why is there a girl in your lap, McGee?" he asked, plopping down in his swivel chair and sipping his- what I assumed was- coffee. "Oh! Boss, this is Pheobe. Pheobe, this is Boss- er, Gibbs. She drove me to work after I spilled coffee on her and missed the bus, then it turns out she knows Palmer, and he's not here yet, so she's waiting here." "And she's sitting on you because...?" "She was sitting in my chair but then I had to send an e-mail so I sat back down. Then, Tony suggested that she sit on my lap, and she took the idea, so here we are." Gibbs shook his head. "Palmer's here." I immediately hopped up. "That's my cue to change clothing and go down to see him!" Ziva stood. "I'll show her to autopsy." I threw her a grateful smile and thanked her. She followed me to the restroom, where I went into a stall and changed into a black pencil skirt and a white, button up shirt, keeping on my black heels. I stuffed my soiled dress into my purse and walked out to see Ziva cleaning out dirt underneath her fingernails with a knife.

"I'm ready," I announced. She looked over at me. "Do all American girls keep spare clothing in their purses?" "Not all, just some. It comes in handy." She nodded in acknowledgement. "So, McGee." She glanced over at me. I groaned internally. "What about him?" "Do you intend upon starting a romantic relationship with him?" "Uh, I don't know. We just met a couple of hours ago. I guess I'll just see where it goes." "But you are attracted to him?" "I am, yeah. He doesn't talk much, though, does he?" "You have to get to know McGee. He's like a potato. You must peel him back a layer at a time, otherwise he's going to stutter and be nervous around you." I giggled. "I think you mean he's like an onion, Ziva." She rolled her eyes. "I've been in this country for years or now and I still haven't gotten down your entire language. Autopsy should be just around this corner. Goodbye." Without so much as another word, she turned back to the elevator and left. I shook myself a bit and carried on my way to see Jimmy. I walked into a room with sliding glass doors. In the room, there was an old man with four or five silver tables, which I assumed were for bodies.

There was an older man at a desk, writing something. "Excuse me," I said quite softly. The man turned around and looked at me, then got up. "Hello! Who are you, might I ask?" "I'm Pheobe Blythe." "I'm Dr. Donald Mallard, but most call me Ducky. What can I do for you?" "Is Jimmy Palmer here?" "Oh! You're here to see Mr. Palmer! He's just over there, cleaning some tools. Mr. Palmer! A Miss Pheobe Blythe is here to see you!" Jimmy basically popped out of nowhere. "Pheobe?" he said. "The one and only," I grinned. "I would hug you, but, you know." He gestured to the- I don't really know what was on him. "It's cool. So, how's life treating the creepy kid down the street?" Ducky furrowed his brow. "Whatever do you mean, 'the creepy kid down the street?' I looked up at Palmer. "Jimmy and I lived on the same street as each other and the other kids wouldn't hang out with him because he didn't find death and dead things terrifying. I was the only one that would really talk to him on a regular basis. Even though he's a bit older than me, we get along really well. He's quite like an older brother," I said fondly. "We haven't seen each other in a while, though." Jimmy playfully glared down at me. "Somebody's been neglecting me." "I've been busy," I protested. "Even your dad calls and talks sometimes." I pouted. I caught up with Jimmy and even made plans to have dinner with Breena and him soon. He was about to show me a picture of he and Breena from their recent vacation on his phone when Duck announced that they had to leave. "There's a body by the Potomac. I bid you farewell, Miss Blythe. It was a pleasure to meet you." "It was great to meet you too, Ducky." I turned to Jimmy. "I promise to call you soon."