Author's Note: After I finished writing this, I realized that the timing might be confusing, so I wrote this in to clarify—I know that Tim came before Palmer did, for my people who love the series. McGee shows up in "Sub Rosa" (S1E7) while Palmer's dorky self doesn't come on the scene until "Split Decision" (S1E21). I put Palmer in at the beginning, because Gerald got on my nerves and I didn't want to have to work with him. The specific date it gives later on is December 16th, 2004. That's the date I'm using for the purposes of this.

I was beginning at NCIS today, as a Probationary Agent, and I would be a liar if I said I wasn't nervous. I dressed in a white sweater dress, a vanilla pea coat, and tan tights with caramel colored ballet flats. I dressed this way because it was mid-December in Washington D.C, and I was bearing the coldest weather I had ever experienced in my entire life.

See, I was born and raised in Louisiana, but had lived in the Arizona desert, and the Texas Panhandle for most of my adult life. This was the coldest I'd ever been, but I took the grin and bear it philosophy. After all, I decided to join NCIS—the real team, not the field office—and the real team was here, in D.C.

Maybe I can ask them for tips on surviving the winter here. I thought randomly, while knowing that I couldn't ask that question now. I was just a stranger, and they might not trust me. They'd have every reason not to, I supposed, with me never having worked for another NCIS office, or any federal law enforcement agency, like the FBI.

I did work for the Louisiana State Police as a SWAT team member, though, so that gave me some experience with engaging suspects; it was the investigating where I was completely out of my element, so I would likely just stick behind the nicest person and hope this Gibbs guy didn't even notice me.

I heard that he was hell to deal with—always either gruff or snappy—and immediately thought of a woman constantly on her period (not that I would ever tell him that—I wanted to end my first day alive, thank you). I started thinking of ways to butter him up, like getting him coffee.

It was a 29 minute drive from my farm in Seabrook, Maryland to Washington D.C. and it was made a little longer by the fact that I had to make a detour to stop by Starbucks. There wasn't one on my route, so I had to wait until I reached D.C. and then take the detour to the closest Starbucks to headquarters—1730 Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest.

I was deaf—born with auditory nerves that didn't function—so I had to go inside to place my order and it was snowing heavily. It made for an awesome Kodak moment, but also made for horrible driving conditions. I snapped a picture of it and sent it to my brother, Stephen.

He and his husband, David, who we called Dave, lived in Phoenix, Arizona—in the middle of the Arizona desert—so they would find the snowfall hilarious, even as I detested it. They'd laugh at my expense. I captioned the picture like this:

So I saw my first snowfall…it's been an eventful day already and I haven't even gotten to NCIS yet.

I then pocketed my phone, pulled my new fleece gloves on and tried to run in; there wasn't any ice, although it was snowing heavily now. I ran into the Starbucks as fast as I could to escape the snow.

It was about then that I realized I had no idea what Gibbs' coffee preferences were, so I eventually opted for just the normal Dark Roast and bagged several creams and sugars for him—so that he could fix up his coffee however he liked.

I got three more regular coffees—these Pike Roasts—for DiNozzo, Todd, and Dr. Mallard, for me, I got my favorite Frappucino—a Mocha Frappucino with almond milk instead of regular, and no whipped cream because I was severely allergic to dairy. I also grabbed an extra Caramel Frap as an afterthought.

I paid for all these and then hightailed it to NCIS. The process was made much faster by the fact that I had a black 2013 Kia Optima that was able to take my lead foot philosophy with driving and translate it into actual speed rather than into a strange whining noise like my old truck did.

Special Agents Tony DiNozzo and Kate Todd were peeping out the window, as the new Probie, Emily Campbell, came up the steps to NCIS with coffee cups in her hands and a NCIS backpack on her back.

"Probie's hot." Tony commented. "Like wow."

"Yeah. If I wasn't straight…" Kate whispered.

"And she's got a heart. She brought us coffee."

"Oh, yay." Kate said sardonically. "It's Starbucks, too."

"Thank Jesus."

I had a new badge that let me into the building and as I came in with the large cardboard tray full of coffee, a young man with dark hair looked as though he was about to seize me by my hair and kiss me.

Good morning. I signed to him. Coffee?

Each cup was clearly marked with a name.

Tony

Kate

Dr. Mallard

Gibbs

Caramel Frappuccino

My coffee was marked with my name—Emily—and I held it in my left hand, as I offered the cardboard cupholder to him. He picked up the cup with Tony written on it; this was Tony, then, and I looked at him quickly to study his face. I would need to know what he looked like.

The idea was that they would choose the cup with their name on it, and hopefully, I got their coffee right. I watched as he took a careful drink, and then his eyes popped wide open—he wasn't expecting the coffee to be that strong—and I just grinned as he smiled, and held two thumbs up.

I did a little happy dance.

He pulled out a piece of paper, and began writing on it with a pen. Thanks for the coffee, but who are you?

I'm Emily Alison Campbell, NCIS Probationary Agent, and the deaf but kickass individual who has recently been hired on to the Major Crimes Response Team. I am a black belt in three different types of Asian martial arts, am a former Marine, can sharp shoot from behind my back, and have an unhealthy addiction to Starbucks and coffee.

Cool. That's awesome. I'm NCIS Special Agent Tony DiNozzo.

DiNozzo. You're Italian.

That's right.

My phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out to check it. It was Steph and all he sent back was the laugh face emoji with tears coming out of the eyes. I rolled mine at the phone, and saw Tony grin as he took another drink of his coffee. A gray-haired man stormed in from the side door and said something before walking off to his desk without even bothering to notice me.

This was the seemingly all-knowing Gibbs, then. It was not that surprising, though, that he was as bitchy as he seemed to be. What I didn't expect was him to be so rude.

So brash.

So do it my way or go away.

Well, he might be the leader of the team and my boss, but he wasn't the owner of me. I slammed his cup of coffee down on the desk, not spilling a drop nor burning my hands, although the cup was open. He looked up at me, his blue eyes sharp as they pierced my own green ones.

There's a difference between being bitchy and just being rude, you know. I signed, not caring whether he understood me or not.

And what is that difference?

If you're having a bad day, being bitchy is normal. Being rude as a default emotion when you actually are a cold, unfeeling robot is different. Here's your damn coffee and thanks for not even caring to introduce yourself to a deaf person when you are one of the few here who understand my language.

I then walked away, getting into the open elevator, and pressing the Morgue button. It took me all the way down to Autopsy, where it opened to a glass window that two men—an elder and a much younger—were staring at me, as I stomped out the side door that read Exit. For good measure, I slammed the door behind me.

My eyes burned a little as I stepped out into the sunlight that reflected off the piles of snow that were taller than me, in some cases, but then again, most things that existed were taller than me. I was only 4 foot 9 inches tall, but had a fearful temper (kudos to The Quiet Man) that would explode at the tiniest little thing.

Like when people who understood sign language were rude assholes.

I nearly fell to my knees, and started crying. Here I was, in Washington, D.C. when my heart had been left behind at my husband, Adam's grave in New Orleans, Louisiana two months ago. He had been murdered.

Adam was the person who I loved more than life, who I planned to grow old with, and now, he was gone at only 25. I had no idea what I would do with my life or what I wanted out of it now. Only a few minutes later, I saw the door open, and none other than the cold, unfeeling robot come out.

Emily, I'm sorry. He signed carefully, the blue eyes that had pierced mine just a few seconds ago having grown soft and gentle. He sat down next to me, and even put his arms around my shoulders, as I sobbed uncontrollably. I didn't mean to upset you.

It wasn't you. I literally just got here and I'm really vulnerable right now.

Do you want to talk about it?

Well, not really, but it might help me.

Okay. Tell me about it.

My husband was murdered three months ago—that's partly why I came here, to move on from that—and I wanted to start a new life. But I can't forget him, no matter what I try. I gave him everything I had and his death broke my heart into a million tiny pieces. I'm not sure what I want from life, or if I even want to keep on living. I'll move on someday, I hope, but it won't be right now. I have a daughter with him, she's just a baby, and I have to raise her alone now.

I understand that more than you think I do, Emily. You will move on from his death someday, but you have to let yourself grieve for him first. Giving yourself in to your grief is the hardest part, but you have to do that to get better.

I don't grieve well. My form of grieving is usually a bottle of either bourbon or whiskey and a few ill-advised choices that I don't regret until the next morning, when I wake up with the worst hangover ever and a strange man in my bed.

You like drinking bourbon?

I'm from the South, so my favorites are Kentucky bourbon and Jack Daniels' Whiskey. Oh and blueberry moonshine. I am a huge fan of blueberries, however, I don't like the sensation of being drunk. It's super depressing to me.

Where are you from?

Louisiana. I was born in the small town of Port Allen. Its name tells you about its position—it's a port town, with seafood being its biggest industry. I grew up right on the Gulf and my first job at seventeen was as a fisherman on a crab boat. I joined the military, and lived in Mobile, Alabama, San Antonio, Texas, Jackson, Mississippi, and El Paso, Texas in the span of five years during Basic, but I never thought that I would ever be here.

Where did you and Aaron live before he was killed?

We chose to settle in Houston, Texas, and lived there, but also owned an apartment in Baton Rouge. We were both huge fans of LSU, so we loved traveling to home games during football season, and sometimes came back during the summers.

Gibbs suddenly looked away from my eyes, which he had been staring intently into, and looked back at the door. He must've heard something that I didn't, and I snapped my head around, to see DiNozzo standing against the wall, speaking to Gibbs because he knew that I was deaf.

I tried to read his lips, but DiNozzo was practically jumping up and down as the Starbucks coffee that I had gotten him hit his bloodstream. Gibbs and I each took drinks of our own coffees, with smiles lighting our eyes—Gibbs through the tiny hole in his coffee cup, and me through the kelly green straw that poked out from the clear plastic lid of my mocha—as we watched him talk, while bouncing on his toes.

We were so similar that it was scary. I gave him only a second's sideways glance as he slipped his hand into my own. He signed against my hand, so as to not interrupt DiNozzo's coffee-fueled, slightly psychotic rambling that was only half-listened to, because I couldn't hear it.

What kind of coffee did you get him?

Starbucks.

Hell, he'll be jacked up for hours!

I grinned. That was the idea.

To get him jacked up on caffeine?

No. Well, not exactly. The idea was to get him and the others jacked up on caffeine and send them out on the case. They'll be running around like jackrabbits and hopefully, we'll get the case done quicker. But we'll see about that. In the meantime, what was Tony talking about?

We have a case. Submariner dissolved in an acid vat in Norfolk.

Why the hell would anyone dissolve a submariner in acid? That's torture!

You'd be surprised at what killers do to their victims now.

Not as surprised as you might think. I saw some weird shit when I worked for the Louisiana State Police.

This is beyond 'weird shit,' there, Emily.

I supposed that was true. This job was different from LSP, in the sense that our main objective was to investigate deaths. Someone had to die for us to be brought in. That made it both sad and somehow freakier; people who killed often hid their victims in the oddest places. That was why we always packed the heat, and were ready to use it.

That was one thing that I was good at—protection. I could use the heat like none other, and was quite good for what I was. I served in the Marines for fifteen years, and was given an honorable discharge when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, Raegan Grace.

She was now three months old, having just been the tiniest little baby when her Daddy was killed and was growing like nothing I had ever seen. Tony came to my new desk, while I was putting my favorite picture of my family up on my desk. It showed Adam, me, and Raegan in her baby shots. I was holding her close, while she was dressed in a little yellow dress.

My daughter looked just like her Dad, complete with a tuft of his trademark red hair. DiNozzo looked at the picture and smiled, before writing his piece of conversation on a piece of paper.

Is that your family?

Yeah. That's me, my late husband, Adam, and our daughter, Raegan. That picture was taken just after Rae was born.

Nice picture. What happened to your husband?

He was a Baton Rouge Paramedic, who was shot and killed while trying to save a guy's life after a car accident. Shooter came up behind him, shot him in the head. He was only 25.

I'm really sorry.

It's okay. I won't say that it's easy or that it gets any easier, but I try not to hate him for what he did. I just wish that it hadn't been Adam or anyone else. Rae wouldn't want to know, later in life, that her mom spent her time hating the man who killed her father rather than moving on with her life.

That is true. Would you like to go and meet our Medical Examiner and his assistant?

Sure. Where are we going? Oh, let me guess, the morgue?

You guessed correctly. Let's go.

I walked off, after closing up the drawer in my desk. DiNozzo led me to the elevator and pressed the Morgue button; it took me all the way down to where I went out the first time and he took me into the large room with the glass walls that I had seen before.

There were two men standing there, watching us. One was quite a bit older than the other, with a shock of heavily graying hair and sharp blue eyes that reminded me oddly of Gibbs'. He wore a smile that was eternally patient, though, which was very much not Gibbs, while the other was much younger, with dark, thickly curly hair that was only saved from looking like a mop by frequent trips to the barber shop to have it cut.

He looked like a twelve year old to me, if I was honest with myself, and I was very surprised that he was even in Autopsy. I looked over at Tony, as he spoke to them and I read his lips. Guys, this is Dr. Emily Campbell, our new Probie. Emily, this is Dr. Donald Mallard, who we call Ducky and his assistant, Jimmy Palmer.

The young guy who looked like he was twelve was the elderly man's assistant? That was a shocker. To be a doctor's assistant in any capacity meant that he had to be currently enrolled in medical school. I had to control my shock and not let it show on my face as I held out my hand and signed with the other.Nice to meet you both. I was born deaf, but am pretty good at reading lips, so please face me and speak clearly if you are talking to me.

Nice to meet you as well, my dear. The elderly man—Ducky—shook my hand, and . I looked around at the cold metal room, with the large freezers—body coolers—that made me shudder a little. I half-expected whichever body was in there to start climbing out. He smiled. So what bothers you about this place, Dr. Campbell?

Well, I was an E.R. doctor. I was meant to be keeping people alive, to make sure that they didn't end up here. I suppose the freezers freak me out the most. I probably watched Gravedancers one too many times, though, and am being overly dramatic.

I smiled. Of course, with me as a Probie now, I suppose that I have to think about my death a little more. It's actually a possibility, though a distant one, now. My daughter, Raegan, is just a baby, and my husband's already dead, so my hope is that either my brothers or my friends will take her and take care of her when it's my time to go.

Wonderful. You are a mother?

Yes. I am. My little girl is my entire life, really. I would give up my life to save my daughter from whoever or whatever it is that has her in danger.

How old is the little lass?

Three months old. I've raised her alone from practically birth. Her dad died when she was a month old.

I am very sorry for your loss.

It's okay. I won't say that it's easy, or that it gets any easier, but my daughter wouldn't want to know, later in life, that I spent any time hating the person who killed her father. Hating him doesn't help anyone—not me, not Raegan, no one—and it gives him a lot of power.

I saw Tony pick up his phone, and speak into it sharply. More listen than speak, I noticed, and I had one guess as to who that was. Gibbs. It was only after he hung up that he looked at me and motioned that we should go. I nodded, followed him out and upstairs, both of us running. We made it up the four flights of steps in record time, Tony physically heaving after even that little bit of exertion.

I think you need a better diet and/or a better exercise plan. I signed, to him giving me the finger and looking me up and down. I knew he would say something about my size—or lack thereof. I wasn't disappointed.

What's wrong with you? Do you ever eat?

Yeah. I eat just like everyone else. I'm a vegetarian, though, so I eat a lot of vegetables, tofu, and stuff.

So you're one of those people?

I gave him a head slap. Yeah. My brother calls me a tofu farter.

I'm not trying to be an asshole, but I don't understand why people become vegetarians. Do you just like vegetables that much? I'm confused.

I am a big fan of vegetables, yes, but that's not why I stopped eating meat. I stopped eating meat, because I love animals—I'm a huge animal person—and I felt like a hypocrite loving animals while they're alive and then eating them when they're dead.

Oh, okay. I bet Thanksgiving is difficult for you.

Not really. My family knows about my vegetarianism.

Tony and I walked back to the "bullpen," as it was called, I grabbed my backpack from against the side of my desk in the corner, and Gibbs handed me the keys to the NCIS van. I looked at them for a second, before looking back up at him curiously.

Know how to drive a van, Campbell?

Yeah, but I don't know where Norfolk is.

It's in Virginia. We have a GPS for you to follow.

Okay. Does that mean you want me to drive us all to Norfolk?

Yeah.

I took the keys, handed my backpack up to Tony, who was already waiting in the van, Kate and Gibbs got in, and we headed out, with the Medical Examiner's van close behind us.

Call McGee. I told Tony. Tell him to expect us in about three hours, depending on how fast I drive.

You got it, Campbell.

I punched on the gas, feeling the van speed up, as Tony dialed McGee's number. As far as I knew, McGee was a Norfolk agent with not a lot of field and weaponry experience, so we'd have to be on his six at all times, in case the shit hit the fan here. As if we didn't also have Ducky and Palmer to protect.

It was sunny and bright as I drove and the sunlight was in my eyes for almost the entirety of the three-hour drive to Norfolk. The scene was as secure as Fort Knox when we got there. NCIS Agents were literally everywhere, and I was immediately enamored with one, specifically.

He stood tall, with a gas mask over his face and tried to blend in with the scenery. He just looked like a dork, but I liked dorky. I didn't understand the gas mask, but he was very attractive otherwise. My guess was that this was McGee—or McGeek, as I thought of him now—and I nudged Tony, and pointed, a question in my eyes.

He nodded.

The motion caught McGeek's attention, and he looked over at me. Tony was giving me the You've been caught look and I glared at him. McGee then met my eyes, his expression immediately softening. He grinned at me.

I grinned back.

Tony brought me over to introduce me to him. He immediately appeared nervous at this, beginning to straighten his jacket, and standing up taller. I looked up at him, as Tony introduced us and he held out his hand. I took it, smiling.

It's very nice to meet you, Agent McGee.

You too, Agent Campbell.

Gibbs sent me off to start bagging evidence, and I went obediently. There was tons of evidence on this one—the body, having been nearly dissolved in acid, didn't really give us much, other than the obvious fact that this person had been tortured. Ducky couldn't even tell if the body was male or female.

It was when I was watching him do that that I saw something, spun around and got punched in the head with enough force to knock me to the ground. Ducky and Palmer looked up from their work and Gibbs came to my side, as Tony and Kate did perimeter. Blood was running from my mouth, dripping down my face, but I just let it, even when it was visible on the outside of my mouth.

"NCIS! Freeze!" Tony shouted.

I felt my lips move, but couldn't hear myself. I had to hope that I was saying what I was trying to say. "No! He's mine! Freeze, you bastard, before I put a bullet between your eyes!"

It was when I put a round in my Sig Sauer that the man paused. He looked back at Tony, and then forward at me. We each had a loaded gun pointed at his head and he seemed to realize that he was going to lose badly if Chicken was what he was playing. So he ran off into the wooded area beyond the naval base.

Gibbs and Tony followed him, while I made myself stop, and take out my Sig again. When they came out of the forest, the perp had his hands around Tony's throat, and I smoothly raised the weapon, knowing the exact path and trajectory that the bullet would have to take to eliminate the threat.

Tony looked like you could have bowled him over with a tennis ball as I pointed my gun just to the left of his head. Palmer's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and Ducky instinctively clutched at his assistant's arm, pulling him ever so slowly back from me, as I went into full Marine mode and dropped a round in my Sig Sauer.

Tony's head snapped down and I shot the perp in the head—clean through the forehead with one bullet. He fell backwards and let go of Tony, who gasped immediately for air and I smiled. I straightened up my jacket, put my Sig back in its holster, as Gibbs ran over to help him, and he accepted his hand to help him up.

You all right, DiNozzo? I asked. DiNozzo nodded, and then looked at Gibbs, as he signed to me. What the hell was that? That was brilliant.

I was a U.S. Marine for fifteen years, Gibbs. My specialty was marksmanship; I am an expert female marksman, with over 3,500 kills to my name. I smiled. You can take me out of the military, but you can't take the marksman out of me.

McGee's green eyes met mine and that gave me pause. He looked surprised at the piece of information. I gave him a small, sharp smile. I know. Most people don't know that about me, because they like to think that little tiny me can't hurt anyone. I let them think it.

Ducky and Palmer loaded the badly-dissolved body in their van, while Tony, and Kate collected evidence. Gibbs and I were tasked with taking pictures of the scene to keep for the military trial that was sure to come. It was when we were about to leave that Agent McGee discreetly handed me a piece of paper from behind his back. I carefully pocketed it for later, choosing not to open it in front of the others. I shot him a huge, toothy grin, and patted my pocket. I wouldn't read it until I got back into the van, because I was letting Gibbs drive us all back, since I drove us here.

I rode silently in the backseat, sitting next to Kate and made sure that we had pulled off from the scene before I opened the piece of paper.

Tim McGee

757-136-2597

Author's Note: I made up that phone number. If anyone has that number, it was purely out of coincidence. Sorry. Anyway, this is the end of Chapter 1. Tell me what you think about the chapter. What can I do better next time? Any suggestions? Leave me some good reviews—I was really nervous to post this.