Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

A/N: This is set post-S6, but I make references to the preseries episodes of JAG (specifically, just in case you didn't already know, the episodes of Ice Queen and Meltdown) wherein we first met Tony, Gibbs, Abby, and Ducky, as well as Charles Sterling (most notably of Frame Up and the episodes leading up to it)… Hell, you might as well figure that anything up through the season finale for S6 is fair game for spoilers (and don't plan on seeing Ziva resurface in this – the only S7 episode I've seen is Flesh and Blood, at least until the DVDs are released).

The Goth, the Cowboy, and a Mom

Chapter One

At the close of his first year as Director, Vance finally got around to perusing the files he'd been putting off – namely, the financials and budget information. What he found had a headache pounding behind his eyes, and that was before he managed to scrounge up a pile of bills for outsourced laboratory testing. It was enough to puzzle him – he knew that all the tests that showed in the bills were ones that could have been run on the premises (save for one or two that required equipment he knew the lab didn't have). The grand total spent quadrupled Ms. Scuito's annual salary.

He knew the forensic specialist preferred to work alone, but the bills he was staring at said that she needed help.

Like anyone promoted above their comfort-zone, it was hard to suddenly switch all the old instincts off and one of the first thoughts to cross his mind was, Has it always been this way? Followed closely on its heels was, How side-tracked was Shepard to have missed this? Vance scrubbed a hand across his face and glanced at his clock again. It was coming up on 2230, and he was grateful that his wife had taken the kids to her mother's for the week. The last thing he needed was another night on the sofa in the den for missing dinner or a dance recital or a little league game.

Shoving thoughts of his faltering marriage down, he turned his attention to his computer, set on doing a little research.

An hour later, he found that Scuito hadn't always been alone in the lab – once upon a very long time ago, she was but the lowest-ranked new-hire tech among a team of five, all working under the direction of Dr. David Isaacs. In fact, she'd been hired almost a year to the date prior to DiNozzo's joining of NCIS. Not a week after she'd been hired, the five-person team was down to four when the documents specialist suffered a fatal heart attack. Two months later, the serologist/DNA analyst transferred to a private facility. And then the lab was down to Dr. Isaacs, Ms. Scuito, and the ballistics expert, Daniel Friedman. About a month before someone by the name of Caitlyn Todd had joined NCIS, Friedman had gotten himself smeared along the beltway when his VW Bug had ricocheted off the side of a semi truck. Less than a week later, Dr. Isaacs had retired, leaving the lab in Abigail Scuito's hands. Coinciding with Dr. Isaacs' retirement, the budget reports of years past had indicated that was the same year MTAC received massive equipment upgrades. The following year saw equipment upgrades go to the cybercrimes boys.

And that was when Morrow's meticulous records came to an end. Shepard, or so it seemed, was hopelessly unaware of how things were supposed to run in the lab, and had used the funds originally allocated for extra personnel towards upgrading first the employee lounge, then the gym, and then…

Well, maybe she wasn't as clueless as I'd originally thought.

She had tried to provide Scuito with an assistant. However, for all that all employees were supposed to undergo in-depth background checks and intense vetting processes, Charles Sterling had somehow managed to slip through the cracks. Hell, who am I kidding? She probably didn't bother to do more digging than a fast-food manager looking for a drive-thru clerk. For all that he thought that the agency could use more agents with a solid grounding in technology, like Agent McGee, and that DiNozzo's personality simply grated on his last nerve, he didn't want to see the agent actually harmed. At least, not former-fed-in-prison harmed. Maybe a broken arm, a couple of bruised ribs, sure. But not dead. Besides, much as he hated to have to admit it, but the MCRT's solve-rate had as much to do with DiNozzo as it did with Gibbs – that much had been made quite patiently clear when he'd sent DiNozzo off afloating.

Vance sighed and reached for another toothpick, idly wishing he hadn't given up smoking. It did a hell of a lot more for his nerves than chewing the toothpicks did.

Back to the task at hand.

Half an hour later, he'd come to a decision. Yeah, he was sure Scuito wasn't going to be too happy with him, but he hoped that she'd come to see reason, because he was damn sure that if Scuito left for the private sector, Gibbs would 'retire' again, and Dr. Mallard wouldn't be too far behind. Of course, DiNozzo had made no secret of his loyalty being with his boss first, and NCIS second, so he'd follow. And McGee, probably scared of being permanently reassigned to the subbasement, would go trailing after like the family puppy. Hell, he'd be lucky if he could manage to hang onto that kid that assisted down in Autopsy – What the hell is his name again?

He took a quick break to make himself some coffee. Hopefully, there's someone in the files.

As the clock ticked around to 0300, all of the applications NCIS had received from hopefuls over the last four years had been separated into several piles. Bit by bit, the files were whittled down, and by the time the sun had started peeking over the horizon, there were only five possibilities in his stack. He set the alarm on his cell for nine, and stretched out on his sofa for a nap; the next step could, thankfully, be delegated.

A pile of files landed on Gibbs' desk with a staccato crack that made McGee jump and had DiNozzo's ears perking up to eavesdrop. Jethro merely looked up from the report he was reading. "Something I can help you with, Leon?"

"Background checks," Vance replied, tapping the stack of personnel files. "I figure since your team seems to be the target for every grudge-holding son-of-a-bitch within the tri-state area, you can help head any problems off at the pass."

Gibbs barely glanced at the stack of folders before returning Vance's gaze, his eyes making a side-trip to the conspicuously empty desk where Ziva'd once sat. "Not interested."

"It's not for the empty slot on your team, Gibbs."

That caught the team lead's attention. He removed his reading glasses. "MTAC?"

"No," Vance replied. "Let's just say I'm trying not to repeat my predecessor's mistakes and leave it at that – besides, it's not like you've got a whole lot else going on right now." The Director knew the team was currently wading through cold cases. "I need this stack narrowed down to three by the end of the day, but if none of them can stand having their dirt aired out and held to a microscope, let me know and I'll put out feelers at some of the graduate schools in the area." With that somewhat enigmatical statement, Vance strolled back to his office. If I go back to sleep now, I might just be able to make it to that dinner meeting with the SecNav without looking like death warmed over.

It took maybe fifteen minutes for the MCRT to realize just what they were doing. Tim summarized it quite succinctly – Tony thought it probably had something to do with the writer side of him – when he said, "Abby's really not going to like this, boss."

Gibbs didn't even bother to dignify that with a reply, but Tony sighed. "I don't think it matters if she likes it or not, Probie. Those pages that were between the third and fourth files? Those were the bills for the tests she's had to outsource this year. It's almost double what I make in a year – and I know I'm not really all that smart on the lab-monkey stuff you two do down there, but even I know that a lot of those tests are ones she could have done if she hadn't been swamped with the evidence from our cases, Cassie's cases, Balboa's cases, and whatever trace the NCIS teams anywhere else on Earth can't make heads or tails of."

"She still isn't going to be happy," McGee replied.

"I know. So, let's make sure that we don't have to deal with another Sterling and an unhappy Abby, okay?"

And so they buckled down and got to work.

It took ten minutes to rule out the first file. Julia Marie Heschelfeld, age twenty-five, married four years to Alan Heschelfeld, BS in Organic Chemistry from Cal-Tech, Masters in Forensic Studies from NYU, was summarily dismissed to the 'only if everyone else turns out to be psychopaths' pile simply for being Ron Sacks' little sister. The last thing anyone on Team Gibbs wanted was to give the FBI agent any more reason to come sniffing around NCIS' turf.

The second file contained information on a Nicolas Wade Harper, age twenty-four. He managed to pass muster with regards to his past; thanks in no small part to how he'd managed to acquire his BS in Anatomy from Texas A&M: Harper was a Marine, still listed as a reservist, currently working on his Masters in Ballistics at George Washington University. Despite Tim constantly muttering about how 'Abby so isn't going to like this', Harper's file got set into the 'maybe' pile.

Ryan James Parker, age thirty, was initially dismissed for having a DUI on his record, then later, after all the other files had been scrupulously examined, they re-examined his history. Turned out, the ticket must've scared him, because he hadn't bothered renewing his license in the nine years since. He also had a BS in Bio-Chem from Yale, with a Masters in Hematology, also from Yale, and – oddly – a BA in photography from the University of South Carolina.

Samantha Leigh-Anne Carpenter-Irving, age twenty-eight, possessed a BA in journalism from UC-Berkeley, another BA in medieval history from the University of Iowa, a Masters in art history, also from the U of I, and a PhD in document authentication from Cornell University. She'd already been heavily vetted – her husband, thirty-five year-old Major Tarquin Julius Irving, was a research scientist with Fort Detrick. However, if there was one thing they'd learned over the years of working under Gibbs, it was to never take anything for granted. After all, wasn't Rule Three something along the lines of 'Always double-check'? (When it wasn't doing double-duty as 'Never be unreachable', of course. The somewhat schizophrenic nature of their boss's first few rules always managed to confuse most people – Tim and Tony had long learned to simply accept it.) However, the only bit they'd managed to add to Samantha's file was that she and Major Irving had three children – a six year-old daughter by the name of Hope, and a three year-old set of fraternal twins by the names of Fable and Grace – and two foster-children, twelve year-old Ekaterina Valentino and nine year-old Michael O'Shaunessy, and that Major Irving's twenty-seven year-old sister, Rebecca Louise Irving, also lived with them (and likewise had been heavily scrutinized when the Major had taken the posting at Fort Detrick).

The fifth file was barely cracked open before Gibbs, looking over Tony's shoulder, said, "Don't bother."

"Boss?"

"Ex number one's youngest brother," Gibbs replied.

Needless to say, that file got stacked right on top of the one for Sacks' little sister.

Vance woke from his nap nearly half an hour before he'd set his cell's alarm to go off. He'd had just enough time to move from the sofa to his desk when, true to Gibbs' character, his door burst open, revealing the lead MCRT agent. "Gibbs," Vance nodded in greeting. "What did you find?"

Gibbs sat the stack of files down on Leon's desk. "The top two would be my picks, the third one's a maybe. The last two should be shredded and burned."

"Have a seat," Vance indicated the chairs facing his desk and flipped open the first file in the stack. "Hmm… Wouldn't have thought this one would be one of the ones you picked."

"It's better than the youngest brother of my first ex-wife, Leon," Gibbs replied, choosing to remain standing.

Vance had the decency to wince a little. He sat the file aside and reached for the second. He nodded on reading it. "Now, this one I expected."

"You know Abby's not going to like this."

"I realize that, Jethro, but that's why I sent down copies of the bills she's incurred this past year. I don't care if she likes it or not, she's costing this agency more money by outsourcing tests I damn well know she's capable of running here than hiring a couple of additional techs. If it helps, I plan to bargain with her – she gets two assistants, when the budget originally put in place by Director Morrow had called for five lab-techs, and the additional funds will be put aside to eventually get her some of the 'cooler' toys she's been hinting at in her yearly requisitions." He closed the second file and opened the third. "Of course, these three still need to be interviewed, and unless I believe she's going to be a problem, Ms. Scuito can take part in the process. If she plans on being difficult, I will simply assign her assistants – and yes, I have read the report regarding Sterling's assignment. That's why I had your team do the background checks."

A/N2: I don't have this one fully wrote out just yet, and yes, I'm aware that nearly no one likes having a story introduce OCs, but…well, I'm enjoying the hell out of writing this, so I ain't gonna apologize. I hope to have weekly updates, but don't be surprised if I manage to update more quickly (or less often – RL has a habit of kicking my ass, especially now that I've got a job where I see overtime more often than a normal 40-hour week).

Remember to lemme know what y'all think.