Ok, this is officially my 2nd story, and the 1st I've written for NCIS. I was reading "A Good Egg" by channeld (very awesome story, btw) and this is my own idea about why McGee never gets hurt.

Disclaimer: Every night as I go to sleep, I wish on Polaris (the north star) that I owned NCIS. No dice yet, tho, so don't try to sue me.

"Find out everything you can about Lieutenant Robertson. We need to find this b$^rd before he gets another load of those weapons."

"Um, boss, the computers…."

Gibbs just glared at him, and Tim wisely chose to shut his mouth. Running a search was obviously out of the question with all computers offline due to severe weather outing most of the internet services in the city.

The Electronic Storm of the century battered against the unopenable windows, wanting to get inside badly.

"Looks like you're gonna have to do it the old fashioned way, McGoo," Tony said, grinning. "Phone calls and favors."

"Yeah, because phones are so old, Tony."

"Well, good luck finding anything."

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.

"You're a probie."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Ziva spoke up from behind her desk. "Tony thinks that since you have only spent a "meager" 6 years here, you do not have as many contacts as we do. Tony has friends in several police departments on the Eastern Coast, and I have contacts in Mossad and almost every other agency in the world. Who do you have?"

McGee shrugged modestly. "Family."

That got Tony to give out a loud, barking laugh. "Yeah, like your little sister knows anything about Lieutenant Robertson."

"There are more McGees than just us, Tony."

"Oh, really? How about a bet?" McGee rolled his eyes. "20 bucks says that you can't find half of the things I can in 10 minutes."

"I like those terms. Mind if I fall in?" Ziva asked curiously.

"Drop," Tim corrected. "Fine, I'll take the bet. It's going to have to be longer than 10 minutes, though."

"Half an hour's my final offer," Tony grinned. "Ready….set… go!"

McGee immediately picked up his phone and called Abby's lab. "Hey Abs, can you grab the extra books I keep in ballistics…? Yeah, those. Just stick them in the elevator, Tony has a half-hour bet going."

Tony and Ziva glanced at each other again, confused, as he said thanks and hung up. McGee didn't even notice their stares as he pulled out 5 address books from a drawer in his desk, opening the third one and flipping a few pages.

5 minutes later, the elevator bell dinged and McGee stood, coming back with 5 more black books to add to his growing pile.

"What the #3!!, McGee?" Tony asked in wonderment. "What is all that?"

"The McGee archives," he replied simply, "of North America." He found a number in one of the books from Abby's lab and dialed it, greeting the person on the other end with an "Hola, uncle Tommy, it's Tim, Ian's son. Yeah, that Tim. Listen, I need a favor. Can you check up on this guy named Lieutenant Peter Robertson, United States Navy? Computers are down on our end, big storm. No, not that big, but big. Ok, thanks Uncle Tom, I owe you one… that was the least I could do, she did fix the insurance on the Camero… alright. Gracias, Tommy, say hi to aunt Ingrid for me, alright? Bye."

So it went on for another 20 minutes, until Gibbs stalked into the bullpen, demanding their findings.

Ziva was first on bat. "Lieutenant Peter Robertson, age 35, born in Paxton, Virginia graduated top of his class but joined the Marines after high school."

"Served in Iraq three times," Tony added.

"One ex-wife, married in Vegas while on shore leave…"

"Divorced 3 months later, no kids…"

"Only family is his father," Ziva finished.

"Where's his father?" Gibbs asked. "What ship was he on? Anything weird about him to his crewmates?"

"Lost the father in Oregon 4 years ago," Ziva winced in reply, "The ship and project he was working on is highly classified, and we couldn't get hold of any of his crewmates."

"McGee!"

"Yes boss?"

"Did you find anything, or are you just standing there?"

For once, McGee looked a little confident. "You want me to start from the beginning, boss?" The others blinked at him, but Gibbs nodded slowly.

"Lieutenant Peter Issac Robertson, born April 29, 1979, age 35. Born in Paxton, Virginia, to James Issac Robertson and Julia no-middle-name Robertson, who died in a car wreck 10 years ago going to see her sister, our victim's aunt. Moved around the country several times before settling back down in Paxton where he was Valedictorian of his graduating class. He was in ROTC, but still angered his dad when he joined the Navy instead of going to college like he wanted.

"Served twice in Iraq, nearly caught in crossfire but managed to escape with all his buddies with nothing but scrapes and bruises. During shore leave after the second tour, he met his old high-school sweetheart in Vegas—he and his buddies had taken a road rip from San Diego—got drunk, and had a drive-through wedding in an Elvis costume with his class ring. Divorced her 3 months later after actually finding out he was married, kept it quiet from his Dad, who still isn't speaking to him after 17 years in the Navy and current lives in uptown New York. And I know for a fact that he paid for a warehouse at the docks in cash, and was seen bringing everything from a cot to a minibar into it. That's probably where you'll find him, boss." He smiled at Tony and Ziva's astonished faces.

"You guys owe me 40 bucks."

"How…?"

"Good job, McGee," Gibbs said, nodding appreciatively. "Those black books help?"

"Yeah. Took a while to get them together, though."

"Huh. How many underground contacts this time?" Tony and Ziva glanced at each other, their eyes as wide as dinner plates. Underground contacts? McGee?

"Didn't use any of them. Saving those for later, boss. Besides, I don't want Frankie B. to think I only went to Cousin Katie's wedding with him just so I could ask him a favor 2 weeks later."

"Wait, Frankie B.?" Tony asked, still shell-shocked. "Frankie B.? The guy who runs one of the biggest crime rings in D.C. and has wanted by the FBI for the last 3 years for breaking into that Pharmaceutical company's records?"

"Yeah, he's my grandpa's sister's daughter's 3rd kid after her 2nd divorce." He smiled at his partner's face. "Who do you think hacked into the company in the first place?"

"I'm not hearing this!" Jenny's voice sang as she passed the bullpen, her hands to her ears.

"He only wanted to see if the meds they were giving Cousin Jimmy for his cancer were tested right or not, Director," he replied, flushing a little.

"Still not hearing this!"

Alright, tell me what you think. If you think its awesome, review. If you think I should be locked up in a padded room in a straitjacket, review and say so. Just please hit the button right down there to say what you think! ~ Tibki