Sitting on the floor beside Tim's desk, Ellie continues an internet search for coffee company logos. Every so often, Tim shoots her an odd look. If she were bothering him, she figured Tim would say something. Across the bullpen, Tony works their cold case alone. Whenever she asks if he needs help, Tony just shakes his head. He seems to think saving her own ass from Gibbs is more important than the case.
When Tim's computer dings, he grumbles, "Finally."
Tony looks up from his desk. "What do you have?"
After few clicks, the data transfers to the plasma. It shows a map of the neighborhood surrounding the Navy Yard. There are small green dots strewn about the map with an epicenter about six blocks north of the nearest Metro station. Ellie starts an internet search for coffee shops near the Metro station before cross-referencing their websites.
"'This is the Mount Everest of hacks'," Tony says with a flourish.
Tim opens his mouth. Closes it. Shakes his head instead. "Nevermind. I don't want to know."
Smirking, Tony steeples his fingers. "So, where does Gibbs get his coffee?"
Frenetic typing ensues. "I'm going to cross-check businesses in the area against the location with coffee shops and places that might also sell coffee. Like diners and sandwich places."
Tony opens his mouth.
"Yes, I'm excluding Starbucks from the parameters," Tim continues.
"'Don't interrupt me when I'm asking rhetorical questions,'" Tony shoots back with a grin.
Tim rolls his eyes hard enough to see his brain.
Ellie hits paydirt on Yelp. She scrolls through the pictures from the local establishments. In the background photo of a dry cleaners, there is a large group of people holding coffee cups identical to Gibbs'. Just to the left of the store, there is what appears to be a diner. She confirms the diner cups in other images from social media sites—Twitter, Facebook, Google. She can't come up with a name.
"There's a diner just off M Street SW," Ellie announces.
"How'd you find that?" Tony asks.
"Using my google-fu," she replies.
Above her, Tim snorts. She contorts herself to watch him work. He wears a painted-on smile as though he doesn't believe she could have bested him. Even though she has the results—and she is absolutely right—he still runs his program.
Tony is gathering his gear. "Let's go."
Ellie scrambles to her feet, tripping and stumbling her way to her desk. She deposits the Mac on the spartan workspace. A few Twix wrappers flutter to the floor, but she'll pick them up later. Then, she snatches her weapon and badge from the top drawer. The gun, a Sig Sauer, feels awkward and leaden in her hands. She turns it over, frowning at how it might as well weigh a thousand pounds. She clips the holster to her jeans before shoving her creds in her back pocket.
Tim doesn't move.
Tony shrugs his coat on. "Come on, McGee. Move it."
"Shouldn't we let my program finish?" Tim won't look at Ellie. "Just in case."
With an exasperated huff, Tony pauses at the entrance to the bullpen. Ellie sidles next to Tim. His program still churns away. In the bottom corner of his monitor, a red icon flashes ominously.
She points at it. "What's that?"
He clicks on it, his cheeks going stark white. "Tony! There's a biochemical leak in Abby's lab! It's on lockdown. We should – "
"It's nothing," Tony interrupts. "I asked Abby to buy us some time. I wasn't expecting fireworks, but…okay, maybe I should have. It is Abby, after all. I thought she'd make Gibbs fetch her another CafPow. But if a biochemical leak is how she chooses to stall him, who am I to argue?"
Tim hooks the video feed from Abby's lab to the plasma. Abby is at her bench, using a pipet tip to transfer liquid from one container to another. With his back to the camera, Gibbs glares at the locked lab door. At that moment, he turns to look right at the camera. Both Tim and Ellie duck as though he might see them. Ellie doesn't have to see his face to know how pissed Gibbs is. In fact, that's the only expression she has seen since joining the team. The video feed cuts out, replaced by Tim's program ending. He quickly makes a few clicks before bringing up a location on the screen. His brow furrows as though it couldn't be true.
Ellie grins triumphantly. "Where does Gibbs get his coffee, McGee?"
"There's a diner just off M Street SW." He repeats her earlier words. "How did you figure that out before my program? That should've done it faster than any of us could have."
Ellie shrugs. "I was an analyst at the NSA. Reaching conclusions with bits of random data was my job."
Tim blinks incredulously. "But my computer has – "
"'Relax your crack, Foghorn,'" Tony interrupts.
"Are you ever going to stop quoting Mission: Impossible, Tony?" Tim tries to sound annoyed, but his heart isn't in it.
That shit-eating grin envelopes Tony's face. "'Give me a break, Pops.'"
Tim looks like he doesn't know quite what to do. Somehow, Tony's grin broadens. Ellie can't fathom how these two haven't shot either other in the bullpen yet, let alone be close friends like they claim.
"That's from the movie too," Ellie whispers.
Tim's expression darkens as he grabs his gear. "Can we just get Gibbs' coffee?"
Tony leads the way. "'Let's get lost!'"
CHAPTER THREE
Finding the diner just off M St SW doesn't take long. It is a squat building with large windows and intricate chromework running just underneath them. The bright sun reflects off the glass, nearly blinding Ellie. By the time they reach it, she thinks they might just pull this—whatever the heck this is—off without a hitch. As they draw closer, her heart sinks at the drawn blinds and dark windows. Her hope of staying on Gibbs' team vanishes at the sight of the sign in the window: Closed for Renovations.
Putting his hands on his hips, Tony surveys the busy street. In both directions, the street is thick with people heading to and from the busy Metro stop. The only coffee cups Ellie recognizes are from the Starbucks a few blocks away.
"Are you two sure this is the right place?" Tony asks.
"Unless both of us are wrong." Tim's tone sounds like he never is.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Ellie agrees. "It came up on my feed. Someone on Twitter tweeted a picture with one of those cups in the background before we left the office."
"I'll start a new search," Tim says.
He whips out his cellphone. Peering over his arm, Ellie isn't surprised to see him linking to his desk computer. He taps on the screen a few times. A new search starts with little green dots popping up. Ellie is desperate to ask how he can hold Macs in such disdain, but still use an iPhone. Somehow, this just doesn't feel like the right time.
Tony heads over to the door. He holds up a hand to block out the sun as he squints through the glass. For good measure, he jimmies the door. It is locked.
"They aren't kidding," he says. "That place is a construction site. The booths are all ripped up, but – " His voice suddenly grows louder " – I see it! The coffee maker and the cups are on the counter!"
Ellie hugs her arms to herself. Despite being a warm fall day, she is chilled to the bone. Her dream of being an NCIS agent is officially over before it's even truly begun.
Tony rubs his hands together. "Okay, so here's the plan. We'll have to go inside and make the coffee ourselves. If we go through the front door, it might look suspicious. The roof would be safer to – "
"The roof!?" Tim exclaims. "Have you lost your mind, Tony?"
Tony looks at him solemnly. "Not yet, I don't think. It makes the most sense to get up on the roof and lower Bishop into the diner."
"Lower Bishop into the diner," Tim repeats slowly.
Tony glances at Ellie. "Is there an echo in here or is just me?"
"There's an echo," she says, half-smiling.
Tim grinds his teeth. "That's a terrible idea."
"The backdoor," Ellie offers, "would be the easiest place to go in. If we're talking about breaking and entering, which we aren't." She hazards a glance between the two men. "Are we?"
Tim points at Ellie. "See? That plan makes sense."
"I know." Tony laughs. "I wanted to see if you would buy it, Tim. Maybe I should start calling you McGuillable again."
Tim just glares at Tony, who grins. Studying the two, Ellie wonders whether they're proposing what she thinks they are. Entering the diner to make Gibbs a cup of coffee. A felony just for a cup of coffee doesn't seem worth it to her. Then again, neither does getting murdered because she spilled some. Nothing has made any sense since she joined the team last week.
Tim looks up from his phone. "I'm finding out who owns the diner, Tony. We could just ask them."
"Man, I don't know. I'm going to miss being disreputable.'" When Tim's features pinch in annoyance, Tony laughs again. "Good idea, Tim. Let's find their address and ask them to make a cup of joe. In the interest of national security and all."
Tim clips a nod. "On it."
Ellie double-takes between them. How the heck did the discussion of breaking and entering turn into finding the diner's proprietor? While the two were verbally sparring, they must have been reading each other's minds. Which Ellie might buy, if she believed in ESP.
While Tim taps at his cell phone, Tony climbs onto a trashcan to peer through the window. Ellie notices a woman about Gibbs' age rushing down the opposite side of the street. Clutched in her hand is one of those coffee cups. Ellie clucks her tongue to catch the men's attention. Tim and Tony delve into ideas to find its origin. Tony decides to set up a perimeter; Tim wants another internet search.
With the woman disappearing down the sidewalk, Ellie has her own idea. She checks to make sure no cars are coming before darting across the street. Behind her, Tony yells, "Bishop!" She doesn't slow down until she catches up with the woman. When Ellie grabs the woman's shoulder, she wheels around. Her brown eyes are agitated, her lips pinched in a tight line.
"What's in the coffee, ma'am?" she asks.
The woman's expression hardens further. "It's not any of your – "
Ellie flashes her badge. "Yes, it is."
Gaping, the woman stumbles over her words. "Uh, um…six sugars, lots of cream. Uh, maybe it was made from Peruvian beans?"
"Where'd you get it from?" The woman's mouth flaps, making Ellie bark, "It's a matter of national security, ma'am!"
Stunned, the woman points vaguely in the direction behind Ellie. "Max…from the diner has a temporary location on Hastings St. It's halfway down the block, next to the pizza place and clothing store."
"Thank you, ma'am," Ellie says, snapping her badge closed.
Without giving the woman a chance to respond, Ellie darts through the street traffic to reconvene with Tony and Tim. It takes more explaining than it probably should to get them moving. Within a few minutes, they are standing in front of a small storefront flanked by a pizza place with a red neon sign and a vintage clothing store. The pseudo-diner is as anonymous as the diner itself with a huge plate glass window, a few booths, and no sign name.
Ellie goes to stride into the restaurant, but Tony stops her. He leads Ellie and Tim a half-block north of the diner. There, he looks them over. His expression is serious. Ellie's heart skips a beat.
"'Should either of you be caught or killed, I will disavow any knowledge of your actions'," he says.
Tim rolls his eyes again. "We're just getting a cup of coffee."
Ellie shakes her head. "If I understand what Tony is saying, it's that Gibbs is a regular here. We don't want to anything that could lead us to be recognized." She turns to Tony for clarification. "That's what you meant, right?"
"I'm glad someone understands." Tony gestures at the clothing store. "Which is why we need disguises."
"Disguises," Tim repeats incredulously.
"Because it would be really, really bad if our covers got blown."
Tim's eyelid twitches. "If our covers got blown?"
"Hey Bishop, that echo is back." Tony winks at Ellie.
Ellie stifles a laugh with her hand. Tim mutters a curse under his breath.
Without another word, Tony heads straight into the clothing store. Ellie follows. She isn't sure whether she is supposed, but it feels like the right thing to do. She has never been part of a team before—the NSA analyst department was mish-mash of oddball, lone wolf types—but she thinks this is might be what it's about. Her team is risking their necks—and Gibbs' wrath—for her. So she will follow them straight down the rabbit hole. Well, Tony anyway.
Tim stays on the street, arms crossed and clearly waiting for Tony and Ellie to return. Looking at him through the window, Tony jerks his head to tell Tim to move his ass. Through the window, Ellie watches Tim throw his hands up and stomp inside.
Inside, the store is far tinier than it appeared outside. The sunlight pouring through the large front window makes the overhead lights unnecessary. The whole place reeks of must and mothballs. Racks of vintage clothing in a rainbow of colors line both walls. If Ellie stretched both arms out, she bets she could touch both walls at the same time. In both directions. She tries and fails, just barely. It's a tight fit.
Tony furrows his brow. "Do I want to know?"
Flushing, she didn't expect anyone to be watching. "Probably not."
There's a woman with dark purple hair and more facial piercings than a pin cushion at the cash register. As Tim joins them, he offers her a polite, "Good morning." She doesn't look up from her magazine. Instead, she just jabs her finger at Ellie and Tony. Tim curls his lips back into a grimace.
"Great customer service," he hisses. "I want to say this is a terrible idea."
"Your concern is duly noted, Tim. We're doing it anyway." Tony shoots a furtive glance around. Then, he drops his voice: "Remind me to look into this place when we get back."
All Ellie sees is a clothing store. "What is wrong with it?"
"It's a front for drugs," Tim and Tony say in unison. Then, Tim adds: "Probably." Tony just looks at him and he sighs. "Yeah, definitely."
Part of her wonders how long it'll take for her to become that cynical. To suspect a small business owner struggling to sell vintage clothing as a drug dealer without any cause. Sure, rent is horrible in Washington and it appears as though no one has shopped here in years. She still wants to give this place the benefit of the doubt. After Tony tells them to find a disguise, she picks through the meager offerings in her size. There isn't much. Okay, Tim and Tony might be onto something.
From the rack, Ellie plucks a 1980s sky blue power suit and an olive green flight jacket with military patches. As if there is any point of comparison, she turns to replace the suit.
From across the store, Tony stops her.
"Channel Sigourney Weaver in Working Girl, not Alien," he orders.
Ellie glances between the clothes in her hands. "Huh?"
"Go with the suit." Then, he turns back to berating Tim. "It's the only thing in your size in the whole store, McGee. Just put it on or I'll tell Gibbs you didn't get in until 0930."
Ellie catches Tim's eye on the way into the changing room. All he has to offer is a sympathetic shrug before he ducks through the velvet eggplant curtain into the men's side. Ellie lifts the heavy fabric away into the women's changing area. A burnt-out light bulb in the ceiling makes it difficult to see. She shucks off her real clothes before slithering into the chilly polyester suit. It isn't until she goes to button the jacket that she realizes it is double breasted with shoulder pads. She frowns at her reflection. The suit makes her look shorter and squatter than she really is with freakishly large shoulders. She might as well be playing football for OSU with these shoulders.
"Let's see those disguises!" Tony calls from outside.
Holding her breath, Ellie steps out. She can't find Tony anywhere. Instead, someone new entered the store. A middle-aged man wearing a grey hoodie and reflective aviator sunglasses. Maybe Tim and Tony were right about the drug front after all.
Tim heads out from behind the curtain. Ellie double-takes. At least, the man stepping out is supposed to be Tim. He looks nothing like the reserved, practical agent who entered the changing room. Now, he sports a pair of worn-to-death blue jeans, white T-shirt, and a broken-in black leather motorcycle jacket.
"McGee?" Ellie asks.
He glances over, clearly agitated. Tim. Definitely Tim.
"Tony told me I'd look like James Dean," he grouses. "Whoever the heck that is."
The man in the hoodie pipes up: "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that, McGee. Though you look more like a rebel without a clue than Rebel without a Cause."
Ellie blinks. "Tony?"
Tim squares his shoulders. "Yeah, Tony. Well, you look like the Unabomber."
"That's kinda the point of a disguise." Tony looks over his sunglasses. "You need to be so bland that you blend into the background or so ridiculous they only remember the disguise. Anything in between and the target might be able to remember your face."
"The undercover variation of Rule 27," Tim explains as though Ellie should understand. Before she can ask, he gestures at Tony's outfit. "The only thing they'll remember is you getting arrested."
Tony presses his lips together. "Fine, I'll change."
Tony pockets the sunglasses before plucking a random suit from the rack. On his way past, he reaches out with his free hand to muss Tim's hair. Tim nearly falls over trying to chase Tony away.
"There," he says, laughing. "Now, the look is complete. You show up at Delilah's looking like that and you might just get lucky."
"Knock it off, Tony."
Tony grins. "All women love a bad boy. Just ask Bishop."
When Tim glances to Ellie for support, she bites her lip. Appease Tim or tell the truth and agree with Tony. Even though she married a good guy—her husband is a buttoned up NSA lawyer, after all—there is a certain novelty to the bad boy. She pushes a breath through her teeth.
She settles for: "I plead the fifth"
Tony elbows Tim in the ribs. "Told ya so."
And with that, he ducks into the men's room with a flourish. In record time, Tony pops out in an elegant black tux. He fusses with the bow tie, then checks out his reflection in a large stand mirror.
"It's more James Bond than Mission: Impossible." He holds out the arm to inspect the stitching. "But I can make it work." He grumbles something to himself in what Ellie thinks could be a Scottish accent.
Tony makes them gather their clothes, which they put in a duffel bag from the store's inventory. Then, he leads the way to the cash register. The woman with the purple hair's head snaps up, her surprised eyes darting over them. She smashes the buttons on the cash register like she never used it before. The total is ridiculously low—less than Ellie's morning Starbucks run—and it occurs to her there wasn't a price tag on any of the clothing. Putting on his most charming grin, Tony whips a gold credit card from his wallet. The woman stares at it menacingly before wrestling with the card reader. It takes a few tries before the ancient machine whirrs to life and spits out a receipt. The woman hands it to Tony to sign, but the store doesn't have a pen.
Ellie fumbles through her wallet, but Tim stops her.
"NCIS expense account," he whispers. "That way I can track where the money later."
She starts, "Do you really think – "
"Oh yeah."
On their way out of the store, Tony snatches a pair of chunky, black eyeglass frames off a mannequin. He starts towards the register, but the woman yells, "Oh hell. Just take 'em."
Smiling, he puts them on. Once they're back out on the busy street, the woman is creeps towards the store entrance. As soon as they hit the sidewalk, she clicks the lock in place. Ellie jumps at the noise. Tim and Tony share a nod.
"Definitely drugs," they say in unison.