Disclaimer-NCIS is so not mine at all.

4

"Henrietta Baumenhower."

"Gesundheit."

Becca smiled back at DiNozzo. "Yeah, maybe, but that's her name-facial recognition had her picture from her passport. She's here on a fiancé visa to marry Seaman Ivenner. According to the documents they filed both here and in Germany she's been here for sixty-three days."

"Meaning," said Ziva, "that she had twenty-seven days to marry or the visa expires and she has to go back."

All four turned to look at her.

"What? I went to an all-girls high-school in another country; I'm very familiar with American fiancé visa rules."

Gibbs popped the case file on the desk a few times. "Arrange a meeting as soon as possible. We shouldn't let her sit and think he's coming home."

"I already did," Becca admitted. "She'll be here after she gets out of yoga class at two, which gives us enough time to do a background check on her."

Gibbs looked at her for a moment, and she fought the urge to blush. It was the exact same look he had given her when she tore a chunk out of her elbow falling off her bike and had poured rubbing alcohol on it because she didn't want anyone's help.

"McGee, do that background check. DiNozzo, get the interrogation room ready-water, nice temperature, the comfy chair. Ziva, I want you to look into Ivenner's service record."

"What about me?" Becca whispered. Gibbs gave her that look again.

"I think you've done enough for right now, Agent Compston."

Becca sat back down at her desk, confused.

"What did I do that was so wrong?"

"Nothing, you were just..." Ziva trailed off, making Becca sure she was about to say something unsavory.

"You can tell me-I can take it."

"You were a little too comfortable, and Gibbs likes to...keep new people on their toes, off their game, see how they adjust. He did it to me too."

DiNozzo patted her shoulder as he headed to the interrogation room. "You're a probee. Means you get picked on for no reason."

Becca went to check her e-mails, feeling ashamed of wasting time while everyone else had something to help with the case. She noticed Ziva casting little sideways glances at her.

"I do know what I'm doing," she muttered under her breath.

"Of course you do," Ziva said. "Gibbs wouldn't have hired you otherwise."

The tone of her voice made Becca start. Had word already gotten out about her and Gibb's connection, or about Uncle Duck? She knew from the moment she walked in that this team was all about working as a cohesive unit, and she would never become a cog in that mechanism if they all thought she was here just because of who she knew!

Becca didn't see the reproachful look that passed from McGee to Ziva, so she was startled a moment later when Ziva said, "I like your cardigan. That color suits you."

Before she could stop herself a shower of words came flying out of Becca's mouth. "Oh my gosh, I will never wear anything like what I had on the other day! My sister picked it out. I tried to tell her that it wasn't that sort of place, but she...do you have an older sister?"

Ziva looked down to hide her smile. "No, but I...I know what it's like to have family pressuring you. They think they know what's best."

"I don't know," silent McGee piped up from behind his screen. "I think we could use a little New York style around here."

Both women fixed him with a glare so identically icy that he laughed inside himself. No matter what she thought, Rebecca would fit in just fine.

By three o'clock, DiNozzo was in the corner of the interrogation room while Gibbs broke the news to Henrietta Baumenhower, McGee had a thick background file he was sorting to take to Gibbs, Ziva was trying to read between the lines of Ivenner's very thin, clean service record, and Becca had answered five emails, had a text conversation with her sister, been down to the basement to see her uncle do the autopsy, got told that he couldn't tell her anything Gibbs didn't know first, came back up, and was now squeezing her stress ball and slowly going mad.

McGee watched her unseen as her wide green eyes stared off into space and her long fingers squeezed the soft flour ball in a slow massaging rhythm that made him think things he shouldn't be thinking.

"Are you ok?" he asked her softly. She shrugged.

"I just...I had a lot of independence in my last two jobs, especially at the detective agency. I was practically an independent agent. I know I could be doing something, but Gibbs told me I'd helped enough, and I just...I may have only been here for one day, but I know when Gibbs says you're done, until he says otherwise, you're done."

"Well what would you be doing if you were back with the NYPD?"

"I would be looking at crime scene photos, examining how the body was placed, positioned, handled...I have a masters in criminal psychology, I could be doing something! I mean, Gibbs doesn't have DiNozzo do computer work when you're the one with the MIT degree, does he?"

"Ok, ok, calm down." McGee sat quiet for a moment. Becca renewed choking her stress ball. Ziva sat still as a mouse, her mouth in a small o, the sound of her shuffling papers the only thing in the silence.

"All right," McGee said at last as he got up from his desk. "Come with me, Rebecca."

She followed him to the hallway she had been down for her interview.

"Becca," she said.

"What?"

"No one calls me Rebecca but my uncles. It's Becca. Or Bex. Or Compston. That works too."

McGee couldn't figure out why, but at that speech his throat caught a little. "'Kay."

"And you? Do you go by Timothy, or Tim?"

"Just McGee."

She was quiet a moment. "Really."

He caught her meaning and immediately felt very stupid. "Oh, no, I'm not being guarded with you or anything, it's just how it is. Tony's Tony, Ziva's Ziva, and I'm Tim, but I'm McGee. Everyone's called me McGee since I was a kid-my sister's the only one who calls me Tim."

She smiled, and his heart felt thick and hot like he'd swallowed too much Tabasco.

"Ok McGee."

They came to the interrogation room, and she instinctively drew back.

"I don't think I'm supposed to..."

"Relax. You're just going to watch. Gibbs has never cared how many people watch an interview as long as they don't get involved. Besides, this way you show him you're being proactive without stepping on anybody's toes. It's a good thing."

She eyeballed him warily. "Why am I here again?"

He smiled as he ushered her into the door. "Because you're the criminal psychologist. Maybe you'll notice something."

She went in before him, and she stepped just a little too slowly than his hand went forward. For the briefest second his fingers brushed the small of her back, and he couldn't breathe.

They came into a small dark room illuminated only from the light coming from the two way mirror. Becca breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now this feels familiar," she whispered.

McGee knocked on the door.

"She checked out almost clean," he told Gibbs, "but two years ago she was involved in a rally protesting American involvement in Iraq. The local media took these pictures. Lots of police-looks like it might have gotten ugly."

"Good work," Gibbs murmured, then turned an interested eye to Becca. She met his gaze, and then he turned to look at McGee, who shrugged.

"She's just watching. You know, seeing how we do things."

"Fine," Gibbs said curtly and went back in.

"See," McGee said after he was gone. "Fine."

Becca rolled her eyes. "That was not the 'fine' look, that was the 'you're-a-string-of-evidence-and I-don't-know-how-you-fit-together' look."

"Now how did you know that?"

They looked at each other for a long moment, and for the first time Becca realized how very blue his eyes were. McGee thought he imagined it in the dark room, but he could have sworn he saw a little bit of a blush creep down her cheeks. The thought made his stomach feel warm. She didn't answer him.

"Shhh," she said. "I want to hear."

Gibbs was being gentle with the girl, persistent but gentle. He held the photos McGee had given him in his lap and leaned forward towards Henrietta.

"I understand what you're going through right now, believe me I do," he whispered. "You're sad, confused, shocked, anxious as to what's going to happen, I know, but I need to ask you some harder questions." He laid the photos on the table. "Is that you?"

"Yes, that is me," she said in perfect, lightly accented English. "But these are from years ago. Where did you get these?"

"You were an active part of a noisy protest against the war in Iraq, but two years later you came to the U. S. to marry an American sailor? It doesn't make much sense, Henrietta?"

She pushed the pictures back at him. "I was a different person before I met Darrell. He put a face on America for me. It was his very first posting, and he did not speak any German. We were together much after we met-he was very sweet to me."

"He offered to bring you to America, a new life..."

She slammed the table. "No! It was not like that! I am not a mail-order bride looking for a green card! I love him! I had a good life in Germany, a good education. I came to America to be with him! How can you accuse me of...I do not even know what you are accusing me of!"

Gibbs reached a hand towards her. "No no no no, shhhh, no one's accusing you of anything. We're just trying to understand every angle."

McGee looked over at Becca as she watched the interview. Her lower lip pouted out, her auburn brows knitted together and her nose scrunched up to make a picture of an adorable little girl deep in contemplation. McGee suddenly realized he had to be very careful-he could forget about absolutely everything else when he got lost in watching her. How was this happening? He hadn't even known her for forty-eight hours, but...

"Something's not right here."

"Huh?"

"Something's not right, I mean besides a nineteen year old German girl coming across the ocean to get married and her fiancé being murdered. Did you see how quickly she assumed she was being accused of taking advantage of him and how quickly she denied it? Gibbs barely suggested it and she was all over him."

"What are you saying? She's upset, and I'm sure she's faced down that idea before. She's probably sensitive about it."

"Yeah, yeah maybe, I don't know, I'm just getting a weird vibe off the whole situation. She said they spent a lot of time together, but he was missing for three days and she didn't tell anyone? Look at her."

They both turned back to the mirror. Gibbs was being as soft with her as he knew how, but she avoided his eyes, and twisted the paper napkins of her water glass nervously around her fingers. Becca shook her head.

"That's more than being nervous about her future-I don't care how anxious you are, when a man is talking to you about your fiancé being dead, you look him in the eye. She's hiding something; maybe it's just a little thing, but there's something she's not telling us, and she's leaving the country in twenty-seven days."

Gibbs stood up, patted Henrietta on the shoulder and handed her to DiNozzo to escort out. He came back into the dark room and stood between McGee and Becca.

"So any thoughts?"

Silence. Awkward silence.

"Not one?"

Becca couldn't take it. "She's hiding something," she spurted. "I don't know what it is, I just know there's something going on she's not telling us."

Gibbs looked at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded.

"McGee, call up Immigration Services. Tell them we need to keep her here in D.C. for a little while. And call the airports. Put her on the no-fly list."

McGee glanced at a surprised Becca. "Right away boss."

After he'd left Gibbs stood for a while with Becca not saying anything.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," he finally whispered.

"You told me I'd done enough."

"Like you always listened to me when I told you that?"

She blushed. "This isn't mountain biking in West Virginia, Gibbs-this is your turf. You're the boss."

"I was a little harsh with you earlier. You just surprised me, that's all. I keep forgetting you're an old hat at this. You still seem like a little girl to me."

"I want you to be tough on me," she said boldly. He arched his eyebrow at her.

"No, really, Gibbs, I want you to treat me like I'm just another probee, I don't want..."

"You don't want anyone to know we have a past connection."

"I want my work to stand for itself."

He patted her on the shoulder as he left. "It will. Now get the water glass and take it downstairs. It's time you met Abby."