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: Gak – I hate working. I hate working 12-hour shifts. I hate working when we have system issues. But in order to keep eating and whatnot, I have to work. Sigh. Maybe my lotto ticket will win this time and I'll be able to go back to writing six hours a day like I want to. So, everyone cross your fingers for me – if I do win the lotto, then updates for all my fics will start coming far more regularly! Come on guys, gimme some good thoughts!


The Goth, the Cowboy, and a Mom

Chapter Nine

"Hey, Doc! Me an' Wade here got a theory for ya," Sam hollered as the doors to autopsy slid open. Both Ducky and Palmer looked up from the 'body', Palmer's mouth snapping shut mid-word.

"What might that be, my dear?" Ducky replied.

"I think I agree with Tony," Wade commented on seeing the 'body' on the table nearest the body-coolers. "It really is a work of art."

"Yeah, that it is," Sam agreed, tossing her comment over her shoulder at Wade while striding over to where the 'art' lay. Meeting Ducky's eyes, she continued with, "But Harper here says that if it's a real skeleton, we should be able to find a serial number."

Wade took a moment to reiterate to the doctor what he'd already told Sam up in the lab and moments later, all four of them were scrutinizing the x-rays Ducky had taken. Roughly twenty minutes later, they hit paydirt with the x-ray of the left leg. "Borrow your computer, Doc?" Sam asked while Wade tried to copy down the shadowy etching shown on the x-ray.

"That a five or an 'S'?" Wade asked of Palmer while Ducky nodded his assent to Sam.

"A five, I think," Palmer replied. "Yeah, it's a five – the last one's an 'S' though."

"Yeah…" Wade scribbled the number down and tore the slip of paper out of his memo book and handed it to Sam. "Try MedCo Classroom first."

Sam grinned and snagged the paper on her way to Ducky's computer. "I can run a Google search, you know."

"Why bother," Wade retorted as he followed her, "when you don't hafta?"

"Point. What's the count to?" Sam asked.

"Sixteen-fourteen in my favor," Wade replied.

"Damn. Gonna hafta do something about that," Sam said as she took a seat at the doctor's computer.

While the two lab-techs squabbled good-naturedly at the computer, Jimmy asked Ducky, "What are they doing?"

"Just guessing," the doctor replied, "but I would assume they're doing their job."

"Hey, gimme your phone," Sam interrupted her own 'argument' with Wade.

"Why my phone? Why not use your own?"

"Don't have one," Sam said. "Can barely tolerate the damn thing on the wall in the kitchen at home, what makes you think I want one that follows me around?"

Wade sighed and handed over his cell. "And just why are you gonna call?"

Sam smirked. "Because, Tex," she replied while dialing the toll-free on the computer screen, "you don't have my…skills." Suddenly her entire manner switched as her focus shifted from Wade to whoever was on the other end of the phone line. "Ah, yes, miss. This is Dr. Carpenter-Irving; I need someone to trace a serial number from a display skeleton for me, please." Her tone mutated from friendly and animated to all-business, take-no-prisoners. "I understand, however, the display in question was used in a rather tasteless practical joke. It isn't one we keep in-house, so we were hoping to track down who had purchased it." The smile with which she punctuated the comment could have given a shark cause to pause. "We are hoping to be able to handle this issue without involving lawyers." Sam sighed, "Look, if you're unwilling to assist me, feel free to connect me with your supervisor…Yes, I'll hold."

"So, what –" Wade started to ask, before Sam shushed him.

"Yes, I need a serial number traced," she said into the phone. "Of course. The number's Z9325-BR893-H724S." After a moment of silence, Sam scribbled frantically on the slip of paper Wade had handed her from his memo book earlier. "Thank you. You, too." She flipped Wade's phone closed and handed it back to him. "Sold to a Janice Larson, 2286 Exeter Road, in Bethesda."

"What did you mean, 'skills'?" Wade asked; it was obvious from his manner that he felt he could have done just as good a job at getting the info they needed.

Sam chuckled, "Sweetheart, just why do you think I hate the phone so much?"

"Telemarketing?" Jimmy hazarded a guess.

"Almost," Sam nodded. "Customer service. It's how I got pocket-money during my first two runs through college. Get yelled at enough over the phone, you'd hate the damn things, too."

"Move over," Wade said, wheeling Sam away from the computer and ignoring the aside between the ME's assistant and Samantha. "It's my turn." He knelt at Ducky's desk and started typing. "There she is – gimme a sec." He flipped his phone open and entered in a number.


As the clock ticked around to five-thirty, Tony sighed and tossed his pen down on his desk. "Well, that's it – no way to trace the paints used. Sometimes I hate it when they go with the mass-produced, can-buy-it-at-WalMart stuff." He stretched and stood before stepping over to hover at the edge of McGee's desk. "You getting anywhere with the whachacallit-goo?"

"The ballistics gelatin?" Tim supplied, referring to the main component of the body's 'flesh'. Tony nodded. "Some. The art-supply place it was shipped to closed down six weeks ago, though."

"So no chance in finding out who it was sold to," DiNozzo scrubbed a hand across his face. He yawned and flopped back onto his chair, at a loss as to where to go next with their investigation. The dog-tags on the 'body' had proved to be nothing more than the custom novelty sort that any one of a dozen stores had machines to engrave, the kind of machine that also dispensed pet-tags.

"Not from the store records, at any rate," McGee agreed, fighting off the urge to mimic Tony's yawn. "At least, not unless we're willing to wait six or eight weeks for a subpoena to unearth the records from bankruptcy court."

Tony stared at his computer screen for a full minute. "Why make a body, Probie?"

"A warning?"

"Left in an ice cream freezer? What, was he not a fan of rainbow sherbert?"

"Nah," Tim retorted. "It was that pumpkin flavor they came out with last Halloween."

Tony let out a halfhearted chuckle. "That was pretty gross. But it doesn't answer the question; why make a body?"

An unfamiliar woman's voice supplied the answer. "Because it's my ticket to the big time." The voice was low-pitched and sexy, with a faint trace of Atlantic Georgia in her vowels.

Tony plastered a bright smile on his face before looking up, opened his mouth to speak, and then caught sight of the speaker. His smile quickly morphed into a grimace. "And you are…?"

The woman was in her mid-twenties, with long, stringy brown hair, thick glasses that made her mud-colored eyes look extraordinarily large, and was wearing a turtleneck in the world's ugliest shade of yellowish-green (despite the fact that it had been hovering around the ninety-degree mark for the past week) over a brown linen skirt that nearly brushed the floor and which had definitely seen better days. In her hands was a battered straw 'purse' which had likely started its life as a beach tote. The woman smiled, revealing perfect, toothpaste-commercial white teeth. "Janice Larson," she replied. "I'm working on my degree in Applied Art."

Suppressing the shudder that wanted to escape at the woman's appearance, DiNozzo finally managed to look past her to see Wade standing at the edge of the MCRT's corner of the squad room. Tony's 'smile' became slightly more genuine when he spotted the lab rat's expression; it didn't take much to spot the 'oh, fuck, what did I get myself into' hovering behind Wade's eyes. Tony and Tim exchanged a quick look, full of promises to drag the whole story out of Wade later, before they took over as Miss Larson's escort.

Wade made a hasty – and silent – escape while he could.


When Gibbs returned from his latest coffee-run (the thermos from Samantha had only managed to tide him over until lunchtime), he almost literally ran into McGee as he escorted a pissed-to-the-point-of-tears (and undeniably ugly) woman out of the building. He waited for his agent before heading for the elevator. A quick glance that McGee correctly interpreted soon had the junior agent talking.

"That was Janice Larson, boss. She's the one who made the body from the Baskin Robbins. Apparently, she was expecting police involvement, not us, but she was trying to get a little press coverage in hopes of wowing some Hollywood effects crew into taking her on when she finishes up her degree at the end of the summer."

Gibbs shook his head – the stupidity of people never ceased to amaze him.

Tim continued, "Apparently, the uniform belonged to her older brother, and the reason we couldn't get a hit on the mannequin's fingerprints is because – aside from the skeleton she used as a base – everything about it was a figment of her imagination."

"What about that bond?"

"She had no idea what it was. She inherited it from her grandfather. Too bad she didn't know what it was before pulling this…stunt, or whatever you want to call it."

Gibbs let out a small snort. "She can use it to pay the fine, I'm sure."

"Yeah, but it won't start to touch on her legal fees once the ice cream shop gets around to pressing charges for breaking and entering. And whoever owns that branch of the franchise also has a pretty solid case for a defamation of character lawsuit."

The elevator came to a stop and Gibbs looked over at McGee. "You been dating outta the legal pool again, McGee?"

Tim blushed a little – and really, that was all the answer Gibbs needed.


A/N2: I have absolutely no idea if my 'punishment' for Janice was anywhere close to reality – I couldn't locate any info on just what the real ramifications for what she did would be, so I just made a guess. If anyone of y'all know better, lemme know and I'll go back and fix that part. And yes, I know it's about half the length of my preceding chapters have been, but I figured y'all would want a shorter chapter now than being forced to wait who knows how long for a full-sized chapter. If it helps, think of this as chapter '8.5'.

Remember to lemme know what y'all think.