Chapter Text
Another typical Tuesday at NCIS. Probationary Agent Heather Kincaid took a break from the paperwork she was working on to take stock of her surroundings. It was still at times a shock to realize that she was actually here. Her. The youngest of a family of cops, the girl who everyone thought would crash and burn after her volleyball dreams were brought to an abrupt end after a torn rotator cuff, is a federal agent on one of the premier teams within NCIS.
She looked across the bullpen at her teammates. Special Agent Timothy McGee was typing away at his computer, finishing up a report from one of their previous cases, a look of complete concentration on his face. Get that man in front of a computer and the whole world fades away around him. Well, almost.
As if her thoughts manifested into reality, the computer nerd's laser-focus was interrupted by a well-placed paper ball smacking him in the side of the head.
“Tony! Seriously? I’m trying to finish the Willis case report,” Tim groused, irritated by the disruption.
“Now, now McGoo, no need to get your panties in a twist.”
That, of course, brings her to her next teammate. Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Italian playboy and self-proclaimed charmer of women. The team’s senior field agent appeared to be a goofball, but Heather had been around long enough to see that it was an act.
“Tony, knock it off. I need to get these finished for Gibbs,” Tim continued.
“Well then, Probie-one, you shouldn’t have left them off so late,” Tony snarked back.
Ah, the nicknames. McGee has the honor of being Tony’s first probie, and (at least according to what all the others said at FLETC), no senior agent ever forgets their first probie. Of course, Tim’s probationary period has been over for years and Heather herself is now the probie of the team. To differentiate between them, Tony has taken to calling him “Probie-One” and her “Probie-Two”. To be honest though, Heather isn’t entirely sure if it is a Star Wars reference or a Dr. Suess one. It can go either way with him.
“The only reason I am doing them this late is because it is your records I’m sorting,” Tim snaps.
“It’s called delegating,” Tony smugly replies. “Senior Field Agent privileges.”
And at that, Heather decides to go back to finishing her own paperwork ‘delegated’ to her by the oh so very special agent. A signature here, and description there. Check the boxes for the discharge of a weapon. List the serial number and who fired it. The words were all starting to blur together. Yeah, post-case paperwork is probably the worst part of this job.
And then the magic words came.
“Grab your gear!”
Those three words heralded the entrance of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Supervisory Special Agent in charge of the NCIS Major Case Response Team. The gruff, no-nonsense former marine was a man of little words, but his results spoke for himself.
“Where to boss?” McGee asks.
Gibbs tosses the keys to Tony before replying, “Got a dead Marine in Shenandoah. I’ve notified Ducky. He and Palmer will meet us there after they close up the guy they’ve already got in the morgue”
Heather grabs her backpack, then loads and holsters her firearm. She grabs her fleece sweater (no way is she going to survive VA winter weather with just her windbreaker) and is at the tail end of the group as they head to the elevator.
The four of them wait for the elevator to arrive. Ah, the elevator. Or as the team calls it, Gibbs’s Office. All of them have experienced meetings in the elevator out of earshot of the ever listening gossipers in the office. Though she is not too proud to admit she panicked the first time it happened.
The elevators opened, and suddenly, it was as if time stood still.
All the veteran members froze, shocked expressions on their faces as they took in the sight in the elevator. The sight being a beautiful woman of average height, with tanned skin and dark hair. She was dressed business casual, with black slacks and a dark blue blouse. Her left wrist had a brace on it, and fingers on her right hand were taped up. She looked startled, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.
Heather narrowed her eyes as she took in the other woman. There was something familiar about her, as if she had seen a picture of her before. But for the life of her, couldn’t remember when.
Her musings were cut short by a voice snapping out behind her.
“David! With me.”
I turned around to see Leon Vance, the Director of NCIS standing behind us. At his voice, whatever spell that seemed to have fallen over the team has broken, and they all startled out of their shock.
The woman slipped out of the elevator, one of the guards from the front desk coming out behind her. She follows on Vance’s heels as he heads to the stairs to his office. The team’s eyes follow them.
Wait a minute. David…as in Ziva David? The Mossad agent? Her predecessor?
She didn’t realize she had spoken aloud until McGee absentmindedly replies with an affirmative.
They all stand there, watching the small procession move to the Director’s office. Gibbs finally gets them moving when Vance shoots him a look from the stairwell.
“Let’s move. We’ve got a dead Marine to get to.”