Beyond Rule 12

It was just past noon when the NCIS team rolled up to the scene of their latest case. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a bright glare over the Navy dockyard. The hum of activity surrounded them—sailors milling about, forklifts whirring by, and the ever-present scent of saltwater in the air. But for Noelle, none of that registered as much as the tall, gruff figure walking slightly ahead of her.

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"Slow down, Gibbs. I don't have your long legs!" Noelle called out, half-jogging to keep up with his brisk pace.

Without turning around, Gibbs gave one of his trademark grunts, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he surveyed the crime scene. "Maybe you should walk faster, Raven," he said over his shoulder, his voice gruff but with a trace of amusement.

Noelle rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "Maybe you should take it down a gear, old man."

From behind her, Tony and Ziva exchanged a glance. Tony smirked, nudging Ziva with his elbow. "Did she just—"

"Yes, she did," Ziva cut in, arching an eyebrow. "And I am surprised Gibbs did not head-slap her for it."

Tony chuckled. "Nah, you know Gibbs. He's got a soft spot for her, whether he admits it or not."

Up ahead, McGee was already at the scene, speaking with the dock supervisor, his tablet in hand. The team gathered around, and McGee launched into the details.

"Victim is a Navy contractor, Mike Jennings. Found dead in his office. Looks like blunt force trauma to the back of the head. No witnesses so far, but security cameras caught some footage of someone leaving the office around 2 AM last night."

Gibbs gave a sharp nod, signaling McGee to pull up the footage. "Let's see it."

McGee tapped a few buttons, and the grainy footage appeared on his screen. A figure in a dark hoodie moved quickly down the corridor, their face obscured from the camera. Noelle squinted at the screen.

"Who wears a hoodie in the middle of July?" she muttered. "They're not even trying to blend in. Amateur hour."

Gibbs glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirked up. "You got something better to offer?"

Noelle crossed her arms, her lips curving into a playful smile. "Always, Gibbs."

Tony stepped forward, chiming in. "Oh, I don't doubt that. But I gotta ask, are we sure your hoodie-wearing days are behind you, Raven? Last week you were rocking that leather jacket like you were in a '90s grunge band."

Noelle smirked, flipping her hair dramatically. "It's called style, Tony. Something you wouldn't understand with your questionable ties."

"Ooh, burn," Ziva commented under her breath, folding her arms as she watched the exchange.

Tony's eyes widened in mock offense, hand flying to his chest. "I'll have you know my ties are the pinnacle of fashion!"

Gibbs, clearly tired of the back-and-forth, gave a sharp whistle. "Focus. We've got a murder to solve."

Tony snapped his fingers. "Right, murder. Back to business."

Noelle leaned in a little closer to Gibbs, shoulder brushing against his. "You sure you don't want to keep talking about Tony's fashion faux pas? We could make a whole day out of it."

Gibbs shot her a sideways look, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. "As tempting as that is, Raven, I think we've got more important things to handle."

Noelle chuckled, stepping back. "Fine, fine. I'll behave. For now."

As they worked the scene, the team split up to gather more intel. Gibbs and Noelle paired off, as they often did. There was an unspoken rhythm between them—something neither of them fully acknowledged, but it was there. They moved in sync, anticipating each other's next move, bickering in a way that only they could pull off without getting on each other's nerves.