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: I've decided I'm going to quit apologizing for how long it takes me to post something. We all know that RL sometimes just doesn't allow us the time we would otherwise wish and at other times muses simply shut up and drift away for a spell. Anyway, this chapter wraps up the barbecue. Happy reading!

The Goth, the Cowboy, and a Mom

Chapter Thirteen

"Mama-Sam!" Phoenix's voice cut like an axe across the yard, "Kat's –"

"Any bones broke? Any blood gushing?" Sam yelled from the porch.

"No, but –"

"Then I don't wanna hear about it!" Samantha turned to Abby, who had just arrived. "Sorry. Come on, the kitchen's through here."

Abby clung a little tighter to the handle of the bucket containing five gallons of fudge ripple that she'd brought along. She was still of two minds about this whole barbecue thing. Oh, come on, Abby, if you can't be honest with yourself – admit it, you still don't see how someone like Dr. Carpenter-Irving, she almost winced at the level of venom her inner voice laced through her new 'assistant's' name, is happy being the low girl on the totem pole. Abby pasted a fakeish smile on her face as she followed Sam into the house.

Not three feet into the house, a pair of high-pitched shreeks sounded, and a pair of tiny redheaded children ran screaming from the foyer. Among the shrill noise, there was a host of babble Abby had no hope of deciphering and a single word that stuck to her brain like glue – the one with tennis-ball fuzz for hair had screeched 'vampire' as he disappeared with his sister. It made her smile a little more genuine until she realized she'd likely scared the poor kids.

As Sam led the way through a library and into the kitchen, Abby passively took in the surroundings, noticing that the books on the shelves didn't seem to have much order in how they were stacked – she saw a textbook on art history of the fifteenth century sandwiched between a Chilton's manual and a leather-bound collected works of Hans Christian Anderson – and that the inside of the house was exactly like the outside in that is was… So not what she'd been expecting.

"Hey, honey," a man Abby hadn't yet met, and as a result could only be Major Irving, stepped away from the double-stacked ovens and wiped his hands on a dishrag. "We're out of shortening and running dangerously low on sugar. Thought you went to the grocer's yesterday?"

Sam sighed, "I did, but neither of those were on the list; you got no one to blame but yourself. If you call Zelwicky's, Becky might still be there – she can pick some up on her way home."

Quin glared at the phone and quickly stepped over to the stove. "Could you? I'm a little busy here – don't want the filling to burn, do you?"

Sighing again, Sam shrugged, "I'll do it in a minute, but if they've gone by the time I get to it, then don't blame me."

She moved across the kitchen to a door standing between an old fifties-style refrigerator and a more modern side-by-side with ice/water in the door. It turned out to be the door to the basement. Sam flicked a switch at the top of the stairs and motioned for Abby to follow. "Basement?" Abby asked as unwanted scenes from uncountable horror films flickered through her brain.

"Yeah, gonna hafta put the ice cream in the walk-in, the freezers upstairs are about as packed as they can possibly get."

They walked through an area devoted to rows of shelves of home-canned foods. Abby noticed that none of the labels were in Sam's handwriting. "You do all this?"

Sam snorted, "Nope – Quin swears one day I'll wind up burning the house down trying to make mac'n'cheese. He's the chef, though Becky doesn't do too badly, either." At the end of the rows of shelves was a large metal door. "Here we are. You hold the door, I'll put the ice cream away."

The inside of the door was completely smooth – it had no inner door handle. Answers why she's having me hold the door. It only took a few moments before Sam rejoined her. "Now that's done… Last I saw, Hope had hijacked the Doc into telling her stories out on the tire swing. Tony, Tim, and Jimmy were being chased by Wade, Kat, and Phoenix – not too sure who was winning, but Tony was wettest. Quin's, as you saw, making something delicious in the kitchen."

"Where's Gibbs?" Abby couldn't help but ask as she followed Samantha back to the stairs.

"He hit something on his way in; Becky took him and the flat tire in to Monrovia to get it fixed. They should be back soon." On arriving back in the kitchen, Sam headed for the telephone hanging on the wall. "Make yourself at home, Abby," she said over her shoulder while picking up the receiver.

Abby wasn't entirely sure what to do with herself, but the scent of something fruity and sweet had her standing just out of Major Irving's way while the man stirred a long-handled wooden spoon through the purple, bubbling contents of the single largest cast-iron skillet she'd ever seen. After dialing a number, Sam ducked out of the room. Major Irving's eyes flickered briefly in the direction his wife had gone before he turned his head and smiled at Abby. "So you're the one that Sammy's all worked-up about."

Abby blinked in surprise. "Pardon?"

Major Irving just shook his head a little and smiled at her. Switching the spoon to his left hand, he held out his right. "Quin," he said.

"Abby," she replied, automatically shaking the offered hand. "What did you mean?"

Quin returned his spoon to his dominant hand and split his attention between the bubbling berry mixture and Abby. "Just that Sammy mentioned you seem threatened by having her at work with you."

Abby winced a little. "Could be. I just don't get her, though."

Quin's pleasant expression morphed a little. "Yeah. Samantha has that effect on just about everyone. Main thing you gotta keep in mind with her, though – what you see is pretty much what you get. In all the years I've known her, the closest she's ever come to lying about anything is when she attempts to sugar-coat something." He let out a chuckle. "And even then, her feelings on whatever it might be are pretty damn obvious."

Before Abby could reply, Sam reappeared and hung up the phone. "The sugar and shortening have been ordered, hon," she said. "Gibbs and Becky should be back in fifteen or twenty, depending on how long the lines are at the store."

"Samantha! Save me!" Overlapped the sound of the back door slamming shut. In short order, a drenched preteen girl had burst from the mudroom and taken cover under the dining table.

Abby watched as Sam pinched the bridge of her nose, her glasses nudged momentarily askew. "What is it this time, Kat?"

"Tony and Jimmy found out that it was my idea to balloon them in the arcade and they've teamed up with Tim and Wade and now Phoenix won't help me and Hope's not playing any more!"

Sam sighed. "Go upstairs and get dried off, Katling. It's time to get the meat started anyway, otherwise we won't have supper 'til midnight." Kat scurried from under the table and ducked around the half-height wall that separated the kitchen from what would normally have been a formal dining area, but was currently set up with two worn couches and a couple of armchairs. After the girl had gone, Sam strode over to the door through which Kat and arrived. Unsure what else to do, Abby followed her. She arrived at the doorway in time to see her host grab hold of an antique crank-handle, attached to a boxy object set into one of the windows of the mudroom.

A loud, warbling wail screeched into existence, and Abby realized that the item was an old-fashioned air-raid siren. Within moments of Sam starting to crank the handle, everyone showed up – the members of Abby's team wearing curious expressions, while Sam's family simply filed into the mudroom. Kat arrived wearing a bathrobe, and the two small children which had disappeared on Abby's arrival followed her closely.

"Okay, all," Sam said. "Enough roughhousing for now. We need to finish getting things together." Abby glanced over her shoulder to meet Quin's amused grin as he listened with one ear while still tending his pie-filling. "Kat, you finish getting dressed and have Jimmy and Tim give you a hand setting up the tables in the yard, okay?" Kat nodded and hurried back to wherever her room might be hiding. "Phoenix, you're going to help your dad." The skinny boy with flaming orange hair echoed his foster-sister's nod and stepped over to the mudroom's sink to wash up. Over the noise of the faucet, Sam continued, "And if we expect to have meat with our supper, I'd like a hand getting it out to the pit. So, if you would, Tony, Wade?" Abby repressed a small smile to see that both men had unconsciously mimicked Kat's and Phoenix's nods of agreement. Sam didn't make mention of it either, but simply concluded, "Doc? Do you mind continuing on with Hope, and maybe my other two, while you're at it?"

"Certainly, Samantha," Ducky replied. He leaned down and spoke next to the short-haired brunette girl's ear. "If you would gather your younger siblings, I will continue the story I was telling."

The little girl grinned and took the twins' hands. "Ahn-aye, Fable. Ahn-aye, Gracie. Story time! Ti alwyn ni sharaneth!" The two smallest children giggled and began pulling her out the door, towards Ducky.

"What can I do to help?" Abby asked when Sam finally motioned for Tony and Wade to follow her.

Sam halted in her steps, almost as though she'd forgotten Abby was there. "If you're up to it, I'm sure Quin wouldn't mind a third set of hands."

While Sam lead Tony and Wade into the basement, Abby finally got it. It makes so much more sense now. She's head-honcho at home, so it's no wonder she's not interested in doing it at work.

Four hours later, just as the sun was beginning to dip below the western horizon, Abby reclined back on a quilt and stared up at the first stars beginning to twinkle overhead. She was pleasantly full and feeling content and sluggish.

She felt more than saw Tim take a seat next to her on the ground-cover. "This was a pretty good day," he said.

Abby nodded. "Yeah. It was a good idea on Sam's part. We'll need to do this more often."

"What? The barbecue?"

"Not necessarily. Just hanging out together, outside of work." She propped her arms behind her head and rolled a little so she could look at McGee. His face and arms were slightly sunburned, but he looked more relaxed than he had in a good long time. Abby's eyes flickered to the rest of the team and realized that same sentiment could be applied to each of them.

Tim followed her gaze and knew where her thoughts were heading. "I agree. We don't do a whole lot with all of us there, do we?"

Abby didn't bother replying – the question had been rhetorical, after all. Seeing everyone together, though, made her miss Ziva all the more. "Do you think she'd like Sam and Wade?"

Even knowing Abby as well as he did, it took Tim a moment to figure out that she'd meant Ziva. "Dunno for sure, but I think so. Have you heard from her lately?"

Beyond Tim, Abby could see Tony, Jimmy, Quin, and the children toasting marshmallows over the glowing embers in the barbecue pit. Abby shook her head. "Not since that email right after Tony and Gibbs returned without her. What about you?"

"Only that same email, Abs." Tim sighed. "I'm… I'm worried about her."

Abby looked away from the pit and back at Tim. "Me, too."

It had taken quite a lot of doing, and he now owed several people favors, but he'd needed the information. He wouldn't have known how to keep it from happening again, if he didn't have as complete a data-set as possible.

Some discrete shadowing based on the data he'd secured had him approaching the beautiful secretary he recalled from his interview while she had dinner at a small café not far from the interstate. She was sitting at the counter, rather than at a table or booth, so he'd simply taken the empty seat to her left.

It wasn't all that hard to engage her in conversation. It had been as he'd assumed – she dealt with far too many people on a daily basis to remember him.

It might have cost his wallet a little over twenty bucks, and it cost him a good four hours of time, but he walked away with the information he needed.

The phone number the woman had scrawled on a bit of napkin was discarded on the wind.

Parker returned to his apartment, his mind repeating the one piece of pertinent information he simply couldn't force his attention away from: There had only been three interviews for the two open positions within the lab.

So, how in the hell did that kid manage to secure one of the spots?

A/N2: I'm not going to promise anything about when the next chapter will be up for this - I've learned my lesson, thankyouverymuch. In either case, I think my muse for this is back on speaking terms with me, so I've hope yet that I'll manage to finish it.

Remember to lemme know what y'all think.