The Art of MOAS Hunting (3/3)
Title: The Art of MOAS HuntingAuthor: Calliatra
Rating: FR13
Category: Gen
Pairing: None
Character(s): Tony, the Team
Genre: Humor
Summary: In which Tony tries to find McGee's MOAS. Written for the Ironic Much? Challenge and the All Is Discovered Challenge at NFA.
Spoilers: Season 4 (especially "Twisted Sister")
Warnings: Mild Swearing
Disclaimer: All recognizable NCIS characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Part 1, Part 2
Part 3: The Results
“McGee.” When his cell phone buzzed on his bedside table, Tim didn’t even bother to glance at the screen. It was far too late for any reasonable person to be calling, and (after several not-so-good experiences) he had programmed his phone to ring extra loud when Gibbs called. That only left one person.
“Probie, it’s me.” Tony. His calling at this hour was, while not exactly expected, certainly not surprising. The senior field agent had been acting crazy even by DiNozzo standards this past week. Tim had no idea why Tony was behaving so oddly around him, and at the moment he really didn’t care. He just wanted to get rid of him so he could go back to sleep.
“What do you want, Tony?”
“What the hell were you thinking, Probie?”
“Uh…”
“Did you really think nobody would find out!? You work for Gibbs, remember? He always knows everything! And I think he just figured it out and he is going to kill you!”
“Tony, what-”
“I know we’ve had our differences, man, but I wouldn’t wish a Gibbs that angry on my worst enemy! Look, I can’t talk right now, but this time I’m on your side. Meet me in autopsy at six thirty tomorrow and I’ll try to find a way to help you, okay?”
Tim was left staring blankly at his cell phone as Tony hung up abruptly. What on earth? Why was Tony calling him, barely coherent, in the middle of the night? Had he lost it completely? That certainly would explain his recent behavior…
And then Tony’s words started to sink in. He knew. And not just him. Gibbs did, too. And his reaction was so bad that Tony was worried about him. Tim felt the panic rise in his chest. He’d known when he wrote it that Deep Six could get him into deep trouble, but he had for the most part just avoided thinking about that. Now he really wished he hadn’t.
He knew he should have changed the names more, knew it was too dangerous, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. With different names, it just didn’t feel right. It had been almost as if the personalities of his friends and coworkers were somehow entrenched in their names, as if he couldn’t capture their essence any other way. What nonsense! Different names would have meant nothing to the readers and might have been able to save him!
And what had he been thinking, using an anagram of his real name as his pseudonym? He hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. He knew he couldn’t publish his book under his real name, but he had wanted to, anyway. Had wanted the credit, wanted it to be his name on the cover and had gotten as close as he could to that by using an anagram. He’d been so ridiculously, implausibly sure that no one would make the connection. If only he had gone with a completely made up name, maybe…
Oh, who was he kidding. He worked for Gibbs, for God’s sake. Nothing ever got by him. Why had he thought he could publish a book based on his boss and have it escape the man’s notice?
It arrogance, plain and simple. He’d though he’d been so clever, outwitted one of the best investigators in the country. Now he would simply have to pay the price.
The panic gave way to resignation. There was no way he could possibly get out of this. Even if he quit his job and never showed his face in the Naval Yard again, Gibbs would still find him and make his life hell. Better to just face the music head on and get it over with.
Especially if he had Tony on his side. But why was Tony on his side? If anything, he should be more pissed than Gibbs. Tibbs was the protagonist, the all-round hero, the one who saved the day when all others failed. Agent Tommy, on the other hand… well, maybe Tony had recognized that while Tommy was based in part on him, he really was a fictional character who was different from Tony in many ways, too. (Yeah, right.)
Sighing, Tim crawled out of bed. He couldn’t change what would happen tomorrow, couldn’t even really anticipate it, but that didn’t mean his mind would stop running through terrifying scenarios. He knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight, so he trudged over to his computer and prepared to battle some ogres.
*
Tim gulped as he entered NCIS headquarters early the next morning. His rationality telling him he had to deal with the fallout from his actions was all well and good, but it didn’t stop his basic instinct from yelling at him to run as far away as he could as fast as he could.
He was vibrating with nerves (though some of the shaking may have been due to the tremendous amounts of coffee he had consumed in order to feel at least halfway awake) and took some deep breaths to steady himself. He could do this. He would meet Tony in Autopsy, find out how he was planning to help him, and then at least he wouldn’t be alone when he had to face Gibbs. That in itself would make a world of difference.
He would stay calm and try to explain himself. Even if it was based on his coworkers, he would make the point that his book was still fiction. It didn’t retell any of their cases, nor did it delve into his friends’ real private lives. He had simply used people he knew as a jumping off point. There really wasn’t anything wrong with that. Yes, he would make his point calmly and collectedly and then brave whatever wrath were to come.
Then the doors of the elevator slid open, and just like that all his good intentions flew out the window. In the elevator, facing him with an expression entirely too terrifying for this early an hour, stood Gibbs.
*
Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was having a good morning. He’d gotten in before the irritating hustle and bustle that accompanied the beginning of a work day, his coffee was perfect (read: scalding hot and strong enough to strip stomach lining) and he’s just settled a question that had been niggling the back of his mind for a few days.
Specifically, the question of what the hell DiNozzo was up to. He had been busily scribbling something for days now, but had never even handed in the report he’d started a week ago. Ziva and McGee had had to handle the brunt of the paperwork. McGee, as usual, had done it diligently and with an air of longsuffering, whereas Ziva had a vengeful gleam in her eye when her gaze drifted in her partner’s direction.
Ordinarily, he’d have dealt DiNozzo a headslap and made sure he got back to doing his job, but he’d decided to see how this team dynamic played out. After two days, he was sure something was going on. Tony hadn’t been in any way productive, and while McGee had grumbled and lectured him about possibilities of increasing workplace productivity, Ziva had, uncharacteristically, done nothing. She seemed to be biding her time. But for what? Well, now he knew.
Finding the answer to his questions had been surprisingly easy. Nothing could stay secret from him for long once he set his mind to discovering it, but he had expected it to be slightly more challenging than just ambling over to DiNozzo’s desk and picking up the piece of paper sitting on top.
From the density of the inked lines, it appeared to be the paper he had been writing on for the past few days. There were notes on both the front and back in no apparent order, often upside down or squeezed along the sides. Between the crossed out words “Get baby pictures from his parents, then blackmail him with them” and a doodle of a skull, he found what had originally been a heading: How To Find McGee’s Secret.
Well, that was straightforward enough. The rest of the scribbles appeared to be failed strategies, from “Find old girlfriends and mine them for information” to “Visit him at night and convince him that he’s dreaming”. In one corner, however, he could make out the words “If Ziva Wins,” followed by a list of his Rules. That told him enough.
At that moment, the doors of the elevator slid opened and revealed McGee, who was staring at him with an expression not unlike a deer in headlights. Just before the doors started to close, he seemed to unfreeze and rushed into the elevator.
“Boss! Boss, I’m really, really sorry and I know I shouldn’t have done it but I thought it was harmless ‘cause in the end it’s still fiction and you’re the hero anyway but I used you without permission well not actually you but you know what I mean and I’m sorry for that and I know you don’t like apologies so I’ll stop saying I’m sorry now just please don’t fire me and I promise-”
Gibbs watched with concern as his youngest agent started turning a pale shade of blue while he rattled on without stopping to draw a breath. This had gone far enough. He placed both hands on the other man’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
“McGee. Breathe.”
Never one to disobey a direct order, McGee shut up and took a shuddering breath. He was still shaking and pale as a sheet, so Gibbs waited for him to take several more.
“Now what the hell are babbling about?”
“The book, Boss!”
The elevator had reached the squad room and Gibbs strode out, McGee scrambling to keep up.
“This book?” He pulled out a copy of Deep Six from behind his desk and held it up in front of his agent, who nodded and looked on the verge of fainting again. “McGee, I don’t care!”
Since McGee was now doing a rather good impression of a drowning fish, Gibbs continued uninterrupted.
“I don’t give a damn what you do in your free time as long as it doesn’t affect work. So you wrote a crime novel based on your job. As long as your fiction doesn’t interfere with any of our real investigations I. Don’t. Care. Got it?”
“B- but, but Tony said-”
“Tony,” he said clearly, “has been trying to find blackmail material on you for a week now.”
“So… I’m not fired?”
“Not yet,” Gibbs growled. “But you will be soon if you don’t quit acting like a moron.”
He took one last look at his junior agent (whose mouth was still hanging slightly open) and headed back to the elevator. He needed more coffee.
*
Tony was feeling supremely confident as he walked (or rather, strutted) into Autopsy. The Probie had had all night to tumble into a complete, all-consuming panic. He was probably already waiting for him, a quivering mess, and ready to beg him for help. It was pathetic, really. Once this was over, he’d have to work harder to toughen him up. For now, though, he was going to shamelessly use his weakness. He had no choice, not when his liberty and dignity were riding on it.
Slightly surprised, he realized that Autopsy was still empty. Then surprise turned to shock as the doors hissed open and McGee strode into the room with an air of complete confidence, not a single trace of anxiety anywhere.
“McGee?”
“Tony?”
Ah, now his face was showing concern. Better.
“Are you… okay?”
Wait, what?
“I wasn’t sure if you’d even remember calling me last night, but since you’re here, I guess you do. What on earth was that about? You weren’t making any sense. Is everything all right?”
Damn.
*
He trudged over to Ziva’s desk. She had just arrived and was busy arranging the things on her desk just so, but looked up when he approached.
“I give up. You were right. Our McGeek has absolutely no secrets whatsoever. So do your worst, for the next week, I am at your mercy.”
She didn’t gloat. At all. She merely looked content. That scared him.
“Only after work, of course!”
“Of course, Tony.”
He really didn’t like the way she was smiling so sweetly.
*
“All right, that’s enough for today. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Tony groaned and stretched. It was another day in their personal paperwork hell and the first day he’d actually joined in the fun. It reminded him why he never did his paperwork in the first place. Well, at least it was over now. Even whatever Ziva would come up with for him had to be better than writing reports. Speaking of which…
“I have something for you, Tony.” She was still sporting that sweet, devious smile. This was not going to be good.
“Oh?”
“Oh yes. You were so busy working on your plans for McGee that you did not work on very many files this week. That is why I saved you some.” With that, she dumped a truly enormous pile of folders on his desk.
“Wait a minute! We said it couldn’t have anything to do with work!”
“No, we said it could not interfere with our work. But Gibbs just said we could go home, so if stay to do some extra paperwork, that would not interfere at all.”
“But-”
“Have fun, Tony. I will see you in the morning, and I expect you to have them all done by then.”
Tony banged his head against his desk, repeatedly. Damn, damn, damn! Sighing, he straightened up and opened the first folder. Better to just get it over with. But this was it. He had learned his lesson. He was definitely never going to try to mess with Ziva ever again.
This time, the snort came from Gibbs.
(The End)