It was quiet. Almost too quiet.
Gibbs regarded the dead bodies with only slight interest. The bullet wounds in their heads made it pretty clear what had happened, but it wasn't in his profession to assume. He'd wait until Ducky had gotten here before officially concluding anything about this case.
"Seems like an open and shut case, eh, Gibbs?"
The man turned and glared with disdain—and, admittedly, a bit of camaraderie—at the person who had intruded upon his deep thoughts. Trent Kort, CIA operative who seemed to prefer freelance work to following orders. Of course, when it came to the CIA, it was hard to tell what a person's orders really were.
"Why'd you call us in, Kort?"
The man shrugged. "One of them had his dog tags. I assumed I would be safer calling in your troops now rather than waiting until I'd finished the paper work for word to get back to you.
The other man was, according to Trent, a rogue CIA agent who had been evading the agency for quite some time now. Gibbs' only comment was that he'd had no idea there were such things as rogue CIA agents. "Don't you all just do whatever you want anyway?" he had asked snidely.
Gibbs turned to his team who was currently sweeping the scene. They were busy taking photographs, bagging and tagging evidence, dusting for prints, taking blood samples, and searching for spent cartridges.
"Nothing yet, boss," Tony called out as he continued looking for the cartridges. The man was an agent who took his job very seriously. No job was too disgusting for him; he was proud to crawl through muck and garbage if it meant finding the brass and bringing the murder to justice.
"A few prints," Tim added as he stood. He winced and cracked his back. Finger print dusting could be so tedious. Luckily for the team, Tim had one of the most trained eyes in the agency. He could spot a latent print from a mile away.
"We have two different kinds of blood here, Gibbs," Ziva said, looking at the blood samples. While all blood might look the same to most people, Ziva's Mossad training had taught her how to tell different blood types apart by just a glance.
Gibbs' phone rang. "Gibbs." He paused, listening. Then he sighed. 'Okay, Ducky, just get here when you can." He flipped the phone closed, announcing, "Palmer got them lost again. Ducky estimates it'll take another hour or two."
They groaned collectively, including court.
"C'mon, Gibbs!" he whined. "I was told I can't leave until your ME takes the jarhead away. I don't want to stay here all night!"
"Suck it up, Kort," was Gibbs' gruff reply. He had no time to deal with petulant CIA operatives.
Ziva shot up, hand going to her gun. "Did you hear that?" she asked softly.
They all stopped and listened, but heard nothing.
"Paranoid much, Ziva?"
The words had barely left Tony' mouth before there came a shrill scream. Well, it wasn't really a scream; it was more of an attack yell. Suddenly, without any warning, they—the team and Kort—were all surrounded by forty tall, slim figures clad in black.
Ninjas. They were not people to mess with.
They stood stanced and ready to pounce. Their faces were covered by their masks, but their eyes were completely visible. They stared at their victims in an unnerving way.
The team, though, was not to be intimidated. Gibbs was ready for them and took down three of them with one swift roundhouse kick. They fell so hard, the ground shook.
Kort too joined the fray with a one-two punch. He managed to knock out two of them before one of them jumped on his back, covering his eyes. Blinded, he couldn't see the kick before it hit his gut, sending him sprawling back, hitting his head against the wall of a building. Stars appeared in front of his eyes.
Ziva had already pulled out her office supplies and was quickly converting them into usable weapons. Her rubber band and paper clips version of a bow and arrows took out no less than eight of the ninjas. The others, seeing that she was the true threat of the group, cowered away from her, focusing on the other prey.
Tony put to use his hours spent watching Bruce Lee movies. His fists and feet flew, taking out two at a time. When he was finally finished, he noticed that about ten or so ninjas lay sprawled around him. With a smug grin, he brushed off his hands and looked to see how his teammates were faring.
Tim's geeky aura implied to the ninjas that he was the weakest of the group, the easiest to take down. They, sadly, were mistaken. Tim did a smooth and impressive back flip, landing with his feet atop the stomach of one of the ninjas. The others closed in on him, but he was ready. In his brilliant mind, he calculated the speed of the approaching ninjas and figured out the exact angle at which he would have to kick one to create the perfect domino effect. He waited patiently, never losing his cool. Then, when they were perfectly set, he kicked his leg up and caught one right in the side, knocking him to the side. That ninja fell into the one beside him and then that one fell into the one beside him and so on and so on until they had all toppled over, leaving him free to help his weaker teammates.
They reconvened—including Kort who had recovered from his majorly humiliating wipe-out—and gave the scene a glance. The black-clad ninjas now lay in pain around them, many unconscious. Those who weren't unconscious refused to move for fear of more butt-kicking. They felt it easier to surrender to the awesome NCIS team (and one CIA agent) who had totally pwned them.
"Good work," Gibbs commended proudly. "Even you, Kort."
The CIA operative gave Gibbs a sour look.
"Now, let's get them tied up and throw them in the back of our truck. When Ducky gets here, we can take them away and figure out what they wanted with us. Be careful when you're handling them…"
Kort yelped as one of the ninjas—one of the braver ones who had been playing dead—grabbed him in a head lock.
Gibbs rolled his eyes. Leave it to Kort to get caught. "Like I was saying, they can be sneaky."
The team ran to help the hopeless Kort. Distracted by that, they didn't notice some of the other ninjas slowly standing and creeping towards them. At least, they didn't notice until it was too late.
Without being prepared, they were overcome by the sneaky ninjas. The ninjas dragged them to some nearby trees and bound them tightly against them. Then, after stealing the keys from Gibbs' pocket, they ran away. The team looked at each other in confusion…and then they heard their truck roar to life.
"Our truck!" Tony yelled in anger. "Dammit! Now Vance is going to blame us for that!"
The team looked worried for a moment. Well, Kort didn't look worried. After all, the ninjas hadn't stolen his agency issued vehicle.
"Do not worry," Ziva said in a levelheaded tone. "We will simply explain to him what happened. These things happen all the time, so he will have no reason to not believe us!"
They all agreed with her. After all, being attacked by ninjas, then tied to trees while they stole your NCIS owned truck happened all the time and a guy as intelligent, handsome, funny, and kind as the ever amazing Director Leon Vance would just have to believe them…
"And that's how we lost the truck," Gibbs finished. "It was the ninjas. Though, if you feel you must blame someone, I think you should blame Kort."
His team nodded cheerfully behind him.
"We tried our best, sir," Tony added.
"We could not stop it," Ziva put in.
"And I'm happy to let you know that I put out a BOLO for the ninjas," Tim concluded.
Vance sat back, hands clasped together as he mulled over the story. He looked at them all. They smiled back at him.
"I told you the ninja story wouldn't work," Tony grumbled as he scrubbed the windshield.
"Hey! The story would have worked if you hadn't had to go into how you learned kung fu from Bruce Lee movies," Tim retorted. "Did you really think Vance would believe that?"
"Me?" Tony cried. "You're the one who went into the whosit-whatsit about calculating whatever to take down those ninjas! And Ziva's bow and arrow? Seriously, what were you guys thinking?"
Ziva glared at him. "At least we were not sucking up to him. 'Oh, Director Vance! I'm such a dedicated member of this agency! I was going through gunk and mud to find those cartridges!'" she mimicked.
"Oh, and you're 'Mossad teaches us how to tell the difference between blood types' bit wasn't stupid beyond belief?"
Gibbs, through all of the spatting of who had said what and who had blown their cover, said nothing.
A car honked, catching the attention of the team. In his agency-issued car, a gleeful Trent Kort drove by, waving at them as they completed their punishment for losing their truck: washing Vance's car.
"I take it the ninja story did not pan out very well," he commented. "Perhaps if you had just told him you left the key in the ignition, you could have pled not guilty by reason of stupidity."
The cackling CIA agent sped off, leaving behind a team of chagrined NCIS agents. Stupid Kort with his stupid car issued by the stupid CIA. This thought had barely left their minds when they heard a shrill scream. Well, it wasn't really a scream; it was more of an attack yell. Suddenly, without any warning, they were all surrounded by forty tall, slim figures clad in black.
As they watched the ninjas ride off in Director Vance's car—they had an excellent view from where they were tied up to the parking lot light posts—they felt their hearts sink.
"Vance is never going to believe this," Gibbs muttered.
AN: This was written for an NFA challenge which required us to take any picture and use it as inspiration for a crack!fic. I can't post the picture I used here, but if you go to the NFA Community boards, you'll find it there! Thank you for reading!