This idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while now. I wanted to start a sort of series of different stories that could involve multiple character perspectives from multiple shows. This is what came out. I figured a journal (just because some of the perspectives I want to write in wouldn't dare call it a diary) would be the best way to do that. Kudos to McGee, who is the character I will be starting with!

And though the date is today's, this has nothing to do with the current plot line on the show. 'Cause there are a few laughs in this, (at least, I'd like to think it's somewhat amusing) and not much of that has been going on in the show. Enjoy!

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McGee glanced around the office nervously. It was only Ziva and himself, but if Tony caught him writing this, he'd never hear the end of it. He looked back at his computer.

October 9, 2009- 7:29 p.m.

Another glance around. Ziva was still typing away at her own computer. No Gibbs, no Tony.

A friend recommended I keep a journal as a way to relieve stress. It made sense to me at the time, but it seems that I'm only making myself more stressed in trying to hide it.

McGee looked around. He didn't really have anything pressing to write about.

I should probably be writing my case report right now. Gibbs will want it by tonight. But I just don't feel like it. It's so nice and quiet in here; it hasn't been for days. Tony went to get food; Gibbs went for coffee.

The elevator dinged, making McGee jump slightly. Fortunately, Ziva didn't notice.

"Pizza!" Tony announced as he made his way over.

"It is about time," Ziva said, getting up from her chair and crossing to Tony's desk. "We have been waiting for forty five minutes."

"Not all of us drive like you, Ziva," Tony pointed out, earning a glare from his partner, "I was stuck in traffic."

He opened the pizza box. It was nearly half empty.

"Tony!" Ziva yelled in frustration.

"What? I saved the rest!" he protested.

"You got olives. None of us like olives," McGee said, wincing when his stomach growled.

"So take 'em off. What's the big deal?" Tony asked.

Ziva huffed and went back to her desk, staring at the paper clip on her case report for a while. Tony gulped. McGee turned went back to his desk as well.

"Oh c'mon Probie; they're just olives!" Tony said after him.

Neither McGee nor Ziva spoke.

Tony knows I don't like olives. He does it on purpose. I can feel Ziva's anger all the way over here. I don't know who'll end up killing him first: her or Gibbs. I suppose it'll depend on whether Tony and Ziva figure stuff out between them. Maybe I've been hanging around Abby too much, but I'm starting to see their connection too. It's probably just wishful thinking.

McGee switched screens as an IM popped up on his monitor.

Z. David: Please speak me out of killing Tony.

He smiled slightly at the incorrect idiom. He briefly switched back to his journal.

Definitely wishful thinking. Back to the chat.

T. McGee: It's talk me out. And don't kill Tony; it'll be way too much paperwork for the rest of us.

He saw the tiny grin on Ziva's lips as she read his message.

Z. David: True. I bet Gibbs could get away with it.

T. McGee: 20 bucks says Tony gets head-slapped in the next two minutes.

Z. David: Deal.

McGee checked his computer's clock. 7:38 p.m.

I made a bet with Ziva that Gibbs will head-slap Tony in the next two minutes. It is now 7:38. Gibbs said he would be back in 20 minutes a while ago; I'm pretty sure it's been about that… The quiet in here is oppressive. Ziva is resolutely not looking at Tony. I wonder how long this disagreement will last. Maybe I should write more arguments between Tommy and Lisa.

The elevator dinged and Gibbs strolled out, carrying his newly purchased coffee. He stopped when he reached Tony's desk and looked at the pizza.

"All yours, if you want it, boss," Tony offered with a patented smile.

Gibbs' glare transferred from the pizza to Tony. He brought his hand up and whacked him on the back of the head.

"No olives, DiNozzo," he said, before going to his desk.

The grin on Ziva's face was priceless. McGee glanced at the clock again.

7:40 p.m.

McGee smiled.

Ziva owes me twenty bucks.

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