Go go Gadget Disclaimer!

Spoilers: I…have no idea what the title of the episode was. Um. Awkward. Oh, Nine Lives.

Summary: Tony gets speculative, which equals desperate and annoying if you are McGee. Tivesque.

McGee returned to the squad room from confirming a few details with Abby to find Tony snoring with his head down. The potentially humorous comments McGee had been rehearsing about mold in the elevator were forgotten as he quietly sat down at his desk, unwrapping the coffee cake he'd gotten from the vending machine. Tony probably didn't have the scientific acumen to appreciate them, anyway; he couldn't even manage to stay awake to finish his paperwork on the Kale case, which had increased for both of them as a result of Ziva's poorly timed vacation. Gibbs had not taken kindly to Tony's suggestion that they save her share as a welcome back present.

McGee was just about to set his fingers on autopilot when Tony chuckled softly. He ignored it, but it was followed by a moan. "Tony?" He finished his snack, giving Tony time to make more assorted noises, before he stood and walked to Tony's desk, eliciting no reaction. "Tony, you awake?"

Another quiet laugh followed by a disturbing mutter, "Mmmm, Ziva…that tickles."

"All right, DiNozzo, quit messing with me," McGee demanded, shaking Tony's shoulder. His head shot off his desk and he pushed his seat back, looking around in confusion for a moment. "Very funny."

Tony looked at him innocently. "What?"

"Pretending to talk in your sleep?"

"I wasn't talking." He ran a hand nervously through his hair, and, although it was difficult to tell in the darkened orange of the squad room at twilight, he appeared to be blushing. "What did I say?"

McGee realized that maybe he had caught Tony dreaming about…heh. "Well, nothing that I'd be interested in, but maybe some other people…" He allowed his gaze to drift over to Ziva's empty desk.

"McGee, tell me what I said!" Tony sprang out of his seat and grabbed McGee by the lapels. "And remember that if you try to blackmail me I will blackmail you back harder."

"With what?"

"Your mold sex perversion, for one. Oh, yeah, Abby told me all about how interested you were in the hot Petri dish action. I'm sure plenty of people around here would love to hear about, uh, what you do with green month old muffins on the weekends." Tony finally released his grip. "So, yeah. Think about that."

McGee smoothed his jacket, not feeling particularly bothered by the empty threat, although a muffin, preferably not a moldy one, did sound good. "Must have been a pretty exciting dream for you to get that defensive about it."

"I'm not…don't you have reports to finish?"

"Don't you?"

Tony plopped back into his chair and put his feet up. "You really think I'd be napping if I hadn't?"

"How did you finish before me?" McGee challenged.

"Stayed late last night. All I had to do today was my half of Ziva's stuff."

"You still couldn't have finished before me, not with the way you type." He accepted the folder Tony waved in front of him. It needed only a cursory examination. "I didn't think I spent that long in the lab."

"You were probably so into your mold that you lost track of time."

McGee ignored the bait, not finding it worth getting worked up and teased further over. "If you're done, how come you're still here?"

"Gibbs said he wants to debrief us when he gets back from day two of his exciting adventure at the Hoover Building. Do you see Gibbs anywhere?"

"I'm sure he didn't mean…"

"Nice try, but I'm not going further than the coffee shop until Gibbs gets back."

"Well, if you're going to the coffee shop…"

"I'm not." Tony grinned infuriatingly and removed a cup from the top drawer of his desk. "Why should I when I can just make a quick trip to the microwave?"

In spite of his sudden under-caffeinated wish for bad things to happen to Tony, McGee wasn't able to conflate walking into a wall with poisoning. Could spoiled milk cause serious health problems? Maybe it wouldn't technically cause food poisoning, but if the way it smelled was any indication…but Tony was already sniffing the coffee. McGee sighed. "You probably shouldn't drink it if it has milk in it."

"Yeah. I guess saving a latte in my desk wasn't one of my more inspired ideas." He rose and pulled his jacket on. "I'll be back in a couple minutes. You want anything?" He looked across the aisle before turning to McGee. "Uh, coffee?"

"Sure. Thanks." He returned to his computer only to be interrupted a few moments later. He sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a crinkled ten-dollar bill. "I would have paid you when you got back. Get me one of those chocolate croissants if they have them." Before Tony disappeared into the elevator, he called, "And I want my change!"

Five minutes of highly productive work later, Tony returned, slamming a coffee cup on McGee's desk with the vehement declaration, "It's a sugar daddy!"

McGee looked up eagerly, even though he knew Tony was likely just teasing him with delicious caramel candy that could rip out his fillings but be totally worth the dental bills because… He blinked and noted that Tony hadn't come back with anything but the coffee. "Huh?"

"Ziva!"

"Ziva's in Israel."

"No, I mean that's the only logical explanation for Ziva. Sugar daddy!"

"Right. Did you have a couple shots of espresso while you were at the coffee shop?"

"It makes perfect sense."

McGee spoke slowly to make sure Tony understood how ridiculous he sounded. "You think candy explains Ziva's vacation."

"Candy? What?" Tony spun his chair around with a laugh. "Oh, sweet innocent Timothy, do I really have to explain the ways of the world to you?"

"It makes more sense than Ziva taking advantage of some rich guy," McGee said, recovering quickly. He'd only been thinking about candy because of all the Halloween displays he'd seen in the drugstore, all that chocolate and sugar and… He wondered, not for the first time, if there had been some kind of addictive substance in the cupcake he'd stolen, no, borrowed a few weeks before. He made an effort to bring his mind back to the topic at hand. "She isn't like that."

"Yeah, well, people change. Think about it – she flies to Tel Aviv on short notice, first class. And it had to be on El Al because she was yelling at them in Hebrew over the phone. That's an eight thousand dollar ticket!"

Even in his designer suit, McGee was impressed. "Must be nice. But how would you know that?"

"I checked."

"You…checked?"

"Yeah, I checked. Found out. Investigated."

"I get it," McGee said crossly, not wanting to hear the entire thesaurus entry. "I was just wondering what you said to the airline to get them to give you the information. Did you tell them it was for an official case?"

"No! I went on Expedia, took two minutes." Tony's pride visibly diminished as McGee continued to stare at him. "Well, I…I was curious about, uh, she…look, she didn't even pay for it! The guy with the yacht did!"

"What guy?"

With no pastry support, McGee didn't have the energy to ask anything further and turned back to his computer, drinking his coffee while Tony rifled through the papers on Ziva's desk. After a quick search, he held up a photo. "This guy. Mr. July in the Men of Moussad calendar."

McGee rolled his eyes. "Red herring." Maybe there were Swedish Fish in the vending machine…

"What?" He flipped the photo around. "I know it's usually old guy, younger woman, at least if my dad is any indication, but maybe he's a trust fund guy with…"

McGee interrupted, "She expended all that energy not telling you why she was going only to leave a picture of a shirtless guy out in the open on her desk?"

"You're right. Not very ninja-like." He spent a few seconds scrutinizing the picture with his face screwed up in a scowl. "So then it is an old guy…"

"I highly doubt it."

"Do you know something, McGee?"

"I know you haven't given me my change yet." Tony replaced the photo and rearranged the papers he'd misplaced before tossing a small paper ball across the bullpen. "This is a five! I gave you a ten!"

"Yeah, two coffees and a tip."

"Why do I have to pay for your coffee?"

"Because I ran the errand. It's really the least you could do."

McGee grudgingly pocketed the bill. "You didn't even get me a croissant."

"Hey, if you want a sugar daddy of your own, ask Ziva for advice." Tony's smile abruptly disappeared. "Tell Gibbs I went home."

"Tony…"

"Goodnight, McGee."

McGee sighed and returned to his attention to his computer, wondering if a croissant were really the answer.