A/N: This story was written on New Year's Eve, and I'm pretty sure I was a tad bit drunk. That being said, this is just a little drabble of absolute randomness that almost doesn't even deserve a post. But me being me, it's getting posted in all its plot-lacking-poor-humor glory. Also, I'm trying to get used to writing Sam.
"Can tumors vibrate?"
Sam looks up from the hole he's digging, his shoulders hunched, the tip of the shovel's spade buried in the loose sand. Deeks is standing at the hole's edge, his eyes squinted at the sun, his wrists crossed and resting on the handle of his propped-up shovel.
"What?"
Both men blink as the wind disturbs the sand around them, blowing grains sharply against their faces. "Can tumors vibrate?" Deeks repeats, noticing the incredulous look Sam is aiming towards him.
"Vibrate…" Sam echoes slowly, mirroring Deeks' pose and leaning against his shovel's handle. He licks his dry lips as he feels the lines on his forehead wrinkle in preparation for whatever bit of crazy Deeks is about to unleash.
"Yeah," Deeks smiles, raising one hand and shaking it slightly, imitating a 'vibrating' motion. "Have you ever heard of them vibrating?"
Sam stares at the Detective, one eyebrow cocked in amused confusion as he picks up his shovel and resumes his digging. "I don't even wanna know why you're asking me that."
"He thinks his ass cheek has cancer," a third voice yells, the steadily rising wind distorting the speaker's amused tone. Sam and Deeks look around as Callen drops an opened duffel bag at the edge of the slowly growing hole.
Again, Sam stops digging and looks between the two men standing above him. He accepts the offered water bottle from a smirking Callen before turning to Deeks. Sam still can't tell whether or not the Detective is being serious. "Why do you think your ass cheek has cancer?"
Deeks takes a sip from his water bottle and swishes it around before answering, his tone serious as he lets his shovel fall to the ground completely, obviously intending to use his explanation as an opportunity to take a break from digging.
"Cell phones are supposed to cause cancer, right?" he asks, looking between Callen and Sam. When neither man says anything, Deeks continues. "They've been saying for years that cell phones emit a low level radiation that can cause tumors, which is why I don't like keeping mine in my front pocket. But…" he pauses, shifting his feet and holding up a single finger for dramatic effect, reminding Sam of an excited teacher, "It's been in my back, right pocket for years, just sitting there emitting away."
Sam licks his lips again, frowning when a little sand follows his tongue back inside. "Then switch pockets," he tells Deeks, dimples forming as a small smile forms. He looks to Callen and notices the relaxed stance, that 'half-there' smile, as Kensi once called it, a little teeth, but not enough for a full-fledged grin. Callen's shovel lays untouched at his feet, and Sam has an uncomfortable feeling that he's going to be burying the decoy weapons all on his own.
"Wouldn't help," Deeks declares, once again gaining Sam's attention.
"And why's that?" Callen asks, crossing his arms and leaning all his weight on one leg. His tone gives Sam the impression that his partner already knows exactly why switching pockets won't help Deeks' ass cheek, but is simply encouraging Deeks for both his and Sam's amusement.
"Because it already vibrates," Deeks states simply, the little bit of mirth in his eyes disappearing as he once again looks back and forth between his teammates, his face adopting a tragic look, similar to one Sam had once seen on his daughter's face when her favorite boy band had canceled a concert.
Sam takes another swig of his water bottle to keep from laughing.
"Did you hear that, Sam?" Callen asks, pointing at Deeks with his water bottle, "It already vibrates."
"Yeah, I heard," Sam says, tossing the now empty bottle on top of the opened duffle bag.
"You're laughing, but this could be serious." Deeks looks over his shoulder, hand rubbing over his right, back pocket. "It'll feel like my phone's vibrating when my phone isn't even there."
Sam sees Callen open his mouth, most likely to further encourage Deeks' torment. Any other time, Sam would play along, he'd be right there with his partner, subtly feeding the Detective's delusions, offering a friendly jibe, but now isn't really the time.
They've got just over an hour to dig a hole big enough to bury a four-foot crate containing disarmed grenades and high-powered rifles. Then, they still have to get out of dodge before their suspected dealers follow the coordinates to dig the crate up again. There'd be plenty of time to talk about Deeks' butt cheek after they leave the desert.
"It's just phantom vibrations," Sam says quickly, cutting off whatever his partner had been about to say. He picks up his shovel and starts digging again, making sure to toss the next load of sand onto Callen and Deeks' boots. "Lots of people get them. It's nothing to worry about."
Sam half expects the others to follow his lead and continue digging. But then he hears Callen's mirthful tone, and he just rolls his eyes in silent frustration. "Maybe you should get a doctor to check it out, just in case."
"Or maybe you should start helping dig this hole before I bury both your asses in it, vibrating tumors or not." Sam jabs the shovel's spade into the sand at his feet and looks up angrily, one hand resting on his hip as he takes in two pairs of blue eyes, both sets looking way too happy for his current mood.
"You okay there, big guy?" Callen asks with an attempt at caution, that half-there smile belying the effort. He bends down and grabs his shovel, turning it in his hands a few times before stepping into the shallow hole.
"I'm fine," Sam says, retuning his partner's smile as he steps back, allowing room for someone else to dig.
"You sure?" Deeks asks, tilting his head, "Because you're kinda making your angry face."
"No, I'm not," Sam says calmly, not liking the quick look that passes between Callen and Deeks.
"And you're smiling," Callen says, suddenly sounding serious, his eyes holding the only sign of amusement. "Angry Face and smiling, that's…"
"Bad," Deeks finishes, lips pursed lazily to the side as he slowly bobs his head. "It's like that time Hetty made us do that Ballet lesson."
"Oh yeah," Callen agrees, taking a step back from Sam, giving the illusion of being worried as he gives Sam an appraising look. "That wasn't pretty."
"Well, we were in tights, none of it was pretty," Deeks reminds him, giving a small shudder at the memory. "But it was Hetty, and history has proven it's best not to tell her no."
"Which is exactly why Sam played along," Callen agrees, fingers thrumming along the shovel's handle, "pissed off and smiling the entire time."
"I can hear you," Sam points out, a hint of warning leaking into his tone as that smile widens. "And I'm not angry. I'm hot, tired, and very much annoyed," he adds, once again adopting that falsely calm attitude, "But I'm not angry."
Callen squints his eyes, one corner of his mouth quirked in a smile, before shrugging and lazily scraping the tip of his shovel into the sand. "If you say so."
"I do say so." Sam smiles for real, his annoyance ebbing away as he hoists himself out of the hole. "I also say, I'm done." He grins, holding out his shovel to Deeks, who looks very unhappy at the sudden turn of events.
"When you say you're done…" Deeks begins, reluctantly accepting Sam's shovel, his own still lying on the ground at his feet.
"I mean I'm done. Finished," Sam clarifies, grabbing a granola bar and second bottle of water from the duffle bag. "I started the damn hole, now you two finish it." He sits down on the edge of the decoy crate, happily tearing into the granola bar's wrapper with his teeth.
When both Deeks and Callen look as though they're ready to argue, Sam cocks an eyebrow and points between the two men, the sand covered water bottle still in his hand. "You two have been needing to bond," he tells them, determined not to laugh at the identical looks of indignation glaring up at him. "Perfect opportunity." He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the still not-deep-enough hole.
"You're serious?" Callen asks, and Sam can tell he's half-hoping it's all a joke.
Sam stuffs the rest of the granola bar into his mouth and lies back on the crate, both feet still resting on the sand as he stretches his sore shoulders before laying an arm across his eyes. "As serious as Deeks' ass tumor."
The End.