I wrote out the first part of this and published it, only to find that I really didn't like it. You see before you a revised edition with the same general idea, only a heck of a lot more Tiva. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: When yoooouuuu wiiiish upoooon a staaar, you stiiiil doooon't geeet NCIS...

Alison Kinney turned to look at her friend, Cara Jennings, with a stare of disbelief. "You're telling me," she said slowly, "that you have been to Disney World twice and never gone on It's a Small World? Ever?"

Cara just shrugged. "Isn't it supposed to be horrible anyway?"

"The horribleness of it is what makes it a classic!" the third girl, Jenna Gallagher, exploded. "The creepy dolls, the highly irritating music. It's like a right of passage. If you can handle It's a Small World, you can handle anything." She stopped to consider this, cocking her head and making her brown ponytail swing. "Except maybe for the Snow White's Scary Adventures ride. No one can ever be prepared for that."

Cara snorted. "Snow White? What are you guys, four?"

"For your information," Jenna returned with dignity, "that ride is the single scariest experience I have had in fourteen years on this planet. And you've met my brothers, so that's saying something."

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind them. A cranky looking mother holding a wailing toddler was tapping her foot impatiently. "Are you girls on line or what?"

"Oh. Oops," Alison giggled and hurried to catch up with the rest of the line. "Sorry."

"Geez. Friendly much?" Cara muttered, glancing backwards at the frazzled mother. "I thought this ride was about happiness and stuff. Isn't there a law against bad moods?"

"No, no, you've got it all wrong," Jenna assured her friend. "This ride evokes bad moods. It's a crankiness-causer. But you have to go on it, or you're not living the Disney experience. It's the grey cloud in an otherwise silver lining."

"Did you botch that saying on purpose?" Alison asked conversationally. "Or was that just you being you?"

Jenna considered this. "Both."

"Next can we go on a real ride?" Cara asked, surveying the sparkly gold sun above the waterway with mingled disgust and amusement.

"This is a real ride!" Alison and Jenna shouted in unison, causing several people in line to turn and look curiously.

"I don't think you understand, Cara," Alison said seriously. "This is not a kiddy ride. This is the adult version of the Haunted Mansion, only with bright lights and irritating music."

"I think you guys are taking this a little too seriously," Cara laughed.

Jenna turned to Alison and shook her head. "It's hopeless. She just doesn't understand."

"Excuse me, girls," the cranky mother said from behind them. "While I'm sure your discussion is most diverting, some of us would like to actually get on the ride at some point. So either pay attention to the line movements, or stand aside."

Giggling embarrassedly, the girls rushed to catch up with the rest of the line. "Sheesh. I don't know why anyone would be in a rush to get on this ride," Alison whispered, peeking at the snappish mother through her giggles.

"She's cranky enough without singing dolls and annoyingly catchy music," Jenna intoned wisely. "They should have a caution sign, like they do for the big roller coasters. Warning: This ride involves automated dolls who may or may not be secretly watching you, plotting your demise as they sing their cheerful little death tune. Not for people with a tendency to be cranky."

Cara and Alison just looked at their friend. "You have a sick mind," Cara said finally, turning to hurry after the people ahead of them in line before the impatient lady could do anything more than clear her throat pointedly.

"It's the ride," Jenna said seriously. "Last time we were here, my brothers made me go on this ride four times. The third time, the ride broke down halfway through and I was stuck in the tunnel for almost fifteen minutes with those singing dolls. I almost drowned myself."

"You must have been traumatized," Cara said dryly.

"You have no idea," Jenna responded.

"Girls!"

Before the mother could get in another word, the girls ran full-tilt after the line. "How many?" a sickeningly cheerful ride attendant asked, stopping them at the turnstile.

"Three," Cara answered, as the other two girls were too busy giggling to respond.

The attendant gestured them forward. "Take row four."

As the cranky mom and her hysterical toddler stepped up to the turnstile, the girls climbed into the boat. "Can I sit in the middle?" Alison asked. "I'm always scared that one of those dolls is going to reach out and grab me. I used to have nightmares about it."

"Used to?" Jenna snorted. "Honey, I still do!"

"Excuse me, girls, you're going to have to sit down!" one of the ride attendants called.

"Fine. Switch with me, Ali," Cara decided, scooting around so that Alison was in the middle and she and Jenna were on either side.

"Thank you!" the worker called, polite to a fault. As the girls settled into their seats, the ride started slowly, the boats bumping into the sides as they slowly made their way under the windmill where the ride operator sat. The operator, a middle aged woman, waved cheerfully to the boats as they passed below.

"I bet that windmill's soundproof," Ali said, waving back with false enthusiasm. "There's no way someone could be that cheerful if they had to sit up there all day and listen to this music."

"I don't know," Jenna said thoughtfully. "I bet there's something really satisfying about shipping unsuspecting passengers off to their doom."

"Help me," Cara whispered, putting her head in her hands. "Somebody kill me now."

"The ride hasn't even started yet!" Ali argued. "If you think this is bad, just wait until-"

"I wasn't talking about the ride," Cara said exasperatedly.

"Oh."

The argument would have continued, no doubt, with much eye-rolling and tongue-sticking-outing, had not the boat entered the tunnel and into the bright, glittery world of dancing dolls and cheesy music.

Five minutes into the ride, and Cara was seriously starting to question her friends' sanity. Ali screamed anytime the boat got within five feet of a dancing doll, and Jenna seemed to know all the words to the song, which she was singing quietly in Cara's ear.

"Wasn't that the scariest thing you have ever seen in your whole entire life?" Ali questioned, holding Cara's arm in a death grip as they climbed out of the boat as the ride, mercifully, ended.

Cara shrugged. "I don't know. The dolls are a little creepy, I guess. It was the guy in the water who got me, though. I was surprised they'd put that in a kid's ride."

"Don't you see?" Jenna began. "It's not a kid's ride! It's a - wait. What guy in the water?"

"You know," Cara said. "The guy in the water under that fake bridge where the emergency exit is. That was pretty scary, but the rest was-"

"There's no guy in the water in that ride," Ali said, turning to Jenna with a confused look on her face.

"Definitely not," Jenna agreed. "I've been on that ride way too many times. I know the whole song, for God's sake!"

"Believe me," Cara said wryly, "I know."

Ali and Jenna swiveled to face their friend. "Which doll was it? Maybe one of them fell off?"

"It was bigger than the other kind," Cara said, baffled. "And way more lifelike. It was like regular size."

"What was it wearing?" Ali pressed. "I don't remember any life-sized dolls on the ride."

"I don't know." Cara frowned, trying to recall the image of the guy. She'd been a little preoccupied with trying not to kill Jenna, to tell you the truth. "Like a uniform, maybe? I don't know. Why is this important?"

"And it was life-sized?" Jenna repeated.

"Yes!" Cara exclaimed, exasperated. "Can we go, please? I want to go on some real rides now!"

Scarily, neither of the girls made the slightest move to correct her on her assessment of 'real' rides. "Oh my gosh," Ali whispered, turning to Jenna. "Do you think-"

"We should report it to somebody," Jenna decided. "It's probably just a doll, and they'll send someone in to fix it. Come on."

With that, Jenna and Ali started off, leaving a confused Cara to trail after them.

Tim McGee exited the elevator and entered a war zone, armed only with a cup of coffee that was looking smaller and smaller by the second. He was going to need a whole lot more caffeine than this if it was going to be one of those days.

Those days were increasing in frequency and intensity, to the point where Tim was considering changing the name those days to everyday. His caffeine intake reflected this trend as well. If this continued he might very well take to Caf-Pow, if only to get him through the day without a complete nervous breakdown.

Okay. So maybe the Caf-Pow was a bit rash. Maybe he was just over-exaggerating. After all, it wasn't like they were screaming at eachother.

Yet, chimed in the pessimistic part of him. They aren't screaming at each other yet.

While it was true that they had not yet begun to disrupt the office peace, the tension that accompanied one of those days was there all the same, in the set of his jaw and the lift of her head. Tim wondered if it wasn't too late for him to make a break for it and call in sick.

"McGoo!"

Tim winced. He'd been caught. He had no choice now but to enter the warzone with his hands held high to show his impartiality. Sometimes it really stunk being Switzerland.

"Morning, Tony, Ziva."

"Good morning, McGee. How are you?" Ziva asked, with an admirable attempt at civility. The old McGee, the chubby hacker with a school-boy crush on Abby, might have even mistaken it for genuine concern. He knew better now, of course. There was only one motive behind the Israeli woman's greeting, and it was not to secure his well-being. Rather, it was a show of decided indifference for the other man in the bullpen, a display that whatever had already passed between the two had not affected her in the slightest.

Whatever her true objective, McGee was all too eager to play along with Ziva. He'd rather be used to spite Tony than be ignored altogether as the two battled it out in one of those fights that sent the office pools into an uproar.

Last McGee had checked, about fifty percent thought the two would kill each other by the end of the week. The other half had more…erotic themes in mind. Then, of course, there was the silent minority who just wanted things to go back to normal. McGee's sympathies lay with the latter, though he couldn't help but wonder when things around the office had ever been particularly normal.

Normal was certainly not the first term he would have chosen to describe his work place, nor would it ever be the word he would use to describe Tony and Ziva's relationship, but the last week or so had taken things to an entirely new level. In fact, the past few days had put the term 'normal' on the autopsy table to die.

It had started exactly a week ago, in an arrest-gone-wrong. He had ended up crouched behind a crate in the shipping yard, praying the suspect's gun would run out before his own. They'd been stuck, and Ziva had done something about it.

Admittedly, it had not been a wise move. If it had been anyone but Ziva, with anyone but Ziva's luck, it probably would have ended badly. But this was Ziva, and that idea had never even crossed her mind. She'd merely stood up, making herself an open target, and put a round in the suspect before he could even fire once.

Needless to say, Tony had not been happy with his partner's rash actions. Gibbs hadn't been pleased either. There'd been a long elevator conference in which Tim was sure Ziva got the scolding of her life. But Ziva and Gibbs fighting was nothing like Ziva and Tony fighting. Ziva and Gibbs spent three minutes in the elevator and emerged allies once more, Gibbs pressing a kiss to Ziva's cheek as the doors closed.

Ziva and Tony did not resolve things that easily. In fact, Ziva and Tony tended not to resolve things at all, but to ignore the issues until they could ignore them no more, then hash it out in screaming fights that dug up every tiny grudge from the moment they'd met and, in the end, solved nothing.

And that's what Tim had been suffering through all week now. It had started as a tautly furious Tony and a completely bewildered Ziva, who had then turned into an indignantly righteous Ziva upon hearing why her partner was so distressed. Things had snowballed since then. Yesterday's fight had started over an off-hand remark of Tony's and ended in accusations of 'being over-protective' and 'trying to get yourself killed.'

Of course, Tim knew that the words themselves meant nothing. What his friends were really fighting over had started long before the shoot-out, and was far more painful, because when you ignored an open wound, it festered.

Tim had a feeling that whatever Tony and Ziva were fighting over right now had been festering for a whole lot longer than a week, and would take a whole lot more than an elevator scolding to clear up.

"Something I can help you with, McGee?" Tony asked exasperatedly. Tim blinked, realizing he'd been staring at his male colleague as he'd pondered the touchy situation Tony had gotten himself into.

He opened his mouth to apologize, only to be cut off by Ziva. "Do not listen to him, McGee. He is just being fishy."

Ziva sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, dark eyes glaring at Tony. After a moment of silence, Tim turned to look at DiNozzo as well, waiting for him to correct the flubbed idiom.

Tony sat with his own arms crossed, eyes boring back with a dark fury that suggested the only things that he was likely to say to right now would be a bit stronger than 'I believe the term is crabby, Zee-vah.'

And so, once again, Tim was caught in the middle of the battlefields. Even his coffee was looking like a pretty poor ally right now.

How important was it that Ziva know the difference between 'fishy' and crabby?' Important enough to interrupt this heated staring contest and no doubt incur the wrath of the disastrous duo, a force to reckon with whether divided or united?

Tim sat, wretchedly debating a predicament so ridiculous it was laughable. But nothing was simple on one of those days, and even the smallest of matters, the stupidest of idioms, could be the trigger for another round of fighting.

At a time like these, there was only one thing left to do.

"Um, I have to go see Abby about…stuff," Tim said lamely, grabbing his coffee and preparing to flee the scene. It was an awful excuse, worse even than the infamous 'Nutter Butter' incident, but neither questioned it. In fact, he doubted either even heard him.

Even so, he took the long way around rather than step into the middle of the heated staring contest. As soon as he was out of immediate danger he made a break for the lab. There was really nothing else you could do on one of those days.

"Timmy!"

Tim stepped into the lab and was immediately enveloped in a hug forceful enough to sufficiently wind him. "Hey…Abs," he wheezed after a moment.

Abby stepped back after a moment to study him suspiciously. "Where's my Caf-Pow?"

"Um, actually, I'm not here about a-"

"You don't have my Caf-Pow, do you?" she interrupted. Tim sighed and dug in his pocket for any spare change.

"I'm sorry, Abby. I'll be right back with the-"

Abby laughed. "I'm kidding, Tim! I mean, if you need the exercise, I would never say no to a Caf-Pow, but you, Timothy McGee, are always welcome. Geez, I thought you'd learned how to take a joke after eight years with Tony."

"Don't talk to me about Tony," Tim groaned, throwing himself into the nearest chair tiredly.

Abby's green eyes widened understandingly. "Ohhh. They're at it again?"

"Again? When do they ever stop?"

The Goth scurried off to snag a chair on wheels, sitting in it and setting herself rolling by pushing off with her boot. Her shove was a bit too forceful, and she ended up crashing her own chair into Tim's.

"Ow. Sorry." She recovered quickly, propping her chin up in her hands and looking at him expectantly. "What was it about this time?"

"I don't even know," he sighed. "But they're up there glaring at each other for all they're worth. I got out before it could escalate any further."

"But they weren't screaming?"

Tim shook his head tiredly. Abby, ever the optimist, tried to look for a bright side.

"That doesn't sound too bad," she allowed cautiously, patting Tim's hand. Lest he take her optimism for a lack of sympathy, she quickly added, "I mean, I'm sure it was awful for you, but it's been worse, hasn't it? Like, at least they're not yelling yet or like, throwing things at each other or something."

Tim shook his head again. "That's not the worst of it. She messed up an idiom, something stupid about fish or crabs or whatever, and he didn't say anything. He just glared at her."

Abby gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth, the picture of a damsel in distress…a damsel wearing spiked platform boots, but distressed nonetheless. "Tony? Not taking the opportunity to correct her? This is serious."

"They're killing me, Abby." Tim knew it sounded whiney, but if a man couldn't whine after a week of those days…

Abby was properly sympathetic. "You poor thing, Timmy. You must be dying." After a moment she brightened and jumped to her feet. "Come on, Tim."

She hugged him fiercely, then grabbed his hand and started for the door. "We're going to talk to Gibbs. He'll put a stop to this craziness."

Tim couldn't help but smile at the childish conviction that there was nothing a little affection and a silver-haired ex-Marine couldn't fix. "Abby, I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Of course it is! He's Gibbs, McGee! We're, like, his personal collection of Klondike bars! He'd do anything for us! "

"Never really liked those things," Gibbs said conversationally, striding into the room. Abby hurried over to give him a hug.

"Gibbs! Hi!" She pulled away and frowned at the older man. "You're, like, hours too early! I don't have anything for you!"

"You have McGee," Gibbs answered, then turned to Tim. "Gear up, then get home to pack your things. We're going to Disney World."

Yay! I like this version waaaay better. Your thoughts, ladies and gents? Let me know. Thanks!