It was a gorgeous day. The spring sun shone through the window and into the bullpen, giving everything a pleasant glow. Ziva and Tim were sitting at their desks, in pleasant moods. However, when the elevator doors dinged and Tony stepped out, they could plainly see from the frown on his face that such was not the case with him. He plopped down in his desk chair, letting out a low groan and dropping his backpack onto the floor next to him with a loud thump. Ziva and McGee looked up from their desks, first glancing at Tony before shooting each other equally confused looks. They began searching for the problem, but his face was clean shaven, his tie straight, his hair neat. His eyes were clear and he showed no signs of a hangover. There was no visible issue that Tony's teammates could find, so finally Ziva gave in and piped up.
"Alright, I will bite. What has got you down in the bumps, Tony?" she inquired.
"It's the first of May," he replied, ignoring her mistake and not even looking up from his computer screen.
"Do you have something against the month of May?" McGee questioned, swiveling his desk chair to face his partner.
"Of course. Don't you?" Tony answered, as if the issue should be obvious.
"No."
"Well you should. All of us should," Tony grumbled.
"All of us meaning who? NCIS agents? Americans? The world?" Ziva pressed.
Tony sighed in exasperation. "Our team, probies. Where have you both been for the past eight years? Bad things always happen in May."
"That's ri—" Ziva was about to protest and set and end to what seemed to be foolish superstition, but McGee held up a hand.
"Wait Ziva, he's right."
"Yeah, I'm right! The month of May is cursed."
"Come on, Tony, bad things happen to us all the time. Just because some happen to fall in May—" Ziva began again, but was interrupted a second time.
"No, just think about it, Zee-VAH. Kate dying, Jenny dying, Franks dying… It all happened in May," McGee insisted.
"And not just that, a ton of other things, too. There has not been one May in the past eight years where something terrible didn't happen to our team. I can't believe neither of you have made this connection before!" Tony exclaimed.
"Perhaps you are correct," Ziva mused. "The time Gibbs got blown up in that ship and quit… That was May."
"And when Jenny died and the team was split up?" Tim added.
"Or the whole Rivkin fiasco and Ziva staying in Israel? And then when the Damocles sunk?" Tony added, putting air-quotes around the word sunk.
"Or the whole Paloma Reynosa thing?" Ziva continued.
"And when Jeanne found out about my undercover Op. And when our headquarters got blown up last year. I'm telling you, we all should just take a break during May. Save up all our comp time and vacation time and sick days and hibernate," Tony insisted. "I'm not looking forward to seeing what is in store for us this time around."
"Rule thirty-nine," came a voice. Three heads whipped around to find Gibbs entering the bullpen, his trademark cup of coffee in hand.
"No such thing as coincidences?" McGee supplied.
"What, you think there is someone out there that controls our fate and every May gets bored and decides to screw with us for entertainment purposes?" Tony scoffed.
Gibbs did not reply. He simply opened his drawer and retrieved his badge and gun. "Dead sailor in Anacostia. Gear up." The marching orders echoed across the bullpen, a familiar tune. The team grabbed their backpacks and followed their boss to the elevator. As the doors slid shut, they thought they heard him say something, but they couldn't be sure.
Life's a funny thing.