Author's Note: Set sometime after Season 2 (it really doesn't matter when but probably before Season 7's Power Down). For Kelly who selected the prompt hot and asked that it include Gibbs in some form. Unbeta'd, apologies, so do ping me if you catch anything. Enjoy!
Addendum: [12/2011] changed from past to present tense, edited a bit of word choice; story features remain unchanged.
Disclaimer: Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of CBS/DPB; I am simply borrowing them for my purposes. Please don't sue.

Hot Hot Heat
by, Caliente

It is, of course, the hottest day of the summer when the air conditioning at NCIS decides to fail. (Actually, it's a full blown brownout, complete with dimmed lights and the shutdown of all nonessential systems in order to keep MTAC and autopsy running on full. Naturally the air conditioning is considered nonessential by the sadists who decide such things.)

McGee's eyes widen as the room and his computer screens darken. "No, no, no!" He begins searching through his electronics as if there might actually be some other, fixable reason behind the shutdown. "Tell me this isn't happening again."

Ziva's brow furrows. "Again?"

Waving her off, Tony picks up his phone. "Before your time." He scowls and slaps it back into the cradle harder than is strictly necessary. (Not that it matters; it's dead, too.) "Looks like it is, McSweaty."

McGee groans, dropping his head into his hands. Already the insufferable humidity is edging into the building. Sweat stains are imminent for the unlucky suit-wearing agents.

Ziva's gaze bounces between the two men, a smile playing on her lips. "It is just a bit of heat."

"Says the woman from a desert country," Tony retorts. "You probably like this weather."

She shrugs but the smirk she tries to hide is as good as a confirmation.

Gibbs chooses that moment to waltz in, carrying his usual cup of coffee with him. His gaze sweeps over the agents and he pauses. "Something the matter?"

Tony and McGee exchange a glance, the former speaking only when the silence begins to stretch into uncomfortable territory. "The air conditioning's off, Boss."

Raising his brows, he takes a sip from his cup. (Somehow he makes this a pointed gesture.)

"What Tony means," McGee picks up the conversation thread, "is that all nonessential systems are on low power or shut down due to a brownout. No computers or phones available, minimal lights and Abby is probably stuck running one machine at a time down in the lab."

Gibbs crosses his arms. "So what were you doing before I arrived?"

Now all three agents look at each other. "Working on case reports," Ziva offers when neither man pipes up.

He gives his team his patented, "And you aren't doing that now because?" Look.

"But, Boss…" McGee's tone is hesitant and filled with dread, "the computers…"

Plucking a pencil from his desk, Gibbs hands it to McGee. "Here, use mine."

McGee's acceptance is reluctant. "Uh, thanks." He sounds more downtrodden than grateful at the prospect of writing reports longhand.

There is something of a smirk on Gibbs face as he sits down his desk. It's been a long time since he's seen agents handling paperwork the old-fashioned way. He has to admit, he doesn't hate it.