Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs slammed down the phone and rose from his desk. "With me, we got a call."
Like a shot his subordinate Anthony Dinozzo finished his own call with a hasty, "Gotta go!" He then retrieved his firearm from a drawer and moved to stand by the senior agent's desk. "What's the story, Boss?"
"Dead Marine washed up on the shore of a Virginia naval base inside the ejected cockpit of an F1 fighter jet with 'NCIS' tattooed on his face." Gibbs drained his coffee cup and flung it into a waste receptacle before striding off. "We need to move fast. FBI is fighting us over jurisdiction."
"The hell you say!" DiNozzo guffawed before he could stop himself.
Junior field agent Timothy McGee frantically finished locking down his computer and hustled to join them. "Y'know, sometimes I wonder if that's the entire reason their division of the government exists," he mused. "To challenge people over territory. It's like everything's a pissing match with… them…"
McGee and Tony both paused as Gibbs reached the intersection and turned right rather than left. They exchanged a glance.
"Boss… the elevator's that way!" Tony called out.
"I'll catch up."
Tim glanced around in confusion. "But we don't where we're going!"
"Then wait."
With that, Agent Gibbs crossed the hallway and turned into the alcove where the restrooms were located.
Left standing bewildered, the two agents exchanged a look. Tony shrugged. "Well, when you gotta go, you gotta go."
"How many cups of coffee do you think Gibbs drinks a day, anyway?" McGee pondered as they drove behind their boss. The dead Marine was now safely in their custody and they were heading back to base to await an official cause of death from Ducky. Certain facts of the case smacked of foul play, but procedure must be observed before continuing the investigation.
From his place behind the wheel Tony shrugged. "Well, I never see him without a cup in his hand, so it's hard to tell. Maybe… hang on." He noticed something up ahead. "He's turning."
Gibbs had indeed flipped on his turn signal and was bearing off the highway. At first thinking this might be a shortcut, they soon realized the boss was simply heading for a gas station. "Must be running low," McGee mused.
"Of gas or coffee?" Each had a chuckle at Gibbs' expense, tacitly acknowledging that they would never make such a remark to his face. That level of impertinence would lead to far more serious repercussions than a mere slap on the head.
As they pulled up, however, both were quick to note that Gibbs had parked in front of the station itself and was heading inside. Through the windows they saw him disappear towards the back, only to return a few seconds later, flash his credentials at the station attendant, and then follow the man out of sight once more. Tony squinted. Could this be related to the case? Maybe Gibbs wanted to look at security camera footage or something.
Ten seconds later the two agents were treated to the sight of the attendant escorting a very irate gentleman who was trying to buckle up his pants. Over the blistering shouts and obscenities they distinctly heard the gas jockey proclaim, "I'm sorry, but he said it was a federal emergency!"
The man finally got his pants up and stormed out of the store screaming about how he was going to sue. For their parts Tony and McGee hunkered down in the car seats trying to make themselves inconspicuous. Neither had ever felt quite so chagrined before.
"He couldn't have held it another five minutes 'til we got back?" McGee muttered.
"Lay off, McGeek! Gibbs is getting old, it's harder to handle that sort of thing at his age."
Tony was trying to be sympathetic. But some of that sympathy evaporated when he saw their boss exit the store with yet another cup of steaming coffee in his hand. It occurred to him Gibbs really might want to consider seeking medical attention.
The Marine had indeed been murdered, and it was their job to find out why and by whom. After two days any leads pointed them in the direction of a private arms company named Lattermilk-Fackler with which the dead man had been engaged in correspondence. Upon reaching the pristine glass office building which served as its headquarters downtown, DiNozzo and Gibbs introduced themselves at the front desk and soon were escorted up to the top floor where the CEO, a man by the name of Marty Fackler, could be found.
During the ride up in the elevator the slurping of Gibbs' current brew began to grate on Tony's nerves. By his count, this was the sixth cup of various caffeinated beverages Gibbs had consumed already this morning. He had started noticing that sort of thing lately, along with a much more… intrusive habit that the big man was engaged in. One that ate up a lot of time during the day and was frankly starting to get embarrassing. If word of this got out it would make his life an interminable hell-storm in terms of mockery and loss of dignity. Not like NCIS was ranked high among the public prestige as it stood. Neither he nor McGee had felt quite comfortable approaching this topic with anyone, Gibbs least of all. But if this kept up, that would most likely change, and fast.
They reached their destination and soon were pointed to the right office. Gibbs lingered outside to toss away his empty cup, while Tony opened the door and entered a spacious chamber with a fantastic view of the city skyline. An aquarium sporting exotic fish occupied the center of the room while what must surely be a reproduction of 'Washington Crossing the Delaware' adorned one wall right above what looked like an antique Revolutionary cannon, fully restored and complete with cannonballs in mounds. Some comfy leather armchairs and a settee were arranged against the far wall so that anyone who sat in them could get a good look at both historical relics. This Fackler was obviously the type to insist on having the biggest gun in the room. Gibbs should have fun with him.
Speaking of which, the man himself stood up from his desk and crossed over to meet them. Fackler was small and wore glasses with slick black hair; the word that Tony felt best described him would be 'nebbishy'. The kind who had been picked on all the way through public school. But his suit appeared tailor-made and he had on a gold ring with a diamond as big as a thumbnail. Plus there was no doubting the confidence in that pinched, thin-lipped face. The class nerd had clearly outgrown his shortcomings, whatever they might have been.
"Mr. Fackler." Tony approached and they shook hands. "Thank you for meeting with us. I'm–"
"Is that man pissing in my aquarium?" Fackler asked with a distasteful frown.
Tony spun around. There indeed was his boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, standing turned away from them with hands on his hips and head thrown back. He had moved a footstool over to climb on top of which allowed him to breach the lip of the open fish tank. A distinctive splashing sound that any man on Earth would recognize reached their ears. Gibbs groaned in audible relief while the fish were zipping about in a panic as their pristine environment began to take on a very sallow color. If fish could scream, now would be the time.
Slowly Tony came back around. For a few seconds he was too staggered at the thought of what was happening to even try and hide his amazement. He just stood there staring open-mouthed at the very displeased-looking arms manufacturer. "I…" Tony said, and found he could think of nothing to follow that up with.
"Just who the hell are you?" Fackler demanded.
Inspiration struck, and Tony DiNozzo assumed his most charming smile. "As I was saying, the name's Antonio DiNardo. This is my boss Tobias Fornell. We're with the FBI, and we'd like to ask you a few questions about…"
That very day, Tony and McGee went storming right past the surprised secretary to enter Director Vance's office unannounced. "Leon, this nonsense has to stop!"
"I'll be the judge of that," Vance growled as he threw down the report he had been reading. "What are we talking about?" Black eyes flashed between the two men, so sharp as to make them draw up short where they stood. "Does it have something to do with Agent Gibbs?"
Tony fidgeted, while beside him Tim squirmed. Facing their commander was always an unnerving experience. You never knew how much Vance was already aware of at any given time. He shared out information only on a need-to-know basis and had a habit of blindsiding you when you least expected it. In many ways he was a lot like Gibbs. But in one critical area they differed.
Hopefully. Otherwise both he and McGee might find themselves sacked and on the dole before lunch.
"Sir," the senior agent squared his shoulders and dove into the breach. "It's related to the incident today concerning our latest investigation."
"I heard." Vance settled back in his seat to regard them cannily. "You're lucky that little ruse worked. As I understand it, right now the FBI are the ones getting pissed on. I'd recommend not having contact with Special Agent Fornell for the immediate future. He might get wise if you do."
It had been kind of nice to learn Fackler was confused as to why the FBI was handling the dead Marine's case and not NCIS. Clearly he knew his federal agencies. But there had been little chance to appreciate that fact, as the angry little man wasted no time in placing a call to the head of the FBI. Tony excused himself very quickly after that. And he certainly wasn't about to mention word of this anywhere the other agency might get wind of it. The Feds could just take the heat in return for all those favors NCIS had done them over the years. Sorry, Tobias.
McGee finally found the courage to speak. "That's not really why we're here, sir. At least, not directly. I think this incident demonstrates that Gibbs has a… problem, when it comes to coffee. It's been affecting his work more and more. We've covered for him as much as we could. Only now…" He left the sentence dangling.
The Director picked up a toothpick and began plying it between his gums. "I fail to see the issue. After all he's gone through, I'd say Agent Gibbs deserves a little leeway, especially from the people who depend on him the most. Namely yourselves."
"With the amount of coffee Gibbs drinks every day, he could float those damn boats out of his basement!" Tony snapped.
"I hear you, DiNozzo." Leon leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together, looking both stern and poised to spring at any moment. "But the matter isn't as simple as just telling Agent Gibbs to lay off the caffeine."
"Ummm… isn't it?" McGee raised both eyebrows and gave their chief a very meaningful look. "That would be something the head of the agency could reasonably do in this situation."
"It's a complicated issue," Vance drawled. "I'm not about to risk anything that might limit my best agent's effectiveness in the field. We need Agent Gibbs to be on top of his game."
"Y'know, you could just call him Gibbs…"
"Agent Gibbs," the older man frowned warningly, "is a credit to this department and should be accorded all due respect for a person of his seniority and accomplishments." Director Vance then stood up from his desk. "That being said, I appreciate your concerns, and will look into this matter personally. Let me have a talk with Agent Gibbs. I'm certain we can work something out that will make everyone happy."
Two days later, Tony was driving to a crime scene with McGee sitting beside him. They did not look happy. Not happy at all.
After a while Tim took a very slow, deep breath. "Tony…" he spoke, voice laden with restrained fury.
"I don't want to hear it, McGee."
DiNozzo too wore the look of a man on the verge of doing criminal harm to another living thing. Yet he was resolved not to succumb to blackest hate, not even when…
"Tony, we're hauling a porta-potty behind us."
It was true. Hooked up to a flatbed transport behind their car was a greenish-grey rectangle over 2 meters high and 1 meter wide. It had a door set into it. A small slot just above the handle read, 'Unoccupied'.
"I don't want to hear it, McGee!" Tony reiterated, pressing his lips very tightly together. His hands gripped the wheel so hard the knuckles had gone white.
"You know what that makes us, right?" McGee spun around. "PISS BOYS!"
Tony's head jerked to one side, his teeth grinding audibly. "Tim…"
"Yes!" The other man's chin bounced up and down in confirmation, his eyes gone utterly wild. "YES, Tony! That's what we are! You and me, we're a couple o' PISS BOYS! Luggin' around a pot for His Majesty to piss in whenever the mood strikes him, just like in the olden days! Like a flippin' Mel Blanc movie!"
"Brooks."
McGee paused. "What?"
"You said 'Blanc'. You're thinking of Mel Brooks, the iconic comedy director whose farcical 'History of the World: Part I' included a scene where he himself played a French–"
"MY POINT IS…!" his partner thundered without regard for anything else, "that when the other agencies hear about this, sure as sunup our names will be–!"
Right then his phone buzzed and Tim angrily wrestled it from his coat pocket. He clicked a button, eyes flaring at once. "Oh, here it is!" the frenzied field agent exclaimed. "Here it IS, TONY! The first salvo! The first of MANY, I might add!"
He thrust the phone in DiNozzo's face, who moved his head to keep both eyes on the road. However this did not prevent him from glancing at a text message which spelled out, 'NCIS: Navel Cock Incontinence Stream!' along with a toilet emoji. Tony actually cracked a grin which he quickly wiped away before McGee could see it and grow even more vociferous.
"I am not gonna take this lying down! Not me! Oh no, not Timothy Fitzpatrick Shamus McGee! MY mother didn't raise a clown, no siree!" He then began frantically typing out a response. "Very… funny… you… immature… frat party… clowns!" Tim then used the camera to take a picture of his own clenched fist with middle finger vigorously thrust into the air. He attached the image and sent his message with a triumphant cry of, "BOOM!" before going back to stewing with arms crossed over his chest.
Moments later, another *ding* came from his phone, and a few seconds after this he had another retort angrily winging across the ether. This shootout on the digital plains continued as they made their way to the next assignment.
Behind them, the great hollow mass of the porta-potty loomed malevolently over their heads like a specter of damnation.
Anthony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee stood on the side of the road near their parked cars. Traffic whizzed by them along the highway with loud roars. Their coats flapped from gusts of wind. Neither of them said a word. Between them was the porta-potty.
Abruptly the door opened and a hand emerged holding a newspaper which Tony grudgingly accepted.
The hand then snapped its fingers. Looking both sickened and outraged, McGee then handed over a vente double espresso latte with extra foam.
The door closed once more. From within they heard a loud slurp.
When people started slowing down to take pictures with their phones, Tony and McGee went and hid in the woods.
Things might have gone on like this forever. Fortunately (for some) the Secretary of the Navy dropped by not long afterwards to confer with Director Vance on matters of international import. When he stopped to use the facilities before going in, SecNav was naturally confused as to why instead of 'Men' and 'Women' or even 'Gentlemen' and 'Ladies', the doors read 'His' and 'Yours'.
When confronted about this, Vance found himself forced to disclose the whole affair.
Sitting at his desk, Tony took a wry sense of satisfaction. Even down in the bullpen, he could hear SecNav screaming loud enough to wake the dead. The Director's secretary stood nervously outside the room, wearing an expression that plainly said she expected to be checking the want ads in the immediate future. Judging by the sound of things, she might not be alone. Certainly was good to be out of the line of fire. Each nautical obscenity that emerged thundering from the mezzanine above was music to Tony's ears. He would have recorded it to enjoy later were he not half-convinced it would constitute a felony.
Gibbs heard none of this. He was currently in the john. Oh, delicious irony.
Abruptly the doors burst open and out came storming the Secretary of the Navy looking just as angry as he sounded. "Blue BALLS, Vance!" he roared. "Mark me, if word of this reaches the wrong ears, rest assured it'll be your sausage swinging from the yardarm! I will NOT be made a fool of by a bunch of glorified BOAT COPS!"
Well, that stung a little. But he could see how some people might view them that way.
"Sir, with all due respect," Vance had crossed his arms and taken a firm stance. "Fallout can be mitigated if we change the course of the narrative. If you'll give me some latitude, I believe I have a solution that will do just that. I've spoken to Agent Gibbs, and we've worked out a strategy that shields him and the agency from any semblance of impropriety."
Tony laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair with a smug smile. This ought to be good.
This was not being a good day for Agent Anthony DiNozzo.
"…gathered here in the sight of our Lord…"
In fact, it was the worst day of his life. Without exception.
"…witness the union of this man and this…"
Because whatever humiliation he had been subjected to before, it categorically paled in comparison to this.
"…wash closet…"
It was easy enough to locate a Catholic church in Virginia. A simple matter to get an army chaplain willing to perform the ceremony. The groom was completely willing, dressed to the nines in a smart-looking tuxedo. And the bride…
"…in the bonds of holy matrimony."
…was a goddamn PORTA-POTTY!
Gibbs stood facing the big green block adorned with a wreath of flower petals. He had on the same lifeless expression as usual. Like a block of stone. Or a toilet bowl. In that sense, they made a perfect couple.
So this was the answer Vance and Gibbs had struck upon. Leroy marries his personal porcelain throne and thereafter any attempt to ridicule or demean him would bring the wrath of God and the Church down upon their heads. No one currently in power in D.C. or Virginia would risk that sort of heat. It was a ploy that made complete sense to them. Personally, DiNozzo was convinced SecNav let them go through with it as an excuse to fire Vance and clean house. Made as much sense as anything else he could think of.
"I… hope… you… bleed… out… on… the… toilet… you…"
Beside him Timothy McGee sat red-faced and sweating, a disturbing sheen of madness in his twitching face. The poor man gibbered and muttered uncontrollably as he typed out an increasingly heinous response to the latest volley of ridicule some goofball at another agency had sent him. Tony couldn't blame him. He received the same from their buffoonish colleagues 24-7 but categorically refused to give them the pleasure of responding. They had even TP-ed NCIS headquarters yesterday. The whole building, covered in toilet paper. In broad daylight.
"Oh, it's so beautiful!"
Sitting in the pew in front of them, Abby Sciutto wiped her eyes with a black handkerchief and gave a loud sniff. She blew her nose and cried even louder, wearing a frilly black dress that had several of the altar boys staring mesmerized. Ducky Mallard patted her knee before taking a liberal belt from an engraved silver whiskey flask.
"He's finally found someone who will accept anything from him!" Abby sobbed, then took a draught from Ducky's flask before passing it back. Were they both drunk? Is that why neither chose to comment on how absolutely insane this was? Of course what really made it crazy was how all of Gibbs' ex-wives had shown up and were now sitting in the front row. A line of red-headed divorcees, each with an axe to grind. Under normal circumstances he might even be concerned.
"… both… know… you… would… suck… my… dick… for… a… promotion…!"
An old lady across the aisle was sending them a disapproving glare, to which Tony managed to return a sickly smile. "It's a medical condition, we're… trying to get him help." He then mouthed to his colleague, "McGee, you might want to tone it down a little."
"Why?!" Tim shot him a deranged grin. "Because I might go to Hell? Screw THAT, Tony! We're already there!" He looked down hastily as yet another text popped up. "Oh, look at this! Look at THIS! It's the ever-loving Canadian MOUNTIES getting in on it now! That's it!" He leaped up and began to unbuckle his belt. "They wanna play hardball? Oh, I can play HARDBALL! They asked for it! I'm gonna give em' the Full McGee!"
DiNozzo closed his eyes, praying this was a nightmare. "Please don't, I'm begging you."
"FULL MCGEE, TONY!"
With that Timothy McGee bent over and mooned the whole congregation while taking a picture of his bare white buttocks.
"Pardon me…"
Despairing, Tony lifted his head from his hands to find a young nun standing beside him. She offered a comforting smile before saying, "His Holiness the Monsignor would like to know if your friend needs an exorcism."
The senior agent looked over at his frothing partner who had clothed himself once more. "Uhhh… you know what?" And he turned back to her with relief. "Yes. Yes, I think he would."
"Wonderful." She gestured and two other ladies in dark habits came to help McGee to his feet and escort him to the transept and out of the hall, still clutching his phone, snarling and gnashing his teeth like a mad dog. He'd get the help he needed now.
"That was not very sporting of you, Tony."
He came around with surprise to find Ziva David seated to his left. "Hey, Ziva, when did you get here?"
"Before you." She stared straight ahead with a look of extreme concentration. "Through my Mossad training, I have mastered the art of keeping perfectly… still… to the point where I become… invisible!" The Israeli spy opened a snack-sized bag of potato chips in her lap with a loud crackle. "I take a potato chip," she announced in grave solemnity, "and eat it! Slowly…"
Tony actually felt gratified at her performance. "Well, I see you enjoyed that meme site I clued you into." He returned his attention to the wedding.
"Invisible…!" Ziva whispered in response. When he turned to look she had vanished. However there came the unmistakable crunch of a potato chip. Tony reflected on how she might have pulled this off but eventually resolved not to think about it. The ceremony was drawing to a close, after all.
"… granted to me, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may flush the bride!"
At the front of the church Gibbs had apparently been waiting for this and wasted no time rushing into the porta-potty. He slammed the door shut behind him. The slot changed to 'Occupied' and they all heard him give a relieved sigh.
At that very moment all the former Mrs. Gibbs stood up. Two of them withdrew a long length of chain which they wound tightly around the mobile toilet while another secured the links together with a padlock. They proceeded to take up position around it.
"On three, ladies!" one of them called. "One… two…"
"THREE!" The scorned and humiliated wives proceeded to grasp the porta-potty and tip it over on its side where it fell with a crash. The sound of waves sloshing around inside was distinctly audible.
Meanwhile, Tony had been waiting for just such a moment to make good his escape. He had covertly arranged for all the spurned spouses from Gibbs' past to attend this carnival performance, knowing full well that they would take such a ridiculous development personally and act out in the most outlandish manner possible. This in turn would give him time to slip out in the confusion. The movie buff found his way to a vestibule where he had secreted away some old clothes to change into along with a few personal items tied in a handkerchief around a stick.
After shrugging out of his tuxedo, Tony slipped on a pair of shades and stepped out of the church with a smile. He hoisted the hobo stick over one shoulder. Today the world bid a fond farewell to Tony DiNozzo, agent of NCIS. In his place was born Antonio DiNardo, a drifter with a mysterious past who fought injustice wherever he found it and occasionally critiqued movies online. This enigmatic presence would wander the byways of America in search of action and romance. No trace of stigma would cling to his name. He was now a new man. Let the adventure begin!
An Uber ride he had arranged beforehand was waiting outside. With a heart free of worry and everything to look forward to, he skipped down and opened the door. To his surprise, someone was already sitting in the backseat. "Oh, sorry," Antonio stated. "I thought this was for me."
"It is," a familiar voice said.
Before he could put a name to that voice, somebody from behind shoved him into the car and climbed in after. Next thing Antonio DiNardo knew, he was sandwiched between two big beefy guys in identical dark suits wearing shades. They each had earpieces in.
"I know it was you, Tony."
Antonio found himself looking into the rearview mirror, where his gaze was met by that of Special Agent Tobias Fornell of the FBI sitting in the front passenger seat.
"Now, if I could just explain…!" he began.
"You broke my heart, DiNozzo." Fornell got out of the car and stood up. "I don't ever want to see you again."
"No problem! In fact, I was just about to…"
Tobias shut the door. A third guy in shades then started the engine and the car peeled away from the curb with Agent Fornell watching it depart.
Inside what was certainly now a hearse, Antonio gripped his knees apprehensively. Looking around at the unsmiling faces, he tried to make a joke about it. "So, you guys wanna catch a movie?"
In response the driver inserted a CD into the slot. A soundtrack which Tony had no trouble recognizing as belonging to 'The Godfather' came out.
"Think we could stop somewhere? I really need to use the bathroom all of a sudden."
They did not respond. Tony pondered. Maybe Invisible Ziva had slipped into the front seat earlier and was planning to rescue him? Yeah. That sounded good. He'd just be patient and wait to be saved. The car sped away, bearing with it the adventures of Antonio DiNardo.
FIN.