Title: "Shut Up or Put Up!" ~ Winner of the NFA "Be Very, Very Quiet" Challenge
Genre: Friendship, Humor
Characters: Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Tony DiNozzo, Tim McGee, Ziva David, Abby Scuito
Rating: FR7
Spoilers: None
Prompt: channeld issued the "Be Very, Very Quiet" Challenge on NFA – absolutely no spoken dialogue allowed! (Email, sign language, etc. were okay.)
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I don't own anything but my own thoughts.
Shut Up or Put Up!
The ringing alarm clock brought Tim McGee out of a sound sleep. Grunting wordlessly, he flung his arm out in the general direction of the nightstand and was awarded with blessed silence when his hand slapped the off button.
Blearily, he looked at the time. 5am? Why did I set it for 5am on a Saturday? he thought as he pulled himself into a sitting position. Especially after going out drinking with the team last night…?
He stood up, stretched… and saw the post-it note he'd left for himself the previous evening. Paperwork Saturday – okay, that made sense. Every now and then, Gibbs made them come in on a Saturday to catch up on report writing, filing, all those little tasks that were so easy to overlook during a busy week. But under that, in a different color ink, was a note that he had apparently added later – in very messy handwriting. It simply said, Shut Up!
Okay, clearly I was still a little tipsy when I wrote that, Tim thought. He sighed, ran his hand through his already-messy hair, and opened his mouth to continue the thought out loud…
And promptly slapped his hand over his mouth. Tony's challenge! That's right! We're not allowed to talk until after work…
Tim remembered the conversation the previous evening: how Gibbs' irritation with Tony's nonstop movie comparisons, Tim's geek-speak, Ziva's idiom slaughter, and Abby's… well, Abby-ness had inspired Tony to issue the challenge. A completely conversation-free Paperwork Saturday – and the first to break would be the others' coffee-slave for the week.
As if by magic, Tim's cell phone beeped, indicating a text message. He picked it up and saw that it was from Tony:
Okay, guys, this is it. NO TALKING! Writing, signing, texting are all okay. Wordless screams are okay in an emergency (if it's for other reasons, I don't want to know about it). No laughing, either. Shut up or put up, folks! May the best man win – ME.
Tim shook his head – and slapped his hand over his mouth again. True, at home there were no witnesses; but Tony would ask. And I can't lie worth a damn.
An hour later, showered, dressed, and ready to go, Tim picked up his wallet – and stopped. How am I supposed to get breakfast like this? A quick perusal of his cabinets and refrigerator showed him that there was no choice, not if he wanted to eat this morning. Man, this is going to be a long day…
Walking into the squad room, Tim raised his coffee cup in a salute to Tony and Ziva. He held a half-eaten bagel in the other hand.
Dress code for Paperwork Saturday was fairly casual. All three agents were wearing jeans and sneakers. Ziva was the best-looking of the lot, with a black tank top and tight blue jeans that showed off her assets nicely. Tony was a bit scruffy-looking in faded, frayed jeans – That's right, thought Tim, it's called 'distressed' now – and a black T-shirt proclaiming that I'm not even supposed to be here today! Tim had watched Clerks with Tony once, and wasn't surprised that the movie fanatic would wear that shirt today.
Tim himself was wearing a nice sky blue shirt and dark blue jeans. Just because it was Saturday, it didn't mean that he couldn't look nice. He was actually hoping that Tony would comment on his attire. How long til he can't help but ask, 'Got a date tonight, Probie?'
Tony's attention, for now, was not on Tim's clothes. Instead, his eyes followed the bagel's path through the room as if he were planning to tackle McGee for his food. The older agent narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth – and then stopped himself. With a sigh of frustration, he scribbled something on a post-it note. With a smirk, he walked up to Tim and stuck the note to Tim's forehead.
Tim set down his coffee cup and peeled the note off of his face. So, Probie, how'd you get the bagel without talking? Lost already?
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, and passed it over to the senior agent with a smirk of his own.
Tony glared at Tim, then unfolded the paper. Good morning, he read. I've contracted laryngitis and can't speak. Could I have an asiago cheese bagel and a large coffee to go, please?
Ziva, reading over his shoulder, mimed a laugh and slapped Tony on the arm. When he looked at her, she smacked her forehead with an exaggerated why didn't I think of that? expression on her face, then pointed to Tony and did her silent laugh again. Apparently Tony hadn't come up with that one. A quick look at Tony's desk confirmed it; Tim saw a partially eaten Snickers bar and a bottle of Mountain Dew, obviously from the office vending machine.
Tim pulled his mouth into an exaggerated pout and patted Tony on the shoulder. Poor, poor Tony.
A hand making contact with the back of Tim's head announced Gibbs' arrival. Tim turned, ready to apologize – and shrugged instead. Gibbs always said apologizing was a sign of weakness, and today that would be doubly true.
Gibbs had his ever-present coffee. The senior agent was not a part of the game, but even if he had been… He probably doesn't need to say anything anyway. They probably get it ready for him as soon as they see him coming. The former Marine glared at everyone, then raised an eyebrow. He still didn't need to speak; they caught his meaning, clearly if not loudly: If you're done acting like idiots, perhaps we could all get to work?
The three younger agents fled to their desks.
If Tony doesn't stop drumming on his desk, someone is going to kill him. And it might not even be me.
Tim glared at Tony out of the corner of his eye. The other agent was using his desk, a metal filing cabinet, and his overturned trash can as a drum set. Gibbs steps away for five minutes… sheesh.
Across the aisle, Ziva knocked on her desk to get their attention.
Both men looked up – and then over at the plasma screen. Ziva had pulled up an image from an old TV show, The Honeymooners, showing Ralph in one of his characteristic temper tantrums. Below the picture, Ziva had added a caption: To the Moon, DiNozzo!
With a chagrined look on his face, Tony set his trash can right side up and went back to work. Tim looked over at Ziva and smiled his thanks. She grinned and winked at him before turning back to her computer.
*THUMP!*
Tim jumped when the stack of file folders landed on his desk in front of him. He looked up to see Gibbs glare at him for a moment before stalking off.
The file folders clearly belonged to the forensics lab. Since Gibbs had signed them already, Tim assumed that he was meant to take them down and file them away. He picked up the stack, stood up, and walked right through the DiNozzo/David free-fire zone on his way to the elevator. A stress ball and a wadded up piece of paper struck him as he passed, but he kept going without looking back.
Once in the elevator, he sighed. At least he could count on the music in Abby's lab to eliminate the ringing in his ears from the unnatural quiet of the squad room…
Or perhaps not. If the lights hadn't been on, he would have thought the lab was deserted. There was no music blaring, no machines running, and no Abby-chatter to greet him as he entered.
At the sound of his footsteps, Abby turned from her computer, her face lighting up. Tim thought that maybe she'd lose the challenge right there – how could Abby possibly contain herself? – but again, he was wrong.
She ran up to him, took the files and dropped them on a table, and then threw her arms around him. Tim hugged back, taking a moment to enjoy the feel of her in his arms. Their relationship had long since faded to a solely platonic nature, but still, he missed the way he used to hold her back then. He wondered if she missed it too, but he wasn't going to ask, especially today.
Abby pulled away, pointed to the files, and then began moving her hands and arms in American Sign Language.
I never did learn much beyond finger-spelling, Tim thought with regret. He waved his arms to interrupt Abby, then turned his hands palm up and shrugged. He hoped she'd get the message: I have no idea what you're saying.
Abby's eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms. Bad McGee, Tim translated in his head. It wasn't ASL, but it was Abby Sciuto, and he'd been reading her for years.
So he wasn't surprised when she pointed to him, then picked up her Caf-Pow and put the straw to her lips. The sounds of a straw failing to draw liquid filled the room. McGee, you suck.
Tim shrugged again and turned to leave.
A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked back at Abby, who sucked through the straw again, then tilted her head to the side and assumed a pathetic expression. Could you get me another Caf-Pow, please?
Tim smiled and nodded. As he turned again to go, he saw Tony coming through the door, bearing another stack of files – from Gibbs again, no doubt. The forensic scientist's face lit up, and she began moving her hands again. Clearly, she was desperate to talk – well, communicate – with anyone.
Maybe that's why Gibbs sent us, Tim thought as he left the lab. He's the only one here who can understand her. She can't talk his ear off, but she must still be driving him crazy!
After delivering the promised Caf-Pow – and watching Abby signing frantically to Tony, whose eyes appeared to be glazing over – Tim returned to his desk and to what he hoped was his final report to write. Gibbs was gone again, but Ziva was working at her desk.
A moment after he sat down, his computer beeped to draw his attention to a new email. It was from Ziva. How was your trip to the lab?
Glancing up, he saw Ziva looking at him with a knowing smile on her face. He sent back: Eerily quiet, but if Gibbs sends you down, make sure you stay clear of Abby. She's signing so quickly and emphatically that she's a danger to anyone within range.
Ziva: After you left, Gibbs sent me down to Autopsy to deliver a report for Ducky.
Tim's eyes widened. Ducky hadn't been part of last night's outing either, and thus, not a party to the challenge. How in the world did you escape?
Ziva: It is Saturday. Ducky wasn't in today. Somehow the morgue seems creepier when it's not in use. But I didn't mind going; it meant that Tony was sent to the lab with that second set of files for Abby, so no foul no harm, right?
Tim: That's 'no harm, no foul.'
Ziva: Whatever.
Twenty minutes later, Tony returned to his desk, a harried look on his face. He caught Tim's eye, waved his hands in random patterns, then threw them up in the air. He then pointed to Gibbs' empty desk, made a fist, and moved to punch it into his other hand –
And froze. Tim couldn't contain the look of glee on his own face as Tony's eyes darted left and right, then locked on Tim's face. Tony then pointed behind himself. He's right behind me, isn't he?
The head slap confirmed what Tony already had guessed. Gibbs moved in front of him and raised an eyebrow. Got a problem, DiNozzo?
Tony raised a hand, mimed zipping his lips, then saluted. No, Boss. Shutting up now, Boss.
Tim turned back to his keyboard as Tony returned to his desk. He sent to Ziva: It's amazing how even when they're not saying anything, it's so easy to hear what they're not saying.
Ziva: Yes, why isn't Gibbs speaking? Does he know? He's not part of the game, so why not speak? It's not like whoever loses would forget to bring Gibbs coffee along with the rest of us – he wouldn't dare.
Tim: You seem awfully certain that you're not going to lose…
Ziva: Call it a hunch.
Tim: I'll admit to being worried by the Boss' silence, too. I don't know… but my gut has a funny feeling about this.
Ziva: Your gut? Okay, McGibbs.
Tim looked across the aisle again. He wasn't sure if he should be pleased or insulted by this new nickname. Usually it was Tony who used his name that way, and he knew how to react to Tony…
Ziva grinned at him again, then returned to her work.
Everyone's cell phones beeped at the same time with an incoming text message. Tim pulled out his phone and brought up the message. It was from Director Vance:
There is a dead Petty Officer at Rock Creek Park. Special Agent Ryan is already on the case, but his team is short-handed and he needs additional assistance. I want you to go out there and help with processing the crime scene. Ryan will take care of interviews; just help him with the physical evidence collection. Crime scene coordinates are…
*WHAM!*
Tim looked up to see Gibbs looming over him, holding out his Blackberry. Tony and Ziva were already gathering their gear.
Boss must not know how to read text messages, Tim thought with amusement, though he was very careful in controlling his expression. The only thing Gibbs hated more than modern technology was having to rely on other people to help him with that technology, and Tim didn't want to get on his bad side today. He quickly took the Blackberry from Gibbs, pulled up the unread message for his boss to read, and handed it back.
By the time Gibbs had finished reading, his agents were waiting at the elevator with their gear. Tim was under no illusions that his boss was pleased with their alacrity – not when it made him look slow. Thus, he wasn't surprised when Gibbs head-slapped Tony and Ziva on the way out; he was surprised, however, when Gibbs gave Tim a nod – not a head slap – as the elevator doors closed.
Tim's phone beeped. He spared a hand to grab it from his belt; the other was hanging onto the door handle for dear life. Ziva was driving.
Tony had sent him a text message from the front seat: Where was the Director? Don't you think it was weird to get a text from him?
It took Tim a couple of minutes to reply back, as he was texting one-handed. At that reception for SecNav. Probably couldn't risk being seen talking on a phone, but it's easy to text under the table.
Tony replied, Dunno. Still seems weird.
Tim shrugged. Sounded like Tony's gut was getting the same vibe as his. Something was going on…
Last night's rain had thoroughly saturated the ground, so Tim's shoes squished through mud as he walked the perimeter of the crime scene, camera in hand. Too bad the petty officer appears to have died before the storm; not much chance of finding footprints now. Still, Tim was keeping an eye out for anything that might indicate which direction either the petty officer or the assailant had come from, as well as any other evidence that might shed some light on the attack.
Tony was sketching the scene, and Ziva was bagging and tagging evidence. Gibbs had handed out assignments by handing out the equipment each agent would need; by now, they really didn't need to be told what their jobs were anyway. What was strange, though, was watching Gibbs just leaning back against the van instead of questioning the park ranger who'd found the body. That was being left to Agent Ryan, who'd given them strange looks but had otherwise ignored their silent interactions.
I can't believe no one's lost it by now, Tim thought as he snapped a picture of a crushed beer can. I would have thought that Abby would be screaming by now. Or that Tony wouldn't be able to resist the urge to order me around out here. I haven't heard a 'Probie' or a 'McWhatever' out of him all day. It's weird. Nice, but weird.
Ziva hasn't said anything all day, but it's amazing how she can threaten bodily harm without saying a word. Gibbs just orders us around without even speaking – well, we've been working at reading his mind for years now, so no surprise there. Too bad Ducky wasn't part of this – it would have been over hours ago… Hold on, what do we have here…?
Tim stepped deeper into the brush surrounding the clearing. He thought he'd caught a flash of bright orange… sure enough, a scrap of material was stuck on a low-hanging branch of a tree. It looked like a piece of a hunter's vest. Tim took several pictures, then looked around. It looked like there was another piece over there…
Tim moved slowly, first toward and then along the small stream that ran through the area. He was so intent on following the trail of orange vest scraps and bent or broken branches that he didn't realize how far he was wandering from the official crime scene. He developed a routine: take picture, look around, move forward, take picture. Everything was between two to three feet from the ground, so he hardly bothered to look up. Take picture, find next sign, move forward, take –
Tim's left foot slid in the mud, pitching him off-balance. He fell backwards, dropping the camera, and tumbled head over heels down the slope and into the water…
He squished back into the clearing some time later, surprising the other agents who were just finishing up.
Tony saw him first. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened, but he stopped short of expressing his concern verbally. Tim glared at his senior partner, daring him to say anything, out loud or not. But when Gibbs walked over and just looked at him, Tim dropped his eyes to the ground and fought the urge to apologize or explain himself.
Ziva walked up also, her face expressing her concern. She reached out and lightly touched his left arm – the one that wasn't completely covered in mud. Tim smiled. Sometimes, it was nice to know that someone cared, even if only as a friend. Tim knew that she'd never be interested in him the way she obviously was with Tony, but that didn't stop him from sometimes wishing…
Gibbs brought his attention back with a snap of his fingers. The team leader raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion, clearly asking what had happened. Since the what was obvious, Tim focused on the other questions that his team wasn't asking. He pointed to the camera and stuck his thumb up; then he pointed to himself and rocked his hand slightly from side to side, palm down. Camera's fine; me, not so much. But the chagrined smile on his face let them know that it was his pride more than anything else that was hurt.
He then pulled up the pictures on the camera that documented his side trip. Thank goodness for the digital era, he thought, not for the first time. The rest of the team watched over his shoulders as he scrolled through the pictures. He showed them the beer can, the trail of orange scraps, and finally the remains of a small campfire that he'd found after scrambling back up the slope. He also showed them a picture of a patch of disturbed mud, right on the edge of the creek. He tried to tell them by gestures, That wasn't there before. That was all me, sliding in the mud to land on my butt in the creek.
Gibbs passed more evidence markers and bags to Tony and Ziva; the slight jerk of his head told them to go and process the scene. He motioned for Tim to go with them – to lead them there, obviously – but before Tim had gone more than two or three steps, he felt the light slap on his shoulder that was Gibbs' way of saying, Nice work. Or maybe it was just Too bad about your clothes.
Back in the squad room, Gibbs took the box containing the crime scene evidence from Tim and handed it to Tony. Tony didn't need to be told what Gibbs wanted: Take this to Abby. Now.
Tim bundled up his mud-covered jacket and stuffed it into a plastic bag, to take home and deal with later. He sat down at his desk and inserted the camera's memory card into the card reader to begin downloading the crime scene photos.
A few moments later, he received an email from Ziva. Shouldn't be long now.
Tim: Neither of them gave in before; what makes you think one of them will now?
Ziva just winked at him.
On a hunch, Tim pulled up the security camera feed from the lab and put it on the plasma screen. Gibbs and Ziva came around their desks to watch. As Ziva moved past her desk, Tim finally noticed what he'd been seeing when he looked her way. Ziva rarely kept more than a couple of pens on her desk, but now her pen holder was overflowing. Tim was sure that she did not normally use bright purple pens, nor did she have pencils with hippo-shaped erasers on the ends. And why were there two cell phones on her desk?
On the screen, Tony was just picking himself up off the floor – he must have been demonstrating my fall, Tim realized. Abby looked puzzled and frustrated. She stomped her foot on the floor and waved her arms, mouthing the word Who? Tony held his hand up above his head, trying to indicate Tim's height. Then he hunched his shoulders, squinted his eyes, and typed at a make-believe keyboard. Hey, I don't look like that when I'm working – do I?
Abby's eyes widened as it clicked in her head, and she mouthed something else, a question. Tim couldn't read lips well beyond the most obvious words, but apparently neither could Tony. They watched as Tony reached for his cell phone, presumably so he could have her type out her question, but he found the phone missing from his belt.
Tim grinned as he caught on to Ziva's full plan…
Abby turned to a nearby table and snatched up a piece of paper – but she couldn't find anything to write with. Tony joined her, and papers flew as they checked every inch of the surface, but they found nothing. Abby moved quickly to her desk, and Tim had to bite his knuckles again to keep from laughing as she picked up her empty pen holder and turned it upside down, her expression of puzzlement changing swiftly to one of angry determination.
Tim stood up and joined his teammates at the plasma as they watched Abby march across the lab. She grabbed a confused and slightly frightened-looking Tony as she passed and dragged him with her.
Ziva sucked in her breath, and when the two men looked at her, she pointed to one of Abby's monitors. Her disappointed look told them that she hadn't considered that they might type on the same computer.
Tim tapped her on the shoulder, and when Ziva looked at him, he winked at her. I got this one covered.
Abby positioned Tony so that he was facing the monitor, then turned to the keyboard and began to type. As soon as she did so, the screen saver stopped, but what came up on the screen was not what she expected.
Gibbs and Ziva leaned in closer to squint at the plasma, but Tim already knew what it said: This computer is locked and in use by user tmcgee.
Abby froze for a moment. Then she whirled around to face the security camera and began signing furiously. Tony also turned and mouthed something angrily.
Ziva and Tim were almost bent double, trying to keep from laughing. Gibbs was the only one who could follow exactly what was being communicated, but Ziva and Tim were pretty sure they had the general gist of it.
What was that sportscaster's quote that Dad used once? 'I can read his lips, and he is not praying!'
Abby and Tony disappeared from the screen, in the direction of the door. Gibbs shook his head and walked away, leaving Ziva and Tim to face the silent music.
Tim grabbed a notepad and – just for the hell of it – one of Abby's pens from Ziva's desk. I can't believe you stole Abby's pens and Tony's phone, he scribbled quickly.
Ziva took the pen and paper from him. And Abby's CDs, too. Thanks for fixing the computers – I forgot.
Tim nodded at her, and they shared a look. Then Ziva ripped off the sheet of paper and tore it to pieces, destroying the written confession.
By the time Tony and Abby stormed into the squad room, Tim and Ziva were back at their desks, pretending to be absorbed in the reports they were writing.
Abby stomped her foot to get their attention. When they looked up, she glared at each of them with furrowed brows. She pointed first to the plasma – still showing the lab, Tim realized belatedly – then to the pens in plain view on Ziva's desk. She then crossed her arms and began tapping her foot.
Tony, on the other hand, just leaned back against his desk to watch the show. He probably figures one of us will break and apologize to Abby, Tim thought. Well, I refuse to give Tony what he wants, and Ziva knows how to handle torture. It's not going to work.
He was impressed by how long Abby held out, though. It was a full fifteen minutes before she finally threw her hands in the air, signed something, and stormed off.
I don't know what she was saying, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't telling me I'm Number One…
The day was almost over, and still no one had given up. Gibbs had been by a few times to throw more files at them, but for the most part, his agents had the room to themselves.
Tony's second bout of drumming had stopped when Ziva started throwing paper clips at him. Tim was horrified to realize that he'd been tapping his pencil in time with the beat, but fortunately the ex-Mossad officer didn't seem to have noticed. But even she wasn't immune to the desire to break the silence. Back at her desk, a few minutes later, she found herself playing with the zipper on her jacket, sliding it up and down to hear the sound that it made.
The elevator ding caught everyone's attention. A moment later, Abby walked in, her purple stuffed hippo in her arms and a pathetic expression on her face. When everyone was looking up at her, she squeezed the hippo. Bert's flatulence, echoing through the silent squad room, caused smothered laughter and wide grins on everyone's faces.
Tony pointed to the clock on the far wall. Four minutes til five. Four minutes til the work day was officially over and the contest with it. Ziva wiped her brow in an exaggerated fashion, and Tim looked to the ceiling with his hands pressed together in front of him. Four minutes. Thank God.
The four contestants gathered in the middle of their section, arms around each other in a rare moment of silent harmony. Tim was starving, and couldn't wait until he could order dinner. Ziva wanted to laugh and brag about her plan to trick the others into speaking – even if it hadn't worked, it was still brilliant, in her opinion. Tony, of course, couldn't wait to make fun of McGee and his still mud-splattered apparel. And Abby – she couldn't decide what to do first. Express concern about her Timmy's fall? Or yell at him for locking her computers – which he had forgotten to unlock? Or demand to know who had stolen all of her CDs?
The clock's ticking sounded like gunshots in the quiet room. Three minutes. Two…
Gibbs' desk phone started to ring loudly, causing them all to jump. There were confused expressions all around. Gibbs isn't here. We can't let it keep ringing. Who's going to answer the phone?
Abby began to back away toward the elevator. She flapped her lab coat at them, clearly telling the others that since she wasn't an agent, she shouldn't have to answer the boss' phone, in fact there was something important in the lab that she needed to do… She turned on her heels and fled, boots thudding against the carpet.
Ziva held her hands up in front of her as if to shield herself from her partners. When they looked at her, she grabbed her notepad again. She scribbled quickly, then held it up. I'm just the probie, remember? Normally she would glare daggers at anyone who called her that, but today, being the most junior agent had its perks.
Tim snatched the pad and pen from Ziva and scrawled his own excuse. When Gibbs isn't here, you're in charge. Again, not something he would normally say, but right now he was more than happy to have Tony ahead of him in the team hierarchy.
Tony took the notepad from him and hastily wrote, Yes, and I'm delegating this to you, McChatty. Get the phone!
The ringing stopped as the call went to voice mail, but started up again almost immediately. Tim pulled the pad out of Tony's hands and wrote, It must be important, so our most senior agent had better deal with it.
Ziva head slapped them both. When they turned to look at her, she waved her hands at them. Hurry up, already! The ringing stopped again.
Up on the balcony, Gibbs hit the redial button on his cell phone. One of them was going to have to answer eventually. Pick up the phone, would ya? he thought, watching his team argue silently. Somebody's going to be picking up my coffee next week, and it's not going to be me!
THE END!
* The sportscaster in question was Keith Olbermann from SportsCenter on ESPN.