Title: The Mishap on the 14th Floor
Author: Geekery15
Rating: PG:13
Summary: Tony is suspected of murder.
Spoilers: Possibly
Feedback: I would be delighted.
Beta: I lack a beta so I apologize in advance for any typos/mistakes.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of NCIS. Every other character belongs to me unless noted otherwise.


Chapter 1

The hotel lounge sparkles with its pristine floors and its expensive lighting. The mix-match of black leather and white leather couches fits together famously as the elegant dinner jackets of the men accompanying the space do their parts in decorating.

The air is crisp and clean, yet a tad-bit smoky, and dirty, from the minds of the all sophisticated people swarming around each other with their drinks and their cigarettes, and their lust-filled minds.

It never rains on a night like this. Where the rich and the famous dance about in their own world, surrounded by their own kind so they are to find nothing, but comfort and knowledge in the people they repeatedly take by the elbows or guide through the doors.

Women. Of course there be women. Women with all sorts of elegance and grace. Women with all sorts of jewels and designer dresses. Yet women, who more or less fit into one sort of demographic even in such a modern time.

The year is 2012 and the world continues to turn as it did in its years before. Human nature continues to stagger blindly, at times, into whatever direction they have been traveling for quite sometime. The men continue to court, the woman continue to bait, and in the mix of it all, each side takes their turn in turning the tables; trying to make the moment more modern than the moment before.

Of course there still be those of an old-fashioned nature. Those who find themselves being perhaps from another time or older, or both. Those who have a set image on what beauty is and will stop at nothing until they find what they have always been looking for; making that person their own and never for a moment forgetting all the fun they had in completing their task.

"Hi, I'd like a glass of bourbon, please. Thanks."

The aging young man who could not look a day over thirty-five rubs the backs of his fingers along his clean-shaved face as he perches himself on-top of the bar stool. His well sculpted face stands brighter than usual, almost as if one of the lights from above found its calling. Him; in which he under a spotlight.

His dark eyebrows are in-tune with his well-groomed hair. Tonight it is more than just a short cut with straight strands sticking out in every which way. Tonight his hair is a sculpted masterpiece himself, almost as if he earlier he tried his best to embody James Bond while getting ready for this dinner party.

"Here you are, Sir."

He nods his thank-you to the man tending the bar because it feels more suave to him rather than speaking, but also knows he gave the man a verbal thank you before he was even given what he ordered.

'The two-thank-you' deal is what he liked to refer to it as. Not because he had heard it before and found it charming, but because he had a wild and vibrant imagination that forced him to be creative and he wanted to put a whole new angle on what it meant to be charming. Something of his very own that could be passed on to those who admired him, because throughout the entire capacity of his ego, there definitely was room for him to think and to commit to any idea that anyone, on any given day, would find him admirable.

Bringing the glass to his lips he wets his top lip, but purposely refuses to take a real taste. With the dark liquid melting into his top lip, the tip of his tongue stays inside of his mouth so that he probably smells the liquor more than he can taste it. Of course that is just the way it should be. A drink that is found in his bosses basement and poured into an old mason jar just upgraded itself to a glass of sophistication; quite literally.

A drink is made to be held. The longer it lasts the more stamina it shows a man has. The control to hold back on his own wants and desires. It is the image of perfection for any dazzling woman that is looking for a man who can take her fantasies to new heights without even touching her.

He knew the game because he played the game, and even more so, he watched the game. From the days to-which it began straight through to this very moment.

It is the married man looming over a woman who is not his wife in the far corner. It is the older man, the very-married man who is eyeing up a much younger woman in hopes she will not just give him one night, but she'll give herself to him every night. Every corner has a story, and as he takes his handsome strides with his glass of bourbon, he grins at the possibilities of their ends.

When his cell phone rings, it nearly snaps him back to complete reality. He isn't very much James Bond anymore, but Anthony DiNozzo instead.

"Tony." He says clearly into his phone.

"I know you're not waiting for an introduction from me, DiNozzo."

"Hey Boss." All traces of his suave alter-ego gone. "What's going on in…the squad-room…basement…bar?"

"Nothin'."

"Alrighty…then…" He clears his throat, then decides he better at least take one real slip of bourbon before he ends up looking like an idiot walking around with a drink he's not going to drink. "How's the family?" He makes a face. "You know, the team…"

"Good."

"That's nice."

"Where are you?"

"…on vacation…" He knits his eyebrows. "You do remember, don't you boss? You signed the papers before the Director did."

"I remember."

Tony's confused look turns into one of worry. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine."

He sighs, putting the glass down on a shelf that is designed into one of the walls. "I seem to be missing something."

"Yeah, the better half of your brain." Gibbs barks at him. "How many times have I told you to leave McGee alone?"

The confused look forms again on his face. "Never. Not even once."

Gibbs wait's a moment. "Right, but that doesn't mean when I tell you to do something, I mean him."

"What'd I forget to do?" He rakes his brain.

"Your report, on the serial killer case. It had some errors, I wanted it fix." He skips a beat. "I needed it fixed."

"Since when do my errors concern you?" He pauses as if he can feel the heat from the steam that most likely is coming through Gibbs ears. "Uh, just kidding boss."

"You've got it coming to you, DiNozzo." Gibbs assures him. "You report to me the minute you step foot back in D.C."

Tony swallows. "Yes, boss."

Hearing the dead end on his cell phone, he sighs a little while putting his phone back into his pants pocket.

"Lets hope I hit the jackpot and I won't have go back D.C." He says under his breath.

As he reaches for his glass, a shrieking noise pierces the air causing his eyebrows to lower into a stern look.

The lounge grows louder as the masses of classy men and women begin to run frantically about; desperate to flee the hotel.

The fire alarm continues on…