The Joker

by channeld

written for: the NFA Lizzie Borden challenge. The challenge theme is of an axe murderer.
rating: K plus
genre: drama
featuring: the team

disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.

The somewhat portly, balding man approached Gibbs' team in their corner of the squad room. His gray suit was a little wrinkled, and he bore a goofy grin. "How you doin', guy?" he said to Tony, who was the closest.

"Who are you?" asked Tony, noting that the unfamiliar person wasn't wearing a visitor's badge.

"I'm your new neighbor," said the man cheerfully, and he did a little dance with his arms raised.

While Tim and Ziva looked perplexed, Tony snapped his fingers. "Right Guard deodorant commercial. 1971. Two guys discover their apartment walls are so thin, they share a medicine cabinet, accessible from either bathroom."

The man looked delighted. "Good catch! Name's Hoflander. Fred Hoflander. I'm new here; just making the rounds quickly."

Tony made introductions all around. Tim asked, "You're new to NCIS, Fred?"

"Naw. Naw! Just to this office. I spent seven years in the Newport office. New England boy. My daddy was a lobster and my mother a mermaid."

In spite of herself, Ziva smiled. "I was not aware that NCIS hired…crustaceans."

"I take after my ma more, that's why. I'm from Fall River, Massachusetts. Fishing's in my blood."

Tim smiled, too. "I went to MIT. Never got down to Fall River, but I've heard it's an…interesting town."

"You've heard of Lizzie Borden and the axe murdering that she, or someone, did. She always denied it, and was acquitted, you know. Whoops; I can spot a boss coming in, and that's my cue to exit," Fred remarked, seeing a sharply curious look on Gibbs, who was just coming in. "I'm good for the whole day!" he sang, in commercial mode again, as he lightly danced away, leaving the team amused.

"NCIS is hiring kooks again," Tim remarked. "The agency must have fallen below quota."

Tony swiveled towards Tim, looking surprised. "Now that's actually funny, McComedy! Keep it up."

Tim looked a little embarrassed, but he chuckled. "I'll try."

Fred Hoflander, they soon learned, was a specialist in economic crimes. He was, technically, no less of a special agent than any of the rest of them, but his ventures into the field, historically, were under quiet circumstances such as presenting a warrant to seize account books for auditing. The economic crimes department had a small warren of offices on the first floor of headquarters. There, Fred worked with a department of similarly rumpled-clothed, not-so-athletic agents.

Perhaps Gibbs' team would have forgotten about him in due course, were he of a quieter nature. But "quiet" was not in Fred Hoflander's nature, apparently. One day he stood in his department's doorway for a few hours, lobbing a water balloon at anyone who passed (looking innocent afterwards). He circulated a petition asking people to please feed the pigeons that hung around the front entrance, in order to fatten them up for a good old-fashioned New England-style pigeon roast to be held in the fall. Then there was the time that he posted a convincing-looking notice in the break rooms which stated that HQ agents would have to replace their sigs with bows and arrows for a two-month weaponry study.

"This guy is definitely lunatic," said Tony, reading the sign in the break room before Gibbs pulled it down and threw it into the recycling bin.

Ziva smirked. "You are just jealous, Tony, because he thought of this before you did."

"Partially. Maybe."

Tim came to his aid. "Tony's been around long enough that he knows what goes here and what doesn't. Fred is over-the-top." He then laughed. "But I've got to admit, he is funny."

Tony scowled. "I want to know more about this guy, and why we got stuck with him."

So they did a little research in their spare time. Fred had indeed done his time at the small Rhode Island office. Not much field work was involved for him, and he was a fast and accurate worker, so he had time to pull stunts. "It's like there's a sitcom writer inside of him, struggling to get out," a coworker of his in Newport told Tony on the phone. "And not just an ordinary sitcom writer, but one for one of those zanier shows, like 30 Rock. I think he missed his true calling when he came to NCIS."

"Guess you were right, McGee, when you said we had a kook quota," Tony said, rubbing his head.

"I think he is fun to have around," said Ziva. "He is giving you some competition, yes?"

"Him? Ha!" Tony snorted. "I am funnier asleep than he is awake."

"I have seen you sleeping," Tim put in. "And I can testify that—"

"Stop right there," Tony ordered. "Whatever you were going to say, I don't want to know."

"Well, hear this," said Gibbs, breezing in. "Gear up. Dead Marine in Shenandoah."

And so the days went on, with a report filtering up of a new stunt of Fred's once or twice a week. Some were genuinely funny; others made one laugh after a surprised gasp. All were harmless enough to fly (sometimes barely) under management's tolerance. Fred was good at staying within the lines.

Then one day Tony got a phone call, from another co-worker of Fred's in the Newport office. "I'm sorry I didn't call you back earlier," the man said on the phone. "My name's Hugh Chapin. You spoke to Paul Tolliver before. I'm the senior agent at this station, but I just got back from a two-month TAD. Paul suggested I call you and give you my perspective."

"What; you want to compare Fred to a show other than 30 Rock?" Tony grinned.

"Oh, Fred's funny, all right. He kept us in stitches. But there's more."

"Oh?" This sounded ominous.

"Fred's marriage fell apart about eight months ago. He changed after Doreen left him. For awhile he was sober, gloomy, and didn't pull any gags. When they started up again, they were…edgier. Some were like Hallowe'en spooky things; you know, falling skeletons. He'd never been like that. Then he slowly moved back to his old style."

"So everything's all right with him, then?

"Well…I wouldn't go that far. I suggested he see a counselor, maybe someone out of the Employee Assistance office. He didn't want to, and I didn't pressure him. He seemed okay, mostly. And then he suddenly decided he needed to get away from New England, to start over somewhere else. He saw the job opening at HQ and jumped on it. He left here the day after I left for my TAD."

Tony took a deep breath. "He's not deranged." It was somewhere between a conclusion and a question.

"No, no; I mean, I could never make that judgment of a coworker. I have a masters in psychology, but I wouldn't—that could be harmful to someone's career. I leave that to the specialists."

"Okay, Chapin; thanks. Shall I tell him you said 'hi'?" he added with a grin.

"Um…I don't—well, I guess that would be fine. If you need to."

"I probably won't," said Tony, glad that he still had the ability to bluff. "Thanks again." He hung up and then relayed the conversation to his team, with a grin.

"No telling tales, DiNozzo," said Gibbs, emphasizing that with a head slap. "You got concerns that you think are legitimate; you bring them to management to handle."

"Got it," Tony said. But he frowned and held his tongue.

As Gibbs went out, Ziva and Tim turned teasing smiles on their teammate. "You are not really bothered by Fred Hoflander, are you?" Ziva asked. "Once again, he threatens your position as clown king, yes?"

"I think Hoflander's handling his life in a pretty responsible way," said Tim. "He doesn't keep things bottled up. He lets them out. He handles stress through humor." He chuckled at a remembered gag. "More people should do as he does."

Fred's next gag had the building talking for days. In another official-looking memo posted in the break rooms, it was announced that starting on May 2, all employees were to wear purple to work. New special agent jackets and caps were in production; these too would be purple. The reason given was that there were too many federal agencies in the field in black. Congress was considering mandating that enough agencies step away from black. NCIS was jumping at the chance to snag a color of its choice.

"Good for NCIS, making a fast move," one woman said. "I'd hate to be the agency that gets stuck with hot pink."

Tim snickered on hearing that. "Hoflander's getting more and more convincing."

"Almost," said Tony, grudgingly. "Although making Navy blue our color would have been more realistic."

"But not as funny as purple," said Ziva. "May 2 is Monday. How many people do you think will show up in purple, then?"

As it turned out, only a handful did—no more than would on any other day. Tony was irritated that his teammates went along with the gag: Ziva in a lilac-colored blouse; Tim in a purple shirt. "You're just aiding and abetting Fred's insanity," he scolded.

Nikki Jardine dropped by the squad room in the early afternoon. "Word is that Fred Hoflander's upset because more people didn't wear purple," she said. She herself wore a tasteful green; no purple.

"What; Fred Hoflander's behind that?" Tony asked; feigning surprise.

She glared at him. "I mean, some people, when their jokes fall flat, they just go onto the next joke. Fred, though, seems morose. He's basically a nice guy. If you don't mind the type that wears a squirting flower in their lapel."

"Ah-ha-ha; the old squirting flower gag," Tony mused fondly. "Not that has any place at NCIS, boss," he added quickly, seeing Gibbs coming to join the conversation.

"Should hope not," Gibbs growled. "Back to work, people."

Abby called up from the lab the next day. "He's headed your way, I think! He was just here!"

"Who, Abby?" Ziva asked, swiftly looking around to see who was missing. Only Gibbs was not in his place, but they had all been working and didn't feel a need to 'look busy'."

"Fred! Who else! He's so cute, in that disheveled-Columbo way, you know? He's got an axe. It's funny. Like the Lizzie Borden thing. Only that wasn't funny; that was tragic. But you know."

"Ah…okay; thanks for the heads-up."

The elevator dinged, and Fred stepped out. In his hands he carried an axe. His face looked cold.

"Hey, Hoflander," Tim said with a mild smile. "No purple today?"

Fred swiveled, taking all three of them in view. "Going to make you pay!" he said.

"Let me guess," said Ziva. " 'No axation without representation'? Yes, most DC residents feel that way."

"I try to make things a little lighter; make the workday a little more fun for everyone because the real world is too depressing," Fred snapped. "And all you do is make fun of me. Oh, I've heard about it. Heard that the put-downs come from the squad room; from this corner. You all think you're so high-and-mighty. The MCRT. Pfah! I think you need to be cut down to size!"

He swung the axe a few times in the direction of the nearest person—Tim—who only laughed. It was a good show.

Before the fake axe could connect, though, Tony's brain cells went into overdrive. "Don't do that, Fred!" he ordered. "Stop! Not funny!" But Fred went on with the swing. Tony's hand found his sig, and leveled it, and fired…once, twice, three times…to make sure that he would fall. Fall, and not get up.

The room erupted in shock and screams, and people (including Vance) ran out of third floor offices to see what was going on.

"My God! Tony! What did you do?" Tim cried, looking down at Fred's body. "Tony, are you insane? It was a fake axe! Made of plastic or rubber. I'm going to have to—to—" He pulled the gun from Tony's hand, and then put handcuffs on Tony, who also looked stunned.

"Wait," said Ziva, ignoring the pressing crowd of onlookers. Slipping on gloves, she lifted the axe. "The bulk of the blade is hard rubber, but the tip…see? It is as sharp as a razor. It is an imbedded axe edge. Fred Hoflander was crazy. He would have killed McGee."

Tim choked, and undid the handcuffs. "How did you know, Tony?"

"I didn't know know. I just sensed it. A joker can tell when someone's making a joke and when someone's gone around the bend. It's a subtle thing."

"For once, your knowledge of joking pays off," Ziva remarked as Ducky and management arrived to take charge.

"I'm not laughing," Tony said. And he wasn't.

-END-