Author's note:
This was written a LONG time ago. I wrote it for my buddy rockstop57, who is still an avid NCIS fan. She didn't watch LOST, but she knew the gist of it. The fic is based during the first season of LOST and before the end of season two of NCIS. It was written about that time, so it had a little more impact back then. I still think it's pretty funny though. :)
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE
Two bloody weeks. They had been stuck on this bloody island for two bloody weeks. Two bloody weeks of isolation, near starvation, sickness, strange phenomena, murder, sexual tension, deceit…it was like some kind of bloody drama show! To Charlie Pace, those two bloody weeks had stretched into eternity. Now, Charlie wasn't the type to let a few hardships get him down. He'd been to hell and back too many times to count (such is the life of a rock god) and being stranded on a deserted island was definitely part of the former. But Charlie Pace was optimistic. Even though he had been present when the soon to be shredded pilot had told him and two others that their chances of being rescued were minimal at best because of being a thousand miles off course, he still had hope. He knew that the determinedness of the human spirit (and the obvious threats from his many concerned and lovingly insane fangirls) would not let his rescuers rest until they found some trace of him. So, to give the poor blokes a break, he decided to provide them with some such evidence. You may ask, how Charlie; how, you sexy Rock Star, you angel among men who belongs in heaven rather than on earth, you delicious Brit, I want to run my tongue down your back and fry eggs and bacon on your abs so tight you'll want to take a bite, and…ahem. (You'll have to excuse Charlie. He's delirious from lack of heroin.)
What he was going to attempt would probably make the other survivors laugh. You'll probably laugh, too. But like we said, Charlie Pace is optimistic. Perhaps overly so, for what he's about to do is almost ridiculous. You're probably seen those old, dime-store, paperback romance novels that your mum likes to read in her three-hour long bubble baths. You know, the ones about true loves separated by pirates, the pirates shipwrecking, and the true loves finding each other again by means of messages in bottle. (Ahhh…the stuff of silent movies.) Well, this is what Charlie had in mind as he headed to an isolated part of the beach.
In his hand was a letter. He had poured his heart and soul into this letter explaining what had befallen him and telling them not to give up combing the globe for him; he was indeed still alive and doing quite well considering. In his other hand was a plastic bottle. It was one that he had snuck from the cave settlement. He figured Jack or Hurley wouldn't miss just one bottle. He opened it, put his letter in, and closed it tightly. And then, with one last look, he threw the bottle as hard as he could into the ocean. He watched as it floated away, bobbing in the waves.
Charlie smiled and headed back to the encampment with a skip in his step. He was going to eat dinner with Claire, and he wouldn't dare miss that for all the rescue boats in the world. Besides, the taste of roasted beast was starting to grow on him. Locke may be strange, but he sure knew how to cook a good boar. He could almost smell it. His mouth watered at the thought of dinner, and he quickened his pace through the jungle to the caves.
MEANWHILE AND ELSEWHERE…
Special Agent Timothy McGee was not having a good day. He overslept, causing him to be late and thus being chewed out by Gibbs. Then he misspoke to Abby, causing her to give him the cold shoulder. And, of course, there was the constant harassment form Dinozzo. Kate had lightened up a lot with her abuse of authority, but Dinozzo had seemed to just get his second wind. This day alone, he had insulted, jabbed at, and embarrassed McGee almost to the edge of his endearment levels. Now, he could just barely keep his anger in check as he searched the current crime scene for any evidence.
The place: a barren area of coastline just north of Virginia Beach. The crime: a young naval pilot killed in his prime by what appeared to be a pizza cutter. His neatly sliced body was found in a beach bungalow nearby, which is why Gibbs had him scouring the beach for the murder weapon. When Gibbs told him what Ducky suspected the murder weapon was, he laughed, thinking it a joke. Gibbs certainly wasn't laughing when he held up the rubber wet-pants. McGee blinked at Gibbs, who was slurping his ritual coffee, wondering what he meant. Gibbs set down his coffee angrily, sloshing it all over the rim. He shoved the wet-pants into McGee's chest and yelled at him to go look in the water for hopefully abandoned murder weapon. As McGee left, he could hear Gibbs mutter about needing more coffee. As he put on the dreaded wet-pants, he sighed. He had no idea where the weapon could have been thrown or how far. Not to mention the fact that it may have been washed away. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Well, after two hours of looking, McGee was tired, strained, and very cranky. He was so involved in his funk that he didn't even notice the plastic bottle floating net to him in the water. It bumped into him, drawing his attention away from his search of the sea floor. He picked it up an examined it. It seemed to be a normal bottle, other than the fact that here was a rolled up piece of paper inside of it. He unscrewed the top and pulled out the paper. He unrolled it carefully, so not to tear it. As he read it, his concern grew.
It seemed to be a letter from someone stranded on a desert island. Someone who sounded like they were starting to lose it a little. The author of the letter claimed to be the bassist of some rock band called Driveshaft, and that the plane he traveling on to Los Angeles had crashed. Forty-odd people and himself had survived the horrifying event only to discover that they were thousands of miles off course. In the letter, the guitar player was insuring whoever read this that he was alive and doing well. He ended the letter with a plea for a quick rescue, as he was needed for his band's comeback tour. McGee read this with a constant expression of disbelief. He felt sorry for all those poor people and knew what he must do. He looked up and down the shore for Gibbs but instead met Dinozzo's eyes. Dinozzo grinned his cocky grin and waved mockingly at McGee.
Then it hit him. Dinozzo! This was all Dinozzo's doing! He had stooped down to a new low with this trick. He probably had written the letter earlier and waited for a chance to put it in McGee's sights. McGee shook with anger. He took his job seriously, unlike some people, and he didn't appreciate being interrupted with such childish pranks. He made a point to rip the letter into tiny shreds in plain sight of Dinozzo. The little pieces floated away, like the fading hope of a group of suffering people. He then stomped over to where Dinozzo was to give him a piece of his mind. As he approached, Dinozzo gave him a superior look.
"Didn't you hear, Probie? They found the pizza cutter in a trash can behind the bungalow a half-hour ago," he slapped McGee on the back, "All that precious time, wasted for nothing." He laughed sarcastically, clamping his hand on the top of McGee's shoulder. McGee jerked away.
"What's your problem, Tony? I'm getting tired of all your pitiful attempts at practical jokes," McGee vented. Dinozzo looked at him confused.
"What practical jokes?" he asked.
"That obviously phony letter in the bottle! I mean you'd have to think I was some kind of an idiot to try a trick like that! Who actually sends letters in bottles anyways? It sounds like something off one of those dumb, hundred-year old movies you watch all the time! 'Stranded on a desert island,' how dense do you think I am? If some alleged 'rock-star' was really stranded on a desert island, it would be all over the news!" McGee sighed, "Really Tony, I was hoping after all this time working together that you would at least respect me enough to not pull such immature jokes."
Tony glared at him. "Listen Probie, I don't know what plot you're concocting in that flat head of yours, but I have not pulled any pranks today. I've been doing my job, not looking in the ocean for something that's already been found!"
"Please, I know only a pathetic creep like you could have written that message in the bottle," McGee countered.
"Don't insult my intelligence like that. You've obliviously swallowed some seawater or something, trying to blame me for some hallucinatory project of your imagination. I know this is some internal abandonment issue or something," Dinozzo claimed.
"What? Internal abandonment issue? What does that have to do with anything?" McGee poked his finger in Dinozzo's face, "Don't try to change the subject!"
Dinozzo shoved McGee's finger out of his face. "Once a probie, always a probie. I'm your superior; you should learn to treat me with more respect."
"Superior? How are you my superior? We have the same title!"
"Experience, Probie. It's all about the experience," said Dinozzo. By this time, Gibbs and Kate had walked over to where the two agents were arguing. Kate rolled her eyes as usual at their behavior, but Gibbs reacted differently.
"DINOZZO, MCGEE!" he bellowed. Both men jumped into the air. Kate suppressed a giggle. Satisfied with having got the two agents' attention, Gibbs went on.
"The two of you can finish marriage counseling later, we have a job to do."
Dinozzo and McGee both hung their heads in embarrassment.
"Yes, boss," they replied simultaneously as Kate walked up behind them. Gibbs stomped off, leaving the two to glare at each other. Their staring match was interrupted by Kate, who approached them, slapped the both of them on the back of their heads, and continued walking. They winced.
"Oww!" complained McGee.
"What was that for?" asked an angry Dinozzo while rubbing the back of his head where she had struck him.
"For not inviting me to the wedding," Kate smirked before she ran away to catch up with Gibbs.