Drunken Encounter

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Except for the title's namesake.

A/N: Hmm. This actually happened to me. It was hilarious. I'm also known to have Compulsive Dialogue Literature. As in, most of my writing is dialogue. I'm also a very mediocre writer, and don't capture the characters all that well. I just have fun. There aren't very many impressive words, if one. So...judge based on that info. And if you still want to read after that, you're very brave.

Rated: T for alcohol content.

Relationships: However you want to interpret it. Please let me know if you notice anything...no matter how subtle.

Continuity: Mid season 3.

Summary: Has Gibbs finally made a mistake? No, of course not. Tony's POV.

XXX

Of all the things people had told him, and all the things he'd heard and seen in his life, this particular situation was not only wrong, it was the most disturbing thing he'd ever encountered. How could this be happening? There was only one perfectly logical explanation for it all. It wasn't. Consciously, anyway. It was all in his head. After all, Jethro Gibbs was a logical man, with intelligence. But, given the circumstances, he couldn't be too sure of his mental health. Should he say something? To deter such unspeakable terror? He had lives to think of, and not just his own. And that did include his Boss. How could he be doing this to himself? He had to be stopped. There were safer, and much better ways of going about the situation. It wasn't all just a conspiracy.

"You're not really gonna let McGee drive, are ya Boss?" Tony scoffed.

Gibbs ignored the remark and shoved his gun in its holster. He threw his pack over his shoulder and led the way to the elevator. Ziva and a slightly agitated McGee followed, hurriedly. Tony grabbed his gear and quickly made up the time he had lost mulling over the new information.

"C'mon, Boss!"

"Shut up, DiNozzo. My driving record is clean." All four agents waited impatiently for the elevator.

"Oh, I'm sure it is. When are we gonna get there? Next week?"

"I believe you, McGee," Ziva smiled at the probationary agent. Tony was sure McGee's self esteem jumped off its charts at the comment.

"You would," Tony rolled his eyes. "You're probably the VP right under McGee here in the 'People Who Cause Road Rage Association.'

"There's a cure for that kind of irritation, you know, Tony."

"What, your little organization developed a cure for road rage?"

"No, we leave that up to the NRA," Ziva turned to smirk at Tony, who was too late in concealing the fact that he had been making faces behind her back.

The elevator doors finally opened. Gibbs was the first to step inside, as always. Ziva attempted to follow, but was met with a firm "No, take the stairs." The doors closed, nearly missing her face.

"Look what you did."

"Me? Why is it always my fault?"

"Because it always is!" Ziva grabbed McGee's arm and led him to the stairwell.

"I don't appreciate your cynicism!" he called after her. "Screw that," he pushed the 'down' button. "I'm gonna beat you guys down!" He waited, rocking back and forth on his heels. He put a hand to his stomach.

I probably shouldn't have had that Mexican stuff last night. I'm never going there again. That's the last time I listen to Owens...about food anyway. The date he set me up with wasn't half bad. Melinda? Melissa...Lisa, Liza...Jasmine! Tony smiled to himself, remembering the voluptuous blonde. Whew, it's about time!

The elevator opened again, and Tony bounded in and pushed the button for the ground floor. He started humming the 'Magnum, P.I.' theme to himself and began to check his hair in the metallic doors as the floor numbers slowly lit up above him in descending order. Though, it did distort his body, so some things were a lot thinner and some parts were a lot wider. He began to make different faces at the doors and in different sections. When the doors slid apart, he quickly readjusted himself and bounded out again, and noticed McGee and Ziva just getting out of the stairwell. "Haha! I did beat you!"

"DiNozzo!"

"Hi, Boss!"

"I told you to take the stairs."

"I didn't think you were serious, Boss...and it was faster." He pulled the falling strap of his bag back to his shoulder.

"Do you always assume faster is better?"

Tony knew Gibbs must've had a rough night, so he didn't persist, and simply tailed the team. This was a man who had taken over three years to build a frame for a boat. Though, he couldn't remember a time when he didn't want things done quickly. Tony realized he was looking into something he probably would never understand anyway. Gibbs didn't realize or appreciate what a kind and generous guy he had working for him.

"Follow me, McGee," Gibbs tossed him the keys to the truck before making a sharp right in the parking lot.

His stomach dropped. There were only three seats in the truck, and the sudden realization that Gibbs didn't care who was driving the truck; he wouldn't be in it. "Awe, can't I drive the Charger?"

"I'm not even gonna answer that."

"Can I ride shot gun?" But Gibbs was already starting up the engine.

You might as well accept the fact that you are going to experience McGee's "driving" first hand. Where is Ziva going?

"HEY! Why do you get special treatment!"

"I think the question you really need to ask yourself is: why don't you get special treatment?" Ziva flashed a smug grin before sliding into the front seat of the black Charger next to Gibbs.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"DiNozzo! You better get in here if I'm gonna be able to follow them."

Tony's glare at the departing vehicle immediately shifted to McGee, who actually fell into the truck, as if hit by some invisible force. Tony held him there a moment before taking a few heavy steps to the truck.

"I'm driving."

"I'll tell Gibbs," McGee muttered quickly. Probably without thinking.

Tony decided that didn't even deserve an insult. "By the way, don't ever give me an order again or I'll introduce your face to your colon."

McGee swallowed. "But Gibbs said--"

"Does it look like I care right about now?"

"Uh, well--oh, your phone, Tony!"

His phone actually was vibrating. He reluctantly stepped away from McGee (who took the opportunity to run to the driver's seat and lock the doors) and took his phone out. It was Gibbs. He flipped it open, and before he had the chance to put it to his ear, an angry voice said something about "the truck" and "time" and "bullets."

"It's for you, McGee!"

XXX

A/N: It's short, I know. But the main plot will start next chapter. I promise. Oh and the part that happened to me hasn't been written yet. ;)