AN: I don't know, maybe this is just too trivial for words... but Engedi6k, bless her, has just been gently prodding me to write something. Well OK, this wasn't what she had in mind...

But I've been busy, she bleated. Busy and a bit glum, as my 'sis' Diana Teo came over for a couple of weeks, and we were having such a good Tonyful, NCISiful time. Now she's gone back to her family on the other side of the world, and the place is quiet. I wrote the first 192 words of this bit of daftness while she was here, so Di, and Deb, this is for you guys. (And also for ytteb, who gave me the idea for Ducky's contribution. Complete with British terminology...) I'll try the angst later...

Late-ish season 5

The Perils of Keyboard Abuse

by scousemuz1k

"What're you looking for, Abby?"

Tony dropped his back-pack behind his station with a thump, but went over to where the forensic scientist was rummaging behind Gibbs' desk instead of sitting down.

"Morning, Tony... I've run out of acetone – I was hoping Gibbs had some."

"Very disorganised of you, Miss Sciuto," Tony told her, wagging a finger. "You should always requisition stuff in good time, like the Senior Field Agent of the MCRT always does," he went on sententiously, and she blew him a raspberry.

"Got it," she said triumphantly, slamming the drawer of Gibbs' filing cabinet she'd found it in. "Oh drat, it's empty."

Tony hadn't lowered his admonishing finger, and now he went on soulfully, "It's probably all just evaporated away... you may have noticed, it hasn't been used lately. Or not," he added with a sad shrug, when she looked blank. "You haven't noticed. McTechnoman hasn't noticed."

"McTech – er, I haven't noticed what?" McGee's backpack hit the floor with a very late echo of DiNozzo's. His gaze fell on the white, opaque plastic bottle the forensic scientist was holding aloft, and his expression grew horrified. "Acetone! Tony – you haven't –"

Tony managed to look both virtuous and pained. "No, I haven't."

It was true; he hadn't had the heart to, not since the day he'd burned Jeanne's letter. The truth was, every time he saw a tube of superglue, he thought of her, which was an unfortunate juxtaposition (did he just think that?) of ideas, since he'd once thought there was a chance of the two of them being joined for life. But he wasn't going to admit that to anyone. Fortunately for his pride, there was another valid reason.

"Really, Probie," he continued in the same noble tone, "how could you think I'd superglue that keyboard?"

"What keyboard?" Abby, still behind Gibbs' desk, and Ziva, walking from the elevator to her desk, spoke in stereo.

"That keyboard," Tony said dramatically, by now thoroughly enjoying himself. "Our Elf-Lord of Technology is the proud owner of a Gethin and Ingrie A22 Sinistra, bespoke, hand-built, customised left –handed keyboard, keys sized to his hands and no-one else's, calculator to the left, enter, directionals and shift likewise, moulded wrist-rest – try saying that after a mouthful of peanut butter – the thing is a poem... They cost a fortune. It probably speaks twenty-two languages, folds origami and sings opera. No way would I superglue such a glorious creation – I mean, respect, people!"

Tim wasn't mollified. "How did you know? I installed it when there was no-one around to – you were going to glue it, weren't you? You came over here to glue it, and saw it was different, and you –"

Tony shook his head ruefully. "Not guilty this time, McGadget... it was not long after I got back from Baghdad... I don't know why I was watching you type, but it looked different, and I couldn't figure out why. You were holding your arm differently – I wondered if the dog-bite was still hurting you. I asked, and you said your arm was fine, so I wondered if you were using something different. When I got the chance I took a look. Then, with my great curiosity and thirst for information –"

"Your DiNoseyness."

"That too – I looked it up. I marvelled, and left it alone. I have renounced keyboard abuse."

The girls crowded round to admire Tim's wonderful device, and gushed over it while its owner beamed. "Actually, I think it only speaks twenty-one languages. But really... you should consider a custom built pad, they prevent repetitive stress injuries, help you to work so much more efficiently... make it easier to organise your desk, sharpen your thinking –"

Abby saw a dangerous gleam starting in Tony's eyes, and stepped in quickly.

"Tim, one of the perils of keyboard abuse is talking about it too much," she told him severely. The techno-whizz fell silent, looking disappointed. "Although," Abby went on, her own eyes lighting up, "I did have a friend in high-school who spilled a glass of Jim Beam on his keyboard, so he unplugged it, lay down on his futon, and very carefully poured the stuff from the corner into his mouth. Then he licked the keys clean."

Tim looked grossed out, but said nothing.

"I spilled chicken soup on a keyboard once," Ziva said seriously. "I tried to extract the noodles with eyebrow tweezers, but they were very slippery. It was easier in the end to dig them out with the corner of a matzo slice. The keyboard stopped working a few days later, though."

Tim shook his head sadly. "Sucking them out with a straw might have been easier," he said, and no-one could tell if he was being serious or not.

"Oh, I tried that with shortbread crumbs," Tony said. "Mrs Mallard had made it, and it was really good. It seemed a shame to waste any... I took a deep breath, the crumb flew into the back of my throat, and I ended up coughing until my eyes watered."

"Now that," Abby said gleefully, "that's what I call keyboard abuse."

Ziva gave her a hard look. If this was one-upmanship she was game for it.

"I remember," she said thoughtfully, "trying to give a video report from a laptop when I was in the IDF. We were under sporadic fire at the time, and the last thing I needed to be doing was talking to an annoying man back in Haifa... I was just about to tell him to go away, when a bullet came over my shoulder and shot his image between the eyes. The screen froze like that... When the emergency was over my commander took a photograph and sent it to him, to warn him not to waste our time in future. That was not a keyboard, of course," she added fairly.

Tim typed studiously, trying to ignore these tales of IT torture and murder.

"Doesn't count as abuse either," Tony told her happily.

"Keyboard abuse?" Ducky asked cheerfully as he arrived in time to overhear. "It's difficult, you know... they're built to be very tough." They looked at him blankly. "Imagine somebody like Rubinstein or Richter crashing out Beethoven or Rachmaninov. The keyboard would have to be very strong." Light-bulbs appeared above all their heads. "Mind you, I remember as a boy, keeping my vivarium on top of the family Bechstein... the stick insects escaped, and laid their eggs inside the piano. When the little ones hatched out, they emerged from the cracks between the keys and looked like little crotchets and quavers dancing across the notes." He smiled fondly at the memory. "They were very hard to catch..."

"So will the criminals be if McGee's the only one doing any work around here," an irascible voice broke in. Gibbs tossed one coffee cup into the trash bin, prised the lid off the other one he carried, took a hefty swig then set it down on his desk. Tim tried not to let his smile become smug with relief; it was just luck after all that he wasn't doing anything to incur the early morning wrath of an only-one-coffee-so-far Boss.

"Morning, Boss," Tony said airily, letting Gibbs' mood slide off him. "Just discussing Timmy's new keyboard... great piece of kit, maybe we should all –"

Tim didn't think he hit his space bar all that hard... It flew out of the machine with a poing; Ducky ducked, it flew over his head and hit Tony on the ear so hard he yelped. The rest of the team might have been considering smiling, until the errant piece of plastic rebounded off Tony and landed in Gibbs' coffee cup.

For a moment everyone froze. Tony stood with his hand clamped to his ear. Tim sat staring in horror at the hole in his keyboard, and worse horror at the splashes of coffee all over Gibbs' desk. Ducky looked at the elevator, wondering how long it would take him to sprint to it. Ziva looked at the droplets of coffee all over the Boss's desk and tried to calculate the force it had taken to make some of them reach as far as hers. Abby stood wide eyed. Gibbs said nothing, but the deep breath he took suggested he was either calming down or winding up to something.

Until Tony dived in... "I mean, not much point asking you about keyboard abuse, Boss. I've never, ever seen you grab one by an end and slam it against the edge of the desk to free up a sticky 'enter' key, you wouldn't do that, of course you wouldn't." Gibbs glance flickered across at Tim, and back. He subsided very slightly.

Tony gently retrieved the offending key without spilling any more of Gibbs' coffee, dried it with a handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it formally back to its owner, with a wink.

"Oh," Tim said, light dawning, "It took me an hour to rebuild that keyboard..." he looked at Gibbs reproachfully, "and the next week it was as bad as ever again. In the end, it was too far gone. I had to just get you a new one ." Gibbs said nothing, but his customary glare had a hint of embarrassment. He took another swig of his half-spilt coffee.

Tim got up from his desk. "I'll go get you another cup, Boss."

Gibbs' reply was mild. "Nah... it's OK. I'll go myself. Fix your keyboard, Tim."

They all watched in astonishment until the lift closed on their leader, let out a long, collective huff of held breath, and burst into laughter.

"Phew... thanks, Tony."

The SFA grinned. "Well, we're all closet keyboard abusers..."

Indeed we are," Ducky agreed. "Perhaps the perils of keyboard abuse are more widespread and invidious than we thought."

"We should form a help group," Abby said eagerly. "We'll call it POKA... what have I said?"

There you are... complete trivia!