Disclaimer: I refuse to admit anything unless bribed with cupcakes.
Spoilers: Capitol Offense. Can we possibly stop having the silly title puns? Is that so much to ask?
Summary: McGee is driven to a point far beyond desperation and must make an unthinkable choice just to survive.
McGee groaned loudly to cover the sound of his rumbling stomach as he rode the elevator to the squad room. There was no way this state of affairs could be allowed to continue. His options were to try covering his vociferous stomach with groaning, which was sure to be noticed and mocked, or try to tough it out until someone broke and suggested ordering dinner. He took a deep breath and responded to a gurgle with the admonition, "Don't do this to me. I promise I'll feed you! Just be patient!"
He received a curious look from the girl who worked in Accounting that he would now be unable to ask out unless he felt like explaining why he'd been alone in the elevator, yelling at his stomach. Still, there was something in the air that promised fulfillment. He rose to his tiptoes as he sniffed. Was that…cheesesteaks? He paused just around the corner and inhaled deeply. Cheesesteaks from Philly Pete's on 12th, definitely. That could only mean Tony and Ziva, since everyone else in the building had been scared off of Pete's since the health code violations had been made public. McGee's stomach growled again and he forced himself not to run the rest of the way into the bullpen.
When he finally arrived, Tony was standing in front of Ziva's desk, begging. "Please?"
She held up her last large piece of what must have been a foot long cheesesteak and smiled. "Perhaps if you took the time to taste your food before swallowing it…" She opened her mouth wide and McGee felt his salivary flow increase threefold.
Tony seemed to be experiencing a similar hunger, but he was close enough to act on it. His fingertips caressed her knuckles. "I'm really doing you a favor if you let me eat that."
"How so?"
"Well, uh…calories and, uh…"
Before McGee could rush forward to stop her, she had taken a large bite of what remained of her sandwich. She held the final bite up tantalizingly and Tony leaned forward, taking it from her hand with his mouth like some stupid trained overfed sea lion. "What the hell, DiNozzo?"
Tony looked up guiltily, attempting to chew and answer, "Ma ee. Nawah oo ike."
Ziva shook her head and handed him a cup with a straw, which he gratefully accepted in lieu of saying anything further. She turned to McGee. "Where were you?"
McGee did his best not to stare creepily as Tony finished chewing. "What do you mean, where was I? I was in the lab! Why didn't you call to take my order?"
"Eee tie."
"We tried," Ziva translated. "You were not answering your phone."
"But I…" McGee pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. There were three missed calls from Ziva. "Why didn't it…" It suddenly vibrated in his hand, almost unnoticeably. He ignored the call from Lyndi Crawshaw, asking rhetorically, "Why did I have it set to vibrate?"
"Which pocket did you have it in?" Tony asked, his obscene bite of cheesesteak finally swallowed. "And were you just going to let it keep ringing until…"
"Shut up, Tony," he answered grumpily, sitting down at his desk. He struck a few keys ineffectually. The smell of the delicious, filling cheesesteaks filled the entire bullpen, making him crazy. He lasted for no more than five minutes before stalking down the hall toward the vending machines without a word to his traitorous teammates. True, they had attempted to call him, but...but…they knew what he liked! They could have ordered for him and held onto it. Well, maybe not if Tony was begging for Ziva's not-quite-leftovers, but still…
He opened his wallet and found three crisp, flat one dollar bills. That would get him enough refined sugars and high fructose corn syrup in any two vending machine treats to sustain him for the few hours Gibbs could detain them in the squad room before sending them home for showers, at the very least. Tony could use a shower, that was for sure. McGee gave himself a careful sniff; he could probably use one, too. Ziva was…not going to allow herself to be sniffed, not that he would try. Leave that kind of suicidal behavior to Tony.
He inspected the selection in the vending machine, realizing that the lack of take-out was worse than he'd feared. Either some department was pulling a series of all-nighters or someone was trying to exceed the maximum load in the elevators. Regardless, salt and vinegar chips and Dots were not going to tide him over for any amount of time.
He sighed and fed a dollar into the coffee machine. It made an angry electronic sound as it shot back out. He tried to push it in again to no avail. He tried a second bill; it slid in with no ill-effects, only to exasperate him by producing a red light with every button he pushed. He muttered to himself, "This cannot be happening."
The smell of cheesesteaks when he returned to the squad room was too much to be borne. After five insuffereable minutes at his desk, he made a decision. "I'm going down to the lab to see if Abby needs help."
Tony's answer was a muffled snore and Ziva's was a wave and a grunt. It was easy enough to nap at your desk with a full stomach and Gibbs MIA. McGee threw his chair against the desk as he stood, but it didn't have the same effect as slamming a door would have. He continued attempting to slam every surface available until he arrived in the hall outside the lab. He called softy, "Abby?"
When no one replied, he decided to take the chance presented to him. Tiptoeing across the tile, he made his way to Abby's refrigerator case, praying the cupcake would not only be present, but not sitting next to anything noxious. He exhaled when he saw the white box still safely wrapped in a red ribbon. Looking over both shoulders suspiciously, he opened the case. When no alarms sounded, he unwrapped the box. The sweet chocolate confection was passing his lips a moment later.
His eyes closed tight as the flavor caressed his tongue, stroked his gums, fingered his palate. He felt his knees go weak and had to make an effort to remain on his feet. Without knowing exactly what was happening, he found himself in the stairwell, licking his fingers and an empty cupcake wrapper an indeterminate amount of time later. He sat for a few moments, breathing deeply and reveling in his sense of fullness. That was better than any cheesesteak.
After taking at least five minutes to regroup, McGee made his way upstairs. A quick stop in the bathroom allowed him to clean up; apparently he had been a little messy in his eagerness to relieve his hunger. It didn't matter, though, as he was able to savor the crumbs as he licked his lips in the mirror.
You're a bad boy, Timothy McGee. A bad, bad boy.
He blinked at his reflection, hoping the desire for a spanking was only some weird passing fancy. He washed his face again, just in case. The smell of cheesesteaks had faded when he returned to find an angry Gibbs in the squad room. "Where the hell have you been, McGee?"
"Oh, I was just, um…"
"Go home. Unless you want to join Tony and Ziva at that damn diner."
"I thought they…"
"Got into an argument that resulted in one of them owing the other a sundae?"
"Something like that, I guess." McGee calmly gathered his gear. "I'll see you tomorrow, boss."
"Tell DiNozzo I ordered him to pay for your sundae."
McGee smiled, wishing he had the will to put more chocolate into his body. "I think I'm just going to head home."
"Can't blame you. They're like toddlers who know how to swear ever since DiNozzo came back."
"Goodnight, boss." McGee smiled to himself in the elevator. Consequences he could handle; he knew he was going to enjoy going to bed without dinner tonight.