A/N: First NCIS fic, with some more hopefully on the way - although anyone who reads my profile would know I'm terrible at updating long stories, so it prolly won't be for a while... anyway. Spoilers for 'Yankee White', for those poor deprived people like me who didn't actually get to see the first episode before they saw most of seasons 2 or 3 (or 1, or whatever). Loved this scene, had to expand on it.

Don't own, don't sue.

Reviews appreciated, concrit loved. Enjoy!

PLAYING DEAD

It wasn't exactly quiet, and it was far from the Ritz, but Tony DiNozzo knew when he took the job that chances were he'd have to do a lot of unpleasant things. Hell, every cop knew what to expect: the awful hours, the abuse, seeing (often mutilated) corpses on a weekly basis…

Playing dead was something he'd done before.

Although this wasn't exactly what he had in mind when Gibbs had told him to do so.

It was stuffy as hell in the body bag, the material weighing heavily on him as it reflected the heat of his own breath back on his face, and he found himself longing almost wistfully for the back of the team's armoured truck. Sure, the only windows in there were the tiny ones looking into the cab and the thick, wire-braced ones in the doors, and it was crowded, but at least there was space enough to move around. He was getting cramps on his cramps.

Briefly he wondered – not for the first time – how Gibbs was going to get him back now that he was officially in FBI custody, but then decided that was a question he really, really didn't want to answer – because 'Gibbs', after all, had two 'B's and Tony had a feeling he knew what his boss's solution to the problem would be.

Instead he lay quietly, feeling the car's engine vibrate the metal beneath him, noting every pebble that the wheels hit, and listened to the conversation in the front seats.

"Why'd you let NCIS have the evidence they bagged on the plane?" an unknown agent asked, and Tony conjured up an image of a slightly overweight man with a thinning buzz-cut to fit with the voice.

He's either new or clueless. Any idiot should know this case is a pissing ground for government agencies, and the FBI can afford to be generous. He grinned wolfishly, content with knowing that no one could see him. Or so they think.

The next voice belonged to Fornell, and the sound of it just made Tony grin wider. He hadn't met Fornell before this case, not in person at any rate, but his was a familiar name. Vivienne hadn't mentioned him much, but Ducky and Abby had on occasion; for some reason Fornell was the agent the FBI most chose to lock horns with NCIS whenever doubt arose about a case's jurisdiction. Most of what Tony knew had come from rumours and bets from the more experienced agents.

"Since we have the body, we control the investigation. If a few ribs and coleslaw saves them face, what does it hurt?"

Oh, I can't wait to see your face when you open this bag, Fornell.

"If the food was poisoned, the President would –"

There was a vibration at Tony's hip, and for one disbelieving moment he was stunned into complete mental silence. He hasn't. The ring-tone sounded again and Tony all but groaned. Oh God, he did.

Vaguely aware of the nameless agent's confused, "It's not mine," and Fornell's baffled rejoinder – "Mine either," – Tony groped for his cell phone, flicking it open and putting it to his ear to reply in an instinctively hushed tone.

"Hello?"

Then came the voice that Tony was expecting and really, really wished he wouldn't hear, because if someone else had blown his cover then he could at least get angry at them without risking suicide. "We're in the clear. You can get out of the body bag."

The screech of braking wheels sounded louder than it was, making his ears ring with the noise and the vibration both, and he was pitched to the side at the abrupt stop, almost rolling off the stretcher.

Then there was the sound of doors opening, and Tony could practically feel the fuming agents getting out, coming around the side to open the trunk. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm not sure I want to," he said in a low, ironic tone. Damn, I knew he was going to do this!

"Why? You gotta search Commander Trapp's apartment tonight."

What?! Tony almost yelped. "Aw, Gibbs, come on! It's 1am!" You'd think doing my cadaver impression for the FBI would be enough for one night, even without getting sprung. He's having fun with this, isn't he?

"Agent Axelrod is trailing you to pick up the body bag when the FBI tosses it."

Oh yeah, there was a definite note of amusement there. Gibbs was loving this. I knew this was going to happen.

He'd known it, but had chosen not to think about it, so the heat in his voice was more for himself than for Gibbs when he snapped back, "That's funny, Gibbs, real funny, especially since –"

That was when the tray in the back was tugged out with abrupt speed and force, and the rest of his sentence was cut off by an unmanly yelp, his head feeling like it had been left behind somewhere in the trunk as he was lifted roughly out. For a second there was the sensation of weightlessness and Tony had barely time to think, oh shit, this is going to hurt, before gravity took hold and he hit the road with a blow that jarred his bones and expelled another "Oof!" from his lungs.

He just lay there for a few seconds, listening to the slam of doors and the squeal of tires as his convey of previously unwitting chauffeurs left, comforting himself briefly with the thought of the Feebs' faces when they realized the phone hadn't been theirs.

Then, "Ow."

Gingerly Tony turned over onto his back, the inside of the bag illuminated dimly by the glow of his cell phone, hidden somewhere beneath his left shoulder and digging rather uncomfortably into his side. "Great," he said aloud in disgust. "Just great." He couldn't get out on his own; the zipper was on the outside, not in. Instead he fumbled around for the phone, managing to find it just as he heard another car pull up, a door slamming over the sound of a gently running engine.

When Agent Axelrod tugged open the bag, it was to find the ruffled-looked brunette with a heat-flushed face and his phone clutched to his chest. "Next time Gibbs can be the cadaver," Tony unequivocally informed his grinning colleague, before accepting the thickset man's offered hand and pulling himself to his feet with groan.

After all, he still had work to do.

- finis