McGee quietly worked at his computer, glad that Ziva had yet to emerge from her burrow. The only evidence that she was even present was an odd two-voiced conversation and the occasional giggle. From what he could make out, she had cast her stapler as Tony and a pad of Post-it notes as herself and the two were either arguing doing something he didn't want to think about.
Glad for something else to concentrate on, he looked up from his computer as two noisy people walked through the squad room. He was surprised to see that a sobbing Jimmy Palmer was trailing Agent Lee. He tried to take her hand, saying, "But all that time in the utility closet! And in the van! I thought what we had was special!"
"Jimmy, it's nothing personal. It's just that Ducky? He's a man. And after spending last night with him, I'm afraid I realize that you're still a boy."
"But I was at the bar with you! Are you trying to tell me you found that out in the five minutes I was actually going to the bathroom?"
"No, during the magical night at the Motel 6 we shared after leaving the bar. We put Officer David in a cab and walked to the closest place with beds and privacy."
"Motel 6?"
"Yes, Jimmy. Some women prefer lumpy mattresses to autopsy tables. Dr. Mallard has enough class to realize that."
They vanished into the stairwell before McGee could be scarred any further by their conversation. The alternately high voice/low voice one that became audible again wasn't much better. "But Tony, what about your awful girlfriend…She's horrible and I hate her. I want you, Ziva…Oh, Tony…Mmmm, Ziva…Let's do it on Gibbs' desk…Yeah, that would be hot…"
"Agent McGee!" The Director's urgent call from the catwalk summoned his attention away from the invisible stapler/Post-it scene.
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"Where's Gibbs?"
"No idea. He's not answering his phone."
Shepard descended the stairs rapidly. "What about Ziva?"
At the sound of her name, she popped out from under her desk, snapping her cell phone closed. "Here I am! Boo!"
"Yes, good. Well, this will have to do. Let's get going people!"
McGee rushed to clip his holster to his belt. "Going where?"
"Ranidae Airfield," the Director replied as if the answer should have been obvious. At McGee's blank stare, she continued, "To arrest La Grenouille? To rescue Tony?"
"He didn't mention anything about needing rescuing when I talked to him a minute ago," Ziva said, cradling her bottle in the crook of her elbow and twirling her gun around her finger.
McGee was momentarily distracted by a new concern. "Where did you get another clip for that?"
"You think I only carry four?" She took a long swig from her bottle.
"I only took one!"
"Yeah, and that leaves me with…gimme a second to find my calculator…"
"There's no time, Officer David," the Director interrupted. "We have to catch them before the blimp leaves!"
"Blimp?" McGee asked in disbelief.
"Stop wasting time with stupid questions, Agent McGee! Are you still a probie?"
He was prevented from answering as Ziva shouted gleefully, "No, he's Chauffer Hound!"
The Director nodded. "Okay, bring the car around, Chauffer Hound. We'll meet you at the front door."
McGee didn't bother to argue as he retrieved a set of keys and escaped into the elevator while Ziva and the Director toasted to the success of the mission, with the Director using a pencil holder as a glass. He dialed a familiar number, tapping his foot impatiently as Gibbs' phone went straight to voicemail again.
Gibbs tapped his foot impatiently, wondering if it would be considered bad form to pull his weapon and start making threats. "They must have gotten all new help behind the counter. Do you recognize any of these people?"
Abby shook her head. "Gibbs, I don't usually come down here myself. I have a wonderful man who brings me drinks! Y'know, if you ever get tired of NCIS, you could put on a pair of stilettos and get a job as a cocktail waitress in Vegas."
"Maybe when I retire."
"You're not doing that again, are you?"
"Depends on how long it takes to get my coffee. I may be too old to stay on as a field agent by the time we get out of here."
Tony entered the surprisingly spacious rear cabin of the blimp, still ignoring La Grenouille's boastful speech, which had transformed into a rant about how blimps had gotten a bad rap after the Hindenburg explosion and modern helium airships couldn't be counted in the same class and… Tony sat on a bench along the wall, watching Jeanne's mindless smile as she listened with rapt attention to her father.
He reached into his pocket to see if he had missed a call; Ziva hadn't given him any information about the imminent arrival of backup, just what he suspected was a drunken fantasy regarding the two of them and a late night romp in the squad room. It sounded like fun – undoubtedly more fun than his current situation.
La Grenouille was offering Jeanne a seat and instructing her on the proper linkage of her seatbelt. Tony rolled his eyes. The price of admission to and graduation from med school was apparently equivalent to years of hard work and natural intelligence or a laboratory-sized contribution from daddy. Tony was almost sure that Jeanne's desire to be a doctor was a combination of liking the title and wanting to wear pink scrubs all the time.
She giggled as the seatbelt locked with a loud clank. "Precious cargo, right, Papa?"
"Of course, my dear."
Tony contemplated asking for an airsickness bag even though they had yet to lift off.