I want to thank everyone for the reviews! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you are enjoying reading it. (Chapter 6 was my personal favorite.)

I believe a few of my readers are slightly confused. Deadly Idioms is not meant to be a serious, or even humorous, story. It is a parody or a crack!fic-a term I find more appropriate-a story supposedly written under the influence of some mind altering substance (in my case, it was just cold medicine). As for the reason everyone is dying off; this story was written in response to the NFA Crack!Death!fic challenge. So please, try not to find some meaning in it and enjoy!


Part 7: Buried Under a Mountain of Paperwork

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the song Whistle While You Work composed by Frank Churchill with lyrics by Larry Morey.

They brought Gibbs back to NCIS just as workday was beginning. Not knowing what else to do, Tim returned to his desk. No one greeted him or offered condolences. In fact, no one made eye contact with him and several people crossed to the other side of the room when he walked in. They were avoiding him like the plague. Tim grimaced; he should probably make a point not to say that out loud. He remembered Tony's bout with the disease and has no desire to experience it himself.

Unsure of the proper procedure in this situation (what does one do when one's team, team leader and director are suddenly deceased?), Tim kept himself busy with the previous day's crime scenes. He called the evidence technicians to be sure that the late director's purchases had been cataloged. He frowned when no one answered his call; they were supposed to have someone on duty at all times during the workday. When he tried calling a second time, Jason answered.

"Evidence Locker." The technician was out of breath.

"Jason, it's Tim McGee from MCRT. What's going on?"

"I'm sorry we didn't get to the phone sooner; we've had a bit of a situation down here. What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to make sure that several items from the DiNozzo case had been logged into evidence. Yesterday was hectic and I was called away before Ray was finished."

"Let me check the log." Jason paused. "What is the case number?"

"01123581321. I want to be sure that the clothing I brought in was added to the log."

"What clothing?"

"The clothing the director was wearing. It was in a white bag with black…"

"You mean that's evidence?" Jason cut in.

"Yes, it is. Why?" Tim asked suspiciously.

"Well, it didn't look like evidence. Gina found the bag outside the locker this morning. She'd always wanted to shop there, and when she saw the clothes were her size she tried them on. Jeff caught sight of her and passed out. That's what was distracting us; we had to call in the paramedics because we couldn't revive him."

"You Klondike Bars! That isn't just clothing, that's the weapon that killed Agent DiNozzo!"

"Really? I wonder why Jeff isn't dead."

"Probably because Gina's not a red head. Please, get the clothes entered into the log and put them somewhere safe."

"Will do."

That settled, Tim began to review NCIS security tapes to determine how an anvil made it into the director's office without anyone noticing it.

Jimmy ran into the bullpen. "Tim!"

"Jimmy! It's good to see you, everyone up here is treating me like I'm a …" Tim stopped abruptly and nervously checked himself for patches of white skin. He let out a relieved sigh; no leprosy.

"Tim! I need your help." Jimmy was distraught.

"What is it?"

"It's Dr. Mallard. I came in from my morning classes and I can't find him."

"Maybe he took a break; it was his best friend that we brought in this morning."

"No, he's in autopsy, I called his cell phone and it rings in the room. He never goes anywhere without it. 'Never be unreachable' is his first rule."

"Well, then why can't you find him? There aren't too many places to hide in autopsy."

"Autopsy is overflowing with paperwork."

"What?"

"With all of the new forms Human Resources, Purchasing, and Legal are having us fill out in octuplicate, there was a small mountain of forms, folders, and files just waiting for his attention. Dr. Mallard must not have wanted to do the autopsy and started filling out the forms. The pile probably shifted overnight and buried him when he sat down."

"Let's go." Tim was out of his seat in a moment.

They rushed downstairs and skidded to a halt in front of autopsy. The sliding doors were propped open by a wave of papers that had cascaded out of the room when Jimmy opened the door.

"How did they get all of these forms in there?" Tim was flabbergasted.

"Legal has a mini loader that's just wide enough to fit through the hallway." Jimmy was wringing his hands. "Where could Dr. Mallard be?"

"Let's call his cell phone and head toward the noise. Hopefully, he'll be near it." Tim decided.

It was a slippery job; climbing over all of the papers to reach the place the ringing was loudest. When Tim decided they were right above the sound, they started digging through the files.

"I found a hand." Jimmy yelled.

"Check for a pulse." Tim crawled over. "Is he…?"

"It's too late." Jimmy bowed his head. After a moment, he looked up at Tim. "What do we do now?"

"We need to dig him out, then stack up all of these files so we can get him to the storage drawers and settle him with the others."

"That's going to take a lot of time." Jimmy slid backwards as he shifted his weight.

"Yeah, do you know something that could help?"

Jimmy smiled, picked up some files, and began to sing.

Just whistle while you work
And cheerfully together we can tidy up the place
So hum a merry tune
It won't take long when there's a song to help you set the pace

Tim smiled back, gathered some loose papers, and took up the next verse.

And as you sweep the room
Imagine that the broom
Is someone that you love
And you'll find you're dancing to the tune

They joined together for the chorus.

When hearts are high
The time will fly so
Whistle while you work

So whistle while you work...

"Do you know Dixie?"