Set just before episode 7.8, Power Down.


11:15 p.m.

"I am going to go home and have a nice long soak in the tub," said Ziva as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "My neck feels like a block of iron."

McGee nodded and switched off his computer. "I know what you mean. I'm going to plug in my new shiatsu cushion as soon as I get back, myself."

Ziva's eyes narrowed. "You have a cushion shaped like a lapdog? How does that help you relax?"

"Not shih tzu, shiatsu. It's a massage technique."

"That you plug in?"

"Yeah."

Ziva walked to the elevator and pressed the button, smirking.

"What?" McGee asked suspiciously as he caught up to her.

"Nothing," she said. "It is just...I prefer massages of the non-electric kind."

The elevator doors slid open and the agents entered.

McGee punched the button for the ground floor. "So do I, but it's not like...."

Ziva grabbed McGee's arm as the elevator jerked and stopped. The main lights went out and they were left in the blue glow of the backups.

"This is not good," muttered McGee.

"Do not be so worried," said Ziva. "I am sure they will resolve the problem soon."

"You're probably right. I'll give maintenance a call. Let them know where we are." He flipped open his phone and punched a few numbers. "Ohhh, no."

"No answer?"

"No service. This is worse than I thought."

"It will be all right. Just remain calm."


12:40 a.m.

"It's been an hour and ten minutes," McGee reported.

"Really?" asked Ziva. "Seems like seconds ago it had only been an hour. You see, time is moving faster."

He grimaced. "Glad I used the bathroom before I left."

"You are not good at this 'remaining calm' business."

"No, no, I'd rather be at home sleeping, thank you."

"There is nothing stopping you from sleeping here in the elevator."

"Really? If that's true, why are you still awake?"

Ziva stared at him pointedly.

"Oh. Sorry." He sat down and watched as Ziva stretched out on the elevator floor and propped herself up on her elbows.

"It will not be so bad, McGee," she assured him. "It will be like a sleepover."

"You had sleepovers as a kid?"

"Not at all," she said. "This will be my first one."

"I'm not going to be much help at traditional girl sleepover stuff," he said. "I don't have any nail polish or hair ties on me."

For an instant, Ziva looked mildly disturbed, but then her face relaxed. "Your sister."

"I was never allowed anywhere near them," he said.

"So of course you wanted to go."

He shook his head. "Actually, being around a roomful of giggling pre-teen girls was never high on my list of things I wanted to do. But I did get roped into a few of them. Sarah even got me to let them paint my toenails once."

"You were the fascinating older brother."

"Hardly. I was a geek even to them."

Ziva laughed. "I would not be so sure. The female mind is a mysterious place."

"Tell me about it."

"Do you know the rules of a game called Cash?"

"Never heard of it."

"Hm. Abby said it was a very popular sleepover game. Something about where you will live when you grow up."

McGee's eyes drifted to the ceiling as he searched his brain for any similar games his sister had played. "It's MASH," he said. "And don't ever tell Tony that I knew it that quickly."

"How is it played?"

"I am not going to play MASH. Not with you, not with anybody."


1:25 a.m.

"It stands for Mansion, Apartment, House, Shack."

"Abby said...."

"Mausoleum. Okay, so you've written MASH across the top of the napkin, so underneath that write the names of four men."

"Tony, Gibbs, McGee, and Ducky. Next?"

"Four places you would like to be bur...to live."

"D.C., New York, Paris...mmm...Cairo. Abby plays it as 'buried,' yes?"

"Yes. Numbers."

Ziva continued filling out the napkin, writing down four numbers, four types of car, four colors, and four jobs.

"...elevator inspector," she finished, and McGee rolled his eyes. "What next?"

"Pick a number."

"I already...."

"Another number. Say between one and ten."

"Six."

"Okay, now all we do is count down the list with that number and cross off anything that we land on, like this." He started calculating, tapping his pencil down Ziva's lists. A moment later, he cleared his throat dramatically. "Ahem," he declared. "Your future awaits."

She waved a hand for him to continue.

"First of all, you should know that you're going to wind up as an elevator inspector. I can only imagine your lifelong love for the profession has been born this very night."

"Quite logical."

"You'll have a blue SUV, which you'll need for shuttling your four kids from your house to other parts of New York."

"Four kids, huh?"

"Tony's going to be so proud."

"What?" She snatched the napkin from his hand and began tapping the pencil against it herself. Once she reached the same conclusion that McGee had, she growled and crumpled up the napkin. "It is a stupid game."

"Never said it wasn't."

She threw the napkin at him and it bounced off his forehead. "Your turn."

"You said it was stupid."

"It is, but you forced me to play it, so I am forcing you to play it."

"I didn't force..." McGee began, but Ziva was looking irritable and he thought better of it.

He started his list.

"None of those women are real."

"What?"

"You have written Arwen, Lois Lane, and Seven of Nine. I am wagering that Sharon Valerii is also an imaginary character."

"There's no rule that says you have to...."

"You did not tell me what would happen," she insisted. "No. Write down the names of people you know."

"Okay, okay."

"And one of them has to be Abby."

He glared at her. "Why?"

"Why? Why? Maybe because you have me happily-ever-after-ing with Tony and it is time for you to get your comeoffance."

McGee was too annoyed to correct her. "I didn't do that on purpose."

"Certainly not. Write 'Abby.'"

"No."

"That is it," said Ziva. "It is time for the sleeping part of the sleepover. Good night, Agent McGee." She pushed everything on the floor into the corner and lay down on her side with her back to him.

"Fine," he said. Two could play that game.


4:27 a.m.

"That's cheating," said Abby.

"It isn't," said McGee.

"Is so."

"I would like to see where in the MASH rulebook it says that."

"McGee"—Abby puffed out an irritated breath—"your way is no fun."

He looked down at his page.

Abby

Abby

Abby

Abby

"Who's more fun than you?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing. Sometimes I think you might have a little Tony in you after all."

"I hope not."

"Oh, come on, McGee. You should give him a chance. You don't even know him."

"I know him," he protested.

"You met him. It's not the same thing."

"He just seems a little immature."

Abby pointed her finger in his face. "Seems. Wheels within wheels, Timmy." He shrugged and looked down at his page again. Laughing, she put two fingers beneath his chin and tilted his head up. "You're cute when you're jealous."

"I thought you hated people being jealous."

"Oh, I do," she said, leaning forward.

"But I'm cute?"

"I dunno." She brushed her nose back and forth against his. "Somehow you pull it off."

After that, who knows what kind of babbling would have crossed his lips if they weren't otherwise occupied.


4:29 a.m.

McGee jerked awake to Ziva repeatedly poking him in the arm with a pen.

"Ziva," she said.

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Huh?"

"I am Ziva."

"I know," he mumbled.

"Hm. Then perhaps there was another reason you were saying 'Abby' in your sleep."

"I was not. I was saying...." He was too tired to come up with anything. "Nothing."

She smirked. "Dreaming of Abby coming to our rescue?"

"No. Can I go back to sleep?"

"Of course," Ziva said innocently.

He settled himself on his other side, still facing away from her, and clamped his lips together tightly until he heard her breathing slowly enough that he guessed she was sleeping.

He hadn't thought about his first kiss with Abby in a long time. It used to be something he played over and over in his head, that and other moments, but.... It had been a long time.

Stupid MASH. Stupid Ziva. Stupid elevator.

He could feel his brain functions dropping like...like a broken elevator.

He wished he hadn't thought of that.


7:15 a.m.

"I think you have been without technology for too long," said Ziva. "You are getting twitchy."

"Yes, I am," he said defensively. "And excuse me for taking this seriously. We could die."

"We will not die."

"How do you know?"

"We have been in far worse situations, and we have always survived."

"Yeah? Well, here's a newsflash for you, Ziva: it only takes one time."

"You are being ridiculous."

"What if we're dead already?" he asked. "What if this is hell?"

"You are saying your idea of hell is being trapped in an enclosed space...up a few floors...with me?"

That threw him, but he recovered quickly. "Maybe." Okay, maybe not a full recovery.

"You are less imaginative than I would have given you credit for. Do not worry so much. Someone will try to use the elevator at any moment, and it will not work, and they will...."

There was a loud knock on the door.

McGee leapt to his feet. "Hello!"

"McGee?" came the faint voice of Jimmy Palmer. "Are you stuck?"

In answer, McGee pounded both fists against the door until Ziva grabbed his wrists.

"Yes, Jimmy, we are stuck," she said.

"All the elevators are down," replied Palmer. "Agent Grady and I have been going around knocking on the doors trying to find people."

"That's fascinating, Jimmy, now get us out," growled McGee. "We've been stuck here since a quarter after eleven last night."

"Oh, wow. That's like...eight hours ago."

"Great math, now go tell somebody."

"Right, right," said Jimmy, and then they heard nothing.

"It's 7:20," said McGee. "When do you think they'll be done? 8:00?"


7:25 a.m.

"7:25. I don't hear anybody yet, do you?"


7:38 a.m.

"7:38, come on, people."


8:00 a.m.

"What's taking them so long? It's 8:00 already."

"Sit down. You are not making things easier."


8:15 a.m.

"8:15 and they're finally here. Well, it's about time."

"Stop it. We are almost out."

"Are we? Are we really? What if something else goes wrong? In the movies, things always go wrong right when they're about to go right."

"Whoever you are who has possessed McGee, will you please shut up?"


8:31 a.m.

"But at least a cable snapping would be quick. Sort of. Worst case scenario, they can't break us out and we run out of oxygen. And I don't even have phone service to text goodbye to anybody." He glanced at his watch. "8:31."

"I am warning you."


8:36 a.m.

"Do you see this?" McGee demanded, flourishing his watch in front of Ziva's face. "Nine hours, twenty-one minutes."

Ziva looked up at him, expression locked. "Has it been that long?" She snatched the watch from his hand and threw it against the wall.

There it went. His last piece of technology. The walls were closing in on him. "Why did you do that?"

"It was either you or the watch," Ziva snapped.

"Abby wouldn't have done that," he almost said, and it would have been true. Abby would not have smashed a perfectly good watch. Abby would have understood his sense that the world of electronics had betrayed him. And even though things between them had been a little weird lately, Abby would have been fun to be stuck in an elevator with.

But he didn't say it. "It's just...what's taking them so long, you know?" Visions of horrible deaths kept flashing through his head. Abby would love to hear about them. If he survived.

He really hoped the cable didn't break.