NCIS Van
Tony stepped out of the elevator and strutted into the NCIS bullpen. "I'm not late!" he announced to his fellow coworkers.
"You are not early, either," Ziva informed him, checking her watch. "It is exactly seven o' clock."
"Early is on time; on time is late," McGee commented, typing away on his computer.
"Who made you Gibbs?" DiNozzo scoffed, depositing his backpack unceremoniously onto the floor behind his desk.
"I'm not Gibbs," McGee replied, annoyed, without looking up from his computer. "Being early doesn't make me Gibbs; Ziva was also early."
Tony waved his hand dismissively. "She doesn't count; she's a ninja." Said ninja smirked and held up a paperclip threateningly, causing Tony to gulp and quickly change the subject. "Hey, speaking of Gibbs being on time, where is he?" Tony asked, just noticing their boss's absence.
Ziva shrugged. "I have not seen him since I arrived, and that was about an hour ago."
Frowning, the senior field agent snooped over to Gibbs' desk and checked his trash can, which was empty. "No coffee cups," he commented. "If there's no coffee, there's no boss, either."
"Gibbs is late?" McGee remarked, as less of a statement than a question.
Tony peered behind his boss' desk, only seeing a stack of papers, a car battery, and a ball of paper Tony had thrown at Ziva the week before, which had ricocheted off her desk lamp and apparently rolled across the bullpen. "His stuff isn't here, so it would appear that way."
Suddenly, Tony's phone rang. He snatched it out of his pocket. "It's Gibbs," he informed the team, then answered the call. "Hi, boss."
Gibbs began the conversation without a greeting or prelude, as was his custom. "Dead petty officer in Shenandoah National Park. Tell Ducky it's going to be a messy one. I'll meet you there."
"Right. On it, boss." The phone call ended just as abruptly as it had begun, and Tony returned his cell phone to his pocket. "Gear up," he told the team. "There's a dead petty officer in Shenandoah National Park. Gibbs is going to meet us there."
Once the team had grabbed their gear and entered the elevator, Tony pressed the buttons for Autopsy and the garage. "McGee, be a good McMessenger and go tell Ducky where we're headed." The junior field agent nodded in acknowledgement. "Also, tell him that Gibbs says 'it's going to be a messy one.'"
"Another meat puzzle?" Ziva wondered aloud as she and her partner stepped off at the floor for the garage and McGee continued his descent en route to Autopsy.
"Probably not. We haven't had one of those in a while," said Tony, waving the keys to the NCIS car in Ziva's face. "But guess what? I get to drive," he taunted her.
The ex-Mossad assassin used said assassin reflexes to snatch the keys from her partner's hands. "No, I get to drive!" She turned and sprinted toward the car.
"Hey!" Tony called and sprinted after her. "Come back here, ninja!"
Ziva unlocked the door, slid gracefully into the driver's seat, and slammed the door. Before she found the button to lock the car, the keys slipped from her grasp and landed between the seat and the center console. Cursing in Hebrew, Ziva reached for the lock button on the side of the door, but before she could press it, Tony pulled on the passenger door handle, which opened.
Tony yelled a cry of triumph as he ungracefully deposited himself into the passenger seat. "Give me the keys!" he ordered his partner.
"No. That would be too easy, would it not?" Ziva moved to start the car, but Tony grabbed her wrist. In response, she pinched a pressure point on his arm, and he screeched in pain.
"Ow! The ninja is bullying me!" Tony clambered over the middle console and landed in the passenger seat, tackling her. "Give me the keys!"
"No!" Under normal circumstances, the partners would have behaved in a somewhat more civilized manner, but now, Gibbs was not around. Ziva turned the keys in the ignition as Tony poked her in the stomach, trying to make her laugh. "Stop!" she laughed and turned the key again, to no result. He poked her side. "Tony, stop!" she ordered, suddenly serious. He did, sensing her change in tone.
"What?" he asked.
"The car," Ziva replied. "It is not starting." She turned the key repeatedly, but the car did nothing. She cursed in Hebrew again.
"Aw, come on, ninja. What did you do?" Tony teased, laughing and leaning against the steering wheel. His elbow connected with the button in the center, and the horn blared throughout the no-longer-empty garage. It was Ziva's turn to laugh at him.
The door to the passenger side opened, and McGee peered into the car. His eyes almost fell out of his head as he registered Tony and Ziva. "Uh, what's going on in here? Should I leave?" He began backing away slowly.
Ziva shoved Tony off of her, rolling her eyes, and exited the car. "It will not start," she informed McGee, offering no explanation for what had just occurred.
"Gibbs is going to kill us," McGee sighed.
"Hey, look," said Tony, finally emerging from the car. "It's Ducky and the Autopsy Gremlin. If we hurry, we can catch a ride in the van."
McGee frowned thoughtfully, then walked up to the van quickly. "Hey, can I get a ride?"
"Of course, Timothy!" replied the doctor. "There's room for three up front. Mister Palmer, be a good lad and move over, would you?" The younger man did as asked, and the junior field agent sat down beside him as the other two agents approached the vehicle.
"Is something wrong with the car?" Ducky's assistant asked from the front seat.
"Ziva broke it!" Tony hollered, only to receive an elbow to the stomach.
"It would not start when I turned the key; that does not mean I was the one who broke it," Ziva argued.
"Wait a minute," Tony said, abruptly ending his argument with Ziva.
"I do not think that is a good idea, Tony," Ziva replied, confused. "If we wait any longer, we will be late, and Gibbs will not be happy."
Tony shook his head in exasperation. "That's not what I meant." He pointed at the van. "McGee got the last seat up front, and Ducky is driving. We'll have to ride in the back." The two agents reluctantly entered through the back of the van and took a seat on opposite wheel wells with the body bag between them.
"I am glad there is not a body in here yet. We will be able to ride back with Gibbs, yes?" Ziva asked.
"Not unless we get there in time. If we're late, he'll make us ride in the back of the van with the body," he answered. "Why did it have to be Shenandoah National Park? It's about an hour and a half long drive."
"With the way Ducky drives, it will take even longer," Ziva sighed. "It would take under an hour if I drove." The van started up, and the medical examiner pulled out of the garage.
"It wouldn't matter; we'd be dead," Tony joked.
"Oh, shut up!" Ziva shushed him. "Have you ever ridden in the back of the van before?"
"No, thankfully, but McGee has. Back when he was McProbie, Kate and I claimed the front seat. Even better, Gibbs was driving, and McGoo was sliding all over the place! I'm glad he's not driving now, or the same thing would happen to us."
"I would much rather face Gibbs' driving than his wrath," Ziva said. "We are going to be quite late." Suddenly, the van jerked to a stop, and the agents slid off their wheel wells, across the van, and collided with the wall separating them from the front of the van. Tony yelped, and Ziva winced in pain.
"Are we there yet?" Tony called.
"There yet?" Ducky echoed. "My dear Anthony, why, we've just pulled out of the Navy Yard!" The agents groaned and clambered back to their makeshift seats, only to be thrown into the door at the back of the van when Ducky stepped on the gas. They peeled themselves off the floor and looked up to see McGee grinning and waving at them through the small window from the front of the van.
The drive continued in this manner, with the two partners in the back of the van slamming into the walls and door every time the van stopped or started. After a while, Tony gave up and just let himself be flung around the van like a ragdoll. Ziva continued to cling desperately to the wheel well, the walls, the drawers, or anything in reach, but every time, gravity inevitably won the battle and reintroduced her none too gently to the floor. Finally, almost two hours later, Palmer opened the van's doors to retrieve the body bag, and the two bruised and battered agents tumbled out of the van and onto the asphalt of the parking lot.
"I think you're going to need two more body bags, Autopsy Gremlin," Tony grunted, making no move to get up from the ground. Gibbs walked up to his unmoving agents and glared down at them.
As soon as Gibbs entered her peripheral vision, Ziva tried to scramble to her feet, but since she was still dizzy from the strenuous and painful van ride, she tripped on Tony and leaned against the side of the van to avoid falling over. "I am fine, Gibbs," she protested at his look of annoyance and thinly veiled concern.
"DiNozzo! David! What happened?" Gibbs barked.
"Well, boss," Tony began, "the car wouldn't start, so we had to ride in the van, but McBully got the last seat in the front, so we had to ride in the back. I had no idea Ducky drove like that," he finished, rubbing his bruised shoulder.
"Oh, I wasn't driving," Ducky informed him. "It was Mister Palmer."
Tony's eyes widened, then glared at Ducky's assistant. "Autopsy Gremlin, were you doing that on purpose?"
"Uh, no! Of course not…" Palmer trailed off awkwardly. McGee gave him a not so discreet high five, and the group followed Gibbs to the body.
"Ducky, I think your assistant gave me brain damage," Tony complained, fumbling to put on his gloves before they arrived at the crime scene.
"You already had brain damage," Ziva teased, extracting her camera from her bag.
"I think you'll be alright, Anthony," Ducky reassured him as the agents stepped into a forested area, "but if you feel suddenly dizzy, nauseous, or confused, you might have a concussion."
"I feel nauseous, but I think it is from Palmer's driving, not from a blow to the head," Ziva told him.
"Wonderful! Well, perhaps it isn't wonderful that you are nauseous, but I think Mister Palmer's driving is the perfect excuse for me to drive the van for the rest of the week and to revoke his turn to choose the music," Ducky said, approaching the body carefully. Two severed legs were leaning against a tree, two arms had been stuck on respective branches on opposite sides of the tree, and there was a pool of blood at the bottom of the trunk. "In fact, this reminds me of a time—"
"A time of death, Duck?" Gibbs interrupted.
"Patience, Jethro! We just got here!" Ducky replied. "We don't have a liver to work with, but I'll know more when I can conduct a full autopsy. Well, as full of an autopsy that can be conducted on limbs. Still, human arms and legs can tell us a lot…"
Gibbs tuned out the medical examiner, knowing he had obtained all the information Ducky could provide him with at the moment. After his agents had finished labeling, photographing, bagging, and collecting every trace of evidence from the crime scene, he ordered them to help Palmer load the four separate body bags—one for each limb—into the van, so the three agents followed the assistant medical examiner to the van.
When they reached the vehicle, Palmer joked, "Thanks for lending a helping…hand," holding up the bag he had been carrying, which contained an arm. The three agents stared back at him, disturbed and unamused.
"Oh, Mister Palmer," Ducky sighed, shaking his head at the man's lack of sensitivity as he climbed into the driver's seat.
"You're driving?" asked Palmer, sliding into the seat beside him. "At least I get to choose the music."
"No, you don't," declared the medical examiner. "Your driving privileges have been revoked after you knowingly tortured poor Ziva and Anthony, but it is still my day to choose the music." Palmer stared at him, agape.
McGee set the last body bag into the back of the van, and Ziva secured the four bags to the floor with the straps. The two agents began walking away from the van, but when Tony slammed the doors shut, McGee began sprinting back towards the van. Ziva and Tony glanced at each other, confused.
"Where are you going, McHurry?" Tony called after him. The junior field agent did not reply, but instead, he opened the front door of the van, shoved Palmer over, jumped into the seat, slammed the door, and locked it as fast as he possibly could.
"Wait an instant," said Ziva, scanning the parking lot for a certain car, which had mysteriously disappeared.
"It's 'wait a moment,' Ziva. Or 'minute.' Or 'second,'" Tony corrected absentmindedly, still puzzled at McGee's sudden departure. "Why did McVanish decide to leave all of a sudden?"
"Because he is not the only one who is leaving," Ziva stated. "Without us."
As soon as she said those words, a car sped past them with the window rolled down. They could see their boss inside, smirking slightly. "Next time, don't break the car, Ziver," he called before turning a bit too sharply out of the parking lot.
"Why does everyone assume I broke the car?" Ziva wondered aloud, but Tony didn't hear her.
"Oh, come on!" he shouted and began chasing after the car. "Boss, wait!"
"He is already gone, Tony," Ziva told him, catching his arm and pulling him back towards the van. "We should hurry, before the van leaves us as well." Tony still had the keys to the back, so they unlocked it and went to their respective wheel wells. McGee waved cheerfully at them through the window from the front seat, and Tony made a face at him. As they sat down, Ziva's gaze landed on the body bags that were strapped to the floor. "Look, Tony. If we move the bags of limbs down, we can use the other two straps as seatbelts," Ziva suggested and began fastening the body bags closer toward the front of the van. The partners sat on the floor with their backs to the window, and by extension, McGee, and fastened the straps across their waists. When the van started to move, Tony leaned back on the bags of limbs.
"What a comfortable backrest," he joked, cringing as an elbow dug into his ribs. "Ow, not doing that again."
"I would give an arm and a foot to sit in the front," Ziva said with a smile, attempting to make a pun.
"It's 'an arm and a leg,' Zi," Tony corrected.
"That, too." They sat in silence for a while, until Tony took out Ziva's ponytail holder and began playing with her hair. She did not comment, secretly enjoying the moment, and relaxed slightly.
Their peaceful moment was interrupted suddenly when Latin pop music began blaring from the front of the van. Tony reluctantly dropped the locks of Ziva's hair, and the two agents turned around to glare through the window at their coworkers riding in the front.
In the front of the van, Ducky chuckled at his assistant's sigh of annoyance when he turned the radio to his choice of music. Cringing at the loud volume, McGee reached to turn down the music. "Mister Palmer, don't get your friends to change the music for you," Ducky scolded. Palmer protested his involvement but quickly decided it was not worth the effort. A few minutes later, he tried to change the station discreetly, but Ducky obviously noticed.
"I'm not deaf, Mister Palmer!" Ducky exclaimed. "Don't think I won't notice if you chance the music to your classical station." The radio returned to its previous station, and Ducky turned the music up to the highest volume. McGee resisted the urge to stick his fingers in his ears and questioned his decision to ride in the front of the van. Even his teammates' arguments didn't give him as bad of a headache as the music's volume, although it was close.
About halfway into the drive, Ducky announced that they needed to stop for gas. While Palmer filled up the tank, McGee informed Ducky that he would be riding in the back of the van so he could catch up with his teammates. When he opened the back door, he was once again shocked by the sight that awaited him.
The partners, still buckled in with the body bag straps, had fallen asleep. Ziva was leaning against Tony, who had an arm around her waist, and he was leaning against the bags of limbs despite his previous declaration that they were uncomfortable. Ziva woke up almost as soon as McGee opened the door, her instincts on high alert even in sleep, and she sat up quickly and blushed a bright shade of pink. Her sudden movement startled Tony awake, who rubbed his eyes and glared at McGee, who was blushing even more than Ziva, for the interruption.
"Uh…Can I sit back here with you guys?" McGee asked uncomfortably. "Ducky has the music on at maximum volume, and I've had an awful headache for over half an hour."
Tony smirked at him, plotting revenge. "Okay, McSensitive, but there aren't any more straps to buckle yourself in with, so good luck!"
Tim frowned, remembering the partners' pained condition after the ride to the crime scene. "Can't we just unstrap the body bags?" he asked.
Ziva grinned predatorially, and McGee gulped. "You would not want Gibbs to find out you disturbed the evidence, and Ducky would not be happy if you caused the limbs to be broken to pieces after repeated contact with metal walls."
"Instead, you get to suffer repeated contact with the metal walls!" Tony announced triumphantly. McGee groaned and sat on a wheel well, resigned to his fate.
Outside the van, Palmer finished filling up the gas tank and began walking toward the passenger side. "Mister Palmer, you can drive on the way back if you want," Ducky said. "I think you have learned your lesson.
"Thank you, Doctor!" Palmer said a bit too cheerfully, wanting to get payback on McGee for abandoning him to suffer Ducky's music alone. The van started up again, and McGee was promptly thrown into a cabinet of medical equipment.
"Ow!" McGee yelled. "How did you guys get used to this?"
"You don't," Tony informed him as the junior field agent tumbled across the van and slammed into a wall. "You just have to…roll with it." The other two agents groaned, Ziva because of the pun, and McGee because of the pain.
Palmer continued to drive with sharp turns and sudden changes in speeds, but luckily for McGee, it still wasn't anywhere near as bad as Ziva or Gibbs' driving. As McGee was hurled across the van for the millionth time, he announced that he was carsick and was about to hurl.
"Oh, wonderful," Tony grumbled. "The McProjectile is going to projectile vomit, and it's going to go flying all over the van and get on us." Ziva simply handed the green faced agent an empty evidence bag from her backpack.
"What would I do without you, Ziva?" Tony said gratefully.
Ziva stared at him, suddenly reminded of what he had said that unforgettable day in a small cell on the Horn of Africa. She chose one of Tony's tactics for avoiding expressing feelings and opted for a joke. "You would probably be covered in the remnants of McGee's breakfast."
Tony paused. "Well, yeah, I guess. That was supposed to be rhetorical, by the way."
"I know," she responded as McGee finished expelling the contents of his stomach.
"Thanks, Ziva," said McGee. "Are we there yet?"
Tony checked the navigation system on his phone. "Almost, just a few more minutes."
McGee sighed in relief. "Oh, good."
"Yeah, we're running late," Tony agreed. "I bet Gibbs got here thirty minutes ago. He's going to headslap us into next week, I already have a concussion!"
"No, you do not," Ziva refuted.
McGee looked worried. "I have a really bad headache from Ducky's music and from getting hit in the head with metal walls."
"He's still going to headslap you. Who needs an intact skull anyways?" Tony muttered.
Finally, the van pulled into the garage of the NCIS building. The agents clambered out of the van as fast as humanly possible, not stopping to help Palmer with the body bags due to their displeasure with his driving torture techniches.
"Thank you for the ride, Ducky!" Ziva called, following McGee into the elevator.
"No thank you for the concussion, Autopsy Gremlin!" Tony yelled before the doors slid shut.
"You do not have a concussion, Tony."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you do not."
"Yes, I do!"
"No, you do not! You have had plenty of concussions; I know you know what they feel like." Tony decided not to comment, as he had apparently lost the argument. The elevator doors opened, and they stumbled into the squadroom and over to their desks.
"You're late," Gibbs told them, sipping his coffee and taking note of their bruises and McGee's somewhat green complexion. The three agents began working, glancing up at their boss nervously every few seconds.
Finally, Tony asked the question they had all been thinking: "Aren't you going to headslap us?"
"No," Gibbs replied without looking up from his computer. "The van did that to you enough." His agents continued staring at him until he looked up. "Unless you want me to…"
"No!" exclaimed Tony, looking immensely relieved. McGee complexion turned a shade of slightly less green than before. "I'm good, boss."
"Next time, McGee, bring some earplugs," Gibbs recommended. McGee nodded in acknowledgement, confused how Gibbs knew why he had decided to sit in the back of the van. Gibbs smirked. "And stop breaking cars, Ziver."
Ziva's jaw dropped. "I did not break it!" she replied indignantly.
"This time," Tony added. She glared at him.
Gibbs chuckled softly at his team before becoming his serious self once again. He was getting soft, and now he couldn't even prank his agents without feeling bad for them, he thought, glancing down at the battery under his desk, which he had removed from the car earlier that morning. "Now, get back to work."
"Yes, boss," they chorused, oblivious to his role in their unusual mode of transportation, and the investigation began again.
NCIS
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