Five Ways Anthony DiNozzo probably didn't end up working for NCIS

DISCLAIMER: This one is, without a doubt, the one I am most absolutely sure could not have possibly happened. Because not even Gibbs, the self- and Ducky-confessed lunatic, could hire someone based on the following scenario.

Seriously.

3. He has a habit of being at the wrong place at the right time. Or maybe it's the other way around…

Another month, another dead marine, another butt-load of witnesses that probably didn't see jack. Gibbs pulled himself up out of the car, suddenly very aware of the fact he hadn't slept in a bed in almost a week.

The crime scene was a bar, which accounted for the vagueness of dispatch's report. "Two victims, marines, one civilian perpetrator, one and a half bodies." It had been too early in the morning for Gibbs to ask for more details, and he hadn't realised that he didn't know what 'one and a half' meant until Ducky asked whether they meant literally or figuratively. But the truth was now revealed: dispatch probably didn't know either, because bar crime scenes were always hell.

Damon was already there, talking to the Baltimore detective and laughing, and Gibbs felt the last of his patience disintegrate.

"Parsons!" he barked, and pretended not to notice that Damon rolled his eyes before cutting off his conversation.

"Boss," he greeted coolly.

Damon had only been on the team three months when Stan suddenly up and left, meaning he had been using Stan's coping mechanisms to ward off stress, and hadn't yet developed his own. That meant that when Gibbs got mad, Damon got bitchy, and if Gibbs had been in a better mood, he might have accepted it.

Right now, though, a marine had died in the middle of a crowded bar, and Gibbs didn't have time for Damon's PMS.

"You waiting for a gold-edged invite? What the hell's going on here?" he demanded, and Damon swallowed, glancing at the cop before stepping up to Gibbs.

"Two marines from rival units got drunk; one of them said something stupid, the other flipped out. Punched him into a table that cracked open his skull. He tried to run for it, a drunk off-duty LEO stopped him with his fist. Pretty open and shut."

"You the LEO?" Gibbs asked the cop, who snorted.

"Like I'd waste my money on a joint like this," he said, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where a young guy with greasy hair was sitting in the gutter, nursing his right fist. "Anthony DiNozzo, Baltimore PD. Last I heard he'd been busted down to Transit Detail, but that was a few months ago… might be working cold cases now, for all I know."

"You didn't ask?" Gibbs snapped, and Damon scratched his temple with one finger.

"Figured you'd want me to shoot and sketch."

"Have you?"

Damon stared at him for another moment, then forced a smile and turned on his heel, brushing past the cop without a word. The detective grimaced, then caught Gibbs' glare and coughed. "I'll pass this on to you, then."

"Wasn't asking," he said, and the detective hesitated, then nodded and started back toward his car. Gibbs waited for the car door to slam before starting toward DiNozzo, who looked up with a bleary smile. Gibbs nodded his greeting. "You DiNozzo?"

"Detective Anthony DiNozzo: Baltimore PD's Cold Case Unit. NCIS Special Agent Somebody, I take it?"

"Yup," he said, and glanced around for a better seat before surrendering to the inevitable and sitting down on the footpath beside the detective. "Gibbs."

"Tony," DiNozzo said, and then groaned and rolled back onto his elbows. "You want to start with what happened at the bar, why I was there, how drunk I am or whether I want a Union Rep?"

"You need one?" he asked, looking at him over his shoulder, and DiNozzo shook his head.

"I'm too drunk to realise, even if I did."

"Then let's start with what you were doing at a bar frequented by marines."

"It serves alcohol and I almost never have to work around here, meaning I don't have to worry about being recognised. I hit another dead frikking end on another cold frikking case and I don't get to get out of cold cases until I frikking solve one. I wanted a dry drink and a warm woman, so you'll damn well excuse me for going outside my frikking jurisdiction," he snapped, then closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again with a smile. "I mean territory, of course."

"Do you," he said quietly, and DiNozzo blinked at the response. Gibbs just returned his gaze, and DiNozzo sighed, rocking off his elbows again.

"I don't know if you've ever had to work cold cases, Agent Gibbs, but they suck. You spend weeks going over leads that other, better cops have already covered, going through evidence that other, worse cops have already tainted. And at the end of the week, even if you catch the bad guy, you find out you can't get him because of some goddamn technicality." He ran a hand back through his hair, and Gibbs got the sudden impression that that might have something to do with how greasy it was. DiNozzo shook his head with a shrug. "I went to a new bar in search of something new and successful. I was drinking the same old juice, but the woman was new and damn but I was successful with her until all… this."

Gibbs nodded, then looked up to meet his gaze. "How drunk are you?"

"On my way back to being sober," he said, and then grimaced. "Not the most credible witness, though. When I punched your guy, I'd had about six beers, which isn't much for me, but I haven't slept in like a week."

"Case that bad, huh?"

"Nah. Just sick of my partner, and I do my best work alone and at night," he said, and ran his hand through his hair again. "I was aware enough to know tackling him would have been a better option, but too drunk to not screw it up and end up bear-hugging the guy next to me."

"Okay." He made a note on his pad before looking up again. "Tell me what happened."

"Argh, the fight had been coming for like, what, ten minutes? That was why I was watching them and not the chick I was with. It started as a joke – they were all laughing, until it got real cold all of a sudden. The group shut up, and it was just the two of them –" He paused to gesture toward the ambulance. "– yelling. Not because they were drunk, but because they were angry. Your dead marine got to his feet, the other one stayed sitting for… maybe fifty seconds longer. Once he was up, his collar got grabbed, and he punched in response. Dearly departed fell back, hitting his head on the edge of his chair – it was definitely his chair, by the way, I saw it fall. Everyone around stopped partying to see if he was okay, but as soon as they saw he wasn't, the other marine tried to rabbit. I was sober enough to want to do my duty but too drunk to think of a good plan. I just stepped in his way and threw a punch for his nose. And he's a big guy – I figured he'd take the hit but stop. Didn't factor in how drunk he was, which is probably why I knocked him out. Didn't count on him being made of brick, though… think I've cracked some bone in here," he added, holding up his right hand to show off the still blossoming bruise.

Gibbs looked at it for a moment, acknowledging the injury with a smile. "Maybe not brick… just marine."

"Human freaking tanks," DiNozzo said bluntly, with a look that said it all meant the same thing.

Gibbs shrugged, smiling despite himself as he went back to his notes. "Got anyone who can verify?"

"Nngnn… I didn't catch her name, but the caucasian brunette with the blue eyes, about twenty-one, five-four, wearing some sparkly handkerchief thing for a shirt and black flares. She wasn't too happy that I was paying more attention to the Navy than her, but you can understand that –" He stopped, looking at Gibbs sideways to see if he'd gotten the reference, and grinned at Gibbs' returning glare. "–so she'll be happy to bitch about me as my alibi. The gruff-guy bartender was paying attention, even if he says he wasn't, and there was a fake-ID that was terrified a fight would start and he'd get involved. He's about six-two, red-blonde hair, lots of buckles on his leather jacket."

Gibbs finished taking notes, then looked at him suspiciously. "Pretty coherent for a drunk."

"I'm sitting down," he explained. "Soon as I stand up, you will see how very inebriated I am."

"Still. Observation skills are usually the first to go."

He shook his head slightly. "Self-control. Then fine motor skills. Then observation. Trust me. I have been researching my abilities when drunk very thoroughly for almost fifteen years now. I am proud to say that I may just be an exception to any textbook rule you give me."

"Huh…" Gibbs paused, looking out across at the Baltimore uniforms taking interviews. "So, Detective DiNozzo, you're telling me that you're only slightly drunk on six beers, after not sleeping for a week, took out a drunk marine with one swing and still have the observational skills of a finely trained cop. That's your story?"

He didn't answer for a second, his eyes rolling up in his head as he ran back over the statement. "Yyyes."

"Which makes you what, when sober?"

"Totally not capable of taking down a marine," he said firmly, and then grinned. "My first louie used to call me a terrier, if it backs up my story any."

"It doesn't."

"Oh yeah, that's tracking, not… uhh… I am still rather drunk, Agent Gibbs. I'm much more intelligent when I'm sober," he promised, then rolled back onto the concrete and used his left hand to fish through his pockets. Eventually he found his wallet in his breast pocket and held it up. "Business card's in there, private line on the back. I'll be back at work in a few hours, when you need to talk to me again, but feel free to talk to my answering machine at home if you'd prefer."

"Will do, DiNozzo," he said, taking the wallet to remove one of the cards. He slipped it into his notebook, then threw the wallet back onto DiNozzo's chest and hauled himself to his feet. "I can guarantee you'll be seeing me again."

"Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs stopped without even taking a step, and then looked over his shoulder. DiNozzo was gazing up at him with a surprisingly sober look of remorse.

"I could'a stopped it."

"You apologising for something?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Kinda."

Gibbs frowned, irritated but not sure why. "Never say you're sorry. It's a sign of weakness."

"Yeah, well… Strength would've been stopping it before anyone got hurt," he replied, and Gibbs could only stare at him for several long seconds.

"Then the marines should've stopped it. You aren't a marine."

"Nope. I'm drunk," he agreed, and then closed his eyes and lay back against the footpath. Gibbs frowned, then turned on his heel and headed into the crime scene.

Interesting kid. Drunk, but… interesting.

Now is where you review and tell me how truly ridiculous this is, okay? I'll see you guys next time!