"But surely you've done under cover work before?" Ziva asked.

McGee interrupted his hyperventilation to look up from his paper bag.

"Sure," he gasped: "I wore a Hawaiian shirt once and I've had dark glasses on. Oh and there was that time I dressed as a waiter. I can see how that would logically extend to me playing Tony's lover at a gay workshop."

He returned to his bag breathing mournfully as Ziva consulted her computer screen.

"Well I don't think it's as bad as you think it is," she said. "According to their website, it's just one night: a party, music, finger food – a get together. Then some sessions the following day – lectures, workshops, that sort of thing."

McGee perked up a bit. "So they won't expect us to touch to each other?" he asked hopefully.

Ziva smiled consolingly, "not even a little."

Tony caught the last of Ziva's conversation as he walked into the bullpen. "Tell me more – no anything…"

Ziva's tone hardened. "Of course you might be under surveillance when you are, say, in the bedroom. So you'll want to make it as realistic as possible, my little hairy butt."

McGee, who had almost returned to his normal color, whimpered and picked up his bag again. Tony patted him on the back, "she's just messing with you Probie," he assured him.

Ziva smiled smugly at Tony. "The victim's partner says they were very close physically. It might look out of character if you were to stay apart."

"We'll play it by ear, thanks."

"You don't want to loose an important lead because you are a poor undercover operative."

"Hey, I'm a great.."

"What about clothes?" McGee interrupted.

"It's not a nudist event," Ziva assured him.

McGee stared at her, aghast. He hadn't even entertained that possibility. Now he couldn't get it out of his head. No matter how hard he tried.

"Ah, no," he mumbled distractedly trying to eliminate the image of prancing naked males, "I mean: what clothes should I wear?"

"Your normal clothes," said Ziva simply.

He paused. "You're saying I dress gay?"

"No," she suppressed a smile, "I mean they wear normal clothing, just like you."

McGee narrowed his eyes at her unconvinced.

"McGee," called Gibbs rounding the corner into the bullpen, "you familiar with under cover procedures?"

"Um, ah, I, ah, took the course boss," he stammered.

Gibbs looked up at Tony with a wry smile. "The course," he repeated. He rubbed one hand across his forehead wearily as Tony and McGee approached his desk. "OK McGee, you will be acting as either one: Lieutenant Michael Flanagan aka 'Mickey', or two: Tommy Jones."

"Tommy Lee Jones?" Tony squealed excitedly. "Tommy Lee Jones, Harrison Ford: The Fugitive!"

"There's no 'Lee'," Gibbs sighed trying to dampen Tony's enthusiasm. "It's just plain Tom Jones." He winced at his unforced error.

"Tom Jones!" Tony grabbed a pen from Gibbs' desk and began to sing in his best Tom Jones impersonation: "It's not unusual to be loved by anyone," ending face to face with Ziva.

"You really want to be 'Special Agent Tommy'?" She warned.

Tony grimaced as he made the connection, McGee had completely written off that name for him.

"Besides," Ziva continued, "it sounds exactly like your Elvis impersonation."

"Bite your tongue," said Tony indignantly.

"It's better than his Tommy Lee Jones impersonation," McGee noted.

"Hey!"

"Ok," Gibbs cut in. "Tony you're Tommy, McGee: Mickey."

"Hey, that rhymes!"

"Probably just as well," Gibbs muttered, gives you a chance when you get it wrong.