Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Title: Rule 23F
Summary: Someone messed with Gibbs' coffee.
Rating: K+
Spoilers/Warnings: Set around season 4/5
Author's Note: If you are on AO3, I do have a story or two that I haven't posted over here yet. I'm hoping to start posting them here soon.
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It's in the middle of a rather boring Friday, in the middle of a rather boring case—a Marine murdered by his wife for sleeping with her sister—when it happens.
Jethro Gibbs strides back into the bullpen, coffee cup in hand. When he notices a second, identical cup on his desk, his head tilts slightly. Bewilderment settles across his face.
Tony DiNozzo considers this strange too because this isn't a two-coffee day. Hell, it isn't even a two-coffee case. The last time Tony caught Gibbs chugging cups of joe like a chain smoker they were knee deep in a serial killer case that took the team across four states in as many days. With the way their case is shaping up, they should have it closed out well before dinner time.
Ziva David and Tim McGee are at their desks, putting the finishing touches on their reports. All that stands between Tony and the weekend is approving those reports. After that, the team is home free.
Tony squints at Gibbs, but he is still busy staring down those coffee cups. Considering.
I bet he forgot he left one here. So much for never leave a man behind.
Gibbs decides to drink the one from his desk. Probably to finish it off before he can forget about it again.
Just as Tony turns back to his computer, Gibbs takes a sip from the one on his desk. He makes a little, urk, sound before retching back into the cup. Then, he's doubled over, gagging into the trashcan.
Tony is on his feet in an instant. "Boss?!"
Gibbs slides down to his knees. Still hanging over the trashcan.
Bolting across the bullpen, Tony crouches beside Gibbs. He places a hand on Gibbs' shoulders, feeling his boss' body trembling violently underneath his fingers. Gibbs' face is going a deathly shade of white. By now, Tim and Ziva are crowding around them. Tim is beside Tony, on his knees. Ziva's eyes are scanning the bullpen, alert and aware, hunting for threats.
"Are you okay, Boss?" Tony asks.
Gibbs just retches again.
"What is occurring?" Ziva asks.
Eyes wide with concern, Tim watches Tony for his lead. Whatever they're supposed to do, Tony should have the answer. Their fearless leader is incapacitated—possibly injured and even dying—leaving Tony to call the shots. Except he doesn't know whether Gibbs has food poisoning from gas station sushi again or if he accidentally swallowed the fly that's been buzzing around the bullpen all day.
Gibbs gasps again. "The…coffee…"
"Someone poisoned Gibbs' coffee!" Tony yelps.
Ziva covers her mouth with her hand, shock spilling across her face. Tim cringes slightly before swallowing hard. His expression borders on panicked.
And then, he clicks into action. He points at Ziva, "Call Ducky and get him up here. Now!" and then, at Tim, "McGee, call Abby to figure out what's in the coffee!"
They bolt back to their desks with their orders.
Tony already has his cell phone out. Ready to call Homeland Security or the HazMat team or the National Guard or the local Marine Corps. His own stay in Bethesda after nearly dying from the plague dances through his head. The hours in the isolation room. The doctors. That weird blue light that kept him from seeing anything outside his plastic bubble.
Before he can dial, Gibbs smacks at Tony's hand. The phone clatters to the ground before sliding under Gibbs' desk. When Tony goes after it, Gibbs grabs his shoulder. Gibbs' eyes are intense and hard, his face pale and slick with sweat.
Adrenaline kicks up in Tony's gut. His heart begins to race. His own stomach flip flops deep in his gut.
"Boss," Tony whispers. "It's going to be okay."
"Sweet…" Gibbs moans.
Tony rears back, head cocked. "What are you trying to tell me?"
Gibbs hacks in his hands. "Sugar."
Tony's brow furrows. "What?"
"Sugar in the coffee," Gibbs manages to get out.
"Are you saying someone put sugar in your coffee?" Tony asks in disbelief.
In response, Gibbs doubles over the trash can. His entire body heaves, shaking and trembling. The sound of his retching fills the bullpen.
At that moment, Tony bursts out laughing. Peals of laughter that shake his sides and bring tears to his eyes. Right in the middle of a poisoning incident in the bullpen. Sure, he has been pranking Gibbs and Tim and Jimmy Palmer and one—okay, all of—the security guards for years, but he never thought Gibbs would go through such great lengths for revenge. This little prank is nearly perfect.
I almost fell for it too.
Tony claps his hand on Gibbs' shoulder. "Nice one, Boss."
From their desks, Tim and Ziva peer over at the scene. Brows furrowed and heads tilted, they wear an identical confusion on their faces. It only makes Tony laugh harder. Before long, the tears stream down his face. He is nearly hysterical. At this rate, Tim and Ziva will call the agency therapist to have him committed to the mental ward.
How could Gibbs think sugar is poison?
By the time Tony is done laughing, Gibbs is standing. His face is like stone, his eyes narrowed. The offending coffee cup sits on the corner of his desk like a suspect at an interrogation table.
"You think this is a joke, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growls.
From his spot on the floor, Tony looks up. Gibbs looms over him like a monster.
"Well, yeah. Isn't it April Fools' Day?" Tony asks.
"It's June, Tony," Gibbs deadpans.
When Gibbs' glare moves to him, Tony sobers instantly. He scrambles to his feet, straightens his suit jacket with some sense of decorum. His sides are aching and his throat scratches from the laughter. He chases the tears away from his cheeks. He is desperately trying to keep the grin from his face.
Then, he fixes Tim and Ziva a look. Almost daring one of them to say something.
They just stare back, struggling to make sense of what they just witnessed.
"Rule Twenty-Three," Gibbs growls.
And that sobers Tony up even further, wipes the grin straight from his lips. He considers the coffee suspiciously, reaching inside his coat for an evidence bag. He can probably sneak it down to Abby for the regular forensics work-up before Gibbs even notices that it's missing. If he can uncover who messed with the coffee, maybe he can stop them from getting dead in the bullpen. The last thing he needs is another murder to work when he was so close to being done at a reasonable time for once. He has done more than enough paperwork for one week.
Ziva looks over from her desk. "What is this, Rule Twenty-Three?"
"Never mess with a Marine's coffee," Tim offers, ever helpful.
Then, Tony pauses dramatically before dropping his voice and adding, "If you want to live."
Gibbs is sizing up the team. His eyes are gliding over them, appraising and evaluating them. Slowly and carefully. Like a predator biding his time until he can consume his prey.
Tony continues: "Which means, no one should touch Gibbs' coffee unless they want to get dead. Except Gibbs because it's, obviously, his coffee."
"That is most strange for a rule," Ziva replies.
Tony shrugs with one shoulder. "I didn't make them."
There's a long pause as Tony considers Gibbs' constantly growing list of enemies. Personal and professional. Tony keeps a running list written down in his desk. It started out as one single page before turning into a nearly full spiral notebook and those are just the ones he knows about. If things keep going the way they have been, he'll need another notebook soon.
But wouldn't they want Gibbs dead dead? Not just trying to pretend kill him with sugar.
Tony scratches at his chin, deep in thought.
Unless it was a warning to watch his back.
Tony turns to Gibbs. "Say, Boss, have you pissed someone off lately?"
When Gibbs turns to look at him, there's a wildfire raging in his eyes. Gibbs looks like he might just burn down the NCIS building and salt the earth when he's done. Tony clips a nod, figuring there's a lot of someones that Gibbs pissed off lately. No more than usual, which only leaves a few dozen suspects.
"Piss off anyone more than usual?" he clarifies.
As if deciding this isn't important enough to waste time on—and Tony still thinks it might be a prank, maybe, just maybe—Ziva and Tim dive back into their work. Tim whacks away at his keyboard with a surprising ferocity while Ziva turns to making notations on a case file.
Suddenly, Gibbs growls. "Had to be one of you."
Tony blinks incredulously. "Come again?"
That gets Tim and Ziva's attention. Even though they glance back at Tony and Gibbs, their hands are still moving at their work. Like they want to watch the show, but still get out on time.
"One of you messed with it." Gibbs jerks his chin at the coffee, then he curls his lip at it.
"What makes you say that?" Tony blurts out.
He's already been accused of murder once and if it's going to happen again, Tony is sure as hell going down swinging. Even if it's Gibbs. Especially if it's Gibbs.
"Cup never left the bullpen," Gibbs drawls. "You three are the only ones here."
"'It was Keyser Soze, Agent Kujan,'" Tony says, "'I mean the Devil himself.'"
Gibbs just stares at him.
"Come on, Boss. The Usual Suspects. With Kevin Spacey and Gabriel Byrne." When Gibbs just continues to stare at him, Tony releases a world-weary sigh. "'If the devil had a name, it'd be Keyser Soze.'"
"You saying you saw someone mess with my coffee, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asks.
Tony shakes his head. "Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil, Boss."
"And where were you?" Gibbs asks.
Tony makes a show of thinking about it. Finger tapping against his lips. Shoulders and body trembling, ever so slightly. He is trying so hard not to break out into peals of laughter again.
"When did it happen?" Tony asks, a mockery of seriousness. "This attempted sugaring of your coffee?"
"Wasn't attempted." Gibbs narrows his eyes. "Sometime when I was with Ducky."
"So, between the hours of 1100 and 1324." Tony is nodding as he recalls his day's activities. "First, I was down in the evidence garage trying to find that knife that got put into the wrong box. That took a while. Then, I went out to grab lunch."
"Alone?" Gibbs asks.
Tony's face grows hot. "With the new lady from the evidence garage. Estelle."
At the news, Tim rolls his eyes raggedly before glancing back at his monitor. Ziva's lips twitch upward as though she knew he would always be a player. But he'd rather be known as a player than for Gibbs to think, for even a millisecond, that he'd break Rule Twenty-Three again. If he's going to prank Gibbs, he can do it without touching his boss' precious coffee. There are plenty of pranks to pull that don't end with a bullet in the ass.
Gibbs keeps his eyes on Tony, but he grunts as though to say, I'll look into it, but don't leave the country.
Tony just matches it with his typical shit-eating grin.
He's gotten away with murder before. Almost.
Suddenly, Gibbs sets his sights on Ziva, who climbs from her seat. She keeps her back ramrod straight, her chin high and eyes higher. It's the stance of the ex-military, someone who might've left the troops, but who couldn't leave the life behind. Gibbs moves across the bullpen to stare her down. To her credit, she doesn't even flinch. If anything, she only digs deeper into her stance.
Ziva waits for Gibbs to speak first. Ever so patient, always waiting for an opening. She might've been a good operative, Tony considers, maybe in a past life. He hates to admit that she scares him. Maybe, just a little. He couldn't see her putting sugar in Gibbs' coffee. Actual poison. Maybe. Probably. Yeah, she'd poison any one of them, but only if they made her mad enough.
Which reminds me, I should have Abby double-check that salad dressing I left in the breakroom fridge.
Gibbs balks first. "Ziva?"
She raises her chin, defiant. "I would not 'mess' – " she says the words as though it's been dripped in battery acid " –with your coffee, Gibbs. I do not understand your American obsession with sugar."
"People like it," Tony offers.
"But it is not sustenance. The empty calories that do nothing to keep your body in prime condition."
"Because it's delicious, Zee-vah," Tony interjects. Then he starts counting on his fingers: "KitKats, M&M's, Twinkies, Ho&Ho's, Now and…" His voice trails into nothing.
Two sets of eyes pivot to stare daggers at him. He laughs awkwardly, rubs at a spot on the back of his neck. If looks could kill, he'd be pushing up daisies.
"Later," Tony finishes. "We'll talk about it later."
"The coffee, Ziva," Gibbs redirects.
"I did not touch it." She crosses her arms against her chest. "I drink tea. Also, I was in the garage trying to explain to security why I should not have to pay for the parking tickets I have received."
Gibbs blinks at her.
"If I am in an agency car, it is the agency's responsibility to pay for the parking tickets I accrue."
A stunned silence rolls over the bullpen as Gibbs just continues to stare at Ziva because he doesn't have a response. Only the frantic click click click of Tim's typing echoes and that's the moment Tony realizes Tim has been quiet. Too quiet. Way too quiet.
Oh no, Probie. What did you do?
And Gibbs must realize it too because he turns towards the junior agent.
Tony jumps in Gibbs' way, trying to divert attention. Maybe if he makes a big enough distraction, Tim can bolt for the elevator before Gibbs starts shooting. Even though he and Tim might not be friends, he has grown fond of the junior agent over the years. And he, finally, broke in Tim so Tony would rather the kid not get dead, or disappeared, or transferred to some hellhole of a posting like Great Lakes.
Gibbs hustles across the bullpen towards Tim's desk with the typing setting the soundtrack to the horror movie scene. Tony is right there, watching it happen. Unable to stop it without offering himself up as the first victim to the slasher. He wants to yell for Tim to run while he still has a chance.
Gibbs looms over Tim's desk, a monster seemingly growing in size by the second. Tim is so absorbed in his work, he doesn't notice that Gibbs is there until he's nearly ten feet tall.
The typing stops abruptly as Tim leans back in his chair. His face is red, a sheen of sweat stuck to his forehead. He tries for an awkward smile, but it comes as a grimace. He looks like a man set to be executed.
It was nice knowing you, McGoober.
Tim barks a pained laugh. "Oh hey, Boss. I didn't see you there."
"McGee," Gibbs growls.
Tim's eyebrows peak together. "Yeah?"
"My coffee."
And it feels as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. Tony has the grace to look away. If Gibbs is going to murder Tim in the bullpen, Tony won't bear witness to it. He'll just help Gibbs clean up after it's done because that's his job as senior agent. Because from where he's standing, Tim is guilty.
Somehow, Tim turns even more red. His eyes are so wide they nearly swallow his face.
"McGee." Gibbs says the name like a curse.
"I-I-I thought you were trying to poison me." Tim manages to choke out so fast that all the words blend together.
Gibbs just glares at him.
"The coffee, you left it on my desk." Tim points at the corner. "I thought it was a reward for all that work on the Riley case." When Gibbs continues staring, Tim's face turns crestfallen. "All that work last week? I found the lead that led to the arrest. I thought you were bringing me a reward."
Tony clears his throat. When Tim looks over, Tony shakes his head. Trying to tell him to move on because Tim is so not helping his case right now. Gibbs doesn't give coffee as a reward. Maybe as an apology, but only if he did something that nearly cost your life. And even then, it isn't a given.
Gibbs is still glaring. Still looming. Still looking like Godzilla right before he tries to flatten McTokyo.
Tim tries to smile again. "Anyway, it was on my desk. So, I tried it, and it was bad. Really, really bad. I thought there might've been poison in it."
"Probie," Tony groans.
Chagrined, Tim moves on. "So, I called Abby, and she came up to run some tests. She said the acidity level was off the charts. She took a sample back to her lab. She thinks it might be acidic enough to dissolve a human body. And last I heard from her, she was going to get pork chops to test that theory. If it works, she says she'll try to see if Ducky has a body part she can borrow." He thinks about it, brow furrow deepening. "Come to think of it, if she's right Ducky probably won't get it back."
If McGoober disappears, at least I'll know what happened to him. Dissolved in Gibbs' coffee.
"Get to the part where you tried to kill me," Gibbs bites out.
Tim splays his hands out. "You brought me a gift, Boss."
"No, I didn't."
Tim looks like he might be sick. "Well, I thought you did. And since you were so thoughtful, I decided to drink it. So, I may have added a few sugar packets to make it drinkable."
"Some?" Gibbs leans forward onto Tim's desk, hands flat and gets in the younger man's face.
"Okay, like ten! And somehow, that made it even worse!" Tim's eyes are wild now. "How could it taste worse with the sugar in it?"
"Because you aren't supposed to add anything."
"Well, I didn't know that!"
Leaning back in his chair, Tim rubs his hands over his face. Tony is watching as sympathetically as he can without getting into Gibbs' line of fire. It doesn't help because Gibbs looks back at Tony, who suddenly finds a nonexistent stain on his suit jacket. Then, he picks at an invisible piece of lint before flicking it toward Ziva. She narrows her eyes at him.
"DiNozzo," Gibbs barks.
Tony springs to life. "Yeah, boss?"
"Rule Twenty-three." At Gibbs' voice, Tim leans forward in his seat. "F."
At that, Tony winces and screws his face up. If anything, he hadn't expected Gibbs to even remember the rule, let alone invoke it. Ziva watches the entire thing, a kind of passive amusement on her face.
Tim's eyes jump from Gibbs to Tony and back again. His face has gone milk-white, his expression terrified. He has a death grip on his computer mouse.
"What does that even mean?" Tim whispers.
Gibbs looks to Tony as if to say, Tell 'im, DiNozzo.
Just hearing "Rule Twenty-Three, F" reminds him of his first misstep as a green agent on Gibbs' team. He made the mistake of bringing Gibbs, a skinny latte with extra foam, of all things. Gibbs took one sip, muttered words fit for sailor's ears, and explained the finer points of Rule Twenty-Three. Tony's second misadventure was adding cream and sugar to Gibbs' coffee before bringing it back from the cafeteria because he hadn't learned how Gibbs drank it yet. That earned him the first smack to the back of his head. Still, he tried to get Gibbs' coffee just right until he was banned from fetching coffee for life.
Tony takes a deep breath before shuddering.
"Rule Twenty-Three, subsection F," Tony says.
When Tony speaks, Tim hangs over every word. So, Tony lets the words hang, trying to let Tim imagine the most exciting ways for Gibbs to end him. Thrown into a vat of Gibbs' very own coffee is probably what Tim is picturing right now.
"'If the Marine lets you live, you must finish the messed with coffee,'" Tony explains.
Tim's expression goes bleak as he rolls his head back towards the ceiling. To Tony, Tim looks like he's been issued a death sentence. Death by arabica beans.
"That is not so bad, McGee," Ziva offers. "At least, you will live."
"No, Ziva, I won't," Tim moans. "That coffee's lethal."
Ziva nods sagely. "Well, you did attempt to poison Gibbs."
"I didn't try to poison anyone!" Tim wails.
Quickly crossing the bullpen, Gibbs scoops the offending drink from his desk. Then, he slams it in front of Tim with a resounding ploink. Tim stares at it as though it might melt him into a puddle of goo before glancing back to Gibbs with wide eyes.
He starts, "But boss – "
"Gone, McGee." He jabs his finger at Tim to show he's serious. "And DiNozzo?"
Tony looks over. "Gone, Boss. Got it."
"Make sure," Gibbs says.
"Aye, aye Captain." Tony offers a full salute. Then, to Tim as he gleefully wrings his hands: "You ready to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, McSoon-to-be-Goo?"
Tim buries his face in his hands. Groans. Mutters something to himself that Tony can't hear. He might be writing his Last Will and Testament in his head. Tony wonders if Tim will leave anything to him. Since Tony is supposed to be playing executioner, he doubts it. Though Tony has been eyeing that pen cup since last year. Maybe he'll claim it after Tim is done.
And without saying another word, Gibbs swoops out of the bullpen. This time, he takes his newest cup of coffee with him so no one can mess with it. Tony takes to humming the Imperial March from Star Wars under his breath. Tim might hear him because he looks over. Head quirked to the side, eyebrow raised.
He jerks his chin at the cup. "Tony, you can't expect me to – "
"Drink it?"
Tim looks up, ever hopeful.
"Yes, I can." Tony lets him squirm just a little. "But I'm not going to."
Tim leans forward, hands on his desk as he breathes heavily. Relief clear on his face. He releases a relieved sigh so loud they probably heard it in autopsy.
Then, realization settles on his face. The coffee, it must go somewhere and quickly.
"What are we going to do, Tony?" Tim rambles. "Gibbs is going to expect that to be gone by the time he gets back and I'm not sure if I can stomach it. I still feel sick from what I drank earlier."
Ziva's interest is peaked too. "Yes, how do you intend to fix the problem?"
"Pour it down the sink?" Tony asks.
Tim's eyes widen. "He'll know if someone doesn't drink it."
"Okay, then I'll take care of it."
Tony saunters across the bullpen slowly. Tim and Ziva's eyes are on him, and he'll be damned if he doesn't put on a show. He picks up the coffee cup from Tim's desk and the younger man throws his hands out. He tries to stop Tony from picking up the cup, but Tony smacks his hand away. Tony swirls the coffee, takes a deep sniff around like an experienced sommelier.
"Tony, what are you doing?" Tim gasps.
"Taking care of your problem, Probster. After this, you owe me." Tony raises his eyebrows, meeting Tim's wide, terrified gaze. "Big time."
Tim's lips hang open, moving slightly before he forms a coherent thought. "Anything you want, Tony."
"That will be your birthday, McGee," Ziva says.
"It's his funeral, Ziva," Tony corrects.
Then, he sees the second thoughts dance through Tim's eyes. So, he waggles the cup at Tim.
"Last chance, McBarista," Tony says.
Tim moves his hand before thinking better of it. "I'll take my chances with you, Tony."
"Happy Birthday, McGee," Ziva announces.
When he hears that, Tony's mouth curls up like the Grinch in How The Grinch Stole Christmas. His mind is already coming up with the best way to get Tim back. Going into the dumpsters when Gibbs orders Tony. Sliding under cars while looking for evidence. Anything involving an old people's home or a daycare. He doesn't know how he'll cash in, but all Tony knows is that it'll be glorious.
Tim must understand that too because he frowns deeply.
"Alright, Tony, you'll get back at me later." He waves his hand. "Just destroy the evidence."
Tony locks eyes with Tim, holding his gaze as he places the coffee cup to his lips. The first sip makes him gag and shudder, but only because it's far too sweet. Tim was probably lying about how many sugar packets he put in. It was probably closer to seven.
Still, Tony drinks it anyway.
Amazement and awe slides across Tim's face as though Tony is a hero who just saved the world. Even Ziva has a surprising admiration on her face.
Tony takes another sip, but the tooth-rotting sweetness doesn't bother him this time. Instead, it tastes like victory. Like success. Like the good old days when Gibbs used to make him finish the ruined coffees.
"How are you drinking that?" Tim asks, cringing.
Tony just grins. "It really isn't that bad."