The huge garage was dimly lit but it was still possible to see the shiny classic cars parked there. There was also a pile of old fenders, radiator grilles, steering wheels and other spare parts neatly stacked in a corner.

There was a low hum sounding through the building but this stopped when the noise of a fender banging against a radiator grille was heard.

"Welcome, brothers and sisters, to this extraordinary meeting of the Classic Car Cadre. We are waiting for four of our number to arrive and then we will begin," came a solemn voice.

"Who are waiting for?" asked a Buick Skylark, "it's still sunny outside. I'm wasting top-down cruising time."

"Patience, Bella, they will be here soon. And, look, here they come."

A yellow Dodge Challenger stormed into the garage and screeched to a halt, it was closely followed by a Mini Cooper which stopped alongside.

"Did we really need to drive that fast?" came a tremulous voice from the Mini, "I get enough of that when she is driving me."

"Habit," came the brief reply and if a car could be said to shrug its shoulders, then that's what the Dodge did.

"Good evening, everyone. Sorry to keep you waiting," came the cheery English voice of a vintage Morgan, "I'm afraid I've rather got out of the habit of driving the shortest route. Dr Mallard usually prefers to go what he calls the 'scenic' route. It reminds me of a time when …"

The monologue was interrupted by the sound of the Dodge's horn. A huffing sound came from the Morgan but before anything else was said a Porsche drove in slowly and parked carefully next to the Morgan.

"Ah, good evening, Portia," said the Morgan, "so good of you to join us."

"Will this take long?" asked the Porsche, "Special Agent McGee has just killed his six hundred and fifty third hobgoblin. If he kills another three hundred and forty seven he might need to go out and celebrate and then he might notice I've gone."

"Yeah," asked the Dodge, "kinda want to know the same thing. Gibbs is in the basement, building another of those wooden boat things but you never know when he's going to want to go and buy another bit of lumber."

"We are all assembled now," said the leader, a 1968 deep blue Chevrolet Camaro, "I fear I have grave tidings for the Cadre," she paused impressively, "I have to report the sad passing of one of our number. Claudia met with a fatal accident today."

A collective sigh went through the gathered cars and then, at an unseen signal, the horns all sounded together in a mournful cacophony of a dirge.

"And how is D?" asked a Pontiac Firebird.

"He's OK," said the Dodge, "a bit banged up round the hood, but OK."

"They're called 'noses' on people, Douglas, not hoods" corrected the Morgan.

"Whatever, Mac," said the Dodge.

"How did it happen this time?" asked the Buick.

"This time?" asked Portia.

"Alas," said Mac, "I fear that Anthony is a tad unlucky with his automobiles. There was his ZR1 Corvette which was stolen and then destroyed. A Ford Mustang which was blown up and now dear Claudia has gone to the great garage in the sky. Most unfortunate."

"Wasn't his fault," said Douglas, "Claudia was side-swiped. Someone trying to write him and Ziva off. Nothing he could do."

Bella the Buick asked another question, "So D will be needing another car?"

A quiver of trepidation went through the garage.

"Er, why D?" asked Miriam the Mini Cooper.

"Destroyer," said the Pontiac darkly.

"Darling," sighed a lime green Corvette.

"DiNozzo," said Douglas brusquely.

"That is what we need to decide tonight," said Camilla the Camaro.

"What D stands for?" asked Portia incredulously, "do you mean you've called me away from hobgoblin massacre to decide what D should stand for?"

"No, Portia," said Douglas the Dodge, "Listen to Camilla."

"Sorry, Boss. I mean, Douglas."

"Thank you, Douglas," said Camilla graciously, "no we have not come together to decide what D stands for but to consider what to do about his new car."

"I don't think he should be allowed to have another one," said a brown Mustang, "or at least, not another Mustang. We've made one sacrifice."

"Thank you, Malcolm," said Camilla, "you make a good point."

"I'd be willing to offer myself," came a slightly husky voice from a corner. Everyone turned to look as a DeLorean winged car drove forward, "I think I've got the right credentials. Everyone knows how much D loves movies – just think how he'd like to drive the car from 'Back to the Future'."

"Thank you, Dermot," said Camilla.

"And there is another connection," said Dermot hopefully, "they were first made in the UK and we all know that D has British connections."

"Well, in that case," drawled Alan the Aston Martin, "I feel I should offer myself. I am, after all, the James Bond car and I'm British. I'm sure we all know the James Bond movies are among D's favourites."

The DeLorean moved menacingly towards the Aston Martin which stood its ground and sounded its horn defiantly.

"Darlings," cooed Camilla, "you would both be admirable candidates for D."

A snort of laughter was heard from the Dodge, "Can't see D in a daft winged car. Stick out like a sore thumb"

"But a bright yellow car just fades into the background," jeered Dermot.

"Hey, I don't get to choose the colour," said Doug a bit defensively.

"And I didn't get to choose the wings," said Dermot sulkily.

"My dears," said Camilla, "let's not fall out over this. Alan, I applaud your offer to be D's new ride but I fear that you would be rather too expensive for him."

Dermot lifted his wings in excitement, "Then it's me!"

"Dearest," said Camilla softly, "I don't wish to hurt your feelings but I believe that Douglas had a point. I think that D would prefer something more classic than your … your more revolutionary style."

Dermot and Alan revved their engines disconsolately and looked as if they might continue the argument but Camilla had a clincher,

"And besides, Darlings, you would both have to make a rather fundamental change."

"What?" they asked.

"D is strictly a ladies car man. I cannot imagine him having a car of the male gender."

Alan and Dermot acknowledged the truth of this and retreated into their corners once more.

"I think we should be asking the question whether any of the NCIS team should be allowed to have cars," said Peter the Pontiac Firebird.

"What do you mean?" asked Camilla.

"Well, look at them. Look how Douglas and Miriam roared in tonight. They can't help themselves, they've been brainwashed into driving like maniacs."

"I do hope you're not including me in this," said Mac the Morgan, "Dr Mallard saved me from the scrapheap. He rebuilt me and has cared for me ever since. Yes, we might drive rather more miles than necessary when he gets lost but I wouldn't want to have another owner. I hope when he goes, that I'll go too." The windshield wipers swept into action to hide Mac's emotions.

"Gibbs might be a bit rough," said Douglas, "but he takes care of me. Well, as much care as he takes of himself. Always keeps me clean, topped up with oil and gas. If there's anything wrong, he gets it fixed. Anyway, at least he drives me. Hated being shut up in that garage in Stillwater. Don't you worry about me. Gibbs and me, we understand each other."

"Very well," said Camilla, "and precious Miriam. What about you?"

"I won't say it's not difficult at times," said Miriam bravely, "and Ziva isn't always good at looking after me and I'm not denying that it's frightening being driven as if I'm an armoured tank but … but it's exhilarating and at least I know I'm alive."

A silence fell and the other cars shifted a bit to gaze at Portia.

"Hey," she said indignantly, "nobody could say that Timothy doesn't look after me. No food or drink in the car, I never get dirty. Regular services and check-ups, careful considerate driving. I've got nothing to worry about."

"Ever broken the speed limit?" asked Alan.

"No, of course not," said Portia.

"Portia, you're a Porsche!" said Douglas impatiently.

"So?"

"Built for speed," said Miriam.

"I know," whispered Portia, "but really, I'm very happy with Timothy. Please don't take me away."

"Of course not, sweetheart," said Camilla, "but let us continue with the real reason we have convened today. Should D be allowed to have another classic car?"

"I vote 'no'" said the Pontiac, "it would be completely irresponsible."

"Look at the trail of destruction," said the Mustang, "how could we possibly let him do that to another brother or sister?"

"They weren't his fault," pointed out Douglas.

"Insurance company doesn't think so," said the Buick, "and if we haven't got health insurance how will D afford to get us fixed?"

Silence fell as the assembly considered the wisdom of these words.

A quiet voice came from the pile of spare parts in the corner.

"May I speak?" said a wheel.

"Meg, of course," said Camilla, "it is so long since you took part in our discussions."

A wheel rolled itself into the middle of the garage.

"I used to belong to D. I was the Mustang that was blown up."

"You still are, Darling," assured Camilla.

"I was the happiest car alive when I belonged to D," said Meg quietly, "he was the best owner I ever had. He cherished me; loved me. When he cleaned and polished me, I could tell it wasn't out of duty but because he loved to do it. He was proud of me and he treated me as a lady should be. He took me on when I was in my twilight years but he made me feel young again. I know my story had a tragic end but those few short years we had together were the best ones of my life. I'd do it all again even if I knew what was going to happen. That's all I wanted to say." Meg rolled back to her pile.

A bent fender crawled into the space vacated by Meg.

"I'm Christa. I was Tony's Corvette and I'm with Meg. He really loved me. When he washed and waxed me it was like getting a massage; I felt so cherished. Yes, I might have had a longer life with another owner but it wouldn't have been so glorious. Meg and me, we have a great time in that pile swapping stories about the good old days. And I'd do it all again. Cars are meant to be driven and D understands that."

"I can't be with you yet," came Claudia's disembodied voice, "I'm still in the NCIS evidence garage, but I agree with Meg and Christa. I had very little time with D but it was a happy time, I'd never had an owner who described me as a cloud," her voice wobbled and faded away.

The sound of windshield wipers swishing filled the garage for a moment before Camilla spoke again,

"I have a suggestion. I agree with Peter and Malcolm that D seems to have an unfortunate history with us."

"Hear hear," said the Pontiac and Mustang.

"However, I cannot deny that I was deeply moved by the testimonies of our fallen sisters."

"So, what's the suggestion?" said Douglas the Dodge, a bit weary from all the talking.

"If anyone wishes to volunteer to be D's new car, we should not stand in her way," said Camilla.

"I think that is a splendid compromise," said Mac, "it shows wisdom, compassion …"

The Dodge sounded its horn again and the Morgan subsided.

"Are we all agreed?" asked Camilla.

The horns all tooted in unison.

"I would volunteer," said Barbara the shy lime green Corvette.

"Darling," said Camilla, "I don't think D would quite approve of such a bright colour. He hasn't got any clothes to match you."

The Corvette sighed.

"How about me?" said the Buick, "I've got style."

"Indeed, Bella. But you're sky-blue, I fear it is the same problem as with Barbara. He would need a new wardrobe."

"Then who?" asked Portia.

Camilla coughed, "I have been considering stepping down from my position as chair of the Classic Car Cadre. I feel the need to be driven again and, though it might be a brief liaison, I feel it would be a fitting one."

"You know," said Mac, "that's the name of a movie. 'Brief Encounter' – I'm sure D would approve."

"Ok," said Douglas, "are you sure?"

"Yes," said Camilla, "I will sacrifice myself for my sisters and go out in a blaze of glory. But you never know, if might be fourth time lucky!"

"Can we go then?" said Douglas, "things to do."

"Of course, thank you for coming," said Camilla, "but we need to appoint another chair …"

But it was too late, the Dodge had roared out of the garage, closely followed by the gallant Mini Cooper. The Morgan courteously lifted its hood in farewell and left. The Porsche shocked everyone by revving her engine loudly as if to speed off – but then she powered down and drove off sedately.

Camilla drove over to a mirror and peered at herself, "hmmm, I need a good polish."

NCISNCIS

"Meg, Christa, Claudia! Come back," moaned Tony, "don't leave me."

"DiNozzo! Wake up, we're at your place," said Gibbs shaking his shoulder.

"Boss?" said Tony rubbing his eyes.

"You been taking those painkillers again?" asked Gibbs brusquely.

"What? What?" said Tony looking around and then remembering that Gibbs had offered to drive him home from work while he was waiting for news on his Cadillac. "Wow, that was one weird dream. You see …"

"Later, DiNozzo," said Gibbs.

Tony climbed stiffly out of the car, "Thanks for the ride, Boss." As he slammed the door shut he patted the hood and said quietly, "Thanks, Douglas."

It was probably just a coincidence that the sun glinted on the headlights as Gibbs sped away but, for a moment, it looked as if the Dodge was winking.

AN – I haven't seen season 11 so don't know what type of car Tony is driving now.