Title: The War of Terror

Author: Shannon

Rating: PG

Warning/Spoilers: Insanity. Set third season.

Summary: Somehow, he thought, violence in the workplace shouldn't be this normal.

A/N: Written for the 2007 NCIS Ficathon. Thanks to Rinkle for her usual fabulous beta.

Please suspend ANY AND ALL disbelief you may have while reading this fic. Really. Every last gram of it. You won't be needing it.

The War of Terror

"I thought they were over this," McGee groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"They're women, McGee," Tony said, clapping McGee on the back. "They'll never be over this."

Abby and Ziva - with bloody scratches, torn clothing and jagged strips of material hanging off their arms, their messy hair trying to take over the world - glared out at them from the cell.

"Okay, you can release them," Tony said, smirking at the attending officer.

The kid pulled out the keys and unlocked the cell, pushing the door open, then jumping twelve feet back. His eyes widened and he started shaking as Abby and Ziva stalked out.

Before they left, the kid pulled McGee to the side. "I will pay you five hundred dollars if I can never ever see them again," he whispered, eyes dashing from side to side.

McGee awkwardly patted him on the back.

He stared up at the brand-new dartboard, eyebrows rising higher and higher as he counted the number of darts sticking out of Ziva's photo.

"Is this really the wisest thing to have in your lab, Abby?"

Abby flashed her Abby-grin at him. "Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

McGee just shook his head and left.

Tony watched from his desk, the twitch in his eye refusing to leave, as Ziva cleaned her gun for the second… third… sixth time.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked, eyebrows scrunching together as she checked it again. His hand joined in with the twitching.

She glanced up at him, raising her eyebrows. "Yes, Tony, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

He didn't respond - just stared as she pulled out her knife. His foot jerked.

"Cornstarch," Abby announced and tossed two pounds into the bucket. "Water! Dye!" She splashed some in. "Wooden spoon!" She grinned and started stirring. "Bubble bubble, toil and trou-"

A throat cleared behind her. "You're making green slime, Abby?" McGee asked.

Abby laughed and spun to face him. "Of course not, Timmy," she said and waved the bottles of dye in his face. "Mine will be black."

"Why?" he asked and poked at the stuff.

A sopping-wet, black-slop-covered Ziva turned to Tony and McGee. She glared.

"I… It brings out your eyes." Tony attempted a smile and shrugged.

Ziva took a step forward, and raised one dripping hand to his face. "My patience is becoming very very thin," she said, the words steadily striding out like a parade of slow-mo soldiers. "There will be shooting soon."

She closed her eyes, took a deep-and-hopefully-calming breath, and walked out of the room, her back straight. Her hand rubbed over her gun.

Tony and McGee gulped.

The next day, McGee, Tony and Ziva went down to the lab to get the analysis of their evidence. As soon as they walked through the door, Abby bounced over to them, grabbing McGee and Tony and placing loud, smacking kisses on their cheeks. She hugged each for several minutes, humming quiet happy songs. The men just tried to breathe, awkwardly patting her on the back.

She stopped at Ziva.

"Ziva," she started, smiling sweetly, "how's the hair?"

Ziva smiled back, just as sweetly.

Really, the pink paint gun should have been expected.

Two days after The Slime Attack, one day after the Pink Paint of Doom – days of testosterone-filled men cowering in small corners, hiding from the two women – Tony, McGee and Ducky met in Autopsy. Palmer was outside, playing lookout, desperately trying to not pee his pants.

"Mud-wrestling."

"No."

"Jello-wrestling."

"No."

"Mashed-banana wrestling."

McGee wrinkled his nose. "People actually do that?"

Tony shrugged. "Yep. So?"

"No."

Tony sighed. "Bright yellow flowers and happy smiley faces tossed around Abby's lab like the vomit at my twenty-first birthday party?"

"I think Abby would toss the slime around your Mustang if you did that."

"I would cry. SO… No." Tony paused and tilted his head to the right. "What about chocolate?"

"Chocolate?"

"Women like chocolate, right? It makes them all soft and gooey and more amenable to sleeping with you even if you've been an asshole. So. Chocolate!"

"They're not going to sleep with you, Tony."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Tony."

"But what if I gave them Belgian chocolate?"

"It wouldn't make up for all your short-comings."

Tony jumped forward, half a foot from McGee, and stared down at him. "Speak for yourself, McGee! I am not short and neither are my com-"

"Gentlemen!" Ducky interrupted. He looked up from the body, blood spattered across his helmet, broken ribs jutting up into his face, and cleared his throat. "I suggest we try Jethro's tactic."

Tony turned around and faced him, forehead furrowing. "I don't think Gibbs would approve of us shooting them, Ducky."

Ducky all but rolled his eyes. "Of course not, Tony. I refer to his tendency to… halt the elevator." A smile slowly spread across his face.

McGee frowned. "That would be dangerous."

Tony raised his eyes to the ceiling and grinned. "That would be hot."

"We are so screwed."

Now Tony's nose wrinkled. "I think they'd do that better."

They stared at the sign.

"I… don't think this is going to work," McGee said, frowning.

"Oh, come on, McGee! It's just a little sign; we've been through worse." Tony hit the sign with the back of his hand. "How's she going to stop us? Ban us from using it at all?"

"Nah. She'll just throw you in the brig, DiNozzo."

Tony spun around. "Boss! …We don't have a brig, boss."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at him and smirked.

"Right." Tony slapped McGee on the head. "It was a stupid idea anyway, McGee."

"But I didn't-"

"Of course, you did. I would not do such a thing and Ducky never ever has stupid ideas."

"But-"

"McGee," Tony stressed, "Ducky never ever has stupid ideas."

"It wasn't stupid till the director said no." McGee frowned. "Does this rule apply to you too, boss?"

Gibbs opened his mouth but Tony's voice came out. "Gibbs has a note from teacher. Don't you, boss."

McGee tried not to grin too much at the slap.

"So what are we going to do?" McGee asked Tony as they sat in the car.

"I've got nothing," Tony replied and hit his head on the steering wheel. The horn blared.

McGee looked out the window into the parking garage and sighed. "Where'd Abby find all these sheep anyway?"

"I dunno. But how on earth did Ziva get allergic to them?"

They went through the next several weeks, ducking and dodging Abby and Ziva, trying to predict when the next fight would happen and how to be far far far away at the time. McGee had already lost two shirts to rotten eggs, Tony a pair of pants to a goat, and Palmer was trying to figure out how to break it to Ducky that there was no way he was getting his favourite filing cabinet back after the explosion that took out two drawers.

Gibbs has somehow retained his magical Gibbs-aura and avoided any and all incidents.

"Just his luck," Tony fumed, and dropped the burnt-out remains of his shoes into McGee's lap. "We deserve hazard pay."

McGee stared down at the shoes. He didn't disagree.

The first thing they noticed were the balloons. Ten red and black balloons floated out of the elevator, meandering through the floor. Next were the bags, three deep and four across, clothes spilling out of half of them. Last were the longs legs stretching out from sparkly dresses, and their owners' voices… laughing.

"Tony, McGee," Abby called, glee in her voice, "we have presents for you!" She and Ziva dropped their bags in front of the boys' desks and each pulled out two boxes. They both placed one in front of Tony and McGee.

Abby rested her arm on Ziva's shoulder and tilted her head, grinning. "Go on, open them."

"We bought them just for you. We felt we should apologise," Ziva said and smiled. Abby nodded earnestly in agreement.

Tony and McGee took one long look at their boxes then glanced at each other. They ran.

"What's going on?" McGee whispered, as they huddled in the men's bathroom.

"I don't know…" Tony shuddered. "But this has been the scariest day so far. I don't think I'll ever sleep again."

Ziva plopped her feet up on the coffee table and admired her newly-painted black toenails. "Very nice job," she said, accepting the cup of coffee held out to her.

Abby flopped onto the opposite chair, Caff-Pow firmly in hand. "Thank you." She took a sip from her drink and smiled at Ziva. "Okay. Tomorrow?"

Ziva passed her notebook to Abby. "I'm thinking flowers," she said, "to mentally traumatise Tony and McGee." She paused. "Or we could fly a sheep past the window." She thought about that for a moment, then frowned. "Or we could just fight in the middle of the lab again. Ketchup this time?"

"I think Tony'd find that hot."

"The fight or the sheep?"

"Both."

Ziva nodded. "Okay. Flowers it is!"

Abby grinned. "Better make them pink."

When McGee looked out the window the next morning and saw a flying pink sheep, he passed out. The two hundred pink flowers sent Tony to join him.