Title: Rule 52

Author: Gixxer Pilot

Beta: Wicked Jade

Summary: Star Trek: 2009 Cop!Verse AU cross with NCIS. During a blizzard that traps two of NCIS' finest in Iowa City, Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy learn a new meaning for the phrase 'interagency cooperation', courtesy of Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David.

Author's Notes: This story is Space_Case_Writer13's fault. Simple as that. She poked and prodded and whined and moaned, and because I'm a total pushover, I caved. Well, okay, so that's secondary. Really, I've wanted to stick Kirk and DiNozzo in the same room to see what may or may not explode since I started this AU of mine. Can you blame me? As far as this story's purpose, well that's not so exact. All I know is that I started with the intention that it was just going to be something quick and fun. But then awesome betas are awesome, and the more Wicked Jade and I talked, the more this story grew. (Thank you, Jade!) So, this one is not a full case file, but rather set up for another, bigger Trek AU/NCIS story.

Hmm. Spoilers. For NCIS, anything up through season eight is fair game, which is about when this story is set. As far as the Cop!verse AU is concerned, this one sits around the Accidentally on Purpose timeframe. You shouldn't have to read the all of the AU to get what's going on here, but it would be helpful. As always, comments are loved (if you feel like giving them). I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Here's the skinny: if you recognize it as something someone has, at one point or another, paid money to see, own or otherwise indulge, it's not mine. I also make no money from writing. Please don't sue me.

Chapter 1

Washington, D.C.

"Tony, what are you doing?"

DiNozzo's hands paused in mid air, hovering innocently over the keyboard. He looked up in time to see Ziva to drape herself over his left shoulder while she predictably radiated disapproval from under her dark brows. Smirking, Tony returned his concentration to the screen, rubbed his hands together in anticipation and answered, "Just exercising my brilliance, Ziva. Why do you ask?"

The former Mossad officer narrowed her eyes and pointed one of her deadly fingers toward the smattering of thumbnail images all over DiNozzo's desktop. She squinted, trying to identify the subject of the photo. "Is that not a photograph of McGee's car?" Her head shifted as she looked at the URL and the page's format. After a couple of seconds of contemplation, Ziva's eyes lit up while the seasoned investigator in her put all the pieces together. "Are you posting an ad, offering McGee's car for sale on Craigslist?"

"Very astute! See, I knew there was a reason we hired you as an NCIS agent," DiNozzo replied with his trademarked million-watt smile on his face.

"Where is McGee, by the way?" Ziva asked, looking toward Tim's empty desk while she completely ignored DiNozzo's insult.

"Up with the Director, working out a new type of security encryption to protect the highest level documents in NCIS' database," Tony answered. "So if you're really asking, 'Will he back soon?' the answer is no."

"Good. Carry on."

"You approve of this, Ziva David? Now I know you're becoming more American," DiNozzo said, plopping his feet up on his desk. He interlaced his fingers and rested them behind his neck while he regarded the Israeli curiously. "A few years ago, you would have been threatening to kill me eighteen ways with a single paperclip if I even thought about a little Probie-Wan-Kenobi hazing, and now," DiNozzo paused dramatically, "You're almost encouraging it."

"Don't say that too loudly, Tony. Someone might hear you," Ziva said with a smile before she causally leaned on DiNozzo's shoulder. "And besides, times have changed."

Tony simply scoffed before he re-addressed the task before him. There was nothing more important (at least not right now) than properly pranking his co-worker, and it deserved nothing short of his best effort. "Now I just have to figure out what I want the ad to say." DiNozzo spun in his chair, and grabbed his famed Mighty Mouse stapler off his desk and tapped the brightly colored office utensil against his cheek while he thought. With a sinister smile, he set it back on the desk and rested his fingers along the keyboard, typing his message into the text box slowly and deliberately.

Ziva bit down a grin and leaned in closer to inspect the ad her partner was busy composing. Reading off the screen, she allowed a small squeak of a chuckle to escape her lips when she saw, 'For sale – one immaculately maintained and nerd-driven BMW Z3. Never abused (because the owner doesn't know how), always washed, stored during the winter, and waxed nightly with a diaper. All original service records going back to the factory's purchase of every nut and bolt will be included, applicable only if the buyer speaks German or Geek. (No, there is not a missing 'R' there – it's supposed to say 'Geek'.) If interested, please contact Tim at 202-555-5272 for a test ride, a date, or both.' Angling her head toward her partner, Ziva said, "This is good. I think it is fitting for what you are trying to accomplish."

DiNozzo twisted his head back toward Ziva. His nose bumped the Star of David dangling from her neck. Surprised, Tony recoiled in the opposite direction, banging his leg loudly against the underside of his desk. He let out a high-pitched and somewhat girly squeak as pain flared through his leg, blossoming from his knee and spreading in waves. Tightly, he pushed out a pinched, "It's okay. Nobody get up. I'm good."

"That did not sound like it was very pleasurable," Ziva said with a slight wince.

"Thanks for the support there, partner," Tony replied in a much more normal voice as he rubbed away at the sore contact point of his leg. Exhaling a long breath, he motioned with his head back toward his computer screen with the yet-to-be-posted Craigslist ad. "Do you have anything to add?" he asked as he stuck a ludicrously low price on the car to ensure as many annoying calls to McGee's phone as humanely possible.

"No," she replied, pursing her lips and shaking her head. Ziva's long braid swooshed gently back and forth as she regarded the screen. "I think, for once, you have covered everything. And it even makes sense. I'm proud, Tony."

"Hey! Whose first language is English here?" DiNozzo exclaimed, splaying his left arm out at his side while he clicked the 'post' command on the webpage.

"I have never said your English was good, only that it is better than mine," Ziva answered, perching herself on the edge of DiNozzo's desk. She reached in the drawer and pulled out the package of Doritos he'd hidden in there after lunch ad popped the bag open. She stuffed a couple of the triangle chips in her mouth, crunching loudly to get Tony's attention. With a series of quick and deliberate motions, she expertly kept the snack away from its rightful owner, reveling in satisfaction as DiNozzo grew more frustrated with each unsuccessful swipe. "Your reactions are late. You must anticipate. Lead the target."

DiNozzo was about to open his mouth to protest when a whoosh of air and a lightning quick hand snatched the small bag out of Ziva's delicate but deadly grasp. Gibbs' shadow flashed past, the bag of Doritos crumpled in his big palm. The team leader dropped the ruined snack into the garbage can next to his desk, stowed his gun and sat down, all in one fluid, silent motion. He looked up toward his two agents in the bullpen and asked, "Anyone ever tell you it's not nice to tease the animals, David?"

"Of course," she responded, spinning gracefully over one foot before she walked back toward her own desk. Ziva sat down and popped in her password to her computer out of force of habit. She looked across the bullpen and caught her boss' eyes. Smirking, she added, "But only if there are actually animals here to tease in the first place."

Gibbs' silver eyebrows jumped up and down. "Mmm. Good point."

Tony growled silently, opening his email to find the waiting Craigslist announcement in his inbox. He clicked on the link and checked over his posting, complete with pictures of McGee's car. Satisfied, he clicked on the 'post' button and sat back, twiddling his fingers manically in a nice homage to Mr. Burns.

The sterile 'ding' of the elevator doors that announced the arrival of another person to the party did little to prepare the team for the hurricane that was Abby Sciuto. Her black pigtails bounced wildly on her shoulders while she teetered toward the middle of the bullpen. The random assortment of buckles attached to her five inch platform boots jingled loudly, as did the other assortment of chains and spikes sprinkled about her body. Abby's face lit up as soon as she saw Gibbs, and she made a beeline for him as fast as her footwear would allow. "Gibbs!" she called. "GibbsGibbsGibbs!"

Gibbs raised his eyes from the stack of 'bureaucratic bullshit' paperwork he was finally forcing himself to do, meeting the expectant face of the forensic tech. She stopped in front of him, bouncing in place on the balls of her feet while he silently tilted his head to the side. Lifting one silver eyebrow, he asked, "How many Caff-Pows have you had today, Abby?"

"Just three, but only because my doctor yelled at me at my last physical about my caffeine intake. So I actually spread it out over the course of the last three hours, instead of slamming them like I normally do. It's like doing shots, except it's caffeine and not alcohol, and it's probably not good for me to drink so much so fast, even if helps me focus," she spit out in a rush while she began to pace back and forth in front of Gibbs' desk. Her hands gesticulated wildly through the air as she talked, brows furrowed while her mouth raced away.

The longtime NCIS agent sighed. Grabbing her gently by her shoulders, Gibbs guided Abby down into his chair. Speaking softly, slowly and quietly, he said, "Talk to me, Abby. Why are you up here?"

Her posture deflated. "Giiibbs!" she whined. "I am so bored down here, and I am going crazy. Can you find me something to do that's not ten pounds of lame? In the last week, I've cleaned my lab twice, recalibrated every machine five times, organized my office, and digitized every single thing in forensics. Like, why isn't anyone committing any crimes? Not that I want people to commit crimes, because if we're involved, that usually means someone is dead or hurt or missing and that's bad, so I guess-"

"Abby," he scolded gently. "Get to the point."

She took a breath. "Sorry. Being cooped up and bored is not a good thing for me." Abby stood and grabbed the remote for the plasmas off McGee's vacant desk.

"Apparently," Ziva added before she stood to get a better view of the screen. She stopped shoulder to shoulder with Gibbs and Tony, at the same time earning a little glare from the crack forensic specialist. One well-tanned hand came up in apology. "Sorry, Abby. We are all less than occupied right now, and it is seems to be affecting us all in different ways."

"Accepted," Abby answered. Smiling brightly through the blood red lipstick, she added, "But I actually found something useful for you guys to do." She snapped her head left and brought up her right hand. Clicking once, the machine obeyed with a beep while it gave her the pre-loaded image. An evidence picture of several small packages of various illicit drugs popped up on the screen, all stuffed neatly into a small section of the fuselage of a C-130 for clandestine transport. "Like I said, I ran out of stuff to do down in my lab because no one is committing any crimes. And a girl can only make so many black snowflakes before it gets really, really boring. Like, really boring. So I started running fingerprints of all our active BOLOs and cases in the various law enforcement systems from around the country."

"And you got a hit," Gibbs supplied, almost relieved his team might have something more productive to do than clean their desks for the fourth time that week.

"You know it," Abby said with a triumphant smile.

"Who?" Ziva asked.

"Remember Melvin Jenkins?" Abby said, pressing the button on the remote. It beeped compliantly and brought up another picture, this time a military ID for one Seaman Melvin Jenkins. She pressed a second button to bring up Jenkins' service records while the team re-familiarized themselves with the old case.

The face that stared back at the group of NCIS agents was, in a word, unremarkable. Melvin Jenkins was an unassuming and unimposing man in his late twenties; he was, by all accounts from his superiors, categorically substandard, though never a discipline problem. He wasn't willing to try, nor was he willing to go the extra mile to get the job done perfectly, but his work was adequate. His ability to fly under the radar, along with his station on the serving line in the galley (and subsequent and daily access to the entire crew's compliment), were the two most basic and deciding factors his supplies used when they chose him for the job. And it probably would have taken a much longer amount of time for the ship's Agent Afloat and MPs to catch up to Jenkins, had he not accidentally dumped an entire shipment of PCP into the clam chowder after 'sampling' the product he was supposed to be selling. The consumption caused mass hallucinations for nearly two-thirds of the ship's crew, including the Kitty Hawk's XO and CAG.

Gibbs thought, analyzing the data on the screen. "Yeah, we busted him last year. He was that idiot distributor for a small-time drug ring on the Kitty Hawk. I thought he was in jail."

"He was supposed to be, but I guess he flipped on his supplier in return for a lighter sentence in a cushier, lighter security, and more importantly, civilian prison. After he got to Leavenworth, he decided that it wasn't as much fun as the movies make it out to be, I guess," Abby said with a shrug. "It's nice they tell us these things, I know. Anyway, the brilliant prosecutor thought it would be an equally brilliant idea to let Jenkins out ROR until the trial was set to start, and you'll never guess what happened after that."

"He never showed," Gibbs stated rhetorically.

"Nope. And when he didn't show up, all the charges against the supplier had to be dropped because Jenkins was the state's star witness. More importantly, he was the only one who could link the supplier to the Kitty Hawk, so we don't know what else went on during that cruise. I was able to access the case notes from what was prepared for the trial, and Jenkins apparently told the prosecutor that NCIS only hit the tip of the iceberg, and he was ready to name names," she said, clicking through the rest of the notes she was able to recover.

Ziva pursed her lips. "He got cold shoes."

Tony rolled his eyes and spun dramatically toward his partner. "Feet, Ziva. The correct term is, 'He got cold feet.' You're an American citizen now. You should know these things. Mistakes like that are grounds for revocation," DiNozzo corrected.

Gibbs turned his head toward the senior field agent and simply glared.

No matter how long Tony worked for Gibbs, the singularly most intense glare in the Western hemisphere would always be something to which DiNozzo would never find immunity. Mouth forming into a little 'O', Tony snapped his mouth closed in mid word. "Sorry boss. Focusing."

"Very good, DiNozzo." To Abby, Gibbs asked, "Have there been any sightings on this guy since then?"

"None at all. Like, he went completely underground and off the grid as soon as he was out of prison. No records of any movement from his bank accounts, no credit card transactions, no cell phone, nothing. Something's got him spooked, Gibbs. Big time. So, it's not surprising that he's been in the wind ever since," she concluded, turning on her heel to face her NCIS team members. "Until now."

DiNozzo was on the fence whether he should be afraid of the dark and satisfied look on Abby's face, or if he should be proud of it. Tony decided silently on the latter before he asked, "So where did you find him, Abbs?"

Abby pressed the final button which brought up a recent mugshot of Melvin Jenkins and a Google maps image. Smirking, she said, "Iowa City, Iowa."

Gibbs' eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Iowa City? What the hell is he doing there?"

"Is there anything there, other than cornfields and cows?" DiNozzo snorted out.

Abby shrugged. "Well, I guess if you're going to hide, what better place to do it than in the middle of nowhere?"

"Iowa City isn't exactly 'nowhere'," Gibbs corrected. "It's not a big town, but it's not Stillwater, Pennsylvania, either."

"Okay, you win on that one. But big town or not, he did a really good job of it for the past eight months. I mean, even the FBI didn't have a clue where he was," Abby said, pulling up the FBI's field report on the plea bargain and the unknown whereabouts of one Melvin Jenkins.

"That's not a surprise," DiNozzo snorted out. "It's the FBI. Come on. Look at Fornell, Boss. He still can't find his ass, and it's attached to his body. Par for the course, I guess."

"How was he caught?" Ziva asked, scrutinizing the data on the screen.

Abby pressed another button that populated an arrest report to the screen. "Stupidly. Though, it wasn't surprising, given how he got himself caught dealing in the first place. That was the caveat. According to their reports, Jenkins' superiors said he was a non-issue for discipline unless he'd been drinking. He must have behaved himself for most of the time while he was on the lam, but in Iowa, he managed to start a bar fight at a local establishment in Riverside, The Stumble Inn. The owner is retired Army, and a few of the cops from Iowa City are regular patrons. Okay, this guy is dumb. Like, dumb, dumb. When the bartender cut him off, Jenkins took exception and he decided that it would be smart idea to fight a sergeant and his partner who'd intervened on the bartender's behalf. Both cops were there for dinner after work and were, more importantly, both sober."

"I'm guessing that didn't go very well for Melvin," Tony supplied, laughing at the idea of Jenkins getting his ass handed to him by two trained police officers.

"No." Abby pressed another button and put up two service pictures from the Iowa City PD on the screen. "Officer Kirk and his FTO-turned-permanent-partner, Sergeant McCoy, did not take kindly to Jenkins' drunken antics. They subdued him, took him to the drunk tank, booked him, and he's been stewing there since last night while he slept it off."

DiNozzo, half-listening to Abby's narrative, studied the two faces on the screen. Kirk's young face and bright blue eyes practically jumped off the screen while screaming 'mischievous little bastard' in big, bold letters, but DiNozzo's attention went to the slightly more demure picture of the older, more experienced (and most certainly crabbier) sergeant. He snorted. "Wow. Look at that scowl on McCoy's face. Boss, he might even give you a run for your money," Tony said, lightly tapping Gibbs on the upper arm.

The team leader reciprocated with an equally fierce scowl as the one on the plasma, but added in a shot to the back of DiNozzo's head for good measure. Without missing a beat, Gibbs asked, "Has anyone talked to the Iowa City PD about this?"

"Not to my knowledge. I don't think they even uploaded his prints into AFIS yet."

"So how did you find him?" Gibbs queried.

Abby looked contrite. She fiddled with the seam of the remote for the plasma while she said, "In the last couple of stupid boring days, I may or may not have designed a sniffer program with some of McGee's platforms to search police databases for files and prints not uploaded to the national registry."

"So, you hacked the country's police departments? I am impressed," Ziva said, drawing out the words of her second sentence while she smiled approvingly.

Tony's face split into a wide grin. "Way to go McAbby! Make good use of that extra time!" he exclaimed, lifting his hand for a fist bump from the forensics expert. Gibbs and Ziva turned and gaped in Abby's general direction, both looking pleased but doing their best not to show it.

Abby shirked back when she saw the two intense but amused gazes of Gibbs and Ziva pointed her direction. "What? Stop staring at me like that. I can't just like, do nothing. That would suck," she responded as innocently as possible.

"Looks like we're going to fetch," Gibbs said, spinning on his heel.

In his head, Tony silently prayed. 'Please don't pick me. Please don't pick me.' He let his eyes slide over toward his boss, hopeful that he was transmitting positive energy waves in Gibbs' direction. If there was anything he didn't want to do, it was go to Iowa. Scrubbing the mats of the NCIS gym with a toothbrush was bound to be more pleasurable than a road trip the middle of God's Arctic Asscrack, where there was probably more snow than the North Pole, with people who had funny accents and ate weird food. No, it would be much better to stay in D.C., even if he was bored off his ass.

Gibbs strode back over to his desk. He picked up the phone and barked, "McGee! Get your ass down here. We have a case."

'Thank God,' DiNozzo thought, exhaling in blessed relief as he sat down at his desk. He pulled up his email and pretended to work while he half-listened to Gibbs' phone conversation. He learned early on that anticipation was nine-tenths of the law when working with Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and DiNozzo felt sorry for McGee as he thought about what his boss was about to tell the younger agent.

Well, almost. The thought did at least cross his mind, which was a step in the right direction.

McGee came striding down the stairs just in time for Abby and Gibbs to catch him up on the events of the day. Tim nodded in understanding and went over to his desk to grab his backpack. He was just reaching in the top drawer of his desk for his Dramamine when Gibbs' voice rang through the bullpen.

"DiNozzo! David! Go see the director and then grab your gear and get to Iowa City. You're both on errand detail today. Find Kirk and McCoy and bring Jenkins back to D.C. I want to know what else he was ready to talk about. McGee – background and research. I want everything we had on the Jenkins case," Gibbs ordered, opening up the customary drawer for his gun and badge. He grabbed the jacket off the shelf behind his desk and shrugged it on. "I'm going for coffee."

…And the bubble was officially popped. "Boss, you know I'm allergic to cold weather! It makes me break out in hives!" DiNozzo insisted at Gibbs' retracting back.

"Of course, you could stay here and help Ducky clean the coolers in autopsy. Palmer's on vacation. I heard he's taking volunteers to fill the spot," Gibbs said while he hit the down button on the elevator. Stepping in, he turned around and looked Tony straight in the eye. "Your call."

"Thanks, Boss. I'll go to Iowa," DiNozzo said with a cringe. Tony allowed the doors to close on Gibbs' scowling face before he allowed his head fall onto the smooth surface of his desk. He let out a little squeak of agony. "Why me?" he whined fitfully.

Ziva walked up and laid a mock-placating hand on her partner's back while DiNozzo dramatically scratched at his body and shuddered. She clucked her tongue a couple of times. "Oh, it will be okay, Tony," she said in a blatantly patronizing voice.

"You don't understand," he moaned dramatically as if he were being killed slowly and deliberately. His elbows and forearms muffled the words coming from his mouth, but the tone was perfectly clear.

"Understand what? What is so bad that it necessitates crying and whining? Are we headed to the Boondocks again?" Ziva asked, tilting her head to the side.

"No," DiNozzo said. He lifted his head and stared blankly ahead like a dead man about to walk the plank. His voice was flat and resigned when he added, "It's worse than the Boondocks. It's Iowa."

"Tony, according the latest weather maps, Iowa City, and the Midwest in general, is the big, red bullseye of a gigantic blizzard. Deadwood, South Dakota is reporting thirty inches of snow in less than twenty hours, and the same system that hit them is predicted to spin south in the next couple of hours to sit over," Tim said, clicking a few buttons dramatically to put the Midwest radar up on the plasma, "…Right where you're headed. Have fun."

Tony turned and glared at Tim. "McGeek, your poker face sucks. Stop looking so happy. Seriously, Tim. Why are you so happy? We're flying into a giant wall of snow. No one should like this, not if they're sane."

"Present company included?" McGee asked cheekily.

DiNozzo grabbed his bag angrily from its stash place under his desk, stuffing a few things in it for the ride. He shot another glare at McGee just for good measure when Tim started whistling the Canadian national anthem. "Okay, Tim. We're going to Iowa. Not Canada. Iowa."

McGee shrugged. "Close enough. Just make sure when you come home, you don't say, 'Ya, sure, you betcha,' all the time."

"Probie, you're a walking encyclopedia. You have to know that's Minnesota, not Iowa."

"It's semantics, Tony. I hardly think a couple hundred miles is going to make a huge difference. They're both located in the heart of the Midwest, where it's cold and snowing, and probably not very pleasant," Tim replied, unable (and unwilling) to keep the smirk of satisfaction from his face.

"You're enjoying this way too much," DiNozzo hissed over the monitor of his computer. "It's like rubbing salt into an open wound."

"Would I do that to you?" McGee shrugged and plastered a superior smirk across his face. In a voice that was dripping with sarcasm, McGee said, "Tony, when I spent all that time in Canada earlier this year, I learned a thing or two from our northern counterparts. They taught me that you can't hate the weather, and you can't control it. They showed me that I had to embrace the winter if I was going to survive it. You'd be surprised what you can learn if you're just a little more open minded."

"I can't believe that I'm being lectured by a guy who had to re-train his accent so he wasn't mistaken for Bryan Adams every time he opened his mouth when he got back home," Tony muttered under his breath. "And what people in their right minds embrace winters like that? You told me that in the ten steps it took you to get from the door to car, you repeatedly froze your balls off. I wasn't worried then because it was you, but what about me? What about the boys?"

"Regretting spending all that time in MTAC making fun of me now, DiNozzo? I think someone's jealous of all the skills I picked up north of the border. In fact, I think I might have an extra set of long underwear for you to use." He shifted in his chair, a smug grin of satisfaction plastered all over his youthful face. "Tell you what: just bring me back some real maple syrup and some moose jerky and we'll call it good."

DiNozzo growled as he stuffed the final personal items in his backpack, turned and stalked toward the elevators. Screw super gluing McGee's hands to his keyboard – he should have glued Tim's desk (and everything on it) to the floor. At least a long, boring flight to Iowa would give him a long time to plan the next epic prank. Not even a phone call a minute on his Craigslist ad would be enough to make up for all of McGee's gloating. Tony slumped down at his desk and picked up the phone to make the reservations with the transport from Andrews. His fingers dialed while he glared at McGee.

Ziva watched the entire exchange with growing amusement. It was not often that Tim was able to turn the tables on his senior field agent, and she could see he was clearly enjoying every second of it. Truthfully, so was she, because Tony and his ego did need a good, hard reality check every now and again. She thought it was good for him. It built character, as her father might have once said. She shrugged, picked up her bag from the floor, and slung it loosely over her shoulder. "I am going to inform the Director. Does anyone need anything from the machines upstairs?"

"Nope. I'm good," McGee answered, rapidly punching keys while he searched the computerized files for all of NCIS' information on the Jenkins case.

Tony stared longingly at the gun in his desk drawer, wondering if it would be grounds for dismissal if he were to throw it at McGee. Maybe if he just tossed the magazine instead of the whole gun…

DiNozzo's fingers twitched once, twice and he was just about to reach for the black alloy Sig when Gibbs' voice stopped him.

Customary coffee in hand, Gibbs breezed back into the bullpen. He shrugged out of heavy overcoat and draped it over his chair. He settled at his desk and fished out his reader glasses from the drawer before he looked at both Tony and McGee. "No killing each other, you two. That's an order." The Gunny shot a glare at DiNozzo before he said with a wave of his hand, "You and Ziva go. Now."

"Just stay away from the wood chippers!" McGee called from the squad room. Tim felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and pulling it out, he studied the caller ID. It was not a number he recognized, so he thumbed over the lock and put the device to his ear. "McGee."

Tony took a deep breath and grabbed the seabag he kept stashed in the floor under his desk for similar occasions. He draped his coat over his arm before he rounded his desk, joining Ziva at the mouth of the bullpen after she procured her required travel essentials. They walked in stride toward the bank of elevators, pausing only because each car was on another floor. The brief respite while the pair waited for the elevator gave DiNozzo the opportunity to turn around and stare straight at the team's former probie. The look of smug satisfaction on his face while Tim stammered away was almost maniacal.

McGee's eyebrows furrowed, and for a brief second, Tim looked much more like the unsure, somewhat confused and green rookie than the seasoned investigator he'd become. McGee listed to the caller before he replied, "No, I didn't put any ad on Craigslist, offering my car for sale. I'm very happy with it, and I need it to get to work every day. And-what do I look like? Why are you asking me-No, I am not interested in a date!"

The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival on the bullpen floor, and Tony turned to step into the small cubicle with his partner. Waving, he caught McGee's angry glare as the doors closed. "Bye, McLucky!"

"Tony! I'm going to kill you!"

Next Up: It's poker night in Iowa City for Kirk, Pike, McCoy and Scotty.