A/N: This is a crack!fic oneshot. I can't define it any other way and I'm not entirely certain where the idea came from. Nevertheless, I shouldn't need to say this, but there absolutely nothing intelligent or serious found in this story. I know, I know, you probably can't believe that, but it's true. Every so often, I am able to write something crazy.

Disclaimer: To what I'm sure is the profound relief of an PTB, I do not own NCIS and I am not making any money off of this or any other story of mine. DPB and CBS, both whom take in a lot more money than I do, have that happy privilege.

Local Storms
by Enthusiastic Fish

Vance didn't much like DC weather. He just didn't. San Diego was much nicer. The nice moderating sea breeze, the drier air. It was all around much better than the stinking swamp from which Washington, DC had been carved. It was hot. It was sticky. It was just wrong.

In fact, it was criminal. That's what it was. It was absolutely criminal...and as the director of NCIS, he wasn't going to stand for it anymore.

Decision made, he stood up, marched to his office door...paused and checked his reflection in the retracting full-length mirror he'd recently installed, and then marched out to the balcony. There they were, his MCRT, hard at work. It did his heart good to see them working so very hard.

Now, he had a task worthy of them. He continued his march down the steps and stopped when he was sure he had their full, undivided attention.

"I have an important mission for your team, Agent Gibbs."

Ah, now they were interested.

"Now. Who in this room likes the weather today?"

There was a confused silence.

"Well? Any of you?"

"Um...no, sir," Tim ventured finally.

"Why not?"

"It's humid?" Tony ventured.

"Yes, and combined with the heat, it is very sticky," Ziva added.

Gibbs remained silent.

"In fact, it's downright awful, today," Tony said with slightly more confidence.

"Exactly."

"Exactly?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes. That's your mission."

"What is?"

"I want you to find out who's in charge of this horrid weather and either arrest the person(s) involved," he said, pronouncing the parentheses with ease, "or else convince him, her or them to knock it off. I'm tired of waking up every morning, stepping out the door and finding my suit wrinkled. I'm tired of dripping with sweat with every step I take. We never had this problem in San Diego. The weather gods were fine there. You people here in DC must have done something to tick them off. So figure out what the problem is and fix it!"

"Um...sir?" Tim asked.

"What, Agent McGee?"

"How soon do you want this taken care of?"

"ASAP, McGee. ASAP. I'm hot and tired of it (in terms of temperature, not in terms of my appearance). So...hurry it up. I want to find that you've made significant progress by tomorrow morning."

Satisfied that he'd made his point, Vance turned around, marched back up to his office and sat down at his desk, confident that his MCRT would not fail to succeed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stunned silence reigned in the bullpen for a full minute before the talking began.

"Weather gods?"

"Arresting the weather?"

"Can we do that, Boss?"

"I really think that if we just went and talked to them it would all turn out okay."

Tim's voice rang out much too loudly over the rest of them and the others looked at him in surprise.

"What?"

"Couldn't we just...you know...explain what the problem is and perhaps ask them to turn down the heat a little...it's only neighborly."

"Talk to the weather gods?"

"Explain?" Ziva asked.

"Well, we don't have to threaten to arrest them right off the bat."

"Ask them nicely?"

"It would be only polite."

"Boss? This is crazy talk!" Tony announced.

"Why?" Gibbs asked. "Obviously, Leon has forgotten that NCIS does not have jurisdiction over the weather. ...but I don't see why we couldn't ask them."

"Look, the weather gods have always had it in for DC in the summertime. That's just part of living here!" Tony exclaimed. "We're not going to tell them that the weather should be changed to be more like San Diego! Remember what happened when the FBI tried that? Suggested that maybe a little drier air would be a good thing? Sacks couldn't walk out of his house without a localized rainstorm above his head for more than a week!"

"Well, Sacks has never been known for his etiquette," Tim said.

"True."

"The weather gods in Israel do not enjoy being bothered. At Mossad we simply accepted that and changed the weather ourselves when we wished to!"

"How?"

Ziva gave Tony a look of disdain. "Have you never seen a rain dance, Tony?"

"Oh, come on!" Tim said. "I've tried that loads of times! It never works."

"Let me see your dance," Ziva said.

"Here?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Do it, Probie!"

Blushing a little, Tim stood. "I made it up myself based on my research into effective meteorological manipulation...but it doesn't work."

"Do it."

Tim began to twirl around, leaping lightly from one side of the bullpen to the other with an occasional twist or a fist pump. It took about thirty seconds and then he stopped.

"See? No rain."

Ziva was watching critically. "No, McGee. You were doing everything correctly after your beginning, but you have not dialed the correct access code. Of course, your request afterward would not work if you are not even in the right system. Your beginning is for the weather in Laos."

"Laos?"

"Yes. No doubt, the rain has already begun there. I guess we know why they've been having weather trouble."

Tim gulped.

"Can you show me the DC code?"

Ziva shook her head. "Later. We do not wish to add more moisture into the air. We wish there to be less...and for the temperature to be lower."

"Okay, let's roll."

Gibbs strode to the elevator.

"But, Boss, how are we going to get in to talk to them?"

Thwack!

"Right, right. Forget I asked."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The weather gods were temperamental at best. Generally, it was best to let them do what they wanted, provided they weren't drowning people...actually, even then. When the gods can literally bring down fire from the heavens if they want to, you tend to avoid ticking them off.

Still, everyone knew where the weather gods dwelt (and they dwelt there, not lived. The gods always dwell). It was a simple choice, really. If you were a god of DC weather, where else would you choose to dwell? Dupont Circle, of course. Why? Well, you'd have to be a god to understand.

As they got out of the sedan, Tony raised his hand.

"Okay, for the record? I think this is a bad idea."

"Duly noted."

"We just want to ask. I'll be polite," Tim said.

"Whoa! Hold on there, Probie. You are not doing the talking."

"Why not, Tony?" Ziva asked. "He is well-mannered and gentlemanly."

"He's the Probie! They'll know that they're not getting the head honcho."

"But...but..." Tim sputtered.

"Let him do it, DiNozzo. You really think that I'd be a better choice?" Gibbs asked, pointedly. "Or you? ...or Miss Kill-People-Eighteen-Ways-With-A-Paperclip?"

"Hey! I can be very diplomatic!" Ziva protested. "I have often thought twice before killing someone with a paperclip."

"Besides, McGee is the only one fluent in meteorologicalese. Let's go." Gibbs gestured and they headed for the fountain in the center of Dupont Circle. Everyone was more than a little nervous. As they walked to the fountain, they paused at the edge and each twirled around in a circle before climbing into the pool. Then, they all walked underneath the fountain of water and waited.

With the sounding of a toilet being flushed, they were whisked away to the domain of the weather gods of DC.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When they reached their destination, they paused to catch their breath. Then, they walked along the watery path until they reached the board room of the weather gods. They were leaning over a map of DC, pointing out various areas and ignoring the ringing telephone.

"Ahem." Tim said politely.

They lifted their heads.

"Cower before your doom, mortals!" The voice boomed. "What does NCIS want with us?"

Tim smiled at the friendly greeting. "I'm happy you're in such a good mood today, oh weather gods."

"Despair before your destruction!"

"Yes, thank you."

"A whirlwind of terror shall encompass you roundabout!"

"You understand how it is, I'm sure," Tim said, now treading carefully. "We have a job to do, bosses to satisfy."

One of the gods rolled his cloud-filled eyes. "Oh, great shall be your fall!" he agreed.

"Exactly. Well, our boss, the director...he's from out of town and hasn't yet adjusted to the temperature change. You know it does get very hot and humid in DC in summer."

One stood. "Daggers of light shall fall from on high!"

"Most of us are used to it," Tim said quickly. "And it is quite nice in the winter when we avoid most of the severe weather."

"Wind! Rain! Flood! What do you want us to do about it?" asked the only bilingual weather god of the group.

"I know it's a pain...having to adjust the temperature gauge, get the programming straightened out, but I was wondering if it wouldn't be too much trouble if you just...modulated the weather a bit...just until the director can adjust. I must admit that having a brief respite would be nice for the rest of us as well."

The gods looked at Tim.

"As javelins from the arm of a skilled javelin-thrower, shall the wind drive shafts of wheat through the air!"

"That would be excellent. It really would be. Is it possible?"

The gods stared for a few more moments before banging their heads together (they'd didn't often engage in huddles and sometimes aimed badly) and talked about what to do. Every so often, one would look up at the NCIS team and make a random comment (See the vengeance of the hail!) before getting back to the conversation.

"They're not going for it, McGee," Tony muttered. "I do not want a raincloud hanging out above my head. My hair doesn't look good when it's wet!"

"Patience. They were receptive, but it'd be a hassle for them. Let them talk it out."

"This is why living in a desert is easier," Ziva whispered. "All we must do is a rain dance and we are on our way. Here, it is the opposite problem."

"Shut up, all of you," Gibbs hissed. "If this ends up with us getting our meteorological behinds kicked, I'll be very upset and Vance will be the least of your worries."

"He already is," Tony muttered...very softly.

The gods came out of their huddle.

"Hear now the words of the mighty!" declared the bilingual god.

"Ready."

"As the dews from the ground, as sleet from the cloud, as rooster-shaped weather vanes twirl upon the highest barn, so shall the gods be present from now to ever! Quail before all that oppresses you! The fervent heat! The sweat-inducing moisture in the air! Quail! Quail!"

Then, they went back to their table. Tim nodded and walked back along the path. The others followed.

"Well?" Tony asked.

"They said that they're sorry but the temperature gauge has been faulty the last few weeks. They're still waiting for the repairman to get in and fix it. Until then, they have no recourse but to allow nature to take its course. They can't always get involved although they did attempt to bring in a northerly wind that would cool things off."

"Why didn't that work?"

"Because the weather gods of Buffalo nicked the cooler air and sent on the used stuff. It's never as good the second time around."

"What are we going to tell Vance?"

"I'll think of something," Gibbs said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance stared impatiently at the temperature reports. It was still hot. It was still muggy. Why weren't the numbers going down? He'd ordered his team to take care of it! Well, there would be some serious toothpick-chewing if they didn't get their act together soon.

Gibbs knocked and came in, followed by his faithful...er...followers.

"Well, Agent Gibbs? I'm not seeing any decrease in the unpleasantness...and that is unpleasant...for me."

"Their system is currently in need of repair. There's nothing they can do, Vance. They're not breaking any laws. We can't arrest them."

"This weather is criminal! I want them to take care of it!"

"They can't, sir. I'm sorry," Tim said. "They do feel badly about it."

Vance sat down morosely in his chair. He felt petulant.

"Yeah, I'll just bet they do. I'm tired of my suits getting wrinkly! I don't want to look frumpy anymore! What am I supposed to do?"

"Hey! I have an idea! I know a way you could get away from the heat without the repairs being finished!" Tony announced.

"What?"

Tony whispered in Tim's ear and Tim's expression when from confused to excited.

"Oh, sir. It is a great idea!"

"Tell me!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance walked into the building the next morning and brushed the snow off his shoulders. He watched happily as the cloud above his head dissipated.

"Morning, Bradley."

"Looks like you've got local snow showers, sir."

"I do, indeed," Vance said with a smile. "Cool and comfortable all the way in. Perfect."

FINIS!