A/N: I've been in a funk, and DNAchemLia suggested writing some comedy. This is for the Streakers on the Run challenge on NFA. Oneshot. Enjoy! Sheila

The Score

"Hey Boss, stop the car. I think that's him."

"At the bus stop?" Gibbs frowned. "No way."

"Seriously. Back up. I think we found him."

It was almost 11 p.m. and warehouse district was largely deserted so Gibbs put the car in reverse and backed half a block to the bus stop. He stopped and looked out the window. There he was, the always correct and formal Timothy McGee, sitting on a bench wearing nothing on his body but the sports section from the Washington Post.

Gibbs rolled down the window and leaned out. "Tim?"

McGee wobbled his head in Gibbs' direction. "Boss? What are you doing here?" The whole sentence came out as one word.

"Looking for you. You told us to meet you at Santino's. Said you wanted to celebrate."

"Thaaanks for coming, Boss." He craned his neck. "Is that Tony? Hey Tony!"

"Hey yourself, Tim." The absurdity of the situation had stolen his wit.

"Why don't you get in the car, McGee?"

Tim shook his head slowly. "Boss, I don't think it's such a good idea. I don't have any clothes on."

"Yeah, we noticed. Probably best to get you off the street."

"Naw, I'm pretty embarrassed. Probably best if I stay right here."

Tony leaned past Gibbs. "You gonna take a bus? I'd like to know where you're keeping your spare change."

"If it's alright with you, I think I'll just stay here for a little while. Maybe have a little nap." McGee's head started to droop.

"Oh for heaven's sakes. I'll go out and grab him."

Gibbs grabbed his arm. "You hold on now. You know how stubborn he gets. The last thing we need is to have you wrestling with him on the concrete. There is nobody around so let's take it slow."

"Tim, we're a little confused. You invite us out to celebrate and we get there and there's nothing left of you but a pair of boxers on the pool table. What happened?"

Tim lifted his head. "Welllll, I went to the range to qualify like you asked."

"I remember."

"Annnnd, there were some Marine snipers there, and they were having kind of competition, you see. Only I screwed everything up for them."

Tony was grinning at McGee's slurred speech. "How did you screw it up?"

"Wellll, I got the best score at the range for the day- actually for the year. Can you believe that? Boss, I got within two points of your best lifetime best. Can you believe that?"

Gibbs nodded. "You got a good eye, Tim. I've been saying that for years."

"Sooo, these Marines got a little frustrated 'cause they thought one of them was taking the day's best score, but then they got real friendly and wanted to take me out for a drink."

"Oh yeah, I bet they did."

"How much did you drink, Probes?" Tony couldn't control the smile on his face.

"Wellll, they like shots. I don't like shots, but there are these nice watermelon ones and I had two. And I called you guys. And then the guys bought me two more. And then I had a chicken wing, and the guys bought me two more and then-"

Gibbs winced. "Yeah, I'm getting the picture now."

"Annnd then, there was this game called strip darts. I never heard about that before. Tony, do you know that game?"

"Ah no, but it sounds like the kind of game a bunch of Marines would play with the guy who ruined their day."

"I did okay at first, but then I couldn't control the darts, and you lose clothing any time you miss the board, and the guys were lining up shots, and the next thing you know I'm in my boxers, and the waitress is yelling at me."

"Oh my God!" Tony covered his face.

"Then I threw my last dart and hit the pool table which is a double elimin-mination and they took my boxers, Boss."

Gibbs turned his head to glare at Tony. "We would've gotten there on time if you hadn't needed to go through that drive through for a milkshake."

"To be fair, we did not know he'd been set upon by a pack of angry jarheads. These are your people, Boss."

"Whaaat you have to do when you lose everything is run around the block reaaal quick and then you get all your clothes back. Sooo, I started running and then I heard a woman scream, and I thought she was in trouble so I chased her, but that made her very upset, and then these two guys started chasing me and so I just kept running. I took sooo many turns, and I didn't have my phone to GPS my way back to Santino's. Do you think the guys at the bar are mad? They're expecting me back. Apparently, during a double elmin-mination, you have to buy everybody a round. I don't…I don't think I remembered to do that."

Gibbs rubbed his mouth. "I imagine we better get back there and see that those guys get what they deserve."

"Ahhh Boss, I don't want to get in your car without any clothes."

Tony got out of the car. "I got your boxers and wallet, McGee, and a t-shirt we bought at the bar. Apparently, they had auctioned off the rest of your stuff before we got there."

McGee shook his head, frowning. "Thaat's not in the rules. I extinctly remembered that I was supposed to get all my clothes back after my run."

Tony held out the boxers. "Get these on."

"Close your eyes!"

"Aw, come on. Probie, you're putting them on backwards. Hold still. Give me a leg. Boss! I swear to God, McGee! Your arm doesn't go there! Just don't move! Put your head here." Tony stood back and looked over his rumpled teammate. "Combat pay is what I deserve. Did you hear that, Boss? Combat pay!"

Gibbs chuckled. "Get in the car."

McGee screwed up his face. "I'm not appropriate for your car."

Gibbs closed his eyes and sighed. "Okay. Callout!"

"Seriously? I didn't hear your phone."

"Dead Marine in Rock Creek Park!"

McGee stumbled into the back of the car. "Boss, do you think it's one of my new friends?"

"We can only hope," Tony muttered. "Lay down, McGee. You can get a few winks before we get there."

McGee lifted his head once more. "Is Ziva bringing the truck?! I don't have any shoes, Boss!"

"Lay down and shut up, McGee!"

A minute later, there was snoring. Tony looked at Gibbs. "Are we really going to let them get away with this?"

"I talked to the bartender. They are there every Wednesday. Next Wednesday is going to be their Waterloo."

"Yes!"

"We're setting up a dartboard in my living room. Starting tomorrow, there is mandatory dart practice after work. Next week, we'll play some strip darts for real." Gibbs smirked as he focused on the road.

"Can't wait. In the meantime, we gotta take McGee out for a decent celebration when he sobers up. He's worked damn hard to get as good as he is with a gun."

Gibbs smiled. "That's our probie for you."

…

The End