Archive of Our Own

McGee almost lost it at the crime scene.

“You’re looking a little green around the McGills, Probie,” said Tony, obviously amused by McGee’s discomfort.

Tim’s voice was soft. “I’ve never seen anyone shot,” he paused, struggling to find the words, “down there. Before.” As the words left his mouth, he turned, quickly walking out of the door.

Looking out the window, Tony watched as Tim bent over, his hands on his thighs.

“Probie’s going to blow,” he said.

Gibbs shoved the camera at Tony. “Shoot it,” he said before stepping outside to talk to Tim. “McGee! Witness statements.”

Tim moved one hand to his stomach and nodded. Glancing around, he saw police officers and wondered who Gibbs wanted him to question.

Gibbs threw his hands up. “The girlfriend, McGee!”

“Right, Boss.”

How could he forget? She’d taken her dog out for a walk, came back and found her new boyfriend, Marine Lance Corporal James Rodriguez, lying on her living room floor in a pool of blood. Currently, she was sitting in the back of a squad car, sobbing and clutching a bottle of water someone had given her. The door was open and her Irish Setter was sitting obediently next to her legs. Occasionally, her hand would drift over to pat the dog’s head.

“Excuse me, Miss Watson? What’s your dog’s name?”

The young woman leaned over to place a possessive arm around her dog’s back in a loose hug. “Lucky,” she managed between sniffles.

“Beautiful dog. My name is Special Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS. My team will be investigating James’ death. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions. Do you have any idea who could have done this?”

“I know who did it,” she wailed. “My stupid ex-boyfriend, Andy Cook.”

“Are you sure? Did you see him?”

“I think so. When I was down at the far end of the block, I saw someone running to a car in the street. They pulled out fast. I thought they had run from my house. When I opened the door, I saw him, James, on the floor. I knew he was dead and I knew exactly who did it.”

“How did you and James meet?”

“We met at a bar a couple months ago. He was there playing pool with a couple of his friends. Andy was being an asshole as usual. James came over and told him he should treat a lady better. Andy said he would if I was a lady. He and his friends laughed. I’d had enough. James held his hand out to me and I took it. I spent the rest of the night hanging out with him and his friends. They were nice to me. Really nice. And James told me not to worry. He said he would make sure I got home safely.”

“Did you see Andy after that? Did he make any threats?”

“Andy wanted me to go with him, but I wouldn’t. The bartender came over and told them to leave or he was going to call the cops. As they were walking out, he pointed back at us and said he was going to kill us both.”

McGee reached down to pat the dog’s head. “Might be that taking Lucky for a walk this morning saved your life.”

Miss Watson nodded quickly. “I just can’t believe that James is dead. He treated me real nice, you know?”

“I am truly sorry for your loss. I will need any information you have on your ex-boyfriend. Phone numbers, addresses, where he works.”

Miss Watson took out her cell phone and pulled up her address book before handing it over to McGee. “He’s a mechanic. He works at Barry’s Garage.”

“Thank you.”

Two days later, after Andy Cook was taken into custody and questioned by Gibbs, McGee ventured down to autopsy. Jimmy opened the drawer holding Lance Corporal Rodriguez without question. Tim stood over the body, not removing the sheet.

Tony found him down there. “Shot in the crotch, that’s got to hurt,” he said, shaking his head in sympathy.

“I’ve never seen anyone shot,” Tim began. After a short pause, he continued, “down there.”

“Down there?” Tony chuckled lightly. “He wasn’t shot in Australia, you know. Is that how you worded it in your report: down there?”

“I haven’t written it up yet. I thought maybe I could just call it his member.”

The doors to autopsy swooshed open as Ducky returned.

“Member?” Tony questioned. “What about you, Ducky? How do you describe the location of Lance Corporal’s lower wound in a report?”

“It is a rather delicate subject, is it not? He has been shot in the penis, which also damaged his testicular area. It was not, however, the shot that killed him. That would be the shot to his head. His other head.”

“But we still have to include the crotch shot in the report, correct?” questioned Tony.

“To be accurate, we must include all wounds, indeed,” Ducky agreed.

With a wave of his hand, Tony left autopsy with Tim on his heels. As he walked by Kate’s desk, Tony stopped to ask her, “In your report, Kate, how did you describe the Lance Corporal’s wound to his nether region? Let me guess. Manhood? Appendage?”

Kate coughed lightly to clear her throat. “Well, I used the term, male genitalia.”

Tony smirked. “As opposed to the Lance Corporal’s female genitalia? Not much better than Probie’s member. Member of what? Gibbs might think you’re talking about a club membership or something.”

“What are you putting in your report?” asked Tim, his face beginning to redden. He regretted asking the question even as his words left his mouth.

Looking toward the ceiling, Tony mused, “There are so many options. I mean, you could call it a dick, prick, cock, schlong, dong, magic lamp, skin flute, tally wacker, shaft, pickle, trouser snake, Johnson, love muscle, pecker, tubesteak, weiner schnitzel, twig and berries and, I am sure, one of several other terms. I would stay away from more obscure terms that Gibbs may not be familiar with like anaconda, jackhammer or fuck rod. Have you ever actually seen a penis?”

Tim’s eyes widened slightly. “I do have one.”

“Do you? Because I’m not so sure I’ve ever seen it. Despite using the same gym and rest room, I don’t think I ever have. You do use the men’s room, not the ladies’ room, right Probie?”

“Of course!” Tim’s blush deepened.

“Perhaps you keep it locked up tight like Samsonite. Is it safely stored on a shelf in your apartment? Do you take it out to play with every once in a while, or do you just dust it off from time to time and put it back on the shelf?”

“It’s private.”

Clicking his heels, Tony looked to Tim’s crotch and saluted. “Aye, Aye, Private Dickie McSchlong-Dong.”

“I don’t like people looking there,” said Tim as he hurried to his desk where he could sit down.

“You don’t like people looking at your member?” Tony asked as he followed Tim. “Is it embarrassingly small? Is it, Tiny Tim? A mini-schlongadongdong, McPecker? I bet you referred to it as your wee winky while you were growing up. Am I right? Do you still?”

“That is none of your business.” Placing his fingertips on his keyboard, Tim began typing frantically, hoping Tony would go back to his own desk.

Holding up his index finger, Tony said, “I’ve got it! Throbbing man-meat.”

“I am not putting that in a report. And I doubt it was throbbing after the bullet passed through it.”

“Bloody cock!”

Coming around the corner quickly, Gibbs head slapped Tony. “Keep your throbbing man-meat and bloody cocks to yourself, DiNozzo.”

“Come on, Boss. I was trying to help our Probie find a suitable term for his report. Something other than member. The important thing, Tim, is to find one that fits. It really shouldn’t be that hard to do. How about tool? Certainly, Gibbs, you would understand that, right?”

Gibbs glared at him. “Desk. Now. Tim, penis and testicles will be fine.”

“Don’t you find the term penis just a little boring and clinical?” asked Tony. “Is that what Marines call their sexual organ? I bet they call it a weapon in the military. Maybe a sword, or something like that.”

“DiNozzo!” Gibbs shouted as he stood up and nodded toward the elevator.

Rising from his desk, Tony insisted, “I already suggested shaft, Boss.”

There was no answer, but Gibbs waved his fingers for Tony to follow.

The door slid shut as Gibbs punched the button for a lower floor. As he turned to face Tony, he flipped the emergency brake, stopping the car. The maintenance crew had long ago disengaged the alarm. After all, there was a call phone anyone could use if they were truly stuck.

“You’re killing me,” he said softly as he pushed Tony against the back wall and kissed him passionately. Wrapping his arms around Gibbs, Tony kissed him back.

“I can’t help but notice the tenting in your pants, Boss.”

“All your fault. You know what happens when you talk dirty.”

“Dirty? I was helping Timmy find the appropriate technical term for his report.”

“Throbbing man-meat? What sort of a report was that going into?”

"A nice hot, juicy one?" Tony grinned slightly as he dropped to his knees, his hands on Gibbs’ thighs. “He has no idea about a lot of things, Boss.”

“It’s not up to you to teach him. Let him find his own way.”

“I’m afraid he has the necessary equipment, but has no idea how to use it.” Tony inhaled deeply, nuzzling at Gibbs’ crotch.

Gibbs placed one hand against the elevator wall for support and the other at the back of Tony’s head, bringing him in closer. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

Tony slowly dropped the zipper on Gibbs’ trousers and released his cock. “There it is! Gibbs’ throbbing man-meat.”

“I certainly do not want to see that written into any reports.”

Tony took the tip into his mouth to wet it, then began pumping the shaft. Looking back up at Gibbs, he added, “If I were to write anything about your cock, it would be an epically long, meaty poem, or maybe a song. A long dong schlong song.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I prefer you worship it silently, on your knees.”

“On it, Boss,” replied Tony, giving his full attention Gibbs’ hard cock, taking it into his mouth once again.

~The End~
27 December 2014