Boxed in – McGiva Style

I own nothing. not even the containers or the crates.


The wharf lined with shipping containers was an all too familiar sight to Ziva only this time she wasn't blessed with the reassuring presence of an experienced ex-cop but lumbered with McGee: local rookie and resident geek. She ducked as another bullet twanged the side of the metal container inches from her face and signalled McGee to move around to the left. He nodded but a volley of shots caused him to deviate abruptly into the nearest open container.

"Noooooooo," she whined irritably. Sneaking to the door she called out urgently: "McGee, get out of there."

"Ziva you've got to see this stuff," McGee's voice echoed around the container.

"Tell me about it when you are OUTSIDE."

"But the .."

Ziva lowered her weapon and stood squarely in the doorway. "Get out of that box before.." then she felt the push and heard the door slam shut. The dim light plummeted to inky blackness.

"Ziva? Why did you shut the door?"

"I didn't."

"Then why is it….oh."

"Yes: oh. That is why I was saying 'get out of here'. It's a trap." Her eyes detected the faint yellow glow of his flashlight and she stomped over to him. "What were you thinking?"

"There are cases and cases of weapons here."

"Yes, this is why we were sent."

"No, I mean in here: look." He swept the beam over a range of crates, some still open and brimming with guns. The container was half full.

"Yes, a perfect way to catch a rookie." Ziva flicked out her cell phone and grimaced. "The same as last time: no signal."

"Of course not," said McGee indignantly. "We're in a giant Faraday cage."

"A what?"

"It's the same reason that if you put your cell phone in a microwave and call it, it doesn't ring."

"Doesn't the microwaving hurt the phone?"

There was a pause as McGee regrouped. "Yes, it would fry the chip instantaneously. You're not supposed to turn the microwave on; you're just supposed to use it as a Faraday cage."

Ziva took a moment to think about it and then gave up. "When we are out of here, you will explain this to me."

"You mean if."

"McGee," Ziva explained patiently, "Tony and Gibbs were just outside. They have to notice we are missing and sooner or later they will come looking for us."

The crate shifted suddenly thrusting Ziva hard against McGee. "Unless they load the container on to the ship," McGee noted.

The world listed sharply to one side throwing McGee flat on his back and catapulting Ziva through the air to land sprawled on top him. "You're much softer than Tony."

"Oh great: so if this whole special agent thing doesn't work out I'll always have a steady job as a mattress. And for future reference the phrase 'you feel softer than Tony' is considered a bit of a put down."

The container lurched again and their last vision before they plunged back into darkness was of a dozen heavy crates careering towards them. Instinctively McGee rolled to cocoon Ziva; his right arm holding her tight against his body, his left covering her face to protect it from cascading weaponry. He grunted heavily as his arm was jammed against the side of the container by their combined weight then again as they were concertinaed between the wall and a large crate slamming against his back.

They reached an uneasy equilibrium. All was silent save the periodic squeaking of chains as their tomb gently rocked.

"You OK?" McGee asked when he could breathe again. He could feel Ziva's warm body curled into his own; her soft hair under his chin. Tingling sensations exploded in little burst where he felt her touch.

"Yes," her voice was muffled against his chest and she turned her head upwards pressing her ear hard against his rib cage. "Do you think they will drop us in the water?"

"Why would they bother, we'll be dead soon anyway?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, given the dimensions of the crate and the breathing rate of the average person I'd estimate.."

"Don't tell me."


"Because I don't want to know."


"How long would one person survive in here if the other person died suddenly and painfully?"

"Obviously twice as long…. oh right, gotcha."

"Where is your flashlight?"

"I don't know; I can't move my arms."

"Here, let me."

McGee felt Ziva's hands creeping over his body, worming their way between them: up his chest, over his back, down round his buttocks, around to the front again, down past his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to quell the nervous excitement building in the pit of his stomach; but not too hard.

Ziva smiled to herself. Rarely did she have an excuse to explore every inch of a submissive restrained male in complete darkness. McGee felt surprisingly good under her inquisitive hands and she started expeditions to places she didn't honestly expect to find a flashlight. Then she felt a familiar tubular shape. "Found it!" she cried victoriously.

"Ahhh, Ziva," he started uncertainly. "That's not my flashlight."

"Oh, sorry."

Her fingers lingered for a moment before she slid them slowly back up his body. Even through a couple of layers of clothing, she could feel his nipples standing erect under her fingertips.

"Ziva," McGee's voice cracked in mild panic. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she said innocently, quickly flattening her hands. From her intimate position she could hear his heart hammering frantically, his breath coming in short pants. Despite the cool conditions, he seemed to have warmed up a couple of degrees. "How can you be like this at a time like this?"

She heard him lick his lips dryly and his voice held a falsely light tone. "I'm lying in the dark with a beautiful woman caressing me: what did you think would happen?"

"McGee," she chastised. "That comment is worthy of Tony." The smell of his cologne mingled casually with her own sandalwood scent. It made for an enticing combination.

"And what, you don't think I'm as manly as Tony?" He sounded hurt, his heart rate slowed and his breathing returned to normal.

"Well, yes, but…"

An exasperated sigh escaped McGee's lips. "Story of my life: I'm the one they all come to when they want help with their homework but then it's 'I like you as a friend, I want to date a jock'."

"Oh spare me," she retorted. "Do you know how hard it is to get a date when you're a female assassin? Men are not exactly falling at my feet."

"Then you're not a very good assassin," McGee pointed out.

Ziva's head shot up and she focused her eyes on the black space she thought his face might occupy. "Can you feel where my knee is positioned right now?" She felt the lump travel down his throat.

Then a ray of sunshine broke through: "You think I'm beautiful?" She could feel McGee's body trembling as the sweat leached through his shirt, his breathing rate increased and his heart rampaged against his chest.

"Well, I, ah, think you are, ah, sort of attractive for a female co-worker." He hedged nervously.

It was a very subtle movement but she felt him shift slightly so that it was no longer his chin jammed down on top of her head, but his cheek. He felt warm and his body was not muscle-hardened like Tony's but welcomingly supple. Sometimes it was the quiet ones with a lot going on upstairs who were the ones worth getting to know. She closed her eyes and held the moment in her mind as they lay curled together.

The container jerked suddenly and the crates raced back towards the far wall showering them with guns. "Glad bayonets are outmoded," McGee grunted as they tumbled across the floor. He caught sight of a large crate looming over them and with a mighty heave shoved Ziva out of harms way. The crate slammed down around him.

"McGee?" Ziva was at his side with the flashlight trained on him. "I found it."

He winced in pain. "I think I broke my arm," he hissed.

She ran the light down his injured limb. "I think you are right. I can splint it with one of these guns."

"So are you going to rip up your shirt?" McGee asked playfully through gritted teeth.

"No but I may irretrievably damage my rainbow sweater. There's a lot of blood."

It sounded like a win to McGee but he didn't voice it. The pain blurred into a red flare as she deftly wrapped his arm against the rifle and it was all he could do to stay conscious.

When she had finished, Ziva grabbed him under the armpits and attempted unsuccessfully to move him. "We need shelter before they come," she explained. He understood and grappled as much as he could in his half lying position to help her reach her chosen place of sanctuary. She crouched behind a crate, pulling him into her body, a protective arm across his chest.

With his head nestled comfortably between Ziva breasts McGee could feel her lithe, athletic body alive with the thrill of action. Then he noticed the softness, the smooth feminine curves pressing against him. The sharp pains in his arm magically receded.

Hugging McGee's torso against her body, Ziva was acutely aware of the contrast between the previous warm nervous trembling and current cold sweaty harsh shaking of shock. She felt his muscle tone drop and she jerked him back to consciousness with a squeeze of arm.

McGee started awake and cursed himself; consciousness was essential for their combined survival. He needed more than the fear of death to keep him alert: he needed a reason to live. "Ah Ziva," he whispered.


"Do you think when this is all over, if we survive that it, that we could, say, go out to dinner somewhere?"

He felt her relax for a moment. "That would be nice, McGee."

That was all the motivation he needed. "Right," he said digging around for his gun, "bring it on."

Ziva laughed. "Abby was right when she said about you 'still waters come deep'."

"I think you mean 'run deep'."

"Oh no, Abby was very insistent. It was come."

McGee groaned. "I think Abby was doing a little word play with you, I wouldn't repeat it to, ah, anyone else. They might take it the wrong way."

"I'm interested to find out if it is true."

McGee's eyebrows rose but his attention was drawn by a metallic clunk. Ziva turned off the flashlight and both agents directed their guns at the door. It swung opened cautiously and a face peered in. "Hello?"

Ziva relaxed immediately. "Tony!"

"What is it with you and these containers?"