Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine.
A/N Don't mind me . . . just a random little fic-thing. Thanks to my beta, Jems, who looked over this for me.
Rating: K Plus
Summary: Why is our favourite Probie wearing pink socks?
"You seen our McGee this morning, Zee-vah?" Tony asked as he casually flipped his feet onto his desk and reclined in his chair.
"No," Ziva replied curtly, without looking up from the file she was reading.
Tony tut-tutted and then said, "Well, our favourite Probester better get his butt here soon or Gibbs will have him for breakfast."
"Why would Gibbs want McGee for breakfast?" Ziva asked nonchalantly, thumbing the pages of the file.
"It's an expression of speech," Tony sighed with a grin. "Ya know . . ."
"No, I do not know, Tony," Ziva replied, looking more interested in the open file than in Tony's conversation.
"Figures!" Tony sighed again. "You are no fun, Zee-vah," he pouted.
Ziva shook her head lightly and gave a frustrated sigh. "Could you concentrate on something other than McGee, like the case?"
"Case? What case?" Tony muttered. "All we have is a few circumstantial pieces of evidence that don't even fit!"
Ziva shrugged. "I am not a wizard. I cannot produce evidence from thin air . . ."
Tony made a sound that was a cross between a groan and a sigh, but brightened as the corner of his eye picked up a familiar looking person. "Probie!" He said with a grin. Ziva looked up and watched as McGee winced at his words.
Tony stood abruptly and stepped out from behind his desk. "Late, are we, McGee?" he smirked. "Late night?"
"No, Tony," McGee murmured and hesitated just outside the divider of the bullpen, as if he was contemplating something.
"I figured as much," Tony teased good-naturedly. "So . . . what was it, Probie?"
"Nothing, Tony." McGee hesitated and then stepped into the entrance to the bullpen. He hurried past his two colleagues and sat down behind his desk with a heavy thunk.
"C'mon, it's you," Tony pressed, still grinning. "You're never late . . . so what is it."
"Leave him alone, Tony," Ziva snapped, and chucked a scrunched up piece of paper at Tony's head with unsurprising accuracy.
"H-hey, what was that for?" Tony muttered darkly as the paper ball bounced off his head and rolled limply along the floor. Ziva ignored him and returned to her file.
Tony shot Ziva a grimace and bent over to pick up the ball of paper, which had landed near McGee's desk. As he did so, Tony's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the colour sticking out the end of McGee's pants. "Are they PINK socks, Probie?" he asked incredulously.
Ziva head shot up so fast at the sound of 'pink socks' that you could almost hear it. McGee gulped and looked fearfully at Tony; no one was meant to find out!
Tony straightened himself up, the paper ball long forgotten. He could barely suppress the laugh that crossed his face. "Pink socks? Seriously?"
Ziva, unable to contain herself, dashed out from behind her desk and came to an abrupt stop next to her partner. She managed to get a glimpse of the offending object as McGee hurried to try to cover them up. "They are pink," she smirked.
Tony couldn't stop himself and a laugh escaped his lips. "I knew it," he laughed. "I always knew there was a metrosexual male in you, Probie. First the manicure, then that man lotion of yours and now pink socks . . ." Tony shook his head, almost sadly.
"It's not what you think," McGee mumbled, turning red and diverting his eyes.
"Then what should we think, McGee?" Ziva suggested with a wicked smile. "Even I know that pink socks are not a male's normal attire."
"That's an understatement, Zee-vah," Tony snorted, and than managed to say. "So why is our intrepid Special Agent wearing . . . oh, so, feminine pink socks."
"It was an accident, Tony," McGee tried to explain weakly.
"Some accident there, Probie," Tony grinned. "Whatcha do? Wander "accidentally" into the little girl's section?" Tony put inverted commas around the word accidentally.
"No . . ." McGee tried, but Tony cut him off with a raised hand.
"Nothing to be ashamed of, McPink," Tony said in a tone of voice that suggested the complete opposite. He took a couple of steps back and lent on the edge of his desk. "You get them with lace too?"
"No," McGee said determinedly. "It was . . . I was . . . It was Sarah's fault, okay!?"
"She buy you the pink socks?" Tony theorised, a pensive look on his face. "That almost makes it acceptable, almost . . ."
"Sarah did not buy me the socks," McGee clarified and then hesitated. "I-I was doing some washing . . ." There was a momentary pause until Ziva broke the silence.
"Aha," she said triumphantly. "You were washing whites and something red got mixed in, yes?" She grinned at McGee with a knowing look.
"Ah, yes," McGee answered, wondering how Ziva had caught on so quickly.
Even this new revelation didn't deter Tony from is light-hearted teasing. "So an offending red item of clothing, hey? . . . I am assuming it was something of Sarah's . . . What was it, Probie."
McGee mumbled something under his breath that neither Tony nor Ziva could make out.
"Say what?" Tony asked impatiently.
"I-it was just a piece of clothing," McGee muttered, trying to avoid the question.
"Oh, no, you don't get out of this that easily," Tony announced and then smirked. "C'mon, we're all friends here, Probie, you can tell us."
McGee looked at Ziva for help, but she merely shrugged her shoulders. McGee turned back to Tony and said really quickly, "ItwasapairofSarah'sunderwear."
"Come again?" Tony couldn't make out what McGee had said.
"It was . . . err . . . some . . . um . . . underwear," McGee murmured, but was loud enough for Tony and Ziva to hear.
"You wash your sister's panties?" Tony said loudly, shuddering. "There is something a little creepy there, McGeek." Ziva covered her mouth, but it was obvious she was laughing.
McGee turned bright red. "Keep your voice down," McGee hissed, his eyes darting around the squad room. "And who said anything about panties."
"The red face was kinda a giveaway," Tony managed through snorts of laughter. "Seriously, McGee . . . washing your sister's panties is one thing, but wearing the offending end product to work . . ." Tony shook his head sadly. "I thought you had more sense . . ."
"It was the only thing I could wear, Tony!" McGee replied, almost shrilly. "I didn't notice until I was half way here."
"How can you not notice pink socks?" Tony asked dubiously.
"I was in a hurry," McGee replied defensively. "I had to hunt for a shirt that was not pink."
"So you managed to get the shirt, but not the socks," Tony smirked. "Well, I have to say, at least you can kinda hide the socks . . . A shirt on the other hand . . ." Tony laughed at the thought.
"Now that would be hard to live up," Ziva added, and no one bothered to correct her idiom as they were interrupted by a new presence entering the bullpen.
Instinctively, Tony winced and seconds later, a headslap landed on the back of his head. "Thank you, boss . . ."
"Only real men can wear pink socks, DiNozzo," Gibbs smirked as he strolled into the bullpen, coffee in hand, and took a seat at behind his desk. "Maybe you should try it sometime . . ."