A.N.: So, this story is the result of some Maryland-style crab cakes that are in our freezer. Every time I open the freezer, all I can smell is crab and it makes me think of the crab jokes that people at school told. Most of those came from Josh, so I guess Josh also inspired this story.

...Now I've got The Legend of Miss Baltimore Crabs from Hairspray stuck in my head...

Disclaimer: I own nothing regarding NCIS or the characters.

The elevator doors pinged and Ziva strode in front of Tony's desk, toward her own. However, noticing something strange about her coworker, she froze. He had pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose and was typing at his computer as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Why do you-" then it hit her, an awful smell, "What is that?"

Tony averted his eyes from the monitor and spoke something that could not be discerned through the fabric of his shirt.

"Pull down your shirt, Tony, I cannot understand a thing you are saying," she ordered.

He grudgingly did as he was told. "Now," she said, "What is that smell?"

"That, my dear ninja, is the sour smell of 'I told you so'," Tony grimaced.

"What are you talking about?"

He pointed toward McGee's empty desk. She took a step in that direction, but Tony called out, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I wouldn't do that. Just- just look."

She took a step to the side so that she had a better view of the desk. Then she saw, in the floor, draped over his trash can, the agent in question. His head rested on the rim of the bucket and he was a sickly shade of pale green.

"What happened to him?" Ziva asked.

Tony came and stood beside her, looking smugly at McGee, "You wanna tell her what happened there, McBarfBag?"

McGee groaned.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Tony smiled, "We were out on the coast looking for that guy Gibbs had us tailing and it got to be lunchtime. McGee knew this great little seafood shack that we just had to stop at because they've got the greatest fried oysters in Maryland. I told him, 'You know, I've always heard that you shouldn't eat shellfish in months that don't have an 'r' in them.' You know, like May. But he said, 'Oh, that's just an urban legend, Tony. Oysters are commercially harvested. They don't have any of the bacteria from the summer.' What he didn't know is the secret to the 'greatest fried oysters in Maryland': Wild oysters," Tony ranted, "Which means, I told you so."

McGee groaned again and heaved into the trash can. Ziva winced and Tony closed his eyes and averted his face.

"You don't know that this is because of the oysters," McGee said, spitting into the bucket in a futile attempt to get the taste of the bile out of his mouth, "I ate some chicken last night and had milk in my cereal this morning. This could be from either of those."

"Were you sick this morning, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"No," McGee groaned into the pail.

"I'd think that if you were sick from your dinner or breakfast, it would have been apparent sooner," she reasoned.

Tony pumped his fist, "Point for DiNozzo! Nice assist, Zee-vah," he held up his hand for a high five. She ignored him.

"You see what you did?" McGee said, pulling his head away from the trash can, "You couldn't have let him have a little doubt-"

"Tony DiNozzo has never doubted himself," Tony said, puffing out his chest.

"You're only feeding his ego, Ziva," McGee said, returning his head to the dark of the bucket.

"Unintentionally!" she defended herself, but Tony shot her a look that showed he also doubted her innocent intentions.

Tony sat back at his desk and listened to his coworker empty more of his stomach into the bucket, "You shoulda just had crab like me, McGee. I mean, we were in Maryland; its practically synonymous with crab."

McGee realized that he had a chance to turn the tables on his unsympathetic friend, "Crab, Tony? You ever see what they look like when they're alive? They look like a tick. I'm not eating a tick." McGee pulled out his phone and selected the voice recording app. Just before Tony began talking, he pressed the record button, knowing what was going to happen next.

"I've hadcrabs before, McGoo. I hated them. They're really nasty. And you can't get rid of them, either. No one wants 'em," Tony said.

For once, it was Tony who was oblivious to the innuendo and McGee had it all in MP3 format.

"Is that so, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said striding into the room.

All at once, Tony realized the implications of what he had said and his smirk fell. He pointed a finger at McGee and gave an almost evil smile, "I see what you did there, McPrank. Making it sound like I had that kind of crabs, when you know good and well what I meant. I bet you even recorded it, didn't you?"

McGee held up his phone.

Gibbs looked at the agent over the trash can and looked at the can's contents before ordering, "McGee, go home...and take the trash can with you."

McGee did as he was told and as he passed Tony's desk, he smirked over the rim of his bucket.

Tony chuckled, "You're dead."

After McGee had left, Tony tried to work, but felt eyes boring into him. He sighed and looked up, "Can I help you?"

Ziva cracked a smile at his frustration, "So, crabs?"

Tony slammed his hands down on his keyboard and shouted, "Hermit crabs!"

A.N.: Crabs! Crabs! CRABS!

My hermit crabs names were Crabby and Josh...there seems to be lots of Josh influence in this story...