Disclaimer: I don't (a contraction of 'do' and 'not') own NCIS.

Tony dumped another basket of filthy clothes onto the floor, scrunching is nose as he set the basket down unceremoniously off to the side. He glanced at his partner with a disgusted look on his face as he reached down to pick up a wrinkled up shirt.

"I hate laundry," he said finally, tossing the shirt aside. "This is why I get it all dry cleaned."

Ziva sniffed at a pair of shorts, squeezing her eyes shut in regret. "Ugh, this is absolutely unsanitary!"

"Unsanitary?" Tony thought for a moment with a rather sad and unpleasant look on his face. "That's putting it mildly." He looked around the lab until he found a pair of large tongs. Gratefully, he seized them from the countertop and used them to pick up a pair of boxers.

"Please don't tell me that you're going to sniff that," Ziva held her breath. "I'm leaving if you do."

Tony gave her an incredulous look. "Who do you think I am? A pervert?"

"You go through peoples things, Tony. I wouldn't be surprised if you were not bothered by smelling another man's underwear."

"Well, you're wrong." Tony tossed the offending piece of clothing at his partner, wincing slightly as it smacked her in the face."Oops."

"Tony!"

He watched with horror as she peeled it off of her face, a look of pure hatred glaring back at him. In his defense, he held his arms up between the two of them. "See, that was totally your fault. This whole little incident could've been prevented, you know!"

"My fault?" Ziva repeated. "As if I would stuff another man's dirty underwear in my face, Tony!"

"Well how would I know what you do and don't do, Zee-Vah?"

"That's it! Ugh!" Ziva whipped the underwear back at Tony, followed by a white sock that was succumbing to brownish areas of dirt and God-only-knows-what else. She laughed triumphantly as he ducked low to avoid the hit but ended up with the bottom of the sock at his nose.

"Eagh!"

"What're you guys doing?" McGee demanded, standing in the doorway of the lab. He folded his arms, shaking his head at his two partners. "That's just gross, you guys."

"It's called following orders, McGrossity," Tony said as he picked up the sock at offered it to the junior field agent.

McGee refused the offer. "No thanks. What orders?"

"Gibbs asked us to search through Henry Marshton's house for the clothes he might've used when killing Lieutenant Joanna Barson," Ziva explained. "And since Henry Marshton has been a very busy man, all of his clothes were laying about all over his apartment-"

"-ripe for our picking," Tony finished.

"And," McGee hated to ask. "And...they're all...dirty?"

Ziva and Tony both nodded.

"And now you see our dilemma."

McGee nodded, looking at the baskets and piles of clothes. "So, you guys thought that the socks and boxers were the best places to start? Just asking, you know. 'Cause most people wear shirts and pants over them."

"Thanks for that reminder, McLaundromat. By the way," Tony's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Boss said you were supposed to help us, so now that you're here, you can start with that bag right over there."

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Gibbs sighed as he and Abby stepped into the elevator, drowning out the sounds of Henry Marshton's yelling of, "You son of a-" as the doors slid closed. He turned to Abby, who grinned back at him.

"You did good, Abs." Gibbs said. "Even without the bloody clothes, you nailed him."

"It's my poker face, Gibbs! I'm learning from, well, you and, well, the Director. Maybe I should enter a tournament and earn a whole lot of money-"

Gibbs chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far, Abby."

The elevator beeped on Abby's floor, opening to reveal the silence of the lab. Curiously, the two stepped off the elevator and peeked into the lab.

"Oh. My. God." Abby gasped at the articles of clothing laying strewn about across her lab, covering her precious multi-thousand dollar machines, littering the floor, hanging off the lights, and...no one to be found to take the blame. "Gibbs-!"

"Where are Tony and Ziva?" Gibbs wondered aloud. "Hey!"

From beneath a pile of stacked up baskets, Tony peeked out at his angry boss and shocked gothic friend. "Oh...Boss?"

"What the hell happened here?"

"Boss, I-"

Suddenly, Ziva's head popped out from the ballistics lab, and she frowned as she saw Gibbs' face. "Gibbs! Uh..."

"It's not what it looks like, Boss," Tony tried.

"We were-I was-" Ziva glared at Tony. How could he say that? How else could the scene appear to be?

Gibbs seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Did it all of a sudden just start raining clothes, DiNozzo?"

"No, but-"

"Boss!" McGee popped out from behind Ziva, holding up a pair of pants and a t-shirt. His nose was pinched closed with a pin, and a large smile spread across his face. "I found the clothes!"

Tony clapped his hands together. "See? It's effective police work, Boss. Not that your guidance in our jobs isn't, you know, effective. I'm just gonna go now and-" He climbed out of his small basket fortress before Abby stopped him.

"Anthony DiNozzo, you're gonna clean this mess up!" She turned to Ziva and McGee. "You guys too!"

"Abby, see, I'd love to, but I-"

"Tony," Abby sighed. "Don't forget my occupation and the skills that I have along with it."

The senior field agent frowned at the threat. "Right, I'll just start cleaning then..."