Disclaimer: Fer that ye'll walk the plank!
Spoilers: Heavens, no.
Summary: NCIS meets pirates because Tony watches too many movies. Or something. Crack in three parts.
"Did I give you permission to go ashore, Mr. DiNozzo?"
Tony shoved his way through a crowd of foul-smelling men on the dock, ignoring the first mate of the ship he'd inexplicably found himself aboard for almost two weeks. And not even a Navy ship – a pirate ship! What had he done to deserve being thrown back in time to serve on a freaking 18th century pirate ship? There weren't even real bathrooms! Sure, pissing over the rail into the ocean was kind of fun, and the hole-through-the-plank thing in the bow had its charm, but that was so not the point. He wanted some soft, fluffy toilet paper and a handle to flush. And a shower. And his regular razor. It had taken only one attempt at shaving with his dull pocket-knife to discover why most of his fellow pirates were bearded.
He rubbed his chin. At least he looked pretty good with some facial hair, if he did say so himself, though decent mirrors were another thing lacking in this Caribbean hellhole. Next cargo ship they looted, he was headed straight for the captain's quarters to snag some personal grooming supplies. And now he was planning ahead for a future aboard a pirate ship. Fantastic. He wanted to scream in the crowded, muddy street, You lied to me, Johnny Depp, you strangely sexy pirate bastard!
There was nothing sexy about the lice living in his new beard. Or the rats infesting the ship. God, the rats!
He'd originally tried to chalk the whole nightmare up to an especially vivid dream brought on by bad fish combined with too many movies, but the cut on his arm during his second sword fight had blown that theory out of the water – kind of like they'd done to the ship they'd plundered after that episode. Aaaaand, now he had what were probably infected wounds in a time before antibiotics. Maybe he should just fill up on the moldy bread so readily available in the ship's galley and hope for the best.
Of course, even if there were some reasonable explanation for time travel, there was no way to justify the fact that his colleagues from NCIS kept popping up, acting like life on an old pirate ship was perfectly normal. Blackstache Vance, the captain, Mr. Gibbs, the first mate, Tim, the cabin boy…
He was distracted by a tug on the sleeve of his itchy, stained linen shirt. "Damn it, Mr. Gibbs, just leave me alone so I can get nice and shit-faced on the only thing I can recognize in this goddamn…"
"Hey!" His head jerked forward as Gibbs smacked it. "Precept the seventeenth – ye'll not take the name of Our Lord in vain, not having good cause to do so."
Tony ignored him, as he had just spotted a group of drunks staggering under a faded, hand-painted sign. "The Windy Slug? Who names these dumps?" He winced under another slap. "What?"
"Precept the fourth – no house where a man can avail himself of good drink shall be disparaged. 'Sides, a man that sails aboard the Northern Caribbean on the Invader of the Seas rarely pays at the Scotsman's tavern."
"Fine, whatever." Ducky was really stepping down in the world, going from doctor to tavern keeper. Of course, considering the rest of them were pirates, he wasn't in any place to judge. "Just let me go and stop hitting me." The words sounded strange coming out of his mouth, but he had too many other issues to maintain his usual awe of Gibbs at this point. Besides, this wasn't really Gibbs – this was Mr. Gibbs, who was currently dragging him into a seedy bar for an afternoon of heavy drinking.
The inside of The Windy Slug reminded him a little too much of the ship he'd been aboard for the past two weeks, but the bottles lined up behind a long bar instantly lifted his spirits. He sat down, experiencing only the slightest difficulty from the positioning of his sword, and was about to order the biggest glass of rum they had when the barmaid dropped into Mr. Gibbs' lap. "Abs?"
"Oh, so now this one is telling all hands on the Invader about his favorite lady? My, my, I'll get a reputation!" She barely looked at him, instead lavishing attention on Mr. Gibbs. It did give Tony ample time to appreciate her tight corset and pale cleavage. How did she manage to stay so white in this climate?
He didn't have long to consider, as they were joined a moment later by Ducky. And he brought a bottle of rum, bless him. Tony didn't even care about the lack of Coke or ice as the first sip seared his throat. Or weird introductions to people he already knew. Ducky seemed keener on getting acquainted. "So, Mr. DiNozzo, d'ye find a life of adventure suits ye? Nothing quite like the fresh salt spray on your face during a hearty chase on the high seas. Why, when I…"
He tuned out Ducky's story for another long drink from his new best friend. Enough of this stuff and he might be able to forget Abby squirming in Gibbs' - Mr. Gibbs' lap as he called her a salty harlot. Yeah, that was gonna require more rum.
"Slow down, there, m'boy. Too much of that and ye'll go blind! Mix it will a little water, at least. You there! Hobgoblin! Water and sugar! And lemons! I make an exceptional fortifying punch."
Palmer popped up from behind the bar to squeak, "Right away, sir."
Tony didn't even blink at this new development, as he was too busy cowering behind Abby and Mr. Gibbs; Ziva had just walked into The Windy Slug. He wasn't sure if killer female pirates were historically accurate or just something he'd gotten from movies, but he had sure as hell noted that pirate-Ziva was every bit as scary as assassin-Ziva, except that no one had given her any ground rules beyond 'don't kill the captain or first mate.' So…scarier. And carrying a sword. These factors combined to ensure that he had yet to make a joke about how Tim the cabin boy trailed her around like a terrified puppy, ready to retrieve her slippers at a moment's notice.
After seeing Abby's revealing getup, he had one more reason to dislike pirate-Ziva and her long-sleeved shirt and… leggings? Breeches? Oh, who the hell cared? He had rum and that was good enough for him at the moment. Unfortunately, she had already seen him and was making her way across the room toward him. The splinters of a chair were still settling on the only man dumb enough to stand in her way with a leering eye when she reached where Tony was sitting. "You should have mentioned you were going for a drink."
"Hey!" he protested weakly when she yanked the bottle from his hand. Though he didn't really want to share his rum, he was still sober enough to know that trying to take it back from her was an exceedingly poor plan. Instead, he reached for a chair for her as she impressed Ducky with her drinking prowess.
"Aye, lass, ye'r a fine one! Haven't seen a lady drink like that since my own dear mother passed, heaven rest her soul!"
"Hard not to enjoy such fine spirits, Scotsman!"
Tony reclaimed his bottle, significantly lighter, as Ziva took her seat. The conversation between her, Gibbs and Ducky quickly turned to how much of the plunder from their latest job could be sold in town. Tony focused on emptying his bottle. When half an inch of murky brown goo was left, he flopped back in his chair, steadying himself with a hand on Ziva's shoulder. "Hey."
He hated that her leather boots were the tightest thing about her outfit, and he'd finally had enough rum to say so. "Why aren't you wearing a dress with a low-cut bodice and frilly petticoats or something? Why don't you dress more like her?" he asked, gesturing toward Abby, still in Mr. Gibbs' lap, with his bottle.
Ziva was incredulous. "How could I possibly carry a sword in clothing like that?"
"You don't need a sword! You're supposed to be a…a…a wench!"
He was starting to feel fuzzier and fuzzier. "And you snore like a drunken sailor! Which…actually, that's probably the only thing that makes sense. But your hammock is right below mine so all freaking night it's like…like…" He was only briefly aware of the table coming up to meet his head.
Ziva set her backpack on her desk in the bullpen as she greeted McGee. "Good morning. Sorry I am late."
"I figured you stopped by the hospital." He turned his full attention from his computer to her. "How's Tony?"
"They think the hallucinogenic agent will be flushed from his system in another day or two. It is fortunate that Abby was able to isolate it."
"And lucky our bad guys weren't able to make more than one useful dose. Will Tony suffer any lasting damage?"
"It is not anticipated."
McGee was quiet for moment as they both sipped their coffees. "He still think he's a pirate?"