AN: We invite you to a thrilling First for the site... the one, the only collaboration between scousemuz1k and VanishingP2000...
This is what we came up with, and we haven't even had the nice bottle of Australian White that's sitting in the fridge... something missing, you say? OK, maybe we'll whump them tomorrow...
We Got Hacked, Boss!
It wasn't often these days that he found himself unsure in a situation, but hell, he'd never been in this situation before... what the blazes was Gibbs going to say? Unsure? Read petrified. Damn McGee, he should have known better. Hell, he did know better. Who would have thought that a guy so computer savvy could have gotten them into this mess? The real problem was that the Boss was going to check his emails in a minute – like, the once a month that he suddenly decided perhaps he ought to was now, and he was going to find he was in there as well...
"I don't know how it happened," Tim hissed desperately. "I don't know how I even logged on to the site, let alone signed up! Do I look like a Miguelito?"
"Miguelito? Right now you look like a turkey pie, McGee... an unbaked, pasty white one! And after Gibbs has finished with you, to use more fowl language, your goose will be cooked. And mine with it! Miguelito? Do I look like a Pablo?"
"I wouldn't know, is your chest that hairy?"
"That's not Pablo's chest it's Gonzalez' and I'm not the one who's going to ask Gibbs to take his shirt off to compare," Tony retorted, leaning ever closer to the screen in a desperate attempt to hide the trio posing and gyrating in the background.
"Oh shi... er... here's my first reply..." Tim said feebly.
"Don't delete it, don't delete it..."Tony yelled as Tim's hand went towards his mouse. "I want to see what it says!"
"Are you crazy? You're getting far too into this for a man who's going to be dead in a few minutes..." Tim yelled back, as they wrestled for the mouse.
Sticking the offending bit of plastic, still attached to its lead in his pocket – where his partner couldn't get it without being accused of sexual assault, Tony read, 'Hi, Miguelito, my name's Daisy, I'm a twenty-two year old Delaware girl, and I'd love to meet a Hispanic stud muffin like you..."
"Well, Tony, that is strange, because you are not a girl, at least you were not when you were Jean-Paul... and you are certainly not twenty-two. What is going on?"
United in a common cause, the two guys stood in front of Tim's screen, trying to block Ziva's view. She laughed. "No problem, Tony, I will just look at the plasma."
"Nooo," he gasped, reaching across towards the controller in her hand, totally forgetting the mouse in his pocket. This was unfortunate for both the stitching on his designer pants and the tower of McGee's computer which hurtled towards him at an alarming rate until brought up short against his thigh. Tim, however, not convinced that the unit's slide was about to be stopped, flung himself across his desk in a frantic attempt to save it. He ended up with both arms lovingly wrapped round his machine, and his face rammed against Tony's leg. The offending mouse, as it hung from the tragic, torn remains of the SFA's pocket, swung round and clouted McGee's ear.
Ziva, meanwhile, was free to study the plasma screen at her leisure; her friends watched in horror as an appreciative smile slowly spread across her face. "Hmmm... I recognise you, Tony, or are you Pablo... you too, McGee... oh, my – that is surely not Gibbs?"
"It isn't any of us, Ziva," Tim raged, as he fought to free himself from the mouse, as the lead had wrapped itself round his neck. (Tony said nothing, regarding the face squished up against his thigh with alarm.) "Somehow, we've been mixed up with them... they don't even look like us..."
"Oh, I do not know about that, Tim, they are a very good likeness..."
Tim was nearly hysterical. "Ziva, they're NOT US!"
"Who's not you, McGee? And what the hell d'you think you're doing with your face in DiNozzo's pocket?"
Tim finally extricated himself from the death-grip of the mouse, and stood up like a man facing the firing squad. Tony snapped out of his catatonia. "Oh, Hey, Boss!" he said, with a beatific, innocent smile – then began to gabble. "We were just checking... you know, we thought... these cold cases, they can take you to really strange places... McGee, help!"
"We got hacked, Boss. ," Tim said resignedly, hoping against hope that the technically challenged Gibbs wouldn't want to know the details.
"I strongly advise that you let me check your emails, Boss," Tony added helpfully.
Gibbs glanced at his screen. "All hundred and seventy-three of them, DiNozzo?"
"Sure, Boss... And McGee'll do a comprehensive security check, won't you, McGee?"
Tim nodded earnestly. "Oh yes, Boss. Right away. We really need one."
Behind Gibbs, Ziva was holding herself in with great difficulty... she sat down, pulled out a file and hid behind it, shaking with silent laughter.
The Senior Agent looked at the plasma, and turned away shaking his head, hiding a grin. "Fine," he said. "I'm going for coffee." He didn't even turn round to watch the collapse of his agents into their chairs. Things had worked out very nicely; he got his hated electronic chores done, and once McGee worked it out, those two would never, ever refuse to go to another Split Personality concert with Abby again. Shame about DiNozzo's Goochee pants though...
AN: We're embarrassed to ask... but review? Please? (VP says we might not like it...)