Disclaimer: Not mine. I just like to play pretend with them sometimes.


Seeing Tony and Ziva disappear into the bathroom together was nothing new. For two agents in need of a private chat, neither of whom was concerned with such prosaic obstacles as door signs reading "Men" and "Women," it had always been a logical meeting place. The biggest difference between the time before, when Tony and Ziva weren't dating, and now, when they were, was the frequency of these bathroom rendezvous.

They weren't a daily thing—or even a weekly thing—but they did occur more frequently than they once had, and McGee eventually deduced that they were particularly likely to happen on two types of days. The first type was when one of them was clearly pissed at the other and beginning to grow red around the collar. The second type usually occurred when the team had had a few long-houred, you're-sleeping-here, no-leaving-until-the-reports-are-done days. Tony and Ziva would start to stand closer to each other. They'd have more eye contact than usual. And when they started to act weirdly squirmy when Gibbs expected them to sit still in their chairs, Tim would sigh inwardly and expect them to disappear next time Gibbs left the bullpen. And when Gibbs did leave, the room would be all McGee's for the next fifteen minutes to half-an-hour.

McGee valued his ability to walk around NCIS without thinking about his teammates exchanging bodily fluids, so he made it a point to never, ever think about what they might get up to in there. For all he knew, they were exchanging recipes. Practicing their Italian. Arm-wrestling. And if he walked by and heard a muffled groan or hiss or expletive, well, Ziva could hit hard, and Tony could be infuriating. Yep. Not letting his mind go any further than that—that was the key to mastery of the work environment.

Generally, it worked pretty well. Today, though, there was a problem.

The problem was that today had been the second type of day. And he'd been just around the corner when Tony and Ziva slipped into the bathroom. He'd waited to hear the lock clunk into place, and it hadn't. So he'd waited another minute. Not a sound. Then there had been a small sound or two, and they had not been related to the lock, and he had suddenly decided that he hadn't gone nearly far enough tracking the suspect's banking records and hustled back to his desk.

Ten minutes later, he was deeply immersed in the suspect's mother's credit report when he saw a familiar dark head bob towards the bathroom. His instincts set off a siren sound in his head. Not good, they shrieked. Get him away from there.

"Ned," he called. Dorneget hurried over, his face surprised.

"Can I help you, Agent McGee?"

"Yep." McGee fished a manila folder from his desk. "Take this down to Abby for me?"

"Yeah, sure. Anything else?" asked Dorneget, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It was fortunate, McGee reflected, that Dorney was still new enough to put instructions from the MCRT before the demands of his bladder.

"Nope."

And Dorneget bounded toward the stairs.

The probie didn't need to see two agents he looked up to engaging in a bout of…thumb war. McGee mentally patted himself on the back for handling that one so neatly.

Then he went back to combing through financial records. Really, though, there wasn't much new information left to find. He looked around the bullpen, wondering when Gibbs would be back. Glanced at Tony's desk. Glanced at Ziva's desk. Glanced at his watch. It had been exactly sixteen minutes since the door had not locked. He sighed, opened a fresh email from Abby with the subject line "WTF, McGee?," and was composing a response explaining that yes, he'd sent Dorney down with a folder of expense reports that had nothing to do with her lab, and no, he hadn't done it just to exert his power over the probie, and yes, he might be able to explain himself at some point in the future, like maybe his ninetieth birthday, when Vance strode around the bullpen and moved in the direction from which McGee had just shepherded Dorneget. The sirens in his head began blaring again.

"Um, Director, where're you going?"

"Bathroom."

McGee found his feet carrying him after the Director. "Don't you have one of those upstairs?"

That earned him a surprised look. "Yeah. But I'm not upstairs right now, McGee."

"I've heard it's nicer up there." He caught up to Vance. Tried to sidle in front of him.

"Are you asking for an invitation?"

"No, sir. I'm just wondering why you'd want to use the one down here when the one you have is, you know, so nice."

"It's not that nice."

They had reached the bathroom, and McGee ran through a mental list of polite ways to block a door.

Tony would've lounged against the doorframe, stretching one arm across and raising an eyebrow at anyone trying to gain access.

McGee tried it. He leaned an elbow against the frame and crossed one ankle over the other and tipped his chin down and switched on his most charming smile.

Vance drew back a pace. "Are you all right?"

"Um, yeah. Just…relaxing."

"Maybe you should relax at your desk?"

"Maybe," said McGee amiably, right before his elbow slipped and banged hard on the wall.

Okay, new strategy: go for a more Gibbsian approach. He folded his arms and widened his stance. Funny, he'd never realized before that he was taller than the Director.

Vance stared at him. McGee suddenly remembered that Vance had been a field agent once. Of the type that solves criminal mysteries.

McGee was beginning to feel like an accessory to crime.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't go into this restroom, McGee?"

"No, Director Vance!" he said loudly. "There's no reason at all for you not to use the men's restroom!"

Vance looked at him oddly, and McGee had to admit to himself that the crescendo he'd added had not been a subtle one.

"Ow!" he heard from within the bathroom. "Christ, Ziva, what the hell?"

McGee hoped his smile wasn't too psychotic (although judging by Vance's expression, it definitely came across that way), but really, this was kind of a desperate situation. He did NOT want to have to break in a new team because half of the old one got busted having sex. At work. By the director of a federal agency.

The director of a federal agency who now pushed past McGee and opened the door. McGee dove into the room after him.

Tony and Ziva were facing the mirror, and neither turned when their director and their teammate burst into the room.

Tony's nose was bleeding into his fist, which was dripping with faint plinks into the sink. Ziva's hand was on his neck, bending his head forward. McGee met her eyes in the mirror and for a split second thought she was going to spring at him and rip his head off for failure to guard their privacy.

(Damn them for not locking the stupid door in the first place, really, damn them.)

Then the corners of Ziva's eyes narrowed just a little, and he knew that she had control of the situation—and also that she didn't hate him. She nodded calmly at Vance in the mirror.

"Hello, Director. McGee."

Tony's eyes were not particularly friendly or amused. "Hello," he mumbled through his hand, watching his own blood streak the sink with a dismal expression.

Vance stood still, taking in the scene in front of him, and McGee used this time to notice that there was a very small smudge of blood at the hem of Ziva's shirt, right where it might've been if she had punched Tony hard in the nose and then used the same hand to make her shirt decent. Her hips were pressed firmly into the counter, and for some reason, McGee felt disturbingly sure that her pants weren't buttoned.

Tony's front was pressed into the counter, too, but McGee suspected a different reason.

Call it his gut.

And the fact that the room kind of smelled like sex.

Vance found his tongue. "Special Agent David, you are aware that this is the men's room?"

"Yes."

Vance looked a little put-out (or maybe amused; McGee had difficulty reading the director sometimes) at the lack of apology in Ziva's tone.

"We do have a ladies' room."

"And I use it often," she replied. "But Tony needed help with his nose."

"I wasn't aware you'd been injured in the field today, Agent DiNozzo."

Well, that was probably because he hadn't been, and McGee had to bite his tongue not to say it.

"I wasn't," Tony said thickly. He wriggled the fingers of his free hand at his nose. "This just…happens sometimes."

Vance raised his eyebrows. "Maybe we should amend your medical file."

"It doesn't happen that often," he said hastily.

The room lapsed back into silence. McGee stared very intently at the unused sink and tried not to let his eyes flit to where the fabric of Ziva's shirt rippled strangely in the back, as if her bra were unclasped and the ends were flipping away from each other. It would be so much easier to look oblivious if it didn't smell like sex in here. So much easier.

After a moment, Tony used his free hand to tug a paper towel from the dispenser and dab at his chin, where a drop of blood was threatening to drip to his shirt. Ziva patted the back of his neck and looked as though she was trying hard not to let the corners of her mouth twitch.

McGee wondered if slinking out of the room was a plausible option. Probably not, and he wouldn't feel right leaving his teammates alone with the guy in charge, anyway. Nothing to do but wait this out.

Vance looked slowly from McGee to Tony to Ziva and back to McGee. "I think you're right, Agent McGee," he said finally. "The bathroom upstairs is nicer."

He left, and the thump of the door swinging shut brought McGee more relief than it ever had in a solid ten years of service.

Ziva gave him a brilliant get-out-of-jail-free smile over her shoulder and Tony drew his hand away from his face long enough to flash a bloody grin.

The adrenaline flooded out of McGee's body and he slumped against the wall. Then thought that he might not want to touch this wall ever again. Or the counter. Or the side of the stall. Dammit, this was exactly why he had implemented the Not Going There policy in the first place.

"You owe me," he said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ziva said.

"You owe me—oh, you owe me a lot."

Tony raised his eyebrows.

"Don't pretend. You know I know."

"Know what, Tim?"

"I know."

And it was oddly satisfying to see his usually smooth teammates look at each other like they weren't quite sure what to do next.

"Um…"

"Look…"

"Hey!" came a shout from the bullpen. "Where's my team?"

"Last I saw, they were all in the men's room," Vance's voice called.

"What the hell are they doing in there?"

"You'll have to ask them, Gibbs," came Vance's voice again, further away this time.

Perhaps two awkward heartbeats passed in the bathroom before Gibbs yelled again, and this time McGee knew he wasn't talking to Vance.

"DiNozzo! David! McGee! Get out here!"

Ziva bit her lip and glanced from Tony to McGee.

McGee held the door open.

"After you."


A little silly, maybe, but I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading :)