Avast!
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Disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS
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"Ahoy, Timmy! Prepare to be boarded!" the dark-haired wench said saucily, draping herself across the young pirate/agent's desk and enjoying seeing his eyes grow large.
"Avast, Dread Pirate Abby! Thar be no boardin' in the squad room. Get ye a room at th' inn, be ye an' McGee be doin' any boardin'!"
"Ah, shut yer pie hole, Mister DiNozzo! Talk ye not t' me an' me belov'd in that tone, arrrr!"
"Abb, uh, Dread Pirate Abby, I can speak fer meself, thankee," said Tim, blushing. He once again propped up the stuffed parrot, attached to his shoulder with two safety pins and yet threatening to tumble off his shoulder at any moment. Maybe I should have borrowed a real parrot from somewhere, but it would probably have spent all day pooping on my suit coat. Or getting loose and flying around the squad room. It'd be funny if it landed on Tony's desk a lot, but with his luck, it would instead likely home in on Gibbs' head.
"All ye swabs, get ye back t' yer positions," barked Captain Gibbs, "or I'll keelhaul the lot o' ye! Dread Pirate Abby—belowdecks!"
"Aye aye, Cap'n," they chorused, and slowly moved away, each to his or her own windswept (or so they could imagine) station.
Dread Pirate Ziva took the day's only call just then. "Uh, Gibbs...uh Captain, a seaman's body has been found on the waterfront. Looks like a drowning; circumstances unknown. Someone was spotted running away from the scene."
Gibbs looked at her blankly. Tim, though just a dread pirate like the others, was multilingual and able to translate. "Uh, Cap'n, she says a sailin' man be no more; his body be wit' us, but his soul be in Davy Jones' locker. He be dockside. Some bilge rat, likely a lubber, may be behind it all. Arrrr!"
"Now that, I understand," said the captain. "McGee! Fuel th' ship! Smartly, me maties! We set sail immediately!"
"Okay, that I cannot follow," Ziva complained to Tony. "We're not at sea. We're at NCIS HQ. On land. Why are we setting sail for the docks?"
"It's a metaphor. We're taking the van, as always. Just ye go along with it, Dread Pirate Ziva." He smiled and tugged his necktie; a black affair with a large Jolly Roger on it.
"I don't get it," Ziva mumbled. "Too many 'be's for me to follow. I'll never learn, ah, learn me to speak that way."
"Just do as I told you," said Tony, pacing her. "Keep your cutlass in your teeth and say 'Arrrr!' now and then."
DP Abby cornered DP Tim as he was about to leave; grabbed him by the parrot. "Come see me when ye be back from yer field call, me beauty," she purred, "and ye can show me how ye bury yer treasure."
He blushed and grinned as he ran off, throwing a salute back her way. Only Abby...
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"Avast, Mister DiNozzo!" Gibbs snapped at his First Mate in the garage. "What be ye doin'?"
"Uh...preparing to drive, uh, take the ship out, Cap'n." It sounded more like a question.
"Not wit' an eye patch on, yer not. Th' fair city of Washington, D of C, would prefer that we have someone wit' less obstructed vision pilot our ship."
"But, Cap'n! Th' wenches dig th' eye patch! They say it makes them shiver their timbers!"
"No arguments, DiNozzo! Dread Pirate Ziva, ye...oh, not with th' cutlass in yer teeth, again! Why do ye ever listen to DiNozzo?!"
"He, uh, be a superior officer, Cap'n." Ziva said, tentatively, removing the cutlass. Tim gave her a high five for getting it right, and she grinned.
"Well, I don't know about superior...Dread Pirate McGee: ye drive. And don't lose that bird of yers out th' window!"
"Aye, Cap'n." Tim scurried as they all climbed in, and made sure the parrot was intact. At least it couldn't squawk.
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"D'ye have a time o' death, Ducky?" the captain asked a little while later.
"Aye, I make it at abou' three hours ago, or noon," said the sawbones, looking dapper in the red kerchief tied around his head. "He be a victim o' th' cold, cruel sea. Drowned, he be. Did I ever tell ye abou' th' time I were off th' Barbary Coast, when th' wind tore our riggin' like so much chum in a chum bucket? Thirteen o' us there were on th' journey; unlucky thirteen, and—"
"Arrrr," said DP Ziva, cutlass in her teeth.
"Aye. Poor lad." The captain removed his swoop cap, the temporary Jolly Roger sticker shining above the NCIS label, and lead them in a moment of silence. At least there would be no burial at sea for the young tar; to Autopsy he would go.
Tim stood watching with his teammates, and was startled by a shadow falling on his face. With a couple of squawks, the green-and-gold parrot on his shoulder was joined by a slightly smaller, real-live, blue-and-gold parrot. "Giddoff!!" Tim shouted, trying to push the newcomer away. But the new bird couldn't be convinced to leave; it thought it had found a friend. Tim hoped it didn't think it had found a mate. That would be embarrassing for at least one of them.
"Back to port, me lads and me lassie!" the captain ordered. "Dread Pirate McGee, be ye collectin' parrots now?"
"Uh, no, Cap'n. That is...it found us. I think it be an escapee from a pet shop. And, uh..." Gibbs' stare was menacing, and Tim nearly choked. Then inspiration hit.
"...uh, I think I know what can be done wit' it..."
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Jenny was in her office, adrift in the never-calm sea of the agency budget, when Gibbs entered.
"You're, ah, yer back," she said. "A dead sailor at the docks, was it?"
"Aye. A simple drowning it appears; sad though that be. But we brought ye back something, since yer anniversary as Director comes up this week." From behind his back he pulled out a bird cage, containing the handsome blue and gold parrot.
"How...how... thank you," she said simply, with a delighted smile. What an attractive, and intelligent-looking bird. Gibbs slipped out, and she leaned in close to look at the parrot.
"Booty!" it squawked. "Ye scurvy dog! Bless yer black soul! Whar be th' galley? Arrrr!"
Jenny leaned back in her chair with a sigh, and gazed at her desk calendar. Tomorrow was September 20, and things would be back to normal. Thank God, International 'Talk Like a Pirate' Day comes only once a year.
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