Hola.

I wanted to do a fic about McGee joining the army or something, get at me.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize from NCIS. Damnit.

Decoding McGee

Date: May 6, 2015

Time: 12:24 PM

Location: Bullpen, NCIS Headquarters

It was just an average day in the Bullpen. Well, as average as it can get with a perpetually empty seat right there in the corner across from Gibbs' desk. After McGee left 4 years ago, that desk had sat unoccupied, Abby and Gibbs never approving of any of the temporary replacements who came in for only a month or two before moving on.

Today was a slow day, DiNozzo and Ziva at their desks doing paperwork following the previous case they had just wrapped up, Gibbs trotting up the stairs to MTAC, and the Director standing at the top of them watching the level below like a hawk.

Just then, the elevator dinged and the chrome doors slid open, revealing none other than Damon Werth, clad in his usual jeans, T-shirt, and work boots. He sauntered out of the elevator and over to McGee's desk, sitting down and putting his feet up.

"Damon! What the hell are you doin' here, buddy?" Tony said smiling. Ziva was already on her feet, advancing on Worth for a hug.

"Oh, ya know, just passin' through. Meetin' a friend. How have you guys been?" Werth drawled, grinning from ear to ear, slowly standing to catch Ziva in his arms.

"Well, Gibbs is not here at the moment, but I-"

"Not Gibbs, Ziva. It's not Gibbs I'm waitin' for." He said as the elevator opened once more, revealing yet another tall, well built man, clothed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket, reflective Aviators obscuring his face. The newcomer's face broke into a brilliant grin when he looked over at Werth.

"Werth! Long time no see, man!" He said as he dropped his duffel on the ground, hugging Damon like a long lost brother.

Neither of the two men realized that Gibbs had just walked down, or had seen Ziva and Tony's confused facial expressions.

"Snap out of it DiNozzo. You too, David." Gibbs sighed as he slapped Tony upside the head. He then turned to the pair of giant men, who were chatting happily. "Gentlemen."

Werth and the mystery man snapped to attention, spouting off a loud "Sir."

"At ease, boys. Worth it's good to see you," Gibbs said as he shook Damon Werth's large hand. "Who is this friend you brought with you?"

"Dude, take those damned things off." Damon said to his friend. Once the Aviators were taken away, Ziva's hair replaced them, once again obscuring the man's face.

"Tim!" Ziva screamed, drawing the attention of the entire office. Ziva David never screamed like that. Ever. Obviously, she had seen it was McGee faster than anyone else had. "What happened to you?!"

Laughing, McGee pried Ziva off of him, revealing himself to his ex-coworkers. "Hey Ziva. You like what you see then?" That prompted a smile and a nod from her. "Well, I just got off of active duty. Damon here was my bunk mate in the Navy my first year on duty." Sensing confusion from DiNozzo and Ziva, he explained, "You remember how I just up and left that day 4 years ago? Well that was the day I found out my father had been killed on duty. I had made a promise to him a while back, back when we were still talking, that if he ever died, that I would either take care of Sarah or take care of my country. Since Sarah had a job already, I quit NCIS to enlist. Our country needed another great man on the front lines, and if I couldn't be that, I could at least help." This gave way to a Hoo-Rah from both Gibbs and Werth, a gasp from Ziva, and a "Wait, What" from Tony.

Chuckling, Tim continued, "I made it up the ranks and was offered a position in SEAL Team 7. I was never able to visit before that because my sister had gotten a job in New York, so I always chose to visit her there." He paused for a second, remembering something, "Shit, Abby must be pissed."

"McGee, you stupid bastard!" A Goth woman in platform boot came stomping into the room, rip-roaring mad. Tim just stood there, smiling as Abby, standing at 5'7", 5'11" with the platform boots on, started throwing punches at his huge, muscular 6'3" frame. Having been slightly overweight and always hunched over during his time at NCIS, Tim always seemed smaller than he actually was.

Suddenly stopping, Abby looked at McGee quizzically. "You got more tattoos, didn't you?"

Grinning, Tim gathered the forensic scientist in his arms, "I sure did, Abbs. Wouldn't be a SEAL without a few scars and tats."

Date: May 7, 2015

Time: 12:52 AM

Location: Club Ninety-9

How the hell did Tony get in a bright red bra? Tim thought as he shifted the drunken man onto his shoulder, almost successful in supporting the dead weight. Shoving him down on a vacant barstool, McGee turned and looked around the dance floor, getting a clear view of the entire horrid scene from his newly acquired vantage point. Gibbs, seated at the other end of the bar, looked up at him and nodded slightly, quickly returning his cool gaze to the slumped over form of Damon Werth. An unfinished glass of whiskey was sitting next to Damon's head on the dark hardwood bar top, the amber color of the drink mixing with the purple and blue strobe lights reflecting off of the glass.

Turning his head away from the two men, he caught sight of Abby and Ziva dancing together on the floor before him. One obviously, and blissfully, intoxicated, the other happily enjoying the adrenaline rush provided by the lights and music pumping and flashing around them. The two women, oblivious to their various male spectators vying for their attention, jumped and shimmied with each other in time to the pumping base. Abby's usual wardrobe was modified to fit the club, black platform boots traded for sky high platform heels, skirt made of leather instead of chains, classic pigtails transformed into a sleek ebony ponytail.

What startled Tim the most was Ziva. Ziva with her shiny, pin straight chestnut locks, extremely tight blue jeans, and a plain white v-neck. Kasey dressed like that. She had dressed exactly how Ziva was dressed, down to the patent leather stilettos, the night before they…

"No," he barked, slamming his clenched fist down on the bar. Shocked by the abrupt interruption of his sleep, DiNozzo's head shot up, causing him to tumble backwards off of the tall stool.

"Shit, Timmy. How'd I get down here so fast?" Smirking a very DiNozzo-like smirk, and completely forgetting his previous thoughts, McGee knelt down besides Tony. This "dazed and confused" version of Tony could offer up some funny reactions.

"Tu es un oiseau, as-tu oublié? Oh, tu es un stupide Birdy."

"What?"

"Tu no hablas francés. Me olvidé, lo siento."

"McGoogleTranslate, stop it."

"Siamo spiacenti, Birdy. In italiano, allora?"

Tony's utter confusion shone through his contorted facial features, which caused Tim to crumple on the floor besides him, laughter consuming him, twisting his facial features as well.

God, did I need that. Drunk Tony makes everything better for me. McGee smiled to himself as he stood up from the dirty floor, offering his hand to the fallen Tony as well. Sitting him back on the barstool he fell off of, Tim walked over to Gibbs, who was still babysitting Damon Werth, or Damon Werth's passed out body.

"Gibbs, how 'bout we trade, Drunk DiNozzo for the unconscious Corporal," he quipped, amused with his witty display of alliteration. "I'm headin' over to his place tonight, so it'd be easier if I drove him home instead of you."

Once Gibbs nodded his consent, Tim hoisted Damon up and onto his shoulder, half dragging the man out of the club. The crisp night air stung his eyes as a gust of wind blew by. The club lights began to fade as the odd pair hobbled down the street towards McGee's 1969 Ford Mustang. "Hard to find, harder to build." Or at least that's what Tim thought, due to the fact that he had build that car from scratch down at the garage he had been working at for the past few weeks.

Here are the translated parts for McGoogleTranslate:

You're a bird, did you forget? Oh, you are a stupid Birdy. "Tu es un oiseau, as-tu oublié? Oh, tu es un stupide Birdy."

You do not speak French. I forgot, sorry. - "Tu no hablas francés. Me olvidé, lo siento."

Sorry, Birdy. In Italian, then? - "Siamo spiacenti, Birdy. In italiano, allora?"