The bullpen was alive with noise that had nothing to do with work. McGee tried to focus on his screen, but Ziva leaned over his shoulder, both of them chuckling as Tony paced in front of their desks like a bad stand-up comedian.

“Come on, McGeek, admit it. You’ve got the worst taste in movies. Star Trek marathon? That’s not a date night, that’s a cry for help.”

“At least mine don’t involve explosions every five minutes,” McGee shot back.

Ziva smirked. “Or sex on screen every five minutes.”

“Harsh! You two are brutal.” Tony clutched his chest like he’d been shot.

The ding of the elevator cut through their laughter. Gibbs emerged, coffee in hand, expression unreadable. He walked past Tony, delivered a sharp slap to the back of his head, and set his drink down.

“Head in the game, DiNozzo.”

“Yes, boss,” Tony muttered, rubbing his scalp as Ziva and McGee exchanged smug looks.