Hello! This is the first story I've written for fanfiction, but I've put a lot of time and effort into it, so it should be decent. There aren't very many Alex Rider/NCIS crossovers, so I thought I would start there. I love reading fanfiction, and I'm thrilled that I'm finally posting my own! Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.~

Disclaimer: Sadly, all attempts to adopt Alex Rider have been foiled. And regrettably, Gibbs just refuses to really be owned by anyone.

In a nondescript, ordinary bakery on the seedy side of Paris, France, a group of businessmen had convened in a meeting. Perfectly normal, except for the fact that it wasn't an ordinary bakery, and these were no ordinary businessmen. They were, in fact, some of the most dangerous (and up until recently, some of the most powerful as well) people in the world, and this was the current Paris headquarters of Scorpia, one of the most feared terrorist organizations in the world, albeit their recent humiliations at the hands of one Alex Rider.

They had each entered the bakery, sat down and ordered a bichon au citron. If the baker had told them that he was currently out of that particular pastry, they would have left immediately, because this would have meant that the meeting was insecure and was to be moved to another time and place.

However, everything had proceeded as planned, and they were all now seated around a conference table in the basement of the bakery, which was lavishly furnished with oak paneling, a Persian rug, soft lighting, and a solid mahogany table. Although they had formerly numbered twelve, now only eight men sat around the table, due to a number of recent deaths among their ranks, two of which were credited to Alex Rider.

"I am sure you know the reason why this meeting has been called," the acting head began. His name was Mr. Mikato; his body was rumored to be covered in Yakuza tattoos. "Our last meeting was cut short due to a security breach, which has been taken care of. Before we parted last, I asked you to consider the most efficient way to complete the project we have undertaken. Are there any suggestions?"

"Poison."

"Terrorist bomb." Different members spoke, voicing their opinions. They debated for half an hour on the various pros and cons of the many methods suggested. Finally, the Frenchman made his input; he had been silent for the entire time thus far.

"The fascist group we left in the U.S; it is still there, yes? Why not use them as a scapegoat? We have been distracted by Rider and never got a chance to clean up that project; kill the man we planted to lead it and then make it seem like a member of the group killed the President. In reality, it will be our doing; they will provide an ample cover. With the added benefit of the U.S. government cleaning up the pieces." The other members nodded heads in acknowledgement.

"We are all in agreement then?" Mr. Mikato asked. "Good. There is one more thing to discuss. Alex Rider has been recently sent out on another mission by MI6 in the Washington D.C. area. It is entirely possible that our paths may cross there. We need to clarify our policy on him. I believe that we currently have an agreement with MI6 to leave the boy alone. However, he cannot be allowed to endanger the project. Therefore, I suggest that, should we encounter him, we kill him on sight. You are not to kill him in a way more pleasing or profitable to yourself. We all remember the fates of Mrs. Rothman and Major Yu, yes? We are aware of the danger in giving him too much time; that was how he escaped before, though it was thought impossible.

"You will shoot him on sight. End of discussion."

Gibbs strode into the office that morning, slapping the occasional napping head on the way in. "Come on people, we've got a case. We're headed to the scene now. McGee, there is no time to save your Elf-lord self from getting his butt kicked. Hurry up, let's move it." Tony, McGee, and Ziva filed out, bickering as they went.

During the ride out to the crime scene, Gibbs explained what they knew so far. "Naval Captain Eric Vahgn was found dead this morning at approximately 9:15 a.m. by his six year old son, Joseph."

"Ouch."

"Poor kid."

McGee stayed silent, but was white in the face.

"Captain Vahgn was young, and was potentially going to be promoted into the Navy Seals. Look into that as possible motive for murder."

"Hey Gibbs, is the kid alright?" McGee finally asked.

"Well, would you be 'alright' if you found your dad dead in your house?"

They arrived at the scene, which was a pleasant–looking house in the suburbs outside of D.C., with a neat hedge and flowerbeds. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the wind as the team made its way up the driveway.

Inside, they climbed the stairs to the master bedroom, where they found the body slumped across the floor. Pools of drying blood had formed around the head and chest.

Ducky walked in the door. "Am I late?" he asked.

"No, we haven't started yet," Gibbs replied. Ducky turned toward the corpse, and knelt to estimate the time of death. "Looks like you were a bit too slow in defending yourself, son. He must have been a quick draw."

Gibbs' head snapped up. Walking quickly over to where Ducky was by the corpse, he said, "You're right. He was reaching for something. He wasn't shot unaware." Gibbs reached in the direction the man had fallen—the nightstand by the bed. Opening the drawer, he found a Colt M1911 semi-automatic pistol inside. "So he was going for the gun. Vahgn knew he was in danger, but he didn't make it, wasn't fast enough. The killer was standing here, by the window. DiNozzo, see if you can find any footprints here." Gibbs examined the window frame. "Look here—there's a very slight amount of dirt on the window ledge."

"So we know the killer came in through the window." Tony came up behind him.

"Dust for fingerprints here. And get this body to the lab," ordered Gibbs.

–Thump—

Everyone in the room froze. Ziva walked into the room. "I was checking the rest of the house and—"

"Shhh!" hissed the entire room at her. Gibbs cocked his head, listening intently.

–Thump—

They heard it again, louder this time, coming from the direction of the closet. Pulling out his gun, Gibbs motioned for the others to do the same.

There was a loud crash from the closet, and a low curse. The team tensed as the door opened slowly, and a fair-haired head peered out around it. Had it not been a crime scene, it would have been rather comical.

The head froze as Gibbs yelled, "Come out with your hands up!" Slowly, the person made his way out from behind the closet door, holding his hands in the air.

It was a teenager.

Alex Rider blinked a little, registering the guns pointing at him. Okay. Scanning the room, he took in the body on the floor and the lettering on the hats of the people in front of him. NCIS. Alex searched his mind for any knowledge he had of this—he guessed it was a government organization, but you never could tell with assassins these days. Nope, nothing.

There were three men and a woman, only one man didn't seem to have a gun. Then one man spoke. He had gray, almost white, hair, and seemed to be in charge. "Come out with your hands up!" he ordered.

Alex considered his options. For now, it would be best to just play along with their demands. His mind wandered back to how he had gotten into this situation.

He had been on your standard, run-of-the-mill mission. You know, go undercover, sneak around, eventually be discovered, possibly kill someone, destroy the enemy's plans, etc. Alex had been investigating an extreme patriot group that was based just outside of D.C. MI6 had identified them as a possible threat to England. They believed that America had the best way of life and that America should take control of the world for the good of all. Inside their headquarters, he had found a secret passage (corny, right?) and he had decided to see where it led.

And he had ended up here, in a nice-looking bedroom with all the amenities (nightstand, full bath, dresser, closet, lamps, etc.), but was marred by the body lying in a pool of blood.

Stepping out from behind the door, Alex raised his hands in the air. He could tell that they were a little shocked at the fact that he was a teen, and he could use that to his advantage. He didn't even consider the option of going along with them quietly; there was a large chance his cover would be blown.

Pulling out a pair of hand-cuffs, the white-haired man said, "You are under arrest as a suspect in a murder investigation, and for being found at the scene of the crime. You have the right to remain silent."

Oh crap. But he kept his face blank, free of all emotion. And as the man, who was most likely a cop, neared him, Alex made his move.

It was rather odd to find a teen at a crime scene. Luckily, he seemed to be cooperating, and Gibbs took out his handcuffs while telling the kid why he was being arrested. What was even more odd was that the kid wasn't showing any emotion; he was being arrested, yet not even a flicker passed across his face.

The teen moved so fast Tony barely saw it, except for a blur of motion. In a second, the situation had flipped. The kid was now holding Gibbs' own gun to his head.

"I think it's time for me to go," he said quietly. The kid's voice was nearly as emotionless as his face, displaying only a slight tinge of irritation. It was a voice that showed how dangerous the owner was, and the ease with which he could kill. "You won't stop me, unless you want your boss here to get hurt." He gestured toward Gibbs.

Tony and Ziva glanced at Gibbs—he looked perfectly calm, but his eyes showed how angry he was at being held hostage by a teenager. Ducky had managed to slip out of the room and was informing the officers downstairs of the situation. The house would be surrounded soon.

But the teen was already backing towards the window, taking Gibbs with him. He opened the window. Gibbs' eyes were furious now, and he yelled at them, "Get him, dammit!"

Tony made as if to intercept the kid, but Ziva put an arm in front of him. Smiling (It was really more of a grimace), the teen said, "Good decision. Bye." With one swift movement he let go of Gibbs and jumped out the window, landing on his feet like a cat.

Tony and Ziva rushed over to Gibbs and the window. The kid was already sprinting down the road. Gibbs swore and grabbed the radio. "There's a boy running away from the house. I want him arrested, now!" He turned to Ziva and Tony. "Come on, we're going after him."

When Gibbs was in a mood like this, no one questioned orders. As they came out of the house, they saw two of the more fit officers close in on the teen.

"They've got him," Tony said confidently—but was proven wrong in a matter of seconds.

When the officers cut in front of him, the teen didn't even pause. He lashed out, incapacitating both officers in three hits. Gibbs swore again, and ran to the car. Ziva and Tony barely made it in, and McGee was left behind, having been unable to reach the car in time.

In the car, there was a heated discussion (a.k.a. argument) about what had happened back at the crime scene.

"Why didn't you two get the kid?" Gibbs' voice sounded calm, but Tony and Ziva knew better.

"He would've shot you, sir," Ziva said quietly.

"No, he would not have."

"Yes he would have, Gibbs, and you know it. You heard his voice. No emotion. He wouldn't have hesitated for a second." And his eyes, she added silently. They were blank. So empty, apart from a faint spark of irritation that tells you he's actually alive.

Gibbs was silent. The car was silent for a few moments, until Tony spoke up.

"What makes a kid turn into that?"

No one answered. The Gibbs spotted a teen standing on a street corner, examining the cars and pedestrians ambling by. It was him, fair hair falling in front of his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets, the stereotypical teenager.

"Hey Tony, why don't you ask him yourself? He's right there." Gibbs pointed at the boy, speeding up at the same time. Now, they could see the sharp brown eyes that sighted them, and the faintly defined, wiry muscles as they smoothly slid into motion. Gibbs hit the gas, determined not to lose him again.

What followed was a two hour-long chase through the suburbs. Tony came up with a wisecrack that earned him a slap: "I think we've developed a new game: Suburban Long-distance hide-and-seek."

"How long can this kid keep going? What is he, a marathon runner? You know, maybe we should write down all the questions we have for him."

"Good idea Tony. You do that."

(A few minutes later)

"Shit, we lost him again." They were in a downtown area, shops lining the streets and pedestrians bustling in and out. Ziva said, "We are never going to find him in here." Gibbs refused to give up, driving them around in circles for another hour. Finally Tony commented.

"Wow. Did I miss something in school? Gun Disarming and Evasion Tactics?"

Back at the crime scene, McGee whined at them for leaving him behind. Finally, Gibbs got impatient and interrupted him.

"McGee, did you do anything useful while we were gone?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," McGee said smugly. "We managed to lift prints off the window sill, and found a gun on the ground beneath it. It's the same type of gun we u—"

"It is one of our guns, Probie."

"Tony, I understand that you need to make fun of me to make yourself fee—wait, what?" McGee registered what Tony had just said.

"That's right, you weren't there. He disarmed G—whoops, tell you later," he whispered, noticing Gibbs' glare.

"Hey, wh—oh." McGee had noticed too.

"So he left the gun behind," Gibbs stated. "There should be prints on that. Check for any other prints in the bedroom. Make sure you don't miss anything. We're headed over to the lab in half an hour."

Gibbs walked into Abbey's lab holding a cup of Caff-Pow!, with McGee following behind him carrying the evidence.

"Hey Gibbs! Whatcha got for me?" Spotting the Caff-Pow!, she snatched the cup out of his hand. "Thank you!"

"We weren't able to collect much evidence from the scene. The perpetrator didn't leave us a lot, but we should have enough to work with. We have some fingerprints, footprints, and some dirt found on the window sill." Gibbs gestured at the bag McGee was setting on the table. Abbey peered inside and pulled out a plastic bag containing a gun.

"Why's your gun in here, Gibbs?"

"Because it's evidence."

"What?"

"We found someone at the crime scene. A teenager. Looked about fifteen or sixteen. He actually came out of the closet—"

"He admitted he was gay?" interrupted Abbey. "That has to be a first."

"Not that way. He literally came out of the closet.," Gibbs said, clearly aggravated.

"So where is he?" Abbey asked, searching through the bag again and checking behind Gibbs like the fugitive was hiding somewhere.

"He got away. But his fingerprints should be on the gun, so run some searches on them, and see what you get." With that, Gibbs left to go see Ducky.

"Why's Gibbs so angry?" Abbey inquired to McGee.

"Probably because he got beat by a teenager." Tony popped into the room, a smug grin on his face. "Probie here can't tell you about it though, 'cause he wasn't there. Where were you, Probie? You missed all the fun. Did you slip out to go play Elf Lord?"

McGee flushed. "NO! I went to the bathroom!"

"For fifteen minutes? Man, you must have really had to—"

"Come on Tony, tell us what happened!" Abbey interrupted.

"Oh… I don't know. Probie doesn't seem very interested in listening to me. I feel unwanted and unloved." Tony put on a sad face and made as if to leave.

"Don't you dare leave now. You have to tell us what happened! McGee will stay quiet," Abbey said, grabbing Tony's arm to prevent him from leaving.

"I might, if you—"

"When Gibbs started to handcuff him, the boy disarmed him, then turned the gun on Gibbs and used him as a hostage to get himself out of there. He jumped out of the second floor window and ran. We chased him around in the car for a few hours, but he escaped." Ziva stood framed in the doorway, arms folded.

"Aww, come on Ziva, you're no fun. You gotta keep them hanging for a while!" Tony protested.

After being informed, Abbey and McGee's eyes had grown wide. Abbey was quite distressed. "But Gibbs never lets people push him around like that! Nobody beats Gibbs!" She bustled around the room, all business now. Abbey shoved them out of the room, saying, "Go back to work. We're going to catch this kid whether he's the murder or not."

Sitting at her desk, arms folded, Ziva analyzed the actions of the teenager they had encountered earlier today. His movements had been fluid, even graceful, and almost too fast for the eye to follow. The move he had used to disarm Gibbs wasn't taught in any conventional martial arts class. He was obviously experienced, because he moved with a sureness that could only come from such.

Having enough stamina to reach the crowded downtown area wasn't too unusual; most high schoolers participated in some kind of sport. Disappearing so quickly took some skill, however; he was like an assassin, spy, or even an elite in the army. Ziva compared the boy to all the spies, elite forces, assassins, etc, that she had encountered in her life, especially those from when she was an active Mossad spy. Two men stood out as closest in similarity to the boy. One was from the terrorist organization, Scorpia; the other from British MI6.

Gibbs strode down the hallway to the autopsy room. He was more upset with himself than anyone else for what had happened today. 'You're getting old,' a small, insistent voice whispered. 'He caught you by surprise. Maybe it's time to retire, let someone younger take over.' Gibbs winced internally and subdued the voice, pushing it into a dark corner, telling it, 'I haven't lost it yet. You'll see. But if the kid beats me, I'll consider retiring."

When Gibbs walked into autopsy, Ducky was leaning over the body of Captain Vahgn, chatting away to the corpse as he worked.

"That's a nasty scar you've got there. From a bullet, yes? Did you leap in front of a friend, perhaps? Or maybe you were just under heavy enemy fire. But who you might have angered for this to—Ah, Jethro, there you are! I hope you haven't come to any harm since I left you in that sticky situation?"

"Thanks for the concern, but I'm fine," Gibbs replied shortly. "What was the time of death?"

"Eric here died at around 2:30 am, I'd say." Ducky turned around and picked up a Tupperware box. Handing it to Gibbs, he explained, "These are the bullets I extracted from his body. They're unmarked, you know."

Gibbs was quiet, trying to make connections in his head. He only needed a little more… "What made you say he'd angered someone?" he questioned.

"Well, there could be other explanations, Jethro, but look here." Ducky pointed to two holes on the body in the chest and head regions. "Eric was shot twice—once in the forehead and once in the heart. Any shot to those areas can kill—but look at the placement. Both were perfect shots, dead center of the forehead and heart." Ducky looked up at Gibbs, a serious expression on his face. "Jethro, I know it's not my place to speculate on case scenarios, but I would like to tell you my take on it."

"You know I value your opinion," responded Gibbs.

"This wasn't just a murder, Jethro. This was an assassination."