Title: The Cop and the Prima Ballerina
Episode: "A Body Worth Guarding" (S3:E15)
Rating: K+ for violence
Format: Drabble/one-shots throughout the episode. 24 drabbles (plus prologue and epilogue) with some AU qualities and others strictly cannon.
Description: This was supposed to be the assignment of his life instead it turned out to be just another false ideal scratched off his list. Anna Akhanatova was like nothing Kenneth Hutchinson expected - he wasn't yet sure if that was a good or bad thing.
A/N: For sallyferell.
(Prologue)
Anna stepped off her private jet and took a deep breath. She was now in America and the air stank as much as she thought it would. The streets were populated with many cars and people who would honk at one another and yell as they passed by. She paid no mind, a frown on her calm face, as she was escorted to a waiting car. The rest of her co-workers were already here; it wasn't them who had received a death threat. She was the one in danger, according to the American police, not them. No one back home even knew she had gone; such were the American's rules for her.
She entered the car, pulling her coat around her shoulders tighter, followed by her closest friend. They were not to call each other by their names in public unless necessary, another one of the America's rules along with not bring able to go shopping or eating where she pleased. Anna and her entourage would have to suffer and eat hotel food, which brought even a sour look upon the female officer who had told her this.
In the car, Anna relaxed. With two-armed American's within arms reach, she let out a sigh of relief at having arrived safely. She didn't have to like the rules these foreigners set upon her, but the threat was real enough that it had her anxiously awaiting the jolting feel as the wheels of the jet hit the ground. And now, on firm, solid land she felt just slightly bit better. They were getting her all riled up, the Americans and their conspiracy theories. But now she could relax until it was, once more, time to get out and face the world.
For the meanwhile, she tilted her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. Before long, she had fallen asleep to the vibrations and sounds of the car.
(1)
It was an easy shot, right through the head, and yet just the thought of seeing the pretty Russian's pupils dilated as the bullet made contact was enough to distract him. A month, an entire month, this plan had taken to formulate and finally, he was mare days away from busting her head open with one twitch of his finger. He ran his hand through his slick black hair, pulling it back and away from his sweaty forehead as he took aim again.
The shot rang out but missed its target, right in the centre of her head, and instead grazed her ear. Good thing this was just practise and not the real deal or else it wouldn't be just her who would pay for her allegiance – he would pay for missing his shot. But he knew that when push came to shove, he would deliver.
The little Russian ballerina wasn't going home without an extra whole somewhere in her skinny body, he would be sure of that.
