A/N: This is a challenge I created for myself one day (because I have nothing better to do, of course), and the gist of it is this: write an NCIS fic that doesn't center completely around the team, so that I can try to create the usual suspects from a totally different perspective. So I sat down and this is what happened. :) And I'm having a fun time with it! Let me know what you think. (I love reviews. Like a lot.) This first chapter is pretty short, sorry, I'm kind of a short chapters kinda girl. But I promise to update soon! But without further ado, here's Luck be a Lady.
(Review? Pretty please?)
"Barnes."
Why did that sound so familiar?
"Barnes!"
Oh. Because it was her name.
"Luck, this is the fifth time your face has hit your desk. Will you please wake up."
Detective Luck Barnes peeled her face from her keyboard and shot an icy look at Detective Sean Grey. "Can it, Cinderella."
Grey rolled his eyes and threw a paper clip at her. She'd dubbed him Cinderella on the day he'd become the the DC Police force's golden boy overnight by catching a killer most of the city hadn't believed existed, and (unfortunately for him) the name had stuck. He still protested every time she used it. "It's not my fault you've been here since 6 PM yesterday."
"It is a Sunday. I'm off on Sundays, for God's sake."
"Literally," he snickered, but for that matter, so was a majority of the rest of Metro. The precinct was uncharacteristically empty today, however. A nasty case of the flu had been exactly what it took to bring down half of DCPD's blue.
She rolled off of her desk chair and headed for the break room.
"What are you doing?"
"Coffee," she snapped.
"Luck."
"What?"
Grey caught up with her. "We've, uh, got a break in the case."
"The John Doe?" she asked, coffee momentarily forgotten. Grey caught up to her, but the look on his face was still less than thrilled. They'd been assigned the case of a John Doe who'd been found, stripped and partially burned, in a wooded area just inside city limits. Missing teeth, burned fingers, and post-mortem damage had made identification impossible, and Luck had been endlessly frustrated at every turn - since six o'clock the previous night. At six pm on the following day, Grey hadn't convinced her to take a break or to go home. No one knew anything, and no one cared. Thus far, their only clue was a small tattoo on the victim's calf- a blue eagle carrying a bleeding heart in its talons. No leads on the artist or where it had been inked. A few scars around the knee indicated a knee surgery, but the procedure was so common in the area that it had only narrowed their pool down to the thousands.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Leads typically had him bouncing off the walls like a ten year old on Christmas morning, but he was uncharacteristically silent as she scalded her hand on a hot carafe. "Shit. What's the break, Cinderella?"
"Your John Doe's one of ours," said a new voice. "And don't call me Cinderella."
The detective snapped a full 180 degree turn and spilled another cup of coffee over her hand, seemingly without noticing.
"Gibbs?"
Sean was standing next to a silver-haired man dressed in a polo, clean-cut sports coat and trenchcoat, with a slight smile on his face. Grey, on the other hand, looked baffled.
"You know each other?"
"We do," Gibbs said, handing Luck a napkin. "Having a rough day, Detective Barnes?"
"You could say that," she sighed, mopping up her mess. She looked up at Gibbs (he towered over her by nearly six inches). "It's been - I've - I'm really..."
Sean frowned at her.
"Oh. Um." She cleared her throat, as if remembering that he was there. "Agent Gibbs, this is my partner, Detective Sean Grey, otherwise known as Cinderella. Mainly by me. Sean, this is Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs of NCIS."
Nods.
"Gibbs, you said our somewhat crispy John Doe is one of yours?"
"Missing Marine," he said. "Didn't show up for his post a week ago, hasn't shown up since. Buddy described the tat on his leg."
There was a moment of edged silence.
"He was our find, Gibbs," she said quietly, taking a sip of coffee.
"He's one of our people," he responded.
Grey folded his arms and watched the silent battle of ice blue and emerald green eyes.
Luck grinned crookedly. "What's that rule, Gibbs? Our case, our lead?"
"That only applies to my people."
"I'm hurt. Am I not one of your people?"
"Not tonight, Luck." He drew out the "l" sound.
She stood straight, squaring her shoulders and chin. "So it's settled," she said. "We'll share lead. Where are your people? I'm sure your ME - still Doctor Mallard, right? -will want to look at the body. But it's staying in our autopsy."
"They're downstairs."
She jerked her head toward the door. "If you would, Agent Gibbs?"
He gave her a bemused nod. "You ever gonna tell me how you got such a crazy name as Luck?"
"My mother was a hippie and my daddy was a poet, Gibbs, get a move on."
"Detective Barnes," he said, and exited.
Luck directed her attention back to Grey. "I'm surprised he didn't comment on the coffee," she murmured.
"That's because that's not coffee," Gibbs called from down the hall.
Rolling her eyes, she waited until she heard the 'ding' of the elevator before she muttered, "Fed."
Sean punched her lightly in the shoulder.
"What?"
"Want to tell me what just happened?"
She laughed and moved off toward her desk. "Get detecting, detective."
"Oh, come on," he insisted, following her. "You two have some sort of history. Judging by the way you boiled your hands and didn't notice when he walked in."
Luck threw his coat at him.
"Shut up, Cinderella. All will be revealed. But if NCIS beats us to the collar, I am never speaking to you again."