Disclaimer: I own Fabian. Hannah owns Stalin. Unfortunately, last time we checked, neither of us owned Tony or NCIS in general.
This was written by a friend who has been giving me a hand with this (I couldn't have done it without her wonderful, imaginative talents), Hannah. It was meant to be in Chapter 6 of Time Flies but was lost at the time when it was posted.
Tony glanced down at his clipboard before slamming it onto the table. He knew every word on the sheet already, but it always had been for effect. He laid his hands on the table looming over his victim. The man stared through his chest.
"Unfortunate name, Mister... Stalin." The man continued to stare through his chest. Tony had wished to provoke some form of anti-Communist reaction from Stalin; evidently the man was cleverer than he gave him credit for. "For a Neo-Nazi."
He spoke in English, attempting to make the man more uncomfortable. His performance lasted for another four minutes or so, for that was exactly what his part was. A role. Suddenly he stopped, leaned forward again so his face was less than an inch from Stalin's face. He softly spoke into his ear.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to have to do this."
Tony left, slamming the door behind him. Stalin continued his resolute stare through the Observation mirror, as Fabian Sawicki entered. Fabian sat across from him. His eyes boring into Stalin's. As hard as he tried Stalin could not escape Fabian's steady gaze.
Fabian sat patiently as he watched the beads of sweat begin to build on the man's temples. His interrogation technique had never failed him with Poland's Anti-Terrorism Department or at NCIS, it was not going to fail now. Not with a larger audience.
Stalin stood a foot smaller than him, beady eyes and brown hair slicked back into a small ponytail. Fabian was tempted to smile. Stalin didn't stand a chance. Though, he did admire the man's gut's. They'd been sitting in there for five minutes before the sweat had broken out. Fabian was an expert when it came to both endurance and staring contests. During his training he had once been locked up in a small dark room, the only rule had been: don't move. He'd spent thirty-four hours solid before he asked to be let out, mainly due to a crick in his neck.
Come on, he thought to himself. Any second. NOW.
The man began to shake, then jolted upwards and yelled in English, taking his cue from Tony,
"Okay! What do you want to know?!"
Fabian desperately resisted the smile tugging around his lips. "Meetings?"
"Gdansk. Headquarters are in Southern Gdansk." Stalin whimpered. "There's a house. Only a mile out of Gdansk. Meeting are there. One two weeks."
"One in two weeks?"
"No. Every two weeks. One in three days."
Fabian thanked him as he left the room. Tony thumped him on his back. "Good work, Fab. Eleven minutes fifty-two point zero zero eight seconds."
Kathy joined them and smiled. "So close. You'll have a new record soon."
A corner of Fabian's mouth lifted. "Next time, perhaps."
I'm sure, scrap that, I know that Hannah is desperate to know what you think. If things don't match up to my Chap. 6, that's my fault and has nothing to do with the quality of this writing, so I'm going to double check and I don't really want to read any reviews saying that.