Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to me, neither does the characters. They are the creation of the ever brilliant Donold P. Bellisario and Don McGill.
Chapter 1
As the door opened, the street kid, who was slumped down on the chair in the interrogation room sat up straighter; observing the two agents entering the room. The teen shifted to lean forward with his arms crossed and laid them on the table, as the elder of the two men sat in the chair opposite him. He stared straight into the eyes of the grey haired agent seated across him, ignoring the other agent prowling around the room.
The teen spoke before the adults had the chance to utter a word. "Let me guess," the teen paused whist cocking his head to the side, pondering. "Not FBI. 'cus then you would be in better suits. No offence" he said in his thick Baltimore accent. "The man, or victim I should say," the teen spoke in solemn tone "looked like he was well trained." As he tried to ascertain an emotion from the older agent, the youth questioned "judging by the victim's hair. Military?" A twitch of an eyebrow was observed from the younger agent standing behind him.
The teen leaned back smugly, arms still cross, eyeing the astounded agent through the reflection of the window. "Therefore, either CID or NCIS. But judging from the hair cut and his geeky-ness, I would put my money on the latter." Observing the questioning look from the younger agent in the reflection, he signed; as if reluctant to explain his reasoning. "Elementary my dear Watson, NCIS employs non-military agents whist the former only uses military personnel" revealed the youth in a posh British accent, soaking in the astonishment portrayed by the younger agent behind him. The older agent remained stoic.
The youth continued un-contended. "Senior agent" he pointed with his forefinger to the older agent seated across him, jutting his thumb out in the traditional presentation of a gun. "Junior agent" he then pointed with his thumb, to the other agent standing behind him. "Whist probie here plays the bad cop routine," the teen continued in a bored tone, eyes drooped in contempt. Jutting his chin to the senior agent, "you observe me and chase him out when he gets close and play the old fatherly routine." He then turned to the younger agent standing behind him and asked, in a youthful tone, "how's that sound?" coupled with a splitting grin, "Probie."
The younger agent, startled at the teen's unexpected monologue, stared at the bright observer. The street kid supported well controlled pimples. He was lean; probably, on the skinny side of lean. His clothing consisted of a faded and overly large sports jacket, opened to a discoloured green hoodie, the hood laid over the collar of the jacket. A pair of white washed jeans, just a touch too short, multicoloured sock, and well worn sneakers, describes the rest of the teen's clothing. The patched-up clothing was dirty with mud, proved the owner's fondness for them. But notably, the street kid himself was clean. Asides from the smell, which showed the teen had been in the same set of clothing for more than a day (same could be said for himself); the street kid did not smell. Unlike what he had expected from people living on the streets; dirty, stinky and unruly. The kid had cropped short hair, slightly yellowed teeth, teenage stubbles and clean hands. Even the nails were clean.
"McGee" the senior agent's voice took the younger agent's attention away from the youth. The youth looked at the older agent with mild surprise as he had yet to observe the older agent show any movement since he sat in the interrogation room. McGee took the unspoken look from his superior and removed himself from the room. As the door slowly clicked shut, the teen shifted his attention from the door to the older agent across him. His hazel eyes then shifted to the reflection of the glass behind the agent. He started grooming himself as his interrogator's eyebrows twitched.
He positioned his chair so he was no longer sat directly in front of the older agent. The teen proceeded to propped his long legs up on the desk, eyes never leaving his reflection. Once settled into a more comfortable position, his languid gaze returned to the senior agent. Noting the senior agent's gaze, flickering to the feet placed on the steel table, the teen grinned. The senior agent shifted his chair so that he could face the youth. He then leaned on the table and placed his arm on the table. Supporting his head with his hand, he continued his gaze at the youth. The teen's eyes opened slightly wider in a split second and drooped back to its original position. He placed his hands, long fingers intertwined, resting on his stomach, settling into a long staring contest with the agent.
Time was lost for the two stationary figures in the room when a knock on the interrogation room brought them out of their reverie. The teen languidly gazed to the door whist the older man frown, anticipating a precinct officer. The dark blue uniform of the person entering the room confirmed his suspicion, as he had trained his people not to disturb him during an interrogation. The young officer physically stepped back when the agent barked "What?" The teen snickered, breaking his poker face when he saw the effect of the older agent as on the uniformed officer. The officer stuttered "a-agent Gibbs, my-my lieutenant wants to talk to you." Then, as an afterthought he added "sir."
The agent huffed as he stood up, ignoring the teen's snicker as he strut pass the young officer. "Make sure he goes nowhere without informing me or my agents" growled the senior agent. The older man got into close proximity of the young officer as he strut pass him, adding "do you understand me?" The agent stomped off without waiting for the officer's feeble nod. The youth's tenor voice shouted after the agent "don't worry officer. His bite is worst than his bark. You're lucky he just barked!" Hearing that, the older agent couldn't help to support a momentarily grin whist his female agent joined him to see the lieutenant.
~N ~C ~ I ~ S ~
As the salt and pepper haired agent re-entered the interrogation room, the teen was comfortably picking at his packet of chips. When the teen's hazel eyes landed on the female agent, he immediately dropped his long legs from the table and stood up; whist brushing off remnants of the sandwich he had just eaten. He placed on an award winning grin and groomed his hair as he spoke "well hello there." He offered his hand as the female agent walked from behind her boss. Shaking the teen's hand, he introduced himself "Tony DiNozzo, pleasure to meet you, agent?" The female agent couldn't help but grin at the charm "Ziva David." As Tony released his hand reluctantly under the stare of the senior agent, he mumbled "nice accent". His gaze still did not leave the exotic woman as the teen sat. "Ziva David, let me guess, Middle Eastern?" he asked whist the senior agent sat across him, observing their interaction.
"Yes, Israel" Ziva answered, glancing towards her superior, wondering whether this would be appropriate. She did not see any harm in the teen's interest. "Shalom" Tony spoke, surprising both agents. He shrugged his shoulders when he observed their surprise; he explained nonchalantly "you pick up things on the streets." The teen's eyes fell on the folder in the senior agent's hands. He straightened up and looked at him directly "so…" dragging out the vowel."What have you got for us, boss-man?" he asked in a lightened tone, but the experienced agents saw the clenching of the youth's jaw and curling of the fingers hidden underneath the crossed arms.
Gibbs looked through the paper in his hands, whist Ziva interrogated "you gave statement to the arresting officer that you had tried to save the victim when the officers found you." Receiving a nod from the teen, the female officer continued "you also stated that you did not stab him." The youth looked at the female agent and nodded, sensing the intensity. "Then how do you explain how a witness saw you fighting with the marine?" Gibbs spoke with a firm tone, slipping a typed testimony to the youth. The kid sat up and frowned at the paper. As he read through the paper, his frown deepened, leading Ziva to lean forward and placed her hands on the table. Gibbs sat stoically on his seat, intent on catching every reaction of the kid.
"Let me guess," the teen spoke after a while, seemingly reached the end of the typed report. "The kid," Tony looked at the senior agent whist pointing to the paper, indicating to the person who testified. "Mop of red hair" lifting his hands to his head, waving them above his hair. "Dark blue parka," he paused to place his hands in his jacket pocket. "Speaks with a lisp" mimicking a lisp whist he hunches over and gazes at the agent timidly, lisping "cornflower blue eyes." After observing the deepening frown from the senior agent and Ziva's disbelieve, the teen signed. After a while, Tony's body language changed to his usual confident self and determination in his hazel eyes. He straightened, clenched his jaw and tightened his fists, as he placed them on the table. He stared into the senior agent's steel blue eyes and stated "I killed your marine. I had a fight with him, and stabbed him in his front." Tony continued his stare, ignoring the usually emotionless blue eye's surprise.
A/N:
Firstly, English is not my first language. Please do pardon any mistakes. If anyone of you would like to beta this piece, please contact me!
Secondly, I am often too ambitious when it comes to describing a scene, which often leads to confusion. So if there is any confusion, please review, so I could correct them.
Thirdly, Street kids are often used to describe homeless children in urban cities or developing countries. Homelessness is described as people who move frequently from one form of temporary shelter to another. Even couch surfing could be described as being homeless. If anyone of you have seen "Pursuit of Happiness", you would understand what these people has to go through. This phenomenon is not uncommon.