Title: Maybe This Time
Author: IronIsraeliButterfly
Chapter Title: Maybe This Time I'll Be Lucky
I promised this to some of you and so here it is. It's based off the song "Maybe This Time" from the musical Cabaret.
"So how's the case going, Agent Callen?" Director Vance asked, lacing his fingers together. "I've taken the liberty to sending one of the agents from the home office to help you out."
"Who, Director? We're managing just fine."
"Agent David is more qualified than any person in that office to run this investigation. I am sending her to you. You will be briefing her when she arrives, and then you and her will be working side by side as partners."
Callen resented that Director Vance was sending someone in from the home office to take over an investigation. All the talk of them working side by side as equals was crap; Agent David's every word was going to be adhered too. He had not met Agent David, but he was still aware of her. He was even a bit fascinated by her – she was a fabled assassin with legendary beauty and a photographic memory who, with one look could make a grown man cry. Kensi was a good undercover agent, that was true, but there was a mystique about the Israeli that surrounded her that Callen was so intrigued by.
He was a man of many secrets, that was true, and unfortunately, he was not privy to most of those secrets. Agent David, on the other hand, guarded her life religiously, away from the curious eyes of her co-workers. Of the Washington Major Case Response Team, (MCRT), Callen had only met two of the agents when they were investigating what turned out later to be Agent David's boyfriend, who was later shot by another team member. Callen had been read into the situation as he lay in a hospital bed after being ripped apart by two pounds of lead from a team of Russian assassins, and he wondered how a team could function at all as a team after such an incident. He thanked a God he was still unsure about for never having that situation come upon him, even if he was always a hairbreadth's away from shooting Deeks.
"Mr Callen?" Hetty bobbed over to him, clutching a single piece of paper. "This is Agent David, whom you will be picking up from the airport. You are to pretend that you know her."
He studied the photos of the woman he had heard so much about but had never heard – a profile of her, her photo from her personnel file. Kensi looked over his shoulder.
"She looks like she's never picked up a gun in her life," Kensi snorted derisively. She seemed to dislike the fact that an agent from the home office was coming to lead an investigation.
"And yet she is one of the most skilled agents in the United States alive today," Hetty said, taking a look at a book sitting on Sam's desk. "Mr Hanna, I had no idea you enjoyed Faulkner. And Ms Blye, if she went into the private sector as an assassin, she would be making millions for every bullet."
"Okay, so let me get this straight," Deeks said, rounding the desk, "she's the daughter of the director of Mossad who was a brilliant and not to mention, seriously hot, assassin who switched sides to become an NCIS agent."
"Easy, Deeks," Kensi warned him, "she's way out of your league."
"Special Agent McGee sent the itinerary to your Smartphone. Check in when you get her." Callen nodded.
"Maybe I should go with him?" Deeks asked, looking slightly like a dog who was sniffing the air hopefully for a treat. "Come on, she's like a real life Mrs Smith, just so much hotter than Angelina Jolie."
"Like I said, Deeks," Kensi leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the desk (Hetty coughed disapprovingly) "she's way out of your league."
The Los Angeles airport is a mass of metal and cement, in varying tones of grey. It does not reflect the beauty of the city or the wealth of possibilities that are available in the city. In the city of palm trees, beaches, and breezes, all three are absent from the airport. One would think that the city would want the airport to be beautiful, as a first entryway to the city, especially as one as famous as Los Angeles. Callen drove around impatiently, waiting for the Israeli to show her face. As he pulled once again, he saw her, standing next to the curb, looking prim and gorgeous next to the haggard and rumpled travellers. She looked like she had just stepped out of the salon as opposed to being stuck on a cross-country flight for five hours plus.
He pulled the car up to the curb. Her face lit up when she saw him (she was a good actress, he noted, which would help out later) and she hugged him while he pecked her on the cheek. "Amanda!" he exclaimed. He took her bag and slung it over his shoulder and tugged one of her suitcases out of her hand, leaving her the other suitcase. "You always pack this light, Amanda?" he asked, as he rolled into the car. He tossed both of the suitcases into his trunk, crossed to the door, and held it open.
"Always the gentleman," she laughed.
He smiled and crossed to the other side of the car. As he pulled out of the airport, he turned to her.
"So, Agent David, good acting."
"First of all, call me Ziva." She said, opening her bag and extracting a cell phone. "Second of all, the credit goes to you. I have to call Gibbs, tell him I'm safe. He worries terribly about me since I got rescued from Somalia."
She dialled the phone and her face lit up the minute she heard the curt voice at the end of the phone. "Yes, yes, I'll stay safe. I won't talk to strangers and I'll check in every three hours. I promise. I'll eat. Yes, he's right next to me. Yes, he's driving, so I don't kill myself or anyone else. Mm-hm. Send my regards to everyone."
She flipped the phone shut. "Sounds like he worries about you."
"As I said, ever since he rescued from Somalia, he's been really worried about me. And no, we are not in a relationship," she answered to his inquiring glance. But he makes me run every guy I date by him."
"Has he struck anyone out of the line-up?"
"Two of the attorneys, doesn't trust them at all, but he told me any JAG guy was okay."
"He trusts JAG guys?" he asked incredulously.
"Only if they belong to the Department of the Navy."
Callen laughed. "I thought he had a rule against dating co-workers."
"I doubt the entire Department counts," Ziva laughed. "I do like my men in uniform. Anyway, can you tell me a bit about this case? Vance told me practically nothing."
"We're tracking a terrorist cell in LA that could possibly be connected to Hamas or Al-Qaeda."
"I don't understand why Vance needs me here. You all are very qualified. That's why you're in the CIA of NCIS."
"Don't say it that way, every time I think of the CIA I think of the slimy one-eyed teabag," Callen growled as he executed a neat right turn.
"Trent Kort?" Ziva laughed. "He's confined to a desk now."
"Good."
"Don't underestimate the paper pushers and those who sit behind the computers." Ziva warned him. He smiled at her, a real, full blown smile, a rarity for those who knew G. Callen. She was confident in who she was and yet didn't deride the work of others, realizing that every single one created a successful operation. That was a goal of NCIS, to synthesise every part of a team to create a very successful investigation. In undercover work, that was the most important goal – working together. He realized then she would be a great asset to the team even if it was only going to be until the end of the case.
They rounded several more corners and drove a couple more blocks until they pulled up in front of the NCIS Los Angeles headquarters. "It's beautiful here," Ziva commented. "Reminds me of Israel. Have you ever been there?"
Callen nodded. "Once, but just in port." He had been there for an undercover mission years before, right when he had first joined NCIS, posing as a sailor on a float in the Mediterranean.
"Haifa?" Ziva asked, her eyes lighting up. "I used to spend my summers in Haifa."
"Did you break your weapon with you?" he asked, opening the door, exiting into the cool Los Angeles breeze.
"All three of them, and my knife," Ziva responded easily, as if she was talking about chocolate bars or CDs, following him into the office. "Should I just leave my stuff in your car?"
"Yeah, we didn't make your hotel reservations yet, I'll drive you there."
"Thanks," Ziva smiled. He smiled again. She wasn't looking for any other meanings to what he said. Most women he knew always were looking for double meanings, sexual innuendo that could possibly pepper his speech. It was refreshing.
After so many years of not knowing where he stood, he could use the refresher.
"So, Ziva, this is Sam Hanna," Callen introduced them, "Kensi Blye, Nell Jones, our intel analyst, Eric Biel, our techie, Dr Nate Goetz, our operational psychologist, and our operations manager, Hetty Lang." There was a slight cough from Deeks, and Callen turned to him. "Oh, and Marty Deeks, our LAPD liaison officer."
"I was a liaison officer for four years," Ziva smiled kindly at Deeks, who looked slightly mollified for the "oversight," after she gave him a friendly wink.
"Let us escort Miss David up to Ops to review the evidence," Hetty said, watching the newcomer carefully. There was more than one reason she wanted the Israeli in LA. No one could deny that Hetty was a manipulative person, but she took care of her own.
