Adjectives for Jet
Disclaimer – I don't own NCIS: LA. I don't own any of the characters. I never will. If you think for a second that I do then you either one or both of two things, 1. Delusional; 2. Stupid. If you understand this disclaimer…keep reading. Thank you.
Chapter One – Enigmatic
Jet wondered into the NCIS headquarters for the Office of Special Procedures a little after 10:15am. Fresh from LAX she was dressed in black jeans, her well worn studded mid calf boots and a black tee shirt. Her black duffle bag was thrown over her shoulder. Her black hair was tied up in a messy bun, which was styled in the heat during the static yet agitated oxymoron of traffic.
She hated traffic and had to contend with an abhorrence of it since she set foot on Californian ground. Sitting in traffic did give her the chance to observe her surroundings. LA she decided was pretty much like every other city she ever lived in, it had the snobbishness of Paris, the fashion aware of Milan, quirkiness of Tokyo, the traffic of London and the hives of people just like New York.
Her mood was indifferent which wasn't new; it seemed to her that indifference was simply part of her personality these days. Well maybe a lot of days and the traffic certainly hadn't helped it any. She was impatient.
Jet finally made it past the security guard standing watch by the entrance. He was much older than she and had an air of superiority about him. It made her itch to smack him across the face. Their quiet words soon became an argument, since he thought she was a child and Jet thought he was an idiot. Apparently she didn't look like an undercover agent. How she was supposed to look, Jet wasn't sure. It was only after she convinced him to call Hetty that she was allowed admission further into the old building.
She pushed the internal door open with a scowl on her face, adjusting the duffle bag on her shoulder as she went. There were quite a few things she hated, prejudice was one of them. Why was it always assumed that because she was young, she was inexperienced or because she was good at her job, that she must be a man. Jet shook her head, as she continued down the dimly lit hallway several different men and women smiled at her. Jet paid them no attention; she wasn't here to make friends.
The building was quite nice. It reminded Jet of an old warehouse she'd lived in for a few weeks, except this building had sandstone walls. Without some of the obvious industrial utilities it could have been mistaken for a sparse Spanish revival home.
Stopping at the bullpen she saw three men playing some sort of game, which involved a small recycling bin and scrunched up paper balls. Jet frowned. What had she signed up for? Was this normal? Did American Agents find this a productive use of their time?
Jet slipped her duffle bag from her shoulders and lowered it to the stone floor. The three men turned and looked at her closely. They shared a curious glance with each other and all seemed to agree silently that none knew who she was. The one with the messy blonde hair came towards her as she leant against some of the iron lacework. He looked her up and down appreciatively, a roguish grin on his face. Jet knew that he must think himself attractive, that she would be helpless against his charms. Insecurities masked with arrogance, she knew the type. He must be green or maybe just lucky.
"Hi gorgeous, I'm Marty are you looking for someone?"
Jet rolled her eyes in his direction. Hi gorgeous? Was that the best he could do? She said nothing and looked at him with a blank stare, knowing that he would find her silence disconcerting. He didn't expect her to address his complete lack of professionalism, did he?
The two other men came towards her, both seemingly amused with her reaction towards their co-worker. The man with a brown buzz cut extended his hand towards her. He was attractive in a rough sort of way, not that she'd ever admit to thinking that out aloud.
"Hey I'm Callen," he paused to gesture to the African-American who looked like he knew he could handle himself, "and this is Sam."
Jet shrugged, she really couldn't care less. All co-workers did was ask too many questions and cause trouble, especially the somewhat attractive ones who had blue eyes. Glancing at her watch, she frowned. Hetty should have met her by now. Pushing herself off the decorative iron lacework, she stepped past Callen and Sam. She'd had enough of this circus.
"Hetty!"
The tiny woman appeared at the top of the stairs and Jet was please to see that she was smiling. "Jet my dear how was your flight?"
Jet nodded politely, "Fine. Thank you."
She followed Hetty's line of slight towards the three gentlemen, "Have you been introduced to your co-agents?"
The small woman stopped before her. Jet bent down to kiss her cheek, "Well enough." Hetty was one of the few people that Jet could actually stand. The older woman pulled no punches and said what she meant, there were no mind games. Jet liked that. She'd also been a close to a mutual friend of theirs, which in her book meant that the older woman should be respected.
Jet stepped towards her duffle bag. Reaching into the dark worn leather, she pulled out a bright orange cardboard bag. It was the kind which you knew contained something expensive. Holding it towards Hetty, her face was passive and there was no inflection in her voice.
"I know you've always wanted an Emilo Pucci scarf. But Hermes is I dunno…" she paused, "more sophisticated."
Hetty took the bag delighted, "Thank you."
Jet shrugged, it off it was nothing. She walked past the store in New York, knew that Hetty liked scarves so she bought one. Material things had little to no value to her. Money had value; because it allowed certain liberties anything else was basically superfluous.
"So," Hetty said, "settle in, make yourself comfortable, help yourself to a nice cup of tea and become familiar with your fellow agents."
The man called Callen laughed at the look on her face and Jet gave him a glare so steely he sobered quickly. She rushed towards Hetty fiercely, putting both Sam and Callen on the automatic defensive. But she wasn't bothered by them, she could take them easily if she had to. The big guy Sam would probably only slow her down. It could be done.
"What!"
"Cease with the dramatics Miss Strakosha."
Callen frowned and before he realised it he was correcting Hetty's pronunciation. His voice mingled with the English lilt of the new agent's. He caught Hetty's secret grin and knew then that she had pronounced her name falsely on purpose.
"It's Stra-ko-sha."
Jet turned and looked at him briefly and he assumed she was surprised that he knew enough Albanian to say her surname properly. To her credit her red lips and green eyes showed no emotion. Callen grinned at her, which she completely ignored before turning her deadly gaze back to Hetty. He shivered unwittingly, her eyes were empty, unsettling.
"I work alone Hetty." She repeated the word for emphasis, "Alone. Surely Devlin mentioned that."
Callen looked over at Sam, who shrugged, Sam had no idea who the mysterious Devlin was either. It didn't really surprise him that Hetty had mysterious friends, the woman practically knew everyone somehow. It was like playing six degrees of Kevin Bacon.
Hetty met Jet's gaze glare for glare as a battle of wills took place. "That may be true Jet, but at NCIS we do things differently. One of these agents will be going undercover with you or will be providing you with backup."
Callen had to admit to himself, that he was impressed by the new agent's guts. It wasn't often that someone was brave enough to openly go head to head with the diminutive woman. Callen had a feeling though, that in this case Jet was fighting a losing battle. Still she continued.
"I've worked alone my whole career within various different agencies. I've proven my abilities, why can't I continue here as I've always done?"
The older woman shook her head, "Working alone without back-up conflicts with NCIS protocols. It isn't going to change Jet, so you best get used to it."
Jet sighed as Hetty walked towards her office, with a sense of finality, "Choose your battles wisely Jet."
When Hetty disappeared from sight, Callen finally allowed himself to look at the woman before him. The word hellcat seemed an appropriate adjective to describe her personality. Her appearance was deceiving she could be mistaken for a model, with black hair like silk and skin like fine porcelain. And she clearly didn't have the build to be skilled in combat, she was lithe and graceful. The woman held herself like she was a prima ballerina.
Callen sighed he had a feeling that Jet was an enigma. Was that why Hetty had recruited her for NCIS? And why did she have such an aversion for working with other agents?
He watched as Jet picked up her duffle bag, she slung it over her shoulder and to his surprise. Jet walked past them all and down the hall towards the exit. Ignoring Sam calling his name, Callen rushed after her. He wasn't sure why he did it, why it bothered him so much that she was leaving.
Jet heard the sound of quick heavy footsteps following her and someone calling her name. She ignored them and continued walking towards the exit.
Someone grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her around. To her surprise it was the blue eyed guy with the buzz cut, Callen. She looked towards where his fingers were curled around her bicep. Briefly she entertained the idea of immediately slapping him for touching her. Thoughts of hurting him faded when Jet looked up into his eyes, they reminded her of a tropical ocean. Then it dawned on her that his touch didn't make her feel sick like she normally did whenever someone touched her. It actually felt nice. It wasn't a feeling she was used to and Jet didn't like it, it wasn't good. She tried to pull her arm away to find that Callen was stronger than he looked.
"Let me go!"
His face was creased with what was it? Worry? Concern? "Where are you going?"
Jet frowned. Why did he care? She'd just met him and people normally didn't care about her or like her. Hyperaware of his touch and uncomfortable she decided this was enough. She asked him nicely which was more than most people got and he ignored her. Callen was startled by a swift and powerful slap to the face. He dropped her arm and when he looked up Jet was gone the last internal door swishing closed behind her. He had a feeling that things at NCIS Special Projects were about to become a whole lot more interesting for not only him but for everyone.
