This is not a HOTCH/EMILY FIC! IT'S EMILY/OMC and most likely Morgan/Ziva!

(no clue where it came from)

CM/WITHOUT A TRACE/NCIS Crossover)

CHAPTER ONE--A FUN NIGHT

"In the beginning it was fun. In the end, it was all for fun. And in between is where it tickles most."

It had been a fun night, Emily thought as she and the rest of the girls left the bar. JJ waddled a bit behind Emily, pregnancy making her just a little more awkward than Emily ever thought to see her friend. Garcia was on her left, chatting animatedly with Abby about God only knew what.

The two were definitely of a kind. They'd been friends forever, Garcia had explained to Emily the first time she'd introduced her friends nearly two years ago. Ziva David walked on Emily's left, the Israeli keeping silent. Emily knew the youngest member of their group was tired, she'd had a grueling case, and Ziva had barely escaped intact. The final two members of their usual monthly girls' night out group brought up the rear. Elena and Sam--who'd both driven down from NY together for this get-together--were talking quietly about the latest addition to their team and the issues he'd created with Jack Malone.

None of them were really paying attention to their surroundings. The two techs were a little past tipsy, only JJ, Emily, and Elena were completely sober. But it was late, and they were all tired.

And really, five federal agents plus two techs should have been safe walking across a parking lot, right?

Emily should have known better. They were halfway across the parking lot, where Emily's sedan and Elena's SUV waited when the first group of males approached. They numbered around a dozen, and all were in their twenties and early thirties, too old to be standard street gang material—unless they were lifers. To Emily, they looked like trouble. Her hand drifted to the weapon she always carried in the waist band of her jeans. They'd come out after work to unwind, meeting up with the two NCIS agents at a new bar they'd heard intriguing things about. Emily was glad she'd not taken time to stop home after work—she may have left the weapon at home.

"Well, well. This must be my lucky day." One man said, eyes running over the group of women. He was Caucasian, built like Derek, and evil. It shown in his eyes. The parking lot's streetlights cast everything in a strangely green glow, making everything seem surreal. "Seven ladies to keep me entertained. What are the likes of you doing here in this dump?"

He stepped closer to the front of the group, which meant he stood nearly toe to toe with Emily. She squared her shoulders, pulled her hand away from her weapon just a bit. She'd pull it out if necessary, but she knew the odds were pretty good that the men were armed as well. They certainly couldn't afford a gun war—not unless it was absolutely necessary. She felt Elena and Ziva moving closer to her left and right sides respectively, felt Sam placing herself in front of JJ. Abby and Garcia moved to the back of their little group. "We're on our way out of here, and we don't want any trouble."

"Oh, pretty angel, it won't be any trouble for me and my friends to show you a good time." He grabbed his groin crudely. "Is it true what they say about dark-eyed women being demons in bed? You service the devil himself? I am more than willing to find out. The devil has nothing on me."

His hand rose to touch the dark hair resting on her shoulder. Emily moved away, but she didn't cower, didn't flinch—just looked him dead on. "We're not interested. We don't want any trouble. I suggest you let us pass."

"And if I don't?" His hand wrapped around her forearm, pulling her slightly to him.

"Do not pull your gun, Emily." Ziva said in her native language. Emily understood her caution, and she nodded quickly. "They will take that as an invitation. We are ready."

"What did the little bitch say?" the leader asked, shaking Emily's arm slightly.

"Merely that you were a gentleman and wouldn't give us any trouble—because you know that wouldn't be a good idea." Emily lied. Ziva and Elena stepped away from her, freeing up space for them to move, to fight if necessary. They all tensed.

The man laughed, the sound echoed by his cohorts. Emily was ready when he jerked her forward. Her elbow rose, connecting with his nose, and her knee hit him square in the stomach. He doubled over, screaming in rage. Emily didn't pause to think, her body just reacting to the threats of the twelve men. She was eternally grateful she'd taken Derek up on his offer to teach her a few more sparring moves—and like everything else, she'd thrown herself whole-heartedly into the lessons. She heard Garcia squealing as the other men erupted, heard the sounds of flesh hitting flesh as the Moussad agent on her right sprung into action, quickly taking down two men nearest her. Elena wasn't as graceful in her technique as the younger Ziva, but she gave as good as she got in down-and-dirty street fighting. So far, they were holding their own.

Sam had taken it upon herself to protect JJ, and Emily caught the sight of the beautiful blond ushering the pregnant blond behind a nearby car. Garcia and Abby soon followed, though they made quick work of gathering stones to toss at the men surrounding Ziva, Elena, and Emily. Emily had the insane urge to laugh—leave it to those two to throw rocks at the bad guys.

Then her thoughts turned back to the danger surrounding their group as at least seven more men joined the party, emerging from the shadows. Elena went down with a pained yell as the two men nearest her grabbed her. Emily moved to her aid, her foot flying out and connecting with the smaller man's chin. He stood half a foot shorter than Emily, so it was a relatively easy maneuver. Ziva moved on the other man, and he soon lay unconscious between them. Elena hopped up quickly, and the three turned back to the threat.

Emily heard a scream behind her and she recognized it immediately as JJ's. She turned, and the move cost her. A hard slap connected with her cheek, sending her half to the pavement below. But she caught herself, though not in time. Hands closed around her throat, cutting off her air. She tried bucking the bastard off of her, aware of the rest of the men's circle growing tighter around her, Ziva, and Elena, aware of Sam, JJ, Abby, and Garcia being forced closer to them by the other half of the men. Her mind swirled, dots formed, and then she was breathing again, and Ziva was pulling her to her feet.

Emily's hand dropped to her gun, and she saw Ziva, Elena, and Sam echoing the movement. The seven women were nearly shoulder to shoulder. Emily shoved JJ directly behind her; Garcia and Abby moved to blockade the area around JJ as they stood in the center of their group.

Emily knew it was hopeless as she continued to step backwards, forcing JJ, Abby and Garcia into a tighter little circle. She just hoped JJ had had time to call 911 on her ever present cell phone. Even with four of them armed, they didn't stand a chance against nearly twenty men intent on harming them. Emily also knew they wouldn't go down without a fight.

Emily, Sam, Ziva, and Elena formed a four-point, covering each direction, weapons drawn and steady as they aimed at the bastards surrounding them. Emily was the one who spoke, though the swelling on her neck made her voice more hoarse than usual. "You really want to back off, now. We don't play games."

"What the hell are you?" The leader asked, breathing harshly. The blood trailing down his nose thrilled Emily. She'd hit the bastard damned hard a time or two. She was thankful only half of the men had joined the fight, the others apparently getting a sick sense of enjoyment watching their friends knock the women around. Sick bastards.

"What do you mean what are we?" Emily's aim was steady on his heart. If they made one more move, she was taken him down. His body language made it clear he understood that. No one moved. "For the most part, we're FBI. I told you to let us pass."

"That ain't happenin'." He smirked, before nodding at some men behind Emily. She didn't look away, trusting her friends to have her back. "We outnumber you three to one, little angel. Three to one, and we have guns, too. Much bigger guns. And for you, especially, pretty angel, I will show you mine. Even let you touch it."

Several of the men laughed at his innuendo. Emily never took her eyes off his hands. If he reached for a weapon, he was gone. "I'm not interested. We're not interested. We didn't want any trouble, but you insisted. And. We. Won't. Back. Down."

"Pretty angel, you have balls of steel." He laughed then, and stepped closer. Nearly fifteen feet separated the ring of men from the women. "But you see, we have bigger guns, bigger bullets, and there are more of us."

"But if you shoot us, you do not get what you want." Emily said, voice flat and hard. "But if we shoot you, we get exactly what we want. And there's how many of you?"

"Nineteen." Ziva interjected from where she stood on Emily's right and Sam's left. "There are nineteen of them. I have fifteen rounds."

"I have seventeen." Elena said. Sam said nothing.

"So we have plenty of bullets for what we need to do." Emily told the man. "And I, for one—do not miss. Understand me? So tell me, you want it in the dick, the stomach, or between the eyes? I'm not particularly picky, the dick's painful, the stomach messy, and the head over real quick. You decide."