Ah, sweet normality. Callen reveled in the simple, easy chemistry of down time with the team. Life flowed well in the open square that was their office. Kensi rifled through her disorganized drawers in search of a pen. Deeks helpfully tossed her one; it hit her square in the forehead. Sam hunched over his computer, probably filling out reports diligently.
With a sigh, Callen leaned back in his chair once more, tucking his hands behind his head. This was better. No interfering socialite detectives to mess with his head. No stubborn revenge-driven sirens to make him question his code. Simple and straightforward.
As team leader, he could guess what any one member of his team would do in just about any scenario. If Eric were to whistle, they'd all come running. Deeks would crack a joke. Kensi would retaliate. Sam would stand at attention but would make no bones about putting the junior agent and liaison in their place.
Hart would find some way to infuriate him.
Hart?
Even absent, the detective made her way into his thoughts. Callen lifted his chin enough to look over at Deeks. Did he know about Hart's past? It would be so easy to ask. As an investigator, Callen had the instincts to follow every lead no matter how personal, but he had rules against this when it came to friendships. He didn't ask Kensi about her father. He didn't ask Deeks about his mother. He never, ever, asked Sam about his time undercover with Quinn. It wasn't done. Friends were allowed their secrets.
But was Hart a friend or a colleague? He knew right off the bat that no colleague would ever coax him back to bed with a massage or stand in a pool with lips so close he could feel the heat emanating from them. That wasn't part of the job and he knew it.
The name friend, however, indicated a level of trust that Callen did not feel for the detective. There was affection, squelched as it was, but trust needed to be earned and so far, she hadn't secured it in their short acquaintance.
Curiosity won. He pulled his computer into his lap.
SOPHIE HARMON, his fingers typed away. Callen hesitated for the slightest moment before executing the search.
The familiar forms and folders populated on his screen. CASE CLOSED. Cause of death: OVERDOSE; SUICIDE. The crime scene itself was tame in comparison to those he'd witnessed with NCIS, but a small part of him looked through Hart's eyes and saw the terror she experienced.
Sophie had been a beautiful girl; Callen could tell from the reference photo. With wide blue eyes, fair skin, and blonde hair, she looked the perfect image of purity. Dressed in a pale yellow sundress, she looked just as virginal in the crime scene images-at least on the surface. Her face was pale but peaceful in death's clutches, blonde hair splayed out on the sheets as if she was simply sleeping. But her arms and legs displayed bruises in all shapes, sizes, and levels of recovery. Beside her, a plastic bag lay among a few scattered pills that Callen recognized instantly as sleeping pills.
Shaking his head, the agent moved on to the witness statements. Parents understandably shocked, staff equally so. Only one interview stood out: that of one seventeen year old Jocelyn Hart, who found the body.
Hart supplied Jackson Pryor, victim's boyfriend, as suspect, the report read. Hart states the victim was not suicidal and "refused to take pills of any kind". Reading on, Callen discovered that that line of questioning was dropped quickly as the Pryor lawyers stepped in. Without any evidence to back Hart's claims against the powerful Pryor family, the case was quickly ruled a suicide and shelved.
Flipping through the photos once more, Callen took in a wide shot of the room. CSU was busy moving about, but it wasn't the activity of the room that caught his attention. It was the teenager standing in a corner.
Hart.
Mascara and eyeliner streaked her made up face. One hand fisted in her hair, the other wrapped tightly around her torso. Her clothes were expensive; she teetered against the wall in six-inch heels and mini dress. Her expression was painfully familiar, one he'd seen countless times in the line of duty: the face of a girl whose life had been shattered. Callen regarded her for a long minute before snapping the laptop shut. He felt like he'd intruded on her most private moment, even if she didn't know it. One thing was for certain: he'd never look at her the same way again.
"I need a warrant to exhume Sophie Harmon's body."
The chief looked up at Jocelyn with raised eyebrows. "And good morning to you, detective."
Belatedly, Jocelyn checked herself. "Sir, I would like a warrant to exhume Sophie Harmon's body."
"Better."
But instead of addressing Jocelyn's request, the chief merely dug through her desk.
"Sir?"
The chief produced a thick file. "Do you know what this is, Detective?"
"No, Sir."
"This is you. Every arrest you've made, every request you've made. You've made four requests to exhume Ms. Harmon's body, each with insubstantial evidence. Now I may be new to this position, but I know a vendetta when I see it."
"But this time I have proof!" Jocelyn brandished the evidence-bagged letter.
The chief examined the letter closely. "Why is this so important to you?"
"Jackson Pryor is responsible for the death of Sophie Harmon and I mean to do right by her."
"Even if your accusations are true, you are aware we don't allow our detectives to investigate personal cases. The conflict of interest is too strong."
Jocelyn bit back a frustrated growl. "No one else is pursuing it. I can find more proof, I just need her body exhumed."
"And if we find nothing? What then?"
"I'll keep digging."
"Wrong answer." The chief rose. "You have already accepted Pryor's guilt as fact. You disregard any evidence against that theory, and any tiny shred of evidence for it is treated as law."
"Sir-"
"That being said, I will allow this letter to be authenticated. IF it has merit, I will assign Miss Harmon's case to another team of detectives and exhume her body. YOU will steer clear of this case from here on out."
Despite the disappointment of her removal from the case, the idea of it moving forward filled her with hope. "Thank you, Sir!"
The chief rose. "I like you, Hart, I do, but you need to learn that just because you've been scarred doesn't mean you deserve special treatment. Just about every one of us has a story, something that drove us to seek justice. We all have a hot button."
Jocelyn hesitated for a moment. "Sir, why did you place me under Carlson?"
"You needed a partner, so did he. Carlson's only a couple months out from his 20. Survive under him and once he's gone you'll have your pick of the litter."
Sleep eluded Jocelyn, so she chose to pour over what copies of the Harmon case files she had. Alina still hadn't called, and dread filled her each time she thought of the young Russian. So few abuse victims followed through with prosecution; she only hoped Alina would come forward. Rubbing her tired eyes once more, she glanced around her loft.
It was simply but tastefully furnished with cream cushioned sofas and wooden accents. An eye-catching original painting took center stage behind the sofa. The artist's desk she had once used for painting was now scattered with police reports and evidence photographs.
Her eyelids fluttered once more as she rested her head on the desk in her folded arms.
Ring! Ring!
Carefully organized papers went flying as Jocelyn jerked upright.
"Hart?" she greeted blearily.
"Jocelyn?"
"Alina?" She was wide awake now. "Is everything okay?"
"I-um-for now," she hesitated. "Can we meet?"
"It's three in the morning, Alina."
"I know. I just don't know when else I'll be able to get away."
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I'm ready to talk."
Jocelyn's heart soared. "Okay. Where are you?"
"I'm headed to an abandoned beach a few miles outside of town."
Alina rattled off general directions as Jocelyn did her best to memorize them.
"How soon can you be there?"
"30 minutes."
"Good."
The line went dead.
The detective's mind went into overdrive as she dialed Callen's number. It was no secret the agent never slept and this time that quirk worked to her advantage. She'd never hear the end of it if she didn't call him and her desire to keep Alina safe outweighed any grudges she had against the agent.
"Callen."
She had been right. He sounded alert and awake. "Gabe, it's Jocelyn. Alina just called me and she's willing to talk."
She quickly rattled off details of the meet.
"Let me call this in first; we'll need the rest of the gang for backup."
"There's no time!" Jocelyn replied urgently. "I'm not going to wait. Either you come with me or you don't, but I'm not leaving her."
Callen knew full well the dangers of going to a meet alone, but he also knew that on one could dissuade the stubborn detective.
"I'm coming with you,, but I'm calling the team on the way," he compromised.
"Deal," she sighed. "I'll be outside your place in five."
Silence fell thick around the duo as they traveled. Jocelyn focused her eyes on the drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, praying that Callen wouldn't realize just how nervous she was. She envied him, leaning against the passenger window in his leather jacket, all nonchalance, as if he picked up abused Russian girls for questioning all the time.
Maybe he did.
She slanted her gaze in his direction, but he was rummaging in his pockets.
"Tootsie pop?" he asked, unearthing two brightly wrapped candies.
Surprised, Jocelyn nodded, accepting the red one. It was an odd early morning snack, but it was oddly comforting to have something mundane to focus on.
"I always have a handful of these on me," he confessed. "Gives me something to do on a stakeout."
"Mmm," Jocelyn pulled the stick out of her mouth. "Delicious and light on trash."
"Sam makes origami with the wrappers."
Jocelyn quirked a brow skeptically.
"Cranes, frogs, swans...he's actually pretty good."
The image of the large Navy SEAL creating tiny folds on the little wrappers brought a smile to Jocelyn's face. "Now THAT is something I'd like to see."
"Stick around and you might. You know they're going to put you on most of the NCIS cases after this."
Jocelyn was confused. "But Deeks is the liaison."
"So he is, but you of all people should know how little the LEOs like him over there."
"You should know they don't like me either."
"Yeah, but that's different. They don't know what to think of you, while they know exactly what to think of Deeks."
"I thought it would get easier," Jocelyn admitted. "It's been ten years and I still haven't been accepted."
"Maybe you haven't found your niche."
"SVU is my niche," she lamented. "It's all I've wanted since Sophie."
"Have you considered transferring?"
"Every other precinct is out of Sophie's jurisdiction."
Callen knew her frustration. He had jumped from agency to agency looking for the right line at his past before settling at NCIS, and only then had he found his family.
Jocelyn squared her shoulders. "Okay, I'm going to say something and...it's difficult to say."
"Whoa." Callen put up his hands. "If you're propositioning me, you already know the answer."
"Don't flatter yourself," Jocelyn remarked dryly. "That ship has sailed."
It hadn't. If he kissed her now, she'd take him all the way, but that was not what she needed to talk about. Instead, she gripped the steering wheel harder and glared at the road.
Callen relaxed. "Okay."
"You were right."
"Of course I was," he grinned. "What was I right about?"
"You were right when you said I'm a spoiled princess. You were also right for calling me a whore."
"I never said you were a whore."
"You insinuated as much."
She looked so pathetic; Callen had to say something. "That was harsh."
"Is that an apology?"
"No," he amended quickly. "Apologies are a sign of weakness."
Jocelyn blinked at him. "Please tell me that isn't carved in stone."
Callen pouted in thought. "It might be stitched on a pillow somewhere."
A silent laugh passed between them, breaking the tension. For just a moment, Jocelyn allowed herself to be mesmerized by his eyes, impossibly blue in the light of a passing vehicle.
Then suddenly they grew to the size of saucers; his face paling dramatically.
"HART!"
In a fraction of a second, Jocelyn realized three things: the headlights belonged to a black SUV; secondly, it was speeding up; and third, it wasn't passing-it was heading straight for them. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, asking her whether to fight or flee, but her body went rigid.
"Damn it, Hart," Callen swore, his hands joining hers to wrench the steering wheel to the side.
The jolt of bodily contact snapped her back to reality and she slammed the car into reverse. The Charger spun around wildly as she struggled for control. They needed the SUV behind them, but the dusting of beach sand on the asphalt made it difficult to grip the road properly. The car handled well, but the roads were dusted with sand, making it nearly impossible to grip the asphalt. The car teetering perilously close to the dunes; the wheels squealed in protest.
"Do you think this was a trap?" Callen shouted above the noise.
Jocelyn was too focused on keeping the car upright to contradict him.
SLAM!
The SUV hit the Charger's bumper, driving them forward even faster than before. White hot pain slashed through Callen's forehead as it slammed against the dashboard; Jocelyn chanced a glance at her companion to confirm his lucidity.
You okay?
Her eyes were full of panic, but he responded with a sharp nod of his chin.
Okay.
What courage she lacked, Jocelyn took from him.
The car screeched in protest as she yanked the wheel toward the dunes, forcing their assailants to ride with them. The move gave Jocelyn the upper hand; if briefly. Though fast, the Charger was low to the ground and easily caught in the sand while the SUV's four wheel drive rose above the muck. Swerving away and back, Jocelyn broadsided their attackers, turning them away from the fast-approaching surf. Too late, she realized, the change in direction sandwiched Jocelyn between the SUV and the ocean.
"Shit," she breathed, her arms straining on the wheel as the sand gummed the gears.
The dark car separated long enough to avoid a trash can, allowing Jocelyn the barest moment to observe the beach in front of them. Headlights washed the sand with white light; a pale, ghostly figure stood, frozen in their path.
"Alina!"
Without a second thought, Jocelyn slammed the breaks. Unready for the Charger's absence, the SUV careened into the dangerously wet sand of the surf, but Jocelyn didn't pay them a single thought. They screeched to a halt in a cloud of sand, and Callen's head came perilously close to the dashboard once more.
Next time, I'm driving, Callen swore to himself. Instead, he turned in his seat to open the back door.
"Get in!" Jocelyn called to the girl.
Shivering and windblown, Alina didn't have to be told twice. As she scrambled across the dunes, Callen noticed two black-clad figures emerge from the sand-swamped SUV.
"Hurry!" he urged, but he already knew she wouldn't make it without help. Callen unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to Jocelyn. "No matter what happens, take the girl and don't look back."
"What?"
This is the last time I answer a call from Hart, Callen vowed as he launched himself into the fight. The hastily constructed extraction was going south quickly. Not only were they followed, their attackers looked to be professional grade. He wanted nothing more than to draw his gun and shoot the newcomers into oblivion, but they were moving too fast; he might hit Alina.
The first attacker, bald and menacing, made contact first with a right hook. Callen ducked nimbly and landed a hit to the Baldy's sternum. The second, a redheaded woman, rushed past him; he barely managed to get a foot out to trip her. She rose quickly, spitting sand from her mouth, but the delay worked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hart shield Alina in her arms and pull her to the Charger. The wheels spun wildly before gaining enough traction to speed toward the road.
He breathed an inward sigh of relief before swinging at Baldy once more. Victory was short lived as the redhead's foot caught him sharply behind the knee. Callen's leg buckled, but he caught her arm before it made contact with his throat.
Where was Sam-or Kensi and Deeks for that matter? This was two against one; the attackers were ruthless and well-trained. He'd been doing this long enough to know he was outskilled, and if Sam didn't get here soon, he'd be six feet under.
Somewhere in his mind, he registered that the Charger had stopped escaping. In his peripheral, he saw Hart exit the vehicle and rush toward him.
"No!" he tried to protest, but he was too busy keeping Baldy from the wheel of the car. If he could just keep them distracted for long enough, Alina could get away with Hart and Sam would come to the rescue.
She looked so frightened, racing across the dunes toward him, but he was a team leader and he knew when to make the hard decisions.
"Get out of here!" he shouted at her.
Her brows knitted together in confusion and he wondered if she might fight his orders.
"Go!" he called again, even as Red aimed a flurry of punches at his abdomen.
Nodding, Hart turned on her heel, got in the car, and sped away.
A burst of strength flowed through his muscles. Callen regained his feet and returned Red's punches blow for blow. He landed a strong uppercut; she crumpled to the ground.
One more.
Callen swung too wide; Baldy closed his fist around Callen's and didn't let go. The agent pivoted, using the assailant's own arm as a choker, only to discover his mistake. Before he knew it, Baldy had curled forward, flinging Callen over his back and onto the sand. The air left Callen's lungs in a whoosh; he choked on his own breath.
Baldy's fist barreled into the agent's face and he knew no more.
Author's note: Sorry this took me so long to post! I drafted it about a thousand times; it had to be very exact to line up the next few chapters (which will be up soon). Thank you so much for reading!