"Lyon is coming online now, Director," the ensign said.
"Thank you, Ensign," said Director Vance, staring calmly at the big screen. Calling Interpol's main office in Lyon via MTAC had been Talon's idea. The large Canadian stood beside him at parade rest, impressive in his silence; the man had PRESENCE. Frost held a chair behind Talon, his bulk blocking any view of her from the screen; Gibbs sat two seats to her right. There was something wrong between the two of them, Vance could sense it, but he didn't have time to handle it. It was time for politics.
The picture in front of them flickered, and then gradually focused, showing a middle-aged Caucasian man at a desk, wearing a blue blazer with a badge declaring the name "Robert D'Conyours" pinned to his breast pocket. A jagged scar crossed his forehead and disappeared into his hairline, but his brown eyes were sharp and clear.
"Bon soir, Director Vance. Bon soir, Lt. Talon. Were you able to secure Officer Frost? Director Smythe has been very concerned." The man's French accent was thick, but understandable.
"Oi, Robert, I had no problem. Officer Frost can be quite reasonable, when approached properly. You should know that by now," Talon said. D'Conyours snorted in disgust, and Talon scowled. "Is the Director in?"
"Allo', Howard," said an older man, coming into view standing behind D'Conyours. He wore an identical blazer; his name badge said 'Director Smythe'. "Oi', I am here; it is good to see you again. Is Officer Frost still there, or did you manage to get her on a flight already?"
"She is still here, Director. It has been a very busy day."
"Nevertheless, I cannot express my relief. I should have pulled her from this case long ago, but I know how Lieutenant Auten trained her, and I allowed our mutual respect for him to sway my judgement." D'Conyours snorted again; Director Smythe glared down at him, but said nothing to his secretary. "I almost waited too long; it appears the perpetrators have made her their target. She refuses to take another partner, so I want her home as soon as possible."
"That would not be prudent, Director Smythe," offered Director Vance. "This case has advanced to near-closing in the two days since Officer Frost arrived at NCIS. The joint operation has proved very successful. Agent Gibbs." Gibbs stood beside Leon, "This is my Senior Field Agent, Leroy Gibbs. He can give you our sit rep."
"Bon soir, Director," began Gibbs, "in the last 24 hours we have apprehended six suspects, and we are closing in on the ringleader as we speak. Nine potential victims have been rescued alive and are recovering. Officer Frost's work and instincts on this case cannot be replicated by another agent, even one as experienced as Talon. We would prefer to have Frost handy, in case we run across situations or evidence she may recognize."
Director Smythe frowned. "Forgive an old man's sentiments, gentlemen, but I am quite attached to Officer Frost, and she is in danger beyond the call of her duty. I trust you received my email this morning?"
"I did," nodded Director Vance.
"Then you understand my position. This case is, and always has been, an American problem. It is a tragedy that your office took so long to take notice of it, but now that you have started, perhaps you can clean your own house. I am not willing to sacrifice one of my best field agents (D'Conyours snorted again) to a violent American pimp, when you and your team have all the evidence available to you, as well as valid leads."
"Thank you, Director," Frost said, rising from her chair and becoming visible to Talon's left. "I was afraid you had lost confidence in me."
"Non, cherie," the old man said. "But this is no case for a lady."
"Then it is well that I am not a lady." Gibbs and D'Conyours chose that moment to have identical coughing fits. Frost rolled her eyes at both of them, but her gaze—total ice—came to rest on D'Conyours. "Bon soir, Robert. There is no need to be shy with your opinion. The Director trusts your judgement, I'm sure," she said cordially, but Gibbs could feel the ice. Talon and Vance glanced in her direction as well, but her face remained impassive.
"Do you have something to add, Sergeant D'Conyours?" Director Smythe asked stiffly.
"Oi, Director, I do," the man snapped. "This has gone on long enough. NO investigation should have taken this much time. It is only because of Officer Frost's obvious weakness and ineffective methods that it has taken three years to close. She should have been assigned another partner when Lt. Auten was killed—a man would have had the connelies to end this long before now, and the Department would not have to pay for her globetrotting." D'Conyours' tone was angry and bitter, laced with frustration.
"Is that an offer, Robert," asked Frost, "or do you remember what happened the last time you tried to fill a position with me?"
*The temperature just dropped 20 degrees*, thought Vance.
"Non, Freshie," D'Conyours snarled, "don't start with me. Or have you earned a new nickname with your American friends," he sneered?
"Have you become accustomed to 'Quasimodo'?" she returned coldly.
"That is enough!" snapped Director Smythe. "Sergeant D'Conyours, you are excused! Officer Frost, control your tongue! Remember who is supposed to be the criminal, and who the officer!"
"I have never forgotten, Monsoir Director," insisted Frost stiffly, staring as D'Conyours backed away from the camera and rolled—ROLLED—away and out of view.
The old man glared at each of them. "This world is hostile enough; we don't need to fight each other. It is high time you two made peace." He glanced at D'Conyours' retreating wheelchair, then back at the camera. "Officer Frost, I still want you to stand down. If Director Vance truly needs you there, you may stay on in an advisory capacity, but I do not want you in the field. Is that understood? Stay out of harm's way."
"Yes, sir," she said coolly. "With that thought in mind, Director, I would like to take some vacation time. I could use the rest, and I would like to call on my father; he lives in the DC area. I will stay in contact with NCIS personnel at all times."
Director Smythe frowned. "I don't like the feel of this, Officer Frost. I did not become Director by being a fool. I don't want you taking any unnecessary risks. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly, Director Smythe."
"Good. I hope you find your American vacation refreshing. Remember: you have to pay for any frivolous shopping. I expect a full report when you get back to Lyon. And Brynja?"
Her eyes widened at her director's use of her given name. "Yes, Director?"
"Do come back in one piece."
"Yes, sir."
"Lt. Talon,"
"Sir?"
"Make sure she behaves herself."
The tall man smiled. "I'll do my best, Director."
The old man turned back to Director Vance. "Leon, I'll leave you and your team to your housecleaning. Let me know if you need anything else. Oh, and Leon," the old man paused.
"Yes, Syngion?"
"Consider Officer Frost an escape risk. Whoever guards THAT one will have to be crafty. Lt. Auten taught her well."
Vance smiled a little. "Understood, Syngion. Have a good night. NCIS out."
"Adieu, Leon."
The screen flipped to color bars, and then went blank. Everybody in the room took a large breath, and looked around. Gibbs sidled up to Frost.
"Ex-husband?" he asked, motioning to the screen with his head. "I haven't seen that much hostility since my first divorce."
She looked at him sharply. "No, Robert is my ex-partner. I've never been married."
"And the chair," Gibbs pressed sharply?
Frost stiffened. "That is my business, Agent Gibbs."
Gibbs hesitated. "Do we have a problem, Frost?"
Her eyes remained cold. "No, we don't. We need to close the case, so I can go home. That requires work; nothing else is necessary." She picked up the audiotape, turned, and walked up the stairs, letting herself out of MTAC. Gibbs stood and watched her go, puzzled.
"He caught a ricochet in the spine," Talon had walked up behind Gibbs as he watched Frost leave MTAC. "They were working a stake-out that went south. D'Conyours has been paralyzed from the waist down ever since. The bullet was from Frost's gun. She swore it was an accident: that he crossed her line of fire. There's more to the story, but it all depends on whom you ask."
"Mighty coincidental, though," grumbled Gibbs, staring up the staircase, "that she 'accidentally' shot a man she was feuding with. I don't believe in coincidence, Talon." His paused, scowling. "I have my team's safety to consider, and Frost is reckless. Now she may be vindictive in the field as well? Hunting this bastard is bad enough. I shouldn't have to worry about who is on my six."
Talon turned to Gibbs, an odd look on his face. "I was there that night, Gibbs, and I backed her to the review board. There have always been some unanswered questions, but none of them involved recklessness or vindictiveness on Frost's part. D'Conyours is another story." The tall Interpol agent glanced at the door Frost had just exited through. "His record with female agents was odious. I think Frost held back at the inquest so he wouldn't lose his job as well as his legs. He was married with kids at the time."
"Was?" Gibbs stopped at the past tense. Talon nodded.
"His wife divorced him, took the kids, and left the country about two years ago. She lives in Germany now, I think. Went back to college, got a degree, a job, and a better life. She was too good for that ass. He had it coming."
"Maybe now he thinks Frost has it coming," Gibbs mused. "He's mole suspect #1 on my list. This is almost too easy."
"So, what did you say to piss her off?" Talon looked at Gibbs inquisitively as they headed for the coffeepot. Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and Talon nodded. "She's mad, all right, but don't expect her to say much. Icelanders are like that."
"Beats me," shrugged Gibbs, "pissing off women is a gift of mine." He led Talon to the inner elevator and hit the 'down' button.
"That's a curse, Gibbs, not a gift. Where to next?"
"Forensics. I want to see what Abby can do with the tape," mentioned Gibbs. He scanned the bullpen for any sign of Frost. When he didn't see her, he stuck his hand in the elevator door. "DiNozzo," he called, "where's Frost?"
Tony was on the phone, but looked up at Gibbs' call. Cradling the phone against his shoulder, he pointed to the floor, then made a sign language 'A' next to his mouth. Gibbs nodded, removed his hand, and the doors closed.
"What does that mean?" asked Talon.
"It means I won't be able to use sign language around Tony much longer," sighed Gibbs. "He must be studying on his own. The sign he just used means 'Abby'; Frost is already in Forensics."
Abby and Brynja together as Abby called up the low whisper from the video file. Separating the sounds from the surrounding noise had not taken Abby long; now a husky, French-accented male whispered from the speaker: "Say 'adieu' to your partner, Freshie. Now you start to pay." Abby took the tape from the MTAC conference, separated the voice Brynja identified as D'Conyours, and ran the audios together. She frowned.
"No match," she said, scowling even deeper.
"None?" asked Brynja, horrified. "I was so certain. Same accent, same terms, even the way he threatens me at the end: it has to be him."
"Nope, the first voice has the wrong inflections, trebles, and tone. It isn't D'Conyours." Abby saw the expression on Brynja's face, and tried to console her. "Science doesn't lie, Brynja. I'm sorry. Do you have any other suspects from your office?"
"None immediately available. My first two partners are in the field somewhere. I think one is in Russia and the other in North Africa. We don't speak, but I don't think they hate me, at least not like this. Robert is another story. He blames me for ruining his life." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Dealing with him at all makes my blood pressure rise. He's actually worse than Gibbs."
Abby turned sharply towards Brynja, surprised. "You and Gibbs aren't getting along?"
Brynja shook her head, and her face clouded. "He doesn't trust me at all. He's constantly questioning every move I make, demanding I account for my actions like I'm a, a," she paused, looking for the right word, "I think the word here is 'rookie'. Like I have no field experience."
"Gibbs and DiNozzo say 'probie', for 'probationary'. Gibbs is like that with everybody he doesn't know. Try not to take it personally," Abby soothed. "He's just rough that way. I think it's part of his being an ex-Marine."
"There's more to it than that, Abby. I can see it in his eyes and sometimes in Tony's: they keep comparing me to somebody else." Brynja shook her head. "I think it's Tony's last partner, whoever that was. Tony looks at me and—he's disappointed. Gibbs looks at me, and he tenses, he's wary. He's afraid I'm going to betray him." She pursed her lips, thinking. "I suppose it wouldn't bother me so if he hadn't been so crass. I can understand being wary of a stranger, but—"
"What did he say?" Abby paused in her key-tapping, curiosity getting the best of her.
Brynja winced. "He accused me of screwing a suspect for investigative purposes. He basically called me a whore."
Abby's mouth dropped open in shock. "No WAY!"
Brynja nodded. "I dated the carrier's communication's officer in Izmir. We met for lunch twice, and went to a movie. We were supposed to have dinner the night I was attacked, but of course I wasn't there anymore. When Gibbs realized I knew him, he turned on me and demanded to know if I had been sleeping with Daniel as part of my investigation. Daniel was standing RIGHT THERE." She threw her hands up in the air in disgust. "It was all I could do to keep from striking him."
"You and Captain Hunt never—got close," Abby asked cautiously?
"Oh, God, no," said Brynja, "we never had time, and…I've never been married. It just isn't DONE where I come from. I mean, it IS, of course, but—in my circle, it isn't. It's hard to explain, because of our cultural differences, but-"
Abby looked at her, mild surprise in her eyes. "You're not sexually active?"
Brynja sighed and shook her head. "I haven't had a romantic relationship in almost 10 years. My last partner was gay, and the three before that were all lice. My last two boyfriends were in college, and were horrid men. The latter was a rapist, and the former," she growled a bit, "a medical student from another college. He 'offered' me a free pelvic exam on our third dinner date! Can you believe the nerve some men have!"
Abby's mouth dropped open, scandalized. "What did you say?"
"I told him EXACTLY where he could put his speculum, and knocked out two of his teeth. He actually tried to send me a dozen roses with an apology note later. I sent the flowers back, of course, along with a certain medical device I had beaten shapeless with a hammer. I NEVER heard from him again!"
"You go girl!" Abby enthusiastically punched the air above her head.
Brynja shrugged. "And those defined my romantic relationships: two boyfriends, both losers. I take a lot of heat at work because I'm single and-inexperienced. French and English men think my blond hair means I'm promiscuous, and if I'm not, that I just need 'breaking in'. Americans aren't any different. Cops are worst of all."
Abby scowled. "Yeah. I know. It's like we don't have any intelligence at all, or investigative instincts, or logic centers in our brains. If we solve a case, it must be because we gave the right person a hand job or a lap dance." She shook her head. "I would get that kind of crap out of Tony, but he's scared to death of me." She glanced at Brynja, her eyes dancing. "I've told him more than once that I can kill him without leaving forensic evidence!" She hesitated, "If Gibbs had known about you, I don't think he would have said.."
"Abby," Brynja chided, "he shouldn't have to know. It's still wrong to say, whether I'm a virgin or not. If my boss came in here and asked you who you slept with to get your mass spec?"
Abby nodded, "Gibbs would shoot him." She paused, thinking. "Of course, he would have to get in line, because I think I would shoot him first. Not to kill, of course, just to maim. Sometimes I believe in maiming!"
Brynja laughed, a little. The phone beeped, and Abby picked it up.
"Forensics, L'abby," she said, then listened. "Oh, yeah, I'll tell her," she said, then hung up. "That was Tony. Agent Fornell is upstairs with your clothing, and the hospital called. The girls are awake."
"Great. Thanks for the chat, Abby. It really helps."
"Anytime," Abby smiled.
Gibbs and Talon stepped off the elevator, and approached the Forensic Lab's door in time to hear Abby say:
"Gibbs is like that with everybody he doesn't know. Try not to take it personally," Abby soothed. "He's just rough that way. It's part of his being an ex-Marine."
Gibbs froze; his face puzzled, and he leaned against the wall just outside the lab door. Talon stopped as well, but simply stood, his eyes sharp and his head raised, arms crossed against his chest. Gibbs grimaced as he realized how deeply he had insulted the Interpol officer. Abby's words stung like a slap. He had never treated HER that way.
Had he? Suddenly he wasn't so sure.
"Gibbs, you are one really mean bastard," he breathed.
"Yes, you are," growled Talon. "Insult MY officer like that again, and I'll knock you on your ass." Gibbs glanced at the Native officer, surprised. "Marines aren't the only ones who take care of their own. I shouldn't HAVE to tell you to watch your mouth, but-"
"Don't worry," interjected Gibbs, "I get the idea." He took a step into Abby's lab, determined to apologize, but collided with Frost as she exited.
An awkward moment passed while Frost read Gibb's expression. "Save it," she said as he inhaled to speak, "I'm not interested." She started for the elevator, but stopped halfway down the hall. Turning towards Gibbs again, she continued. "I don't know who betrayed you or left you, but deal with your personal feelings on your own time. Your team has to live with you. I don't." Turning smartly on her heel, she stomped into the elevator, and the doors closed behind her.
"Wow," said an impressed Talon, "she's really mellowed over the years."
"Which is more than I can say for a certain ex-Marine," growled a voice from the doorway. Abby stood there, hands on her hips, scowling. "I didn't find a match in the tapes, but I'm still working on things. I don't have anything for you yet, Gibbs, so go bother Ducky if you can't think of anything else to do." Gibbs had never seen her so indignant. He was amazed! "Better yet, be a man and apologize to Brynja, even when she says she doesn't want you to. She really wants you to; she just doesn't want a fake one!"
"Abbs, I.."
"TEN HUT," she screamed, and Gibbs' arms dropped reflexively to his sides. Stomping around him in her black heeled boots, Abby reached up and slapped Gibbs on the back of his head with her left hand. "That's from ME," she yelled. Reaching up with her right hand, she whacked him on the head again. "That one's from KATE! Ziva can give you one when she gets back! Now MOVE OUT!" Turning towards Talon, she snarled at him, "And YOU! One smart-ass comment out of YOU about Major Mass Spec will get you a Taser to the belt buckle! Out! Both of you!"
Wide eyed, Gibbs and Talon backed down the hall towards the elevator.
"Feisty little thing," Talon finally commented.
"You have noooo idea," commented Gibbs.
TBC.
