Brynja walked smoothly into the restaurant, blinking a little at the sudden dimness. Most of the tables had been cleared to make room for dancing, but the floor was empty; the band was playing a quiet waltz. The bar was full though, officers lounging against it with their dates in tow, calling drink orders to the three women expertly flipping bottles. Abby saw her and waved, then neatly caught a triple genuflection and finished pouring a cocktail. Brynja smiled and waved back, but the motion was caught by another sailor, who misunderstood and sauntered over, smoothing down his hair.
"Hello, hello, hel-LO," he said eagerly. "Can I buy you a drink, Baby?"
Captain Hunt joined her a second later, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back.
"She's with me, Petty Officer," he explained. The man's eyes widened, and he stiffened quickly.
"Captain!" The man saluted his Captain, nodded to Brynja, "Ma'am," and returned to his friends at the bar.
"Our table's this way, Brynja," he said, "can I take your cloak? You're going to get awfully hot in that thing. Not that you already aren't," he added, looking appreciatively her figure.
She laughed. "In a moment, Daniel. For now, I need the effect it gives." She paused for a moment, placing a hand on the one that had slipped to her waist. "And I'm sorry, but I can't join you at the table. Not yet, at least."
"I don't understand." His face clouded, almost becoming angry. "Is this just another ploy? I hoped we could start over, that something from Izmir wasn't completely phony. I can't stop thinking about…"
A gentle finger on his lips silenced him. "Daniel," her voice was silky, "I promised I would sing."
She was close enough for him to catch her perfume, a teasing musk. "Oh," he stammered, "I forgot."
"And I'm late getting onstage."
Her lipstick, he finally noticed, matched her hair. "Oh, right."
"Any requests?"
Hunt had to remind himself to breathe. Her scent was intoxicating, and she was so close…He shook himself back to reality, looked into her eyes.
"Tell me how you really feel…I want to know…"
Her eyes were teasing him now; he could see it.
"I can sing that," she nodded. "Anything else?" she breathed, leaning in.
He pulled her close in a three-step waltz, and dipped her once. "A backstage pass?"
"Meet me backstage in an hour," she breathed in his ear.
And she disappeared. Hunt caught a glimpse of her cloak swirling around a corner. Blinking, he moved back to his table. The waltz ended.
"What happened to your date, Captain?" asked Director Vance.
"Oi," said Director Smythe, "we did not even get to meet her!"
"She offered to sing me something," he shrugged. "She's headed for the stage. Funny; I didn't think this bar was set up for karaoke."
Gibbs looked at him oddly. "It isn't."
A thick, balding man stepped up to the stage, holding a microphone. "Ahoy, shipmates! With apologies for the delay, please allow me to introduce our band for this evening: Ragnarok!"
Brynja glided up to the microphone, shedding her cloak as the band started to play. Hair the color of living flames cascaded past her shoulders, which were bare except for the diagonal strap holding up her dress. A black leopard-print accented the silver fabric clinging to her curves, opening suggestively at the midriff, and finally dropping to a jagged cut skirt ending just above her knees. Silver bracelets curled around her upper arms, and a tattoo peeked over one shoulder. Brynja looked down at Daniel, winked, and started to sing.
"I'm coming up, so you better get this party started…"
Director Smythe choked on his drink.
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Outside, Tony glanced over at Tim, who was fiddling with a small display screen.
"Whatcha got there, Probie?" He scanned another junior officer for weapons, then let him pass into the club. "I thought another team was covering the video recon."
McGee smiled and turned the small tablet computer around for Tony's eyes. "They are. This is a video feed Abby helped me set up, so we could watch the stage show. I didn't want to miss it!"
"Get this party started on a Saturday night…" Brynja raised her hands as she sang, seeming to call people to the dance floor, which quickly filled for the camera…
"God, I love Abby," Tony moaned. He quickly stuck his wand out in front of a would-be entrant. "Where do you think you're going, seaman?"
"In to see that," the young sailor said, ogling Tim's tablet screen. "C'mon, be a pal!"
"Keep walking, boy," Tony glowered at him. "Non-com show is down the block. This concert is for officers only."
"ID, please," Tim said to another. He glanced at the document and the bearer, wanded the man, and let him through. He glanced over at Tony. "You were a little harsh there, pal."
"Hey, if I'm not getting in, none of these runts are getting in," Tony insisted. "Life is tough!"
"I can go for miles, if you know what I meeeeaannnn…" Brynja's voice wafted up from the speaker, and blasted out the doors…
"Yeah, it's gonna be a long night," Tim sighed. "ID, please."
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Ivan drew his coat collar up around his neck, and adjusted his seat to make it more comfortable. He briefly wished he could go inside the club, so he could watch the girls sing, but shrugged off the desire. Somebody had to watch the back door, and he was it. Well, technically the NCIS agent, whoever it was, was actually 'it'; he was really surveilling him.
The information he had gained from the dock-master had him worried. Ivan wanted, badly, to get inside and talk to Gibbs. He needed to talk to Gibbs. He'd learned long ago to trust his instincts (what did Gibbs call it? Oh, yes, his 'gut') and his sources, and the combination tonight was very bad.
But he knew how to wait, and when to move. There were, he thought, advantages to being one of the older dogs. Patience was one of them. He cocked an ear; the band was playing an old German pop single, "99 Luftballoons". He smiled to himself. That would be Brynja singing, of course, and probably Billie on guitar and backup. Ah, to be young again…
He didn't notice the men on the roof behind him.
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"There's more than one way to fight," Liam had told her. "Know your enemy: what he thinks, what he assumes, what he feels. You use physical leverage to turn your enemy's size and power to your advantage with Kung Fu. You can do the same with your enemy's mind, his feelings. Take your time; evil can be patient for a while, but its natural arrogance can be manipulated, provoked into a false move."
Brynja kept singing, each song pre-selected for maximum effect, establishing her as a woman, a priestess, a temptress, a warrior…
A target.
"You're good on the stage; you may have to use that someday. Remember: music is emotion. Your enemy can wear a flak jacket, but he can't insulate himself against feeling. You sing, you dance, you get under his skin, into his mind."
"99 Luftballoons", "Love is a Battlefield", "Stronger than Yesterday", "Fighter", "Miss Independent", "Hit Me With Your Best Shot", "RESPECT", "Danger Zone"…Brynja caught glimpses of her boss, his face alternating between desire and hate…Gibbs didn't seem to notice, he was watching Director and Jackie Vance on the dance floor and chatting with Daniel, who couldn't take his eyes off her.
"He'll reveal himself, tip his hand. Be ready. Watch for it. You can't wear a flak jacket on stage. Your eyes, your ears, and your gut: those are your armor. Trust your instincts, even if you do have a partner. The better your adversary, the more prepared he will be, the more prepared you must be. Set him up. Make him want you, then let him know you're out of his reach."
Brynja stopped after "I Feel Like a Woman" for a sip of water, and Billie stepped over for a second.
"Hour's almost up, Bry. Do you want to do that remix we practiced last night? The timing seems right."
"Yes, and then do the last number right after it: no pause. We'll break and hit the dance floor after that, while Howard runs the CD mixer."
"Got it." Billie nodded to Skyy and picked up her guitar again, while Brynja grabbed the microphone. Behind her, the opening chords of Shania Twain's "That Don't Impress Me Much" started to pound. Brynja waved at the camera Abby had placed above the bar, and winked.
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"Hey, Tony! She's waving at us!" McGee exclaimed, turning the screen so Tony could see. "Hey, we're at capacity, buddy. No more entrances until somebody leaves." The sailor turned away, grumbling, as Tony secured the velvet rope across the doorway.
"Seriously? She said she worked on a song for us. Turn it up, Probie!"
McGee fiddled with the tablet computer's controls until the sound was at 100%. "Good as it gets, buddy." Brynja's voice floated out of the tiny speaker…
"I've known a few guys who thought they were pretty smart Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special Okay, so you're a computer genius!
But you've got being right down to an art!
You think you're a genius-you drive me up the wall,
You're a regular original, a know-it-all
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else
That don't impress me much!
So you got the brain but have you got the touch?
Don't get me wrong, yeah I think you're alrigh,t
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night;
That don't impress me much!"
"Ahh, was that about me?" Tim looked at Tony helplessly.
"Sorry, Probie, I'm afraid so," Tony clapped him on the shoulder in mock-sympathy. "Try not to take it personally…even though it was…"
"I never knew a guy who carried a mirror in his pocket
And a comb up his sleeve-just in case.
And all that extra hold gel in your hair oughtta lock it,
'Cause Heaven forbid it should fall outta place.
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else
Okay, so you're a DiNozzo!
That don't impress me much…"
"She didn't…" breathed Tony.
"She did, big guy," said Tim, clapping him on the shoulder. "Try not to take it personally, even though it was," he paused, looking concerned. "You don't think she'll do the Boss, too, do you?"
Tony looked worried. "I wouldn't put it past her."
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Brynja winked at Gibbs, who raised his glass in a salute.
"You're one of those guys who likes to shine his machine
You make me take off my shoes before you let me get in
I can't believe you kiss your boat good night
C'mon baby tell me-you must be jokin', right!
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else
Okay, so you build boats in your basement!
That don't impress me much…"
Gibbs' snorted, and his faux bourbon bubbled out of his nose. Coughing and sputtering, he reached for a napkin, Director Smythe and Captain Hunt pounding him on the back. "Ok, little girl," he wheezed, "it's on."
"Okay, so what do you think you're an Admiral or something?
Whatever…" Brynja winked at Gibbs again. "That don't impress me much!"
Jackie and Director Vance staggered back to the table, laughing and winded.
"This next song goes out by request," Brynja breathed into the microphone, her eyes locking onto Captain Hunt. Behind her, Shania Twain's "I'm Gonna Getcha Good" began.
Gibbs stood up, wiping himself off.
"Where are you going?" Director Vance asked.
"First, to the head to clean myself off. Then, I'm gonna kill DiNozzo; that last song had to be his idea! Then," Gibbs straightened his jacket, "I'm gonna ask that little tart to dance. The band is hitting the floor after this song, and I owe her!"
Jackie laughed, but Captain Hunt, his eyes fixed on Brynja, started as if shocked. He jumped to his feet.
"Oh, hell no," he exclaimed. "Get your own backstage pass, Gibbs!" Straightening his uniform, he started weaving through the crowd towards the stage.
"Don't try to run...love can be fun..."
Director Vance snorted. "Took him long enough."
"Not everyone takes hints the way you do, dear," purred Jackie.
"I shhoood vishit the loo as well," said Director Smythe, standing a little wobbly. "Can 'ou direct me, Agent Gibbs?"
"Yeah, no problem. It's this way."
TBC