Disclaimer : Still own nothing. Just having fun.
Author's Note : Apologies for the delay. Had a bit of an accident yesterday, so I finally have the time to update.
Thanks to everyone who's left reviews, as always I appreciate your support.
To those who asked about Career Day, I haven't forgotten about it. I'll get back to it when left gets a little less hectic.
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Wednesday, January 17, 2007 – 9:32am – Docks – Vladivostok, Primorksy Krai, Russia –
Pulling his rucksack closer to his body, Gibbs slides through the throng of laborers on the city's docks. Even though the sun's first rays are only beginning to burn away the heavy fog, the thriving port already pulsates with activity. Watching a group of men haul a shipping crate down the gangplank of a massive freighter, Gibbs listens to the murmured conversations around him.
All he can discern are traces of a language that grew stale from underuse.
Heading further up the dock, he gags at the reek of putrid fish that wafts from another vessel. Somewhere nearby he hears a muttered curse, and he smirks. There are some words that he'll never forget. He weaves his way through the crowd, heading toward skyscrapers that reflect the sunlight like tiny jewels…beacons in the winter's long nights.
He yawns voraciously, desperate for a cup of coffee.
I'd even drink that shit they brew at work.
Despite taking every mode of transportation possible for his trip here, not one of them included refreshments. He still considers himself lucky that he had a chance to hit the head before his cargo plane left San Diego after his jaunt from Dover. The last leg, a chartered boat out of Yokosuka, left him exhausted and ravenous. As if on cue, his stomach growls loudly and he reaches into his pack. His fingers graze an unfamiliar wrapper, and he wonders when beef jerky started coming in cellophane.
Pulling out a package of Nutter Butters, he shakes his head. Even though he tried to keep the news of his Russian excursion quiet, it appears that his trip wasn't so secret.
He stares at the red packaging and wonders how they're faring without him.
Anything has to be better than before.
After Tim and Tony's run in with the Angel Caido cartel, Gibbs could tell that the junior agent didn't handle the fallout well. Long after the bruises faded and the surgery wounds healed, he still turned up at work with heavy bags under his eyes. He grew edgier, always glancing over his shoulder as though he were afraid someone would be coming for him. Gibbs originally thought time was the cure to Tim's mounting paranoia.
But when the younger man started bunking under his desk, Gibbs took Tim to his agency-mandated therapy sessions. Once he started talking, he just couldn't stop. It took some months and countless nights in Gibbs' basement with several bottles of bourbon to get Tim cleared for field duty.
While Tim nearly unraveled after the ordeal, Gibbs still couldn't tell whether it actually bothered Tony. Brave-faced and stoic, the senior agent sat next to Tim every day at Enrico Carreras' trial. The only time he showed any emotion was the night they went out to celebrate the guilty verdict that sent the dealer to prison for life. Gibbs remembers the look of relief in Tony's eyes.
The case that haunted him since Baltimore was finally closed and he could move on.
Merely days after the verdict, Tony was back to his old tricks : pranks, movies and women. But when he began to come in every day smelling of the same perfume, Gibbs suspected that he might have found a serious girlfriend. Unlike Tim who talked about Annika constantly, Tony had yet to mention his significant other in conversation.
We'll just see how long that lasts.
Gibbs smiles wryly. Heading up the cement walkway onto terra firma that takes him to an expansive parking lot. Inhaling deeply, he catches the scent of asphalt and exhaust. It's a welcome change to the reek of sea water and rain that accompanied his two day journey out of Washington. He blinks slowly, surprised to see the street lamps still burning mid-morning. Their waxy light barely breaches the fog as the weak sun struggles to brighten the day.
His stomach growls again and he eats one of the Nutter Butters. Munching on the bone-dry, sticky pieces of cardboard, he fails to understand why Tim is so enamored with the treats. Struggling to swallow the mouthful, he slides the rest of them back into his bag. Maybe he'll eat them later…if he can't find a homeless person to foist them on.
Pressing his lips together, Gibbs glances around the lot full of boxy Soviet cars and wonders whether Abby's friend forgot him. Just as a few snowflakes tumble from the sky, a tiny, red Lada whips into the lot on two wheels. The rattle of its engine roars as it grows closer.
He squints against the headlights, watching a tall blonde scramble out. When she gives him a wave, he jogs towards her. Her nose scrunches as she studies his face.
"Special Agent Gibbs?"
"Yeah." He flashes his badge. "Alice Marshall?"
"That'd be me." She wipes a snowflake from her forehead, laughing when her fingers touch a set of glasses. "So that's where they were!"
Gibbs raises his eyebrows, apprising her lanky frame and frizzy hair. Even though she looks every bit of a scatter-brained scientist, she's a lot less goth than he had expected. He glances inside the car, surprised when there's no dog collar in the mountain of take-out containers, purses and scientific journals that inhabit the backseat.
He doesn't fail to notice the twin coffees in the cup holders.
"So how was the trip?" she asks.
"Not bad," he says, eying the car when it stalls briefly.
With an apologetic smile, Alice slams her fist on the hood, and it returns to its anxious grinding. "This is Soviet-era craftsmanship at its finest. Guy that I bought it from said not to turn it off in the winter or the gas'll freeze. I've been too afraid to try it. Ready to head out?"
Gibbs exhales quietly, his breath a wispy puff of steam. The middle of January seems as good a time as any for a road trip to the heart of Siberia. Even though the newscasters swear that Russia's experiencing a mild winter, it's still much colder than Washington.
With a shrug, Gibbs slides into the ancient Lada, and the stale air from the heater slams into his face. Once Alice jimmies her door shut, she puts the car into gear and passes him one of the paper cups. With a shake and a groan, the sedan jerks its way onto the road. Gibbs takes a sip of his drink, suppressing a gag as a noxious taste hits his tongue.
This must be where NCIS imports their coffee from.
"So it's okay then?"
"Yeah, it's perfect," he lies.
Depressing concrete buildings lurch past. The tiny Lada shudders its way towards the heart of Vladivostok until Alice takes the exit for the highway. Gibbs grips the door handle as the engine struggles to reach minimum speed. They ride in silence, the other cars whizzing past them.
The city melts into lazy suburbs and eventually blends into rolling farmland, buried in a deep blanket of snow. Occasionally, a farmhouse breaks the monotonous scenery.
When the last radio station dissolves into static, Alice switches the console off. Scrunching her face into a frown, she wavers before attempting conversation with Gibbs.
"So how do you know Abby?"
"I'm her boss." When she glances over expectantly, he sighs. "And you?"
"Did my master's with her in Georgia. Same lab, different program. While you might not believe it, our research was quite similar."
Gibbs nods disinterestedly. "You don't say…"
"Oh yeah, we used to use a local estuary for field work. She staged her own crime scenes with chicken cutlets to see how the water and different conditions would impact her ability to gather evidence. It was like the Perdue Body Farm. Different kinda girl. I was surprised when she asked me for help." There's a long pause. "Mind telling me about that?"
"Not much to tell. Found a murdered girl…traced her back here." He gestures out the window. "So where are we headed?"
"Amar province, little town outside Zeya. Her family relocated there about six months back. I spoke to one of her brothers that still lives in their hometown. He said her parents thought she might've gone there for work. But they hadn't heard from her in about two years."
"Runaway?"
"Seems that way. Youngest girl with seven older brothers."
Alice sighs, flipping on the wipers as the snow begins to fall faster.
"Why'd you decide to help?"
"I guess I needed a little excitement to survive the winter. There isn't much else to do around here other than drink. To be honest, Russian television really sucks."
"Yeah, it used to when I was here too. Least the vodka's good." Gibbs smirks.
"You were here?"
"Moscow, late '90s. Not something we need to talk about."
Pressing her lips together, Alice nods cautiously. The silence stretches, and the knock of the Lada's engine provides their entertainment. With an agitated sigh, she twists the dial on the radio and the speakers hiss with static. Gibbs watches the sunlight finally peer through the clouds, making the entire world outside sparkle. The rock of the road begins to lull him to sleep until Alice finds a station that makes Abby's music seem mundane.
"So what happened to that guy?" she asks, suddenly.
His eyes open. "What do you mean?"
"That guy that was bringing those girls to the States?"
"The bastard's going to prison for a very long time."
Alice nods. "What about the other girls?"
"We had to bring in immigration. Couple got granted amnesty, but most of them are coming back." Gibbs points to the splendor outside the car.
"That's a shame."
"Least they're still alive. It's better than some of the ones that we'll probably never know about."
Alice swallows audibly, her attractive features screwing into a grimace. Gibbs leans back against the headrest. The shaking of the Lada's engine and thump of the music rocks him into a dreamless sleep.
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Friday, January 19, 2007 - 5:38pm – Somewhere Outside of Zeya – Amar Province, Russia –
The jerking of the stationary car rouses Gibbs from yet another nap. He opens his eyes, focusing on the yellowed glow of the headlights that illuminate a patch of a small house ahead. It's a single story rancher with slotted shutters that allow the lamplight to spill through. Checking his watch, he can't believe just how dark it is already.
"So this is it," Alice's soft voice says, invisible in the blackness.
"I'll be back."
Three days on the road and two nights in motels where even rats wouldn't stay have brought him here. To a farming town in the middle of the Siberian tundra. Three months of detective work and a case that nearly killed two of his team led him to the moment where he'll make good on a promise that he made to a corpse.
It's finally time to bring Yelena home.
Pushing open the door, he cringes at the cold blast of air that whistles into the Lada.
"I'll keep it running," Alice says, making him laugh. Not like the car's been off since he met her.
Rough dirt crunches under his boots as he heads to a small, wooden door just within the edge of the headlight's range. His frozen fingers work their way into his pockets, searching for gloves strong enough to combat the Russian chill. Instead of warmth, he finds the picture of Yelena that he traveled halfway around the world to deliver.
When he sighs, Gibbs can see the icicles that cling to the air.
He arrives at the front door and glances back to the shuddering car. Inside, a cell phone's blue screen blazes. Alice is probably updating Abby about their cross-country trek.
Gibbs closes his eyes, envisioning his team's excited faces as they cluster around Abby's lab bench. While he imagines Tony munching on a bag of popcorn, Gibbs slams his fist against the door. The television's blare cuts out and he hears several excited utterances come. Seconds later, the door opens to reveal a tall, heavyset woman with long blonde hair.
Over her shoulder are a pair of identical young men that share her light coloring and large, round eyes.
Those boys look like Yelena.
"Simona Korovina?" When she nods, one of the men steps forward protectively. "You have a daughter? Yelena?"
The woman lets out a sniff as a tear rolls down her cheek. "Yes, I do. But she is not here. Who are you and why do you ask of her?"
Gibbs presses his lips together, retrieving the picture of Yelena's lifeless body. No matter how many times he has this very conversation, he never knows the right way to say the words. He stares into the house where a TV plays a game show in the background and plates full of dinner sit abandoned on a table. The heat from the interior presses outward.
He knows they will never forget this moment. Every sight, every sound, every smell, even the expression on his face will be emblazoned in their memories forever.
"I am a federal agent from the United States, and I found your daughter."
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Author's Note 2.0 : Thanks to everyone who's read, favorited and followed this story so far and thanks to those who will in the future. Your support has been wonderful and I've been overwhelmed by all the positive energy I've gotten from this.
If you enjoyed this or have any constructive criticism, please let me know.
See you all in the next one.
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