It's Raining on My Hero-- An NCIS Fanfic by Blood_Red_Alibi
Title: It's Raining on My Hero
Author: Blood_Red_Alibi
Rating: R (for language and graphic crime scenes)
Genre: Casefile
Pairing: None
Summary: Five weeks post-Aliyah, Gibbs borrows Agent Cameron Hall from San Diego for an assignment. When a domestic dispute at Quantico turns deadly, the team must try to stay one step ahead of a killer who will stop at nothing to claim what is rightfully theirs. This is (for now) a WIP.
Spoilers: Aliyah
Disclaimer: I honestly don't own anything in relation to NCIS... I'm just borrowing them for a while, and I promise to return them all when I'm finished... *sigh* even Tony. The NCIS characters belong to DPB, Bellisarius Productions, CBS, and a whole list of people that don't include me. Cameron Hall, Jack Winslow, and the San Diego crew belong to me. A big thanks to teenagewitch for giving this a beta, and a thanks to everyone else who looked this over and gave me feedback-- you guys rock!
Warning: This fic contains some graphic descriptions of crime scenes.
Chapter Four: Light for the Deadvine
The doors open and we make our way back to our desks. Gibbs just glances sideways at me. As we approach, I see DiNozzo with his feet up on his desk. He’s facing away from us and talking.
“I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?” he asks darkly. McGee locks onto us, and I see DiNozzo tense, dragging his feet to the floor.
“She behind me?”
“I’d leave her alone, DiNozzo… she bites.” Gibbs says, causing DiNozzo to turn quickly. Looking at him over Gibbs‘ shoulder, I grin and click my jaw together in a biting motion.
DiNozzo curls his lip at me and goes back to his paperwork. After about twenty minutes, Gibbs gets a summons to MTAC and disappears. Five minutes later, DiNozzo comes and perches on the edge of my desk. He cranes his neck, looking to see how much damage I’ve caused here before shifting the sling to a more comfortable position.
“So, what did you do prior to coming to NCIS?” I glance up at him. His tone is somewhat curious, bordering on petulant.
“I was a Master at Arms,” I say carefully, going back to organizing my desk.
“Where at?” He chews his pen thoughtfully.
“Don’t end your sentences with prepositions, it makes you sound uneducated.” I shuffle papers around.
“Where at, probie?” He asks with a smirk.
I narrow my eyes at the intended slur, but answer the question, “My last posting was in Norfolk.”
“How long were you there?” He drums his fingers on my monitor.
“Off and on for four years.” I swat his hand away.
“Four years, really? Did you actually get to do any real police work? I mean, let’s face it… Master at Arms isn’t quite like being a real cop.” There’s an incredulous tone in his voice that sets my teeth on edge.
“Really? ‘Cause I had a caseload there that says otherwise.” I say, stepping up and playing his game, “You name it, it came across my desk at some point or another.”
“So, you’ve actually worked rapes, thefts, hostage situations, and murders?”
“Believe it or not, I have… but only three of them were commonplace. I only worked one hostage situation, in Naples. Stupid kid took over the Base Exchange because they didn’t stock his favorite socks. Apparently, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and he snapped. But murder is the worst. Drug interdiction sucks, too.”
“Yeah… did you have a problem with crack dealers offing one another? That was a big favor for us in Philly,” DiNozzo has a bravado in his voice that his body language tells me he doesn’t feel.
“Ah, because if it’s one crack dealer killing another, it’s less of a crime?” I query softly, leaning back in my chair.
“You don’t see it like that?” He asks, looking at me over his shoulder.
“I think that it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, there is one less human being in the world.”
“That‘s touching,” DiNozzo scoffs, narrowing his grey-green eyes.
“We all share in the death of every human being.” I meet his gaze, and I see a dark cloud descend on his features.
“Doctor Phil?” he asks roughly.
“Temperance Brennan.” I sit forward. His face takes on several different shapes as he seems to consider my words.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Agent DiNozzo settles on a curious expression.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Are you going to?” He asks.
“I am not.” He nods, shifting the subject.
“That’s a nice necklace you’re wearing there.” I roll my eyes.
“Thank you.” I sit forward and tuck the pendant back inside my shirt, careful not to catch the garnet stone on my shirt.
“Celtic knot… symbolizes eternity. I’m trying to figure out what the red stone is for.”
“And?” I ask tersely.
“I’m trying to figure out is if you’re actually of Celtic descent, or if you’re just a wannabe.” I can see that he is genuinely trying to steer us towards a lighter topic.
“Did my incredibly red hair give it away, DiNozzo?” I try to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“That incredible red can be purchased.”
“Ah, but not the penchant to burn easily.” I hiss through my teeth in memory of sunburns past. The curse of being a redhead.
“Do you burn easily?” He quirks an eyebrow, and I begin to see real interest.
“Yeah. I went to Cozumel with a guy I used to date, and I spent the trip miserable from a second degree burn.” I see DiNozzo wince.
“Ouch. Were you two pretty serious?” He’s feeling me out, how I am with the opposite sex.
“Nah, his daddy had a lot of money, and I had two weeks of liberty coming up, so we took off and went.” I feel like a slut admitting that, but I want to build some trust with my new team. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that McGee is hanging on every word.
“How did he convince you to go? Candlelit dinner? Wine? Roses?” DiNozzo asks… and I get the sense that he can be a romantic underneath all the macho bullshit.
“He bought me a six pack of Bud Light and said, ‘So… uh… you wanna go to Mexico?’”
“Really? You seem like the wine and roses type, Agent Hall.” DiNozzo says.
“Well, I’m more of a ‘drink beer in the back of a truck’ kind of girl,” I smile, “Not much else to do in a small town.”
“How small? Are we talking suburbia or Mayberry?” He returns to his own desk and sits, steepling his fingers.
I go to Gibbs’ desk and pick up the paper copy of my file. Tossing it to him, I invite him to read it over.
“Whoa, whoa… you can’t do that!” McGee splutters from his desk, giving himself away.
“Then he’d better go through it quickly, before Gibbs gets back.” DiNozzo stares up at me. I place the file in his hand and wink.
“Don’t lie, DiNozzo… you were going to read it no matter what. But, I guess it isn’t as much fun when the person you’re spying on tells you to have at.”
Agent DiNozzo snaps the file around and balances it on his knee, as he awkwardly thumbs through it, “You have a private pilot’s license for fixed wing and rotary craft, both a class C and class M driver’s license issued in the state of California, a military driver’s license, an international driver’s license issued that is valid in Europe and several countries in Asia, Africa and South America. You are a second degree black belt in Jujitsu. And you own three vehicles in the state of California, now Virginia, a 2005 Ford Focus, a 1974 Porsche 911 Carrera… and a 2007 Ducati Sport Classic Sport 1000S.” Tony’s eyes are starting to glaze over and he’s practically salivating.
“Sold my ‘68 Indian about five years ago. That nearly broke my heart. I spent three years working on that bastard.” I sigh, sitting on DiNozzo’s desk. He thumbs through a few more pages commenting on a couple of things. Finishing it, he tosses it carefully back on Gibbs’ desk and comes back to his own desk.
“Don’t think for a minute that I’m ok with you here,” he says, without malice.
“It’s hard to lose your partner,” I say, pushing off his desk and returning to mine, “I haven’t gotten rid of anything because I hope she’ll be back too.” I admit, and watch the expressions kaleidoscope across his face before he nods once.
The bullpen is quiet for long moments as we all get back to whatever we had been doing. The silence doesn’t last nearly as long as I’d have thought.
“Do you really own a 911 Carrera?” Of course DiNozzo’s curious about the Porsche.
“Yeah.”
“What color?” I can hear the drool in his voice.
I flick a look at him, “Black.”
“What did you drive today?”
“The Focus. Why?”
“No particular reason.”
“You want to take a spin in the Carrera?” I ask. Something heavy thumps near DiNozzo’s desk.
“Are you being serious?” I look over and meet his gaze.
“As a heart attack.” He eyes me suspiciously, “Come on, DiNozzo… it’ll be fun.”
Author: Blood_Red_Alibi
Rating: R (for language and graphic crime scenes)
Genre: Casefile
Pairing: None
Summary: Five weeks post-Aliyah, Gibbs borrows Agent Cameron Hall from San Diego for an assignment. When a domestic dispute at Quantico turns deadly, the team must try to stay one step ahead of a killer who will stop at nothing to claim what is rightfully theirs. This is (for now) a WIP.
Spoilers: Aliyah
Disclaimer: I honestly don't own anything in relation to NCIS... I'm just borrowing them for a while, and I promise to return them all when I'm finished... *sigh* even Tony. The NCIS characters belong to DPB, Bellisarius Productions, CBS, and a whole list of people that don't include me. Cameron Hall, Jack Winslow, and the San Diego crew belong to me. A big thanks to teenagewitch for giving this a beta, and a thanks to everyone else who looked this over and gave me feedback-- you guys rock!
Warning: This fic contains some graphic descriptions of crime scenes.
Chapter Four: Light for the Deadvine
The doors open and we make our way back to our desks. Gibbs just glances sideways at me. As we approach, I see DiNozzo with his feet up on his desk. He’s facing away from us and talking.
“I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?” he asks darkly. McGee locks onto us, and I see DiNozzo tense, dragging his feet to the floor.
“She behind me?”
“I’d leave her alone, DiNozzo… she bites.” Gibbs says, causing DiNozzo to turn quickly. Looking at him over Gibbs‘ shoulder, I grin and click my jaw together in a biting motion.
DiNozzo curls his lip at me and goes back to his paperwork. After about twenty minutes, Gibbs gets a summons to MTAC and disappears. Five minutes later, DiNozzo comes and perches on the edge of my desk. He cranes his neck, looking to see how much damage I’ve caused here before shifting the sling to a more comfortable position.
“So, what did you do prior to coming to NCIS?” I glance up at him. His tone is somewhat curious, bordering on petulant.
“I was a Master at Arms,” I say carefully, going back to organizing my desk.
“Where at?” He chews his pen thoughtfully.
“Don’t end your sentences with prepositions, it makes you sound uneducated.” I shuffle papers around.
“Where at, probie?” He asks with a smirk.
I narrow my eyes at the intended slur, but answer the question, “My last posting was in Norfolk.”
“How long were you there?” He drums his fingers on my monitor.
“Off and on for four years.” I swat his hand away.
“Four years, really? Did you actually get to do any real police work? I mean, let’s face it… Master at Arms isn’t quite like being a real cop.” There’s an incredulous tone in his voice that sets my teeth on edge.
“Really? ‘Cause I had a caseload there that says otherwise.” I say, stepping up and playing his game, “You name it, it came across my desk at some point or another.”
“So, you’ve actually worked rapes, thefts, hostage situations, and murders?”
“Believe it or not, I have… but only three of them were commonplace. I only worked one hostage situation, in Naples. Stupid kid took over the Base Exchange because they didn’t stock his favorite socks. Apparently, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and he snapped. But murder is the worst. Drug interdiction sucks, too.”
“Yeah… did you have a problem with crack dealers offing one another? That was a big favor for us in Philly,” DiNozzo has a bravado in his voice that his body language tells me he doesn’t feel.
“Ah, because if it’s one crack dealer killing another, it’s less of a crime?” I query softly, leaning back in my chair.
“You don’t see it like that?” He asks, looking at me over his shoulder.
“I think that it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, there is one less human being in the world.”
“That‘s touching,” DiNozzo scoffs, narrowing his grey-green eyes.
“We all share in the death of every human being.” I meet his gaze, and I see a dark cloud descend on his features.
“Doctor Phil?” he asks roughly.
“Temperance Brennan.” I sit forward. His face takes on several different shapes as he seems to consider my words.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Agent DiNozzo settles on a curious expression.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Are you going to?” He asks.
“I am not.” He nods, shifting the subject.
“That’s a nice necklace you’re wearing there.” I roll my eyes.
“Thank you.” I sit forward and tuck the pendant back inside my shirt, careful not to catch the garnet stone on my shirt.
“Celtic knot… symbolizes eternity. I’m trying to figure out what the red stone is for.”
“And?” I ask tersely.
“I’m trying to figure out is if you’re actually of Celtic descent, or if you’re just a wannabe.” I can see that he is genuinely trying to steer us towards a lighter topic.
“Did my incredibly red hair give it away, DiNozzo?” I try to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“That incredible red can be purchased.”
“Ah, but not the penchant to burn easily.” I hiss through my teeth in memory of sunburns past. The curse of being a redhead.
“Do you burn easily?” He quirks an eyebrow, and I begin to see real interest.
“Yeah. I went to Cozumel with a guy I used to date, and I spent the trip miserable from a second degree burn.” I see DiNozzo wince.
“Ouch. Were you two pretty serious?” He’s feeling me out, how I am with the opposite sex.
“Nah, his daddy had a lot of money, and I had two weeks of liberty coming up, so we took off and went.” I feel like a slut admitting that, but I want to build some trust with my new team. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that McGee is hanging on every word.
“How did he convince you to go? Candlelit dinner? Wine? Roses?” DiNozzo asks… and I get the sense that he can be a romantic underneath all the macho bullshit.
“He bought me a six pack of Bud Light and said, ‘So… uh… you wanna go to Mexico?’”
“Really? You seem like the wine and roses type, Agent Hall.” DiNozzo says.
“Well, I’m more of a ‘drink beer in the back of a truck’ kind of girl,” I smile, “Not much else to do in a small town.”
“How small? Are we talking suburbia or Mayberry?” He returns to his own desk and sits, steepling his fingers.
I go to Gibbs’ desk and pick up the paper copy of my file. Tossing it to him, I invite him to read it over.
“Whoa, whoa… you can’t do that!” McGee splutters from his desk, giving himself away.
“Then he’d better go through it quickly, before Gibbs gets back.” DiNozzo stares up at me. I place the file in his hand and wink.
“Don’t lie, DiNozzo… you were going to read it no matter what. But, I guess it isn’t as much fun when the person you’re spying on tells you to have at.”
Agent DiNozzo snaps the file around and balances it on his knee, as he awkwardly thumbs through it, “You have a private pilot’s license for fixed wing and rotary craft, both a class C and class M driver’s license issued in the state of California, a military driver’s license, an international driver’s license issued that is valid in Europe and several countries in Asia, Africa and South America. You are a second degree black belt in Jujitsu. And you own three vehicles in the state of California, now Virginia, a 2005 Ford Focus, a 1974 Porsche 911 Carrera… and a 2007 Ducati Sport Classic Sport 1000S.” Tony’s eyes are starting to glaze over and he’s practically salivating.
“Sold my ‘68 Indian about five years ago. That nearly broke my heart. I spent three years working on that bastard.” I sigh, sitting on DiNozzo’s desk. He thumbs through a few more pages commenting on a couple of things. Finishing it, he tosses it carefully back on Gibbs’ desk and comes back to his own desk.
“Don’t think for a minute that I’m ok with you here,” he says, without malice.
“It’s hard to lose your partner,” I say, pushing off his desk and returning to mine, “I haven’t gotten rid of anything because I hope she’ll be back too.” I admit, and watch the expressions kaleidoscope across his face before he nods once.
The bullpen is quiet for long moments as we all get back to whatever we had been doing. The silence doesn’t last nearly as long as I’d have thought.
“Do you really own a 911 Carrera?” Of course DiNozzo’s curious about the Porsche.
“Yeah.”
“What color?” I can hear the drool in his voice.
I flick a look at him, “Black.”
“What did you drive today?”
“The Focus. Why?”
“No particular reason.”
“You want to take a spin in the Carrera?” I ask. Something heavy thumps near DiNozzo’s desk.
“Are you being serious?” I look over and meet his gaze.
“As a heart attack.” He eyes me suspiciously, “Come on, DiNozzo… it’ll be fun.”