Fic: For Now (Veronica Mars/NCIS) 2/8

[jaq_of_spades]

Title: For Now (2/8)
Author: JaqofSpades
Fandom: Veronica Mars/NCIS
Rating: M (for language and moderately explicit sexuality)



Summary: She's the first intern they've ever had. It's the first time anyone has let her near a real federal case. And her chief suspect is the reason she made it out of high school alive. Life's a bitch, Veronica Mars. Then you have to grow up and figure out how to live.

Chapter Two

“His name is Eli Navarro. Out of Neptune, California. He has a criminal record.”

It was the flatness in her voice that catches Ziva's interest. The girl's posture hadn't changed, she wasn't jittery or overly casual. She might have been reading the phone book. Ziva hadn't met an intern before, but shouldn't this be exciting for her? Identifying a suspect?

“And you know this how?”

There. Her eyes had closed a little. Blocking out reality. Her recovery was surprisingly good, though, her movements natural and fluid. Voice even, now, the tone changing, as if she was glad to help. Anyone else would have missed it - the girl is very talented, Ziva thinks.

“We went to high school together. Were friends. Of a sort.”

Veronica's gaze flicks from the dark, almond-shaped eyes to the ridiculously full lips of the man in the picture, Ziva notices. That suggests exactly what sort of friends they had been, and the very fact that she was offering this information … what is she trying to conceal? Was she simply panicking, or did she have an axe to grind? Is it possible she might know more about the case than they do?

Ziva reins in her paranoia and forces her attention to McGee, who has pulled up Navarro's details from AFIS.

“Navarro, Eli Antonio. Born August 2, 1989, Neptune, California? Looks like the same guy. And … it's a long list of charges ...” Tony reads from his screen.

“Highlights, McGee,” Gibbs growls.

“Jailed in 06 - six months for assault, and jailed again in 08, 18 months for fraud. Nothing here to say he'd be capable of murder, though,” Tony frowns.

Veronica had paled, Ziva notes. Was it 'murder' that had done that? She had known he had a record - did she know about crimes that hadn't made his record? Paranoia, Ziva reminds herself. In a free society, everyone deserved their secrets...

“Kid picked up some new tricks in prison. Bring him in.”

Veronica flinches as Gibbs gives the order, panic flitting across her face for the tiniest of moments. How will she react sitting across the desk from him, Ziva wonders. How would he react to her?

She looks up and catches Gibbs in a stare. She had been watching Veronica, and Gibbs had been watching her - and his eyebrows lift slightly, asking the question.

Ziva shrugs. Wait and see. Put the bait out there. They both knew what divided loyalties look like, and they both knew that sometimes, all you needed was a chance to choose.

Everyone deserved their secrets … until it interferes with an investigation.

*

“So, what are the odds of that happening? Gotta be … at least a thousand to one? Maybe a million?

Tony's voice cuts through the quiet in the car and straight into her mental disquiet.

“Of what?”

He scoffs disbelievingly. “Of knowing the suspect. On your first day as an intern at NCIS. Not to mention, the first intern NCIS has ever had! NCIS doesn't DO interns, Ziva!”

“Does that bother you more than the thought that she may have compromised our case, Tony? The fact that she is an intern - or is it that things might be changing?”

“No!” He sounds indignant, but puzzled as well. “Yeah, it's about the case, but ...”

Ziva holds her counsel and waits for things to click into place, resisting the temptation to count under her breath. His jaw works and his eyes narrow, as if the other cars on the road were offering a personal insult. Then he turns his head to look at her.

“Why is she our first intern? How good can one kid's college transcripts be? What has she done that makes Gibbs want to break the habit of his whole working life? Maybe it's not a coincidence? Maybe it's her. Is she here because of this?”

“You mean, like a sting? Undercover?”

“Nah. No. Maybe?”

Ziva considers that, then shakes her head. “No. It was a shock. She was … emotional for a moment there. She didn't want it to be him.”

“And that's something else. I don't know what it was like where you went to school, but here? Girls like that don't even look at guys like him. I mean - he could have been been a choirboy five years ago, but I'm guessing not, you know? Girl has cheerleader practically stamped on her forehead, and he wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near her.”

“So the fact that she knows him - enough to be sad about it - is a clue, no?”

“Yeah - I'm thinking it is. Give McGoogle a call. We need some background on Miss Veronica Mars.”

Ziva smiles as she waits for McGee to pick up. This is why she loves NCIS. Gibbs was the master manipulator, the quiet man who needed every detail at his fingertips. She had trained as a assassin, with a sideline in interrogation. McGee was a technical wizard. And Tony? He was the puzzle master. He liked to look at pieces, and see why they did - or didn't - fit.

Secrets are a liability in this business, she wants to warn the new girl. Don't take it personally.

“McGee. We want some deep background on the intern. Yes. Focus on high school, and find out how she knows Navarro. Tony said something about cheerleaders, and them not being able to speak? And what is so special about her that Gibbs said yes to an intern.”

McGee is making noncommittal noises that suggested other ears might be listening to his end of the call. Even so, he is struggling to hide his excitement.

“I was thinking the same thing, Ziva. Been looking into it. Only got as far as Google, but - Tony's right. Interesting stuff.” He lowered his voice significantly to almost whisper in her ear. “Ask Tony if the names Lilly Kane and Cassidy Casablancas ring a bell.”

“Thanks McGee, I will. We are here now.”

She taps the names into her phone as they pull in next to the grimy apartment block that his parole officer advised was Eli Navarro's current address.

Jogging up five sets of stairs doesn't seem conducive to conversation, and then Tony is banging on the door with his traditional “NCIS - open up!” Courtesy dictates they wait at least a few minutes before breaking the door down, so she asks: “Who is Lilly Kane?”

Tony doesn't get the chance to answer before the door opens to reveal their suspect. He is far better looking than his photograph had suggested, Ziva realises. Nor had the image managed to convey the anger and pain spitting from those black eyes.

“Who the fuck are you? And what's this got to do with Lil? I didn't kill her, fuckwits. Thought the goddamned case was closed.”

“Huh. Usually we get the first word,” Tony says drily, flashing his badge.

“Agent DiNozzo, agent David. Are you Eli Navarro?”

“Depends on who's askin'. What's NCIS anyways?”

Ziva winces at Tony's least favourite question, then jumps in to answer. They weren't arresting him, not yet, so it would help if things could be kept civil.

“The Naval Criminal Investigative Service. You've been identified as a witness in a case we're looking at and we'd appreciate if you'd come down to the Navy Yard to answer some questions.”

Navarro stares at them for a few moments longer, then shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. Just grab my phone.”

“And we'll just come in to wait. If that's okay.”

“Place isn't big enough for you to lose sight of me, dude. I'm going - there,” he explains theatrically, waving his hands at the messy table on the other side of the sparse living room.

Ziva restrained Tony with a hand and smiles apologetically. “We'll be fine out here, Mr Navarro.”

He laughs outright as he collects his keys and phone, then smirks in her direction as he locks the door.

“Babe. You'd be fine anywhere,” he purrs, black eyes fixed on hers in unashamed appreciation.

She hates men who called her 'babe'. And suspects hit on her all the time and don't they know what a cliché it is? And she'd never particularly liked Latino men.

So why by all that was holy did she suddenly feel very, very sorry for Veronica Mars?

*

“Have you seen many interviews?” Gibbs asks, and Veronica has to smile at how innocuous the question seems. Coiled snakes, she thinks. Every one of us.

“This'll be my first,” she lies. (Breathy. A little excited, but still trying to be professional, she directs herself.) “Will I be allowed to sit in?”

“Not in the room, no. Particularly since you know the suspect. But we have a viewing area, and generally, everyone available observes. More perspectives, the better.”

Not the FBI, she is reminded. So not the FBI.

Veronica's stomach churns, an uncontrollable reminder that she needs to escape, to think. She doesn't do well with circumstances conspiring against her, she has learned. She lands on her feet, she survives, but there is always a victim.

She hates it most when it's him.

Gibbs ushers her into the viewing gallery, her attention immediately captured by the long window stretching the full length of the room. McGee and Abby stand shoulder to shoulder close by, and Dr Mallard sits in a chair in the corner. She ignores them all, because Eli Navarro is just metres away, on the wrong side of the one-way glass.

Slouched in the chair, head thrown back, Weevil is examining the ceiling in an exquisite facsimile of boredom. His body (leaner, she sees with a shock. Harder?) is oriented towards the door, but those black eyes are sliding slowly over every surface in the room, noting the cameras, the recording equipment. The fact that he can't see out of the long, high window that looks down into the room. He tilts his head, and feigned indolence is stolen by obvious calculation. Veronica stiffens, then forces herself to relax as Gibbs shoots her a sidelong glance.

“Don't worry. He can't see you,” he offers, and Veronica forces herself to smile, as if relieved. Gibbs means well, she tells herself as she watches a smirk tug at the corner of Weevil's mouth. They don't know you yet. (Unlike the criminal in the interview room, who knows you better than anyone else alive.)

Someone has left a notepad and ballpoint on the table, and Weevil is toying with it, pushing the pen over the paper in long, sweeping strokes. She takes the time to examine him slowly: the scuffed motorcycle boots, black jeans that actually fit. A simple white t-shirt that hugs huge pecs and massive biceps. New ink, a riot of dark swirls down one arm, spilling over his wrist and the hand that is holding the paper steady. His jaguar, forever leaping on the other arm.

He glances at the glass once more, and flashes his teeth in the sly grin that makes her wonder what's coming next. Levers himself to his feet, and strolls closer. He can't hear her slamming heart, Veronica reassures herself. Can't feel her, the way she could always feel him. He can't.

But then he presses the notepad up against the glass, just inches from where she's standing. Gibbs curses, and McGee's gasp drowns out her own. They're all staring at the sketch of a girl, biting her lip and eyes half-shut, abandoned to feeling.

A sketch of her.

She needs to rescue this now, Veronica thinks coolly. Should she be oblivious? Embarrassed? Shock, she can do - she had forgotten how his pencil could capture a person's essence, and to think this was how he saw her, still … it was unexpected. And problematic, because she's trying not to think about it, the fact that they'd never quite managed to move past this. That. Her face, twisted in pleasure, mouth open, hands tangled in her own hair. The lines of her neck, fading into nothingness thankfully, because her memory is filling in the gaps. Brown hands, lifting her high. Long artist's fingers, stroking and plucking and pulling. Lips at her throat, and the moustache he'd worn then, tickling its way down her body. She shudders, because as good as the drawing is? Her version comes complete with sensation and sound.

She glances sideways at Gibbs and takes the easy, familiar slide into raw sensuality. “Let's just say he's a very talented man.” It works, of course, because no one can slut it up quite like Veronica Mars, and this Veronica is very distracting indeed.

McGee is downright flustered, and Gibbs is barking into his earpiece.

“Ziva, get yourselves in there and question him now,” he snaps. “Don't be nice. Bastard's playing with us.”

She wants to object, but stops short. Maybe he is. She doesn't know this man any more, and he could be guilty. Could be playing them.

And she needs to decide whether or not she's in his corner anyway.

***

TO CHAPTER 3