crossover fic: Wrangling Consultants Was Never This Hard.... (NCIS/Burn Notice), PG
disclaimer: not mine
fandoms: NCIS and Burn Notice
rating: PG (violence, language), length: 1000+
genre: action, gen
set: prior to both series.
summary: Ziva was beginning to wish they hadn't hired Fiona...
notes: I seriously cannot believe I managed to work out an edit to this, since Fi smoking was a major thread in the original draft. Thanks to alryssa, waterdaughter, sabaceanbabe and someone I am quite possibly forgetting for some ideas.
Wrangling Consultants Was Never This Hard....
by ALC Punk!
"I thought Mossad didn't out-source."
Ziva glanced across the room at Fiona Glenanne, but didn't respond. She had her orders, if Glenanne were just fishing, she would learn nothing. And if it were more than fishing, she would still learn nothing. The woman had been hired to provide demolitions and back-up pistol duty, and the money was good. If she were there for a different purpose, she'd catch cold at it, or find Ziva's knife in her belly.
"You're one of those silent types," with a shrug, Glenanne produced a knife and began playing with it, the tip balancing on her tip before the blade caught the light as she flipped it around her fingers. Spotting Ziva's eyes watching it, she pulled another from somewhere and let it dangle from the point, "Want one?"
"No." Having something to do with her hands while they waited would be distracting, possibly too distracting. It was true that Mossad did not out-source. But this little affair was not put together by her superiors there.
Explaining would possibly cause an international incident, however.
"Suit yourself." Glenanne tucked the knife back, then shifted, flashing more leg than was required. If she noted Ziva's brief interest, she hid it. The knife still in her hand resumed its lazy movements. "We have to hours to kill. Read any good books lately?"
"Not that would interest you."
That caused a chuckle, but Glenanne took the hint and fell silent.
It was nearing time for their collection, and Ziva had continued to sit, relaxed and waiting. Ziva was good at waiting, trained to stay still and silent until she wanted to burst when it was required of her. On the other hand, Glenanne had been up and down, playing with her knife, a set of cards (eventually tossing them randomly around the room before gathering them back and starting again), and then almost napping, her head leaning against the wall and her eyes closed. It might have been feigned, it might have been real. But she jumped to her feet when three knocks sounded against the wood of the door.
Three knocks. Not the signal. Worse.
Ziva was out of her chair, moving towards the window that opened onto the alley behind the dirty motel, "We go. Now."
"That way?"
"Do not argue."
Something in her tone must have worked, for Glenanne eeled out the window behind her and followed her down the rickety stairs of the fire escape without another protest. Ziva had her gun out and pointed down when she caught the movement in the alley below.
The man barely had time to notice them before Ziva's first shot took him in the head. She hit the lowest level of the fire escape and leapt down, letting her knees take the impact and diving into a roll. Coming up onto her knees, she found another man at the head of the alley. Glenanne landed behind her while Ziva took him down. "Keep your head down--"
Glenanne's pistol cracked and Ziva slewed a glance over her shoulder to see a third man falling. "Which is the safest route?"
"Neither." Ziva was up and moving, her feet taking her to the nearest end of the alley. It backed into another alley, this one twisting away from the front of the hotel. "Try to keep up."
"Couldn't stop me," was the breathless reply.
Missing the arrival of the man that Glenanne had shot had been a stupid mistake. Alone, it would have gotten her killed. Ziva castigated herself silently as they made their way through myriad alleys and side-streets and tiny little paths and one or two courtyards before they went to ground in a Mossad safe house.
"We were not followed," Ziva told the man on the door, someone whose name she didn't know (probably for the best: he might not survive the month, and Ziva needed no other names to mourn).
Once inside the smaller room, Ziva listened for a moment at the door, then turned to Glenanne. "Perhaps we will have to try at a later date."
Glenanne peered at Ziva over the sunglasses she hadn't lost during their run through the city, and made a show of checking her gun over, then clicking the safety on, "Double. No one said anything about endangerment."
"It wasn't expected, and I am not authorized to--"
"Then I walk out of here and sell my services elsewhere," Glenanne moved towards Ziva, the look in her eyes suggesting she expected Ziva to cave.
"I would not dream of stopping you," sliding to the side, Ziva leaned in, her words soft, "But you have been seen with a known officer of Mossad. What do you think your chances are, outside of our protection?"
Glenanne glared up at her, and stepped closer, her voice just as quiet, "As good as they are here?"
Letting her lips quirk into a smile, Ziva gave a slight nod, "Half more."
"How badly do you want this target?" Glenanne's eyebrows were up, her eyes dark and assessing.
"Not as bad as you want to live."
"Is that a threat?"
Ziva laughed softly, then moved away from the door and towards the bed. She wanted to sit, her knees ached from the strain of the earlier drop, and a rest would be better than standing forever. "You can make it anything you want."
"Half more," replied Glenanne, dropping into the rickety chair next to the door. She smirked a little and pulled her knife out again, the point balancing on her thumb. "And I expect a little more conversation before we go further. Perhaps a list of people who might now want me dead."
"Privileged information." Ziva raised an eyebrow as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Perhaps I might charge half your fee back for it. Or perhaps we won't pay you at all. Disloyalty is a rather heinous crime."
The words were a goad, gaged to provoke a response, and she saw it in the gathering of Fiona's muscles, the way she tensed an instant before springing forwards. The goal had been to show her reality: she was only useful to Mossad as long as she was on their side--if she pushed, she could be executed as a traitor with no trial. Ziva was ready for her, fingers on her wrist as Glenanne tackled her. Tiwsting, Ziva rolled controlled the knife hand and rolled the smaller woman beneath her.
Glenanne arched, trying to break Ziva's hold, then subsided with a growl. "Fuck."
"Not what you were hired for." Ziva pressed the tip of the knife into Glenanne's throat a little harder, careful, as always. Killing her would ruin the point, and then she would have to find a new hire. "That was very foolish, you realize. We would have paid you, we might even have hired your services again. But there is one rule in Mossad: Loyalty. To the cause, to the ideal--"
"Fuck your ideals." Writhing, twisting, Glenanne freed her other hand and set her nails on Ziva's cheek. "Let me go, or your pretty eyes will be useless."
Ziva hadn't been planning on killing her; still, the threat was unsettling, if almost believable. Her lips quirked and she slowly relaxed, sliding backwards and onto her feet, still holding Glenanne's knife-wrist, bringing her up-right. "You're still working for us. Or you can leave and find out how much your life is worth."
"I can use the money." There was a burning anger in the other woman's eyes, though. A promise that told Ziva she might need to watch her back for a while.
"Very well." Releasing her wrist, Ziva stepped back, waiting.
With a great deal of show, Glenanne moved to the bed and sprawled on it, taking up most of the space before she turned on her side. "I don't suppose there's alcohol in here?"
"No." Ziva moved to the window, checked that the men were still out there, then took the chair for herself and let out a breath. Some of the tension left her shoulders, "But I will see about acquiring some for our meal."
"Good."
"It is," noted Ziva, leaning back and pulling a knife of her own, fiddling with the tape on the handle and making a note to re-do it when she had the supplies, "a good thing we still require your services."
A smug look crossed Glenanne's face, "You did hire the best."
Her casual arrogance made Ziva smile. "So we did. He was shot by an Hamas separatist." There was a flicker of outrage on Glenanne's face, which was reward enough for Ziva. Though, as the hours passed and the other woman prattled, threatened, cajoled, took the clock radio apart and claimed the meal was hideous, Ziva did wonder if she were truly worth it.
-f-
fandoms: NCIS and Burn Notice
rating: PG (violence, language), length: 1000+
genre: action, gen
set: prior to both series.
summary: Ziva was beginning to wish they hadn't hired Fiona...
notes: I seriously cannot believe I managed to work out an edit to this, since Fi smoking was a major thread in the original draft. Thanks to alryssa, waterdaughter, sabaceanbabe and someone I am quite possibly forgetting for some ideas.
Wrangling Consultants Was Never This Hard....
by ALC Punk!
"I thought Mossad didn't out-source."
Ziva glanced across the room at Fiona Glenanne, but didn't respond. She had her orders, if Glenanne were just fishing, she would learn nothing. And if it were more than fishing, she would still learn nothing. The woman had been hired to provide demolitions and back-up pistol duty, and the money was good. If she were there for a different purpose, she'd catch cold at it, or find Ziva's knife in her belly.
"You're one of those silent types," with a shrug, Glenanne produced a knife and began playing with it, the tip balancing on her tip before the blade caught the light as she flipped it around her fingers. Spotting Ziva's eyes watching it, she pulled another from somewhere and let it dangle from the point, "Want one?"
"No." Having something to do with her hands while they waited would be distracting, possibly too distracting. It was true that Mossad did not out-source. But this little affair was not put together by her superiors there.
Explaining would possibly cause an international incident, however.
"Suit yourself." Glenanne tucked the knife back, then shifted, flashing more leg than was required. If she noted Ziva's brief interest, she hid it. The knife still in her hand resumed its lazy movements. "We have to hours to kill. Read any good books lately?"
"Not that would interest you."
That caused a chuckle, but Glenanne took the hint and fell silent.
It was nearing time for their collection, and Ziva had continued to sit, relaxed and waiting. Ziva was good at waiting, trained to stay still and silent until she wanted to burst when it was required of her. On the other hand, Glenanne had been up and down, playing with her knife, a set of cards (eventually tossing them randomly around the room before gathering them back and starting again), and then almost napping, her head leaning against the wall and her eyes closed. It might have been feigned, it might have been real. But she jumped to her feet when three knocks sounded against the wood of the door.
Three knocks. Not the signal. Worse.
Ziva was out of her chair, moving towards the window that opened onto the alley behind the dirty motel, "We go. Now."
"That way?"
"Do not argue."
Something in her tone must have worked, for Glenanne eeled out the window behind her and followed her down the rickety stairs of the fire escape without another protest. Ziva had her gun out and pointed down when she caught the movement in the alley below.
The man barely had time to notice them before Ziva's first shot took him in the head. She hit the lowest level of the fire escape and leapt down, letting her knees take the impact and diving into a roll. Coming up onto her knees, she found another man at the head of the alley. Glenanne landed behind her while Ziva took him down. "Keep your head down--"
Glenanne's pistol cracked and Ziva slewed a glance over her shoulder to see a third man falling. "Which is the safest route?"
"Neither." Ziva was up and moving, her feet taking her to the nearest end of the alley. It backed into another alley, this one twisting away from the front of the hotel. "Try to keep up."
"Couldn't stop me," was the breathless reply.
Missing the arrival of the man that Glenanne had shot had been a stupid mistake. Alone, it would have gotten her killed. Ziva castigated herself silently as they made their way through myriad alleys and side-streets and tiny little paths and one or two courtyards before they went to ground in a Mossad safe house.
"We were not followed," Ziva told the man on the door, someone whose name she didn't know (probably for the best: he might not survive the month, and Ziva needed no other names to mourn).
Once inside the smaller room, Ziva listened for a moment at the door, then turned to Glenanne. "Perhaps we will have to try at a later date."
Glenanne peered at Ziva over the sunglasses she hadn't lost during their run through the city, and made a show of checking her gun over, then clicking the safety on, "Double. No one said anything about endangerment."
"It wasn't expected, and I am not authorized to--"
"Then I walk out of here and sell my services elsewhere," Glenanne moved towards Ziva, the look in her eyes suggesting she expected Ziva to cave.
"I would not dream of stopping you," sliding to the side, Ziva leaned in, her words soft, "But you have been seen with a known officer of Mossad. What do you think your chances are, outside of our protection?"
Glenanne glared up at her, and stepped closer, her voice just as quiet, "As good as they are here?"
Letting her lips quirk into a smile, Ziva gave a slight nod, "Half more."
"How badly do you want this target?" Glenanne's eyebrows were up, her eyes dark and assessing.
"Not as bad as you want to live."
"Is that a threat?"
Ziva laughed softly, then moved away from the door and towards the bed. She wanted to sit, her knees ached from the strain of the earlier drop, and a rest would be better than standing forever. "You can make it anything you want."
"Half more," replied Glenanne, dropping into the rickety chair next to the door. She smirked a little and pulled her knife out again, the point balancing on her thumb. "And I expect a little more conversation before we go further. Perhaps a list of people who might now want me dead."
"Privileged information." Ziva raised an eyebrow as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Perhaps I might charge half your fee back for it. Or perhaps we won't pay you at all. Disloyalty is a rather heinous crime."
The words were a goad, gaged to provoke a response, and she saw it in the gathering of Fiona's muscles, the way she tensed an instant before springing forwards. The goal had been to show her reality: she was only useful to Mossad as long as she was on their side--if she pushed, she could be executed as a traitor with no trial. Ziva was ready for her, fingers on her wrist as Glenanne tackled her. Tiwsting, Ziva rolled controlled the knife hand and rolled the smaller woman beneath her.
Glenanne arched, trying to break Ziva's hold, then subsided with a growl. "Fuck."
"Not what you were hired for." Ziva pressed the tip of the knife into Glenanne's throat a little harder, careful, as always. Killing her would ruin the point, and then she would have to find a new hire. "That was very foolish, you realize. We would have paid you, we might even have hired your services again. But there is one rule in Mossad: Loyalty. To the cause, to the ideal--"
"Fuck your ideals." Writhing, twisting, Glenanne freed her other hand and set her nails on Ziva's cheek. "Let me go, or your pretty eyes will be useless."
Ziva hadn't been planning on killing her; still, the threat was unsettling, if almost believable. Her lips quirked and she slowly relaxed, sliding backwards and onto her feet, still holding Glenanne's knife-wrist, bringing her up-right. "You're still working for us. Or you can leave and find out how much your life is worth."
"I can use the money." There was a burning anger in the other woman's eyes, though. A promise that told Ziva she might need to watch her back for a while.
"Very well." Releasing her wrist, Ziva stepped back, waiting.
With a great deal of show, Glenanne moved to the bed and sprawled on it, taking up most of the space before she turned on her side. "I don't suppose there's alcohol in here?"
"No." Ziva moved to the window, checked that the men were still out there, then took the chair for herself and let out a breath. Some of the tension left her shoulders, "But I will see about acquiring some for our meal."
"Good."
"It is," noted Ziva, leaning back and pulling a knife of her own, fiddling with the tape on the handle and making a note to re-do it when she had the supplies, "a good thing we still require your services."
A smug look crossed Glenanne's face, "You did hire the best."
Her casual arrogance made Ziva smile. "So we did. He was shot by an Hamas separatist." There was a flicker of outrage on Glenanne's face, which was reward enough for Ziva. Though, as the hours passed and the other woman prattled, threatened, cajoled, took the clock radio apart and claimed the meal was hideous, Ziva did wonder if she were truly worth it.
-f-