[A Stranger in the Fold] - spooks/ncis fic
A Stranger in the Fold
S7; Ros Myers, Jethro Gibbs
They use him when necessary, ignore him when not.
Cold.
Funny, that is all Gibbs can think when the woman approaches. She is not particularly tall, shorter than Abby, maybe the same height as Ziva, but she walks with her head held high, not bothering to look at her surroundings. He is willing to bet she appears ten-foot-tall to any of her opponents. Green eyes meet blue and she doesn’t look away, which he is grudgingly impressed by. Gibbs is used to people averting their eyes when they see him.
She doesn’t smile.
“Ros Myers.”
“Agent Gibbs.”
A perfunctory nod, barely perceptible, and she walks away, leaving him to follow.
---
He is given a desk, near Myers’, but is for the main part ignored. The rest of Ros’ team, for it is undoubtedly hers, don’t spare him a second glance as they walk past. The door to the briefing room remains open, as if in a silent invitation, and Gibbs follows them inside. Ros is sitting to a man, Harry Pearce’s, right, who glances up, meets Gibbs’ eyes, and then turns to Myers.
“Nice of you to join us.”
Her voice is droll, tone sarcastic, and Gibbs feels for the first time in a long time, uncomfortable and out-of-place.
“I’ve just spoken to Lucas,” Pearce says, breaking the silence that greeted Myers’ comment. “He gave me these photographs.”
A file is pushed towards him, by another blonde woman whose name he doesn’t know, and he opens it to the first page. The man in the photograph is one he doesn’t know; tall, pock-marked skin, Caucasian appearance.
“This is Lev Bezuhov,” Harry continues, “and the group Lucas has infiltrated has been in regular contact with him. Lucas thinks he and Hassan are planning an attack on a London target in the near future.”
“However,” Ros says, smoothly continuing the narrative, “any information about Bezuhov only goes back four years.”
“You think he’s not real?”
“Exactly, and until we find out his real identity, we’re at a real disadvantage as to what his game plan is.”
“So,” Harry says, eyeing each of them in turn. “Ben, pull up every file you can on Bezuhov and his associates; maybe one of them will be able to tell us who he really is; Jo, use any contacts you have in GCHQ, MI-6, MOD, anywhere you can think of; Connie, do whatever you can to find who this man is; Malcolm run facial recognition.”
“Agent Gibbs,” Ros says, looking down the table, “I imagine you have contacts; speak to any you think could be useful.”
It is not a request.
Gibbs barely gets a chance to nod before the rest of the team has left the briefing room. Harry and Ros have gone into Harry’s office and shut the door behind them. Gibbs goes to his desk, and pulls the phone towards him. He doesn’t have many contacts, preferring to work on his own, but he has a suspicion that this won’t wash with Myers.
Sighing, he dials the first number.
---
Ros is chilly to the bone, but she looks strangely elated as she walks through the pods. Gibbs does not know where she has been, he isn’t sure he wants to, but he admits he is curious as Ros goes into Harry’s office and sits down. He watches their interaction. They are closer than colleagues, she and Harry Pearce, but Gibbs is certain they are not lovers.
He finds their relationship intriguing.
Harry looks up from his desk as Ros leans into the chair and tilts her head back. Gibbs can’t hear their words but Harry’s expression flicks between exasperation, annoyance and then to grudging respect. Ros is talking, and her hands move animatedly as she drives one point or another home. Eventually, Harry nods, and Ros gets to her feet again and walks back out into the main office.
“Agent Gibbs,” she calls, “what is your relationship with the CIA?”
The question is strange but Gibbs sees no point in lying.
“Less than amicable.”
A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.
“Good, because that’s who you and I are about to see.”
---
She is a reckless driver and Gibbs braces himself as they go around a corner too fast.
“I wasn’t joking,” he says suddenly. “About me and the CIA.”
Ros doesn’t look away from the road.
“Good.”
---
Laurie Warner is every bit as arrogant as the CIA operatives back home. She feigns ignorance when Ros demands information about Lev Bezuhov, stating that ‘she has no idea’ and Gibbs watches as Ros takes a small step forward, eyes blazing.
“I have a photograph,” Ros says softly, “a very clear photograph of a CIA agent and Bezuhov together, toasting each other as a matter of fact. Now, if you don’t want that image plastered on front pages all over the world, tell me who he is.”
Laurie glares at Ros who stares back, one eyebrow raised.
“Sevastian Kali,” she says finally, almost spitting out the words.
Ros nods in her direction.
“Thank you.”
---
Ros likes getting on people’s nerves; that much he can tell, she probably derives some sort of perverse pleasure from it, but he can’t help being amused as they drive back to Thames House. She is like no one he has ever met before. She parks underground and they walk through the halls together. Heads turn, no doubt curious as to whom he is, but neither he nor Ros pays the curious eyes any attention as they walk back into the Grid.
The young blonde, Jo, looks up as they step through the pods.
“You got the name?” she asks.
Ros nods.
“Naturally.”
---
Kali turns out to be a native of Russia, who moved to the Middle East and converted to Islam. In Afghanistan, he joined Al Qaeda, and rose quickly through the terrorist ranks. Most of his cell was killed in an attack by British troops and it for this reason that he is on UK soil, ready for revenge, though what form that revenge will take is still unclear. It is late, but none of the team has left. Gibbs is more tired than he cares to admit, and he keeps his head down as he siphons through file after file. Ros is across from him, doing the same, and he looks over the top of the manilla folder.
Unlike him, she doesn’t look at all tired as she snaps one file shut and reaches for another. Gibbs looks down again and blinks several times; he was not going to let his weariness show.
“I presume you have been given a hotel room, Agent Gibbs,” she says, not looking up.
He says nothing.
“Go there and get some rest,” Ros continues. “You’re no use to me tired.”
Gibbs wants to retort but instead gets to his feet and leaves.
No one watches him go.
---
Their faces are bleak when he arrives the next day. He learns that the leader of the cell their officer has infiltrated knows there is a mole.
“Shouldn’t he be pulled out?”
Ros’ jaw clenches and she looks to Harry who appears similarly distressed.
“Lucas is an excellent field agent,” Harry says finally.
“What if they find out it’s him?”
It’s the younger man, Ben, who has spoken and the team exchange glances. Connie and Ros and Harry wear almost identical expressions; their faces full of worry and resignation.
“They won’t,” Connie says finally.
“And if they do?”
“They won’t.”
It is Harry who speaks and Ben nods, staring briefly down at the floor.
His word is the final one on the matter.
---
They learn the whereabouts of the target, Westminster Abbey, and Gibbs is horrified when he is told that no one outside Section D will know this information. Back home, the police at the very least would be informed. The foil of an attack of this magnitude would not be handled by the skeleton crew of Section D.
He voices his opinion.
“Don’t you think that’s dangerous?”
Harry and Ros both turn, eyebrows raised, and survey him with what is almost disdain.
“This is my operation, Agent Gibbs,” Ros says, expression glacial. “You would do well to remember that.”
Beside her, Harry Pearce’s eyes almost dare him to disagree. The other man is shorter than Gibbs, older too, not as fit, but the threat he presents is palpable.
“So,” Harry says finally. “The attack is planned for two hours time. I suggest you get ready.”
He nods briefly at Ros, the two exchanging some sort of silent communication, before she snatches her coat from the back of her chair.
“Ben, Jo; we need to get going. Agent Gibbs, feel free to join us.”
She turns on her heel, blonde hair falling neatly back into place, and walks through the pods, leaving him with the choice to follow or not.
He rises to his feet and chooses the first option.
---
Gibbs adds ‘ruthless’ to his list of adjectives describing Ros Myers as he watches from the other side of Westminster Abbey as she shoots the would-be suicide bomber in the back. The parishioners look over as the man falls to the ground, but none suspect that the slim, blonde woman at his side has just committed murder. She kneels next to the bomber and asks someone to call an ambulance.
A woman in the front row obeys immediately and two minutes later Ben and Jo enter the abbey, dressed as paramedics, and lift the terrorist onto a stretcher. Ros continues her charade as a concerned stranger and follows Ben and Jo back into the street, Gibbs close behind.
“Good work.”
Ben and Jo put the man into the back of the ambulance and drive away, presumably to a hospital where his cause of death will be described as ‘natural causes.’
There will be no mention of the bullet.
He looks to Ros who has removed the silencer from her gun.
“Well done.”
She nods but says nothing.
---
The tension on the Grid is still tight as they await word from their officer, Lucas. Finally, Ros receives a call and Gibbs can see from the way her eyes widen, and neck tenses that the news he gives is not good.
She hangs up the phone and looks directly at Harry.
“They know.”
“What do--?”
“That wasn’t Lucas,” Ros says, pre-empting the rest of Harry’s question. “That was Kali.”
Ros’ phone flashes, signalling a message, and she bites her lip as the sound of screaming emanates from the mobile. Gibbs leans forward slightly, enough to see a pale man strapped to a chair, being beaten.
“Jo,” she says, handing the younger woman the phone, “I want you and Malcolm to analyse every frame of this recording; find where Lucas is being held.”
The two nod and go immediately to Malcolm’s small office.
“Ben, you and I are going to Lucas’ last known location.”
“How can I help?”
Ros looks at Gibbs, green eyes piercing.
“Come with me,” she answers finally. “Another pair of eyes is always useful.”
---
The small flat shows signs of a struggle and they step carefully through the mess. Ros’ eyes land on a puddle of blood in a doorway and Gibbs watches as her pupils narrow.
“This has only just started to dry,” she says, kneeling next to the blood. “He can’t be far.”
Ben’s phone rings and he hands it to Ros who flips it open.
“Good.”
She finishes the call and exhales a long breath.
“He’s in a warehouse two streets away.”
She has scarcely finished her sentence before she walks through the door.
---
Lucas is barely conscious when they arrive at the warehouse. An armed-response team has already ‘disposed’ of Kali and they have cut Lucas’ bonds. He staggers to his feet as Ros approaches and almost falls, Ros forced to catch him so he doesn’t hit the ground. Lucas is tall, lean, probably heavy, and Gibbs can see that Ros is struggling to keep him upright.
Gibbs crosses the room and drapes one of Lucas’ arms around his neck. He catches a glimpse of a tattoo around Lucas’ wrist, nearly covered by his shirt sleeve, before he collapses.
“Shit.”
It is Ros who mutters the obscenity, and he can hear her voice as she crouches down next to Lucas as they lower him to the floor.
“Ben, get the paramedics in here.”
---
Ros sits, elbows resting on her desk, chin cupped in one hand. She hasn’t moved for the past hour, just sits as still as a statue. The others move; Jo runs to-and-fro, for reasons Gibbs doesn’t know; Malcolm sits at his computer, typing with a curious intensity; Ben looks around, as if wanting to say something, but eventually turns back to his report whilst Connie wears a pair of headphones, presumably listening to phone conversations.
Gibbs’ eyes flick to Harry’s office.
Like Ros, he doesn’t move.
The phone rings and Ros reaches out, her fingers wrapping around the receiver, and holds it to her ear. She listens intently, seemingly not noticing that everyone has turned towards her, and her eyes close and posture relaxes.
“He’ll be fine.”
Though her voice is not loud, it nevertheless carries across the Grid, and the relief that everyone feels is immediately obvious. Ros twists in her seat and looks to Harry’s office. He appears similarly relieved and the two share the briefest of smiles before Ros turns back and flicks on the television.
The news plays, and an unfamiliar news reader speaks of ‘Lev Bezuhov’s’ arrest and his links to Al Qaeda.
There is no mention of the Security Service’s involvement.
---
Gibbs stays with Section D for two months before he is called back. The team work around him, using him when necessary, ignoring him when not. Gibbs knows that he will never be truly accepted into the tight-knit Section. They are too close, too suspicious of outsiders. It annoys him at times, especially when operations involve American fatalities, but he bites his tongue knowing that it would be futile to make any remark.
No one comes with him to the airport.
As he sits waiting, he knows he will soon be back home.
Oddly enough, he thinks he might miss it here.
S7; Ros Myers, Jethro Gibbs
They use him when necessary, ignore him when not.
Cold.
Funny, that is all Gibbs can think when the woman approaches. She is not particularly tall, shorter than Abby, maybe the same height as Ziva, but she walks with her head held high, not bothering to look at her surroundings. He is willing to bet she appears ten-foot-tall to any of her opponents. Green eyes meet blue and she doesn’t look away, which he is grudgingly impressed by. Gibbs is used to people averting their eyes when they see him.
She doesn’t smile.
“Ros Myers.”
“Agent Gibbs.”
A perfunctory nod, barely perceptible, and she walks away, leaving him to follow.
---
He is given a desk, near Myers’, but is for the main part ignored. The rest of Ros’ team, for it is undoubtedly hers, don’t spare him a second glance as they walk past. The door to the briefing room remains open, as if in a silent invitation, and Gibbs follows them inside. Ros is sitting to a man, Harry Pearce’s, right, who glances up, meets Gibbs’ eyes, and then turns to Myers.
“Nice of you to join us.”
Her voice is droll, tone sarcastic, and Gibbs feels for the first time in a long time, uncomfortable and out-of-place.
“I’ve just spoken to Lucas,” Pearce says, breaking the silence that greeted Myers’ comment. “He gave me these photographs.”
A file is pushed towards him, by another blonde woman whose name he doesn’t know, and he opens it to the first page. The man in the photograph is one he doesn’t know; tall, pock-marked skin, Caucasian appearance.
“This is Lev Bezuhov,” Harry continues, “and the group Lucas has infiltrated has been in regular contact with him. Lucas thinks he and Hassan are planning an attack on a London target in the near future.”
“However,” Ros says, smoothly continuing the narrative, “any information about Bezuhov only goes back four years.”
“You think he’s not real?”
“Exactly, and until we find out his real identity, we’re at a real disadvantage as to what his game plan is.”
“So,” Harry says, eyeing each of them in turn. “Ben, pull up every file you can on Bezuhov and his associates; maybe one of them will be able to tell us who he really is; Jo, use any contacts you have in GCHQ, MI-6, MOD, anywhere you can think of; Connie, do whatever you can to find who this man is; Malcolm run facial recognition.”
“Agent Gibbs,” Ros says, looking down the table, “I imagine you have contacts; speak to any you think could be useful.”
It is not a request.
Gibbs barely gets a chance to nod before the rest of the team has left the briefing room. Harry and Ros have gone into Harry’s office and shut the door behind them. Gibbs goes to his desk, and pulls the phone towards him. He doesn’t have many contacts, preferring to work on his own, but he has a suspicion that this won’t wash with Myers.
Sighing, he dials the first number.
---
Ros is chilly to the bone, but she looks strangely elated as she walks through the pods. Gibbs does not know where she has been, he isn’t sure he wants to, but he admits he is curious as Ros goes into Harry’s office and sits down. He watches their interaction. They are closer than colleagues, she and Harry Pearce, but Gibbs is certain they are not lovers.
He finds their relationship intriguing.
Harry looks up from his desk as Ros leans into the chair and tilts her head back. Gibbs can’t hear their words but Harry’s expression flicks between exasperation, annoyance and then to grudging respect. Ros is talking, and her hands move animatedly as she drives one point or another home. Eventually, Harry nods, and Ros gets to her feet again and walks back out into the main office.
“Agent Gibbs,” she calls, “what is your relationship with the CIA?”
The question is strange but Gibbs sees no point in lying.
“Less than amicable.”
A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.
“Good, because that’s who you and I are about to see.”
---
She is a reckless driver and Gibbs braces himself as they go around a corner too fast.
“I wasn’t joking,” he says suddenly. “About me and the CIA.”
Ros doesn’t look away from the road.
“Good.”
---
Laurie Warner is every bit as arrogant as the CIA operatives back home. She feigns ignorance when Ros demands information about Lev Bezuhov, stating that ‘she has no idea’ and Gibbs watches as Ros takes a small step forward, eyes blazing.
“I have a photograph,” Ros says softly, “a very clear photograph of a CIA agent and Bezuhov together, toasting each other as a matter of fact. Now, if you don’t want that image plastered on front pages all over the world, tell me who he is.”
Laurie glares at Ros who stares back, one eyebrow raised.
“Sevastian Kali,” she says finally, almost spitting out the words.
Ros nods in her direction.
“Thank you.”
---
Ros likes getting on people’s nerves; that much he can tell, she probably derives some sort of perverse pleasure from it, but he can’t help being amused as they drive back to Thames House. She is like no one he has ever met before. She parks underground and they walk through the halls together. Heads turn, no doubt curious as to whom he is, but neither he nor Ros pays the curious eyes any attention as they walk back into the Grid.
The young blonde, Jo, looks up as they step through the pods.
“You got the name?” she asks.
Ros nods.
“Naturally.”
---
Kali turns out to be a native of Russia, who moved to the Middle East and converted to Islam. In Afghanistan, he joined Al Qaeda, and rose quickly through the terrorist ranks. Most of his cell was killed in an attack by British troops and it for this reason that he is on UK soil, ready for revenge, though what form that revenge will take is still unclear. It is late, but none of the team has left. Gibbs is more tired than he cares to admit, and he keeps his head down as he siphons through file after file. Ros is across from him, doing the same, and he looks over the top of the manilla folder.
Unlike him, she doesn’t look at all tired as she snaps one file shut and reaches for another. Gibbs looks down again and blinks several times; he was not going to let his weariness show.
“I presume you have been given a hotel room, Agent Gibbs,” she says, not looking up.
He says nothing.
“Go there and get some rest,” Ros continues. “You’re no use to me tired.”
Gibbs wants to retort but instead gets to his feet and leaves.
No one watches him go.
---
Their faces are bleak when he arrives the next day. He learns that the leader of the cell their officer has infiltrated knows there is a mole.
“Shouldn’t he be pulled out?”
Ros’ jaw clenches and she looks to Harry who appears similarly distressed.
“Lucas is an excellent field agent,” Harry says finally.
“What if they find out it’s him?”
It’s the younger man, Ben, who has spoken and the team exchange glances. Connie and Ros and Harry wear almost identical expressions; their faces full of worry and resignation.
“They won’t,” Connie says finally.
“And if they do?”
“They won’t.”
It is Harry who speaks and Ben nods, staring briefly down at the floor.
His word is the final one on the matter.
---
They learn the whereabouts of the target, Westminster Abbey, and Gibbs is horrified when he is told that no one outside Section D will know this information. Back home, the police at the very least would be informed. The foil of an attack of this magnitude would not be handled by the skeleton crew of Section D.
He voices his opinion.
“Don’t you think that’s dangerous?”
Harry and Ros both turn, eyebrows raised, and survey him with what is almost disdain.
“This is my operation, Agent Gibbs,” Ros says, expression glacial. “You would do well to remember that.”
Beside her, Harry Pearce’s eyes almost dare him to disagree. The other man is shorter than Gibbs, older too, not as fit, but the threat he presents is palpable.
“So,” Harry says finally. “The attack is planned for two hours time. I suggest you get ready.”
He nods briefly at Ros, the two exchanging some sort of silent communication, before she snatches her coat from the back of her chair.
“Ben, Jo; we need to get going. Agent Gibbs, feel free to join us.”
She turns on her heel, blonde hair falling neatly back into place, and walks through the pods, leaving him with the choice to follow or not.
He rises to his feet and chooses the first option.
---
Gibbs adds ‘ruthless’ to his list of adjectives describing Ros Myers as he watches from the other side of Westminster Abbey as she shoots the would-be suicide bomber in the back. The parishioners look over as the man falls to the ground, but none suspect that the slim, blonde woman at his side has just committed murder. She kneels next to the bomber and asks someone to call an ambulance.
A woman in the front row obeys immediately and two minutes later Ben and Jo enter the abbey, dressed as paramedics, and lift the terrorist onto a stretcher. Ros continues her charade as a concerned stranger and follows Ben and Jo back into the street, Gibbs close behind.
“Good work.”
Ben and Jo put the man into the back of the ambulance and drive away, presumably to a hospital where his cause of death will be described as ‘natural causes.’
There will be no mention of the bullet.
He looks to Ros who has removed the silencer from her gun.
“Well done.”
She nods but says nothing.
---
The tension on the Grid is still tight as they await word from their officer, Lucas. Finally, Ros receives a call and Gibbs can see from the way her eyes widen, and neck tenses that the news he gives is not good.
She hangs up the phone and looks directly at Harry.
“They know.”
“What do--?”
“That wasn’t Lucas,” Ros says, pre-empting the rest of Harry’s question. “That was Kali.”
Ros’ phone flashes, signalling a message, and she bites her lip as the sound of screaming emanates from the mobile. Gibbs leans forward slightly, enough to see a pale man strapped to a chair, being beaten.
“Jo,” she says, handing the younger woman the phone, “I want you and Malcolm to analyse every frame of this recording; find where Lucas is being held.”
The two nod and go immediately to Malcolm’s small office.
“Ben, you and I are going to Lucas’ last known location.”
“How can I help?”
Ros looks at Gibbs, green eyes piercing.
“Come with me,” she answers finally. “Another pair of eyes is always useful.”
---
The small flat shows signs of a struggle and they step carefully through the mess. Ros’ eyes land on a puddle of blood in a doorway and Gibbs watches as her pupils narrow.
“This has only just started to dry,” she says, kneeling next to the blood. “He can’t be far.”
Ben’s phone rings and he hands it to Ros who flips it open.
“Good.”
She finishes the call and exhales a long breath.
“He’s in a warehouse two streets away.”
She has scarcely finished her sentence before she walks through the door.
---
Lucas is barely conscious when they arrive at the warehouse. An armed-response team has already ‘disposed’ of Kali and they have cut Lucas’ bonds. He staggers to his feet as Ros approaches and almost falls, Ros forced to catch him so he doesn’t hit the ground. Lucas is tall, lean, probably heavy, and Gibbs can see that Ros is struggling to keep him upright.
Gibbs crosses the room and drapes one of Lucas’ arms around his neck. He catches a glimpse of a tattoo around Lucas’ wrist, nearly covered by his shirt sleeve, before he collapses.
“Shit.”
It is Ros who mutters the obscenity, and he can hear her voice as she crouches down next to Lucas as they lower him to the floor.
“Ben, get the paramedics in here.”
---
Ros sits, elbows resting on her desk, chin cupped in one hand. She hasn’t moved for the past hour, just sits as still as a statue. The others move; Jo runs to-and-fro, for reasons Gibbs doesn’t know; Malcolm sits at his computer, typing with a curious intensity; Ben looks around, as if wanting to say something, but eventually turns back to his report whilst Connie wears a pair of headphones, presumably listening to phone conversations.
Gibbs’ eyes flick to Harry’s office.
Like Ros, he doesn’t move.
The phone rings and Ros reaches out, her fingers wrapping around the receiver, and holds it to her ear. She listens intently, seemingly not noticing that everyone has turned towards her, and her eyes close and posture relaxes.
“He’ll be fine.”
Though her voice is not loud, it nevertheless carries across the Grid, and the relief that everyone feels is immediately obvious. Ros twists in her seat and looks to Harry’s office. He appears similarly relieved and the two share the briefest of smiles before Ros turns back and flicks on the television.
The news plays, and an unfamiliar news reader speaks of ‘Lev Bezuhov’s’ arrest and his links to Al Qaeda.
There is no mention of the Security Service’s involvement.
---
Gibbs stays with Section D for two months before he is called back. The team work around him, using him when necessary, ignoring him when not. Gibbs knows that he will never be truly accepted into the tight-knit Section. They are too close, too suspicious of outsiders. It annoys him at times, especially when operations involve American fatalities, but he bites his tongue knowing that it would be futile to make any remark.
No one comes with him to the airport.
As he sits waiting, he knows he will soon be back home.
Oddly enough, he thinks he might miss it here.