All Around the World (Criminal Minds/NCIS; Emily/Ziva)
Title: All Around the World (Or, Four Times Emily Prentiss Should Have Talked to Ziva David (And One Time She Did))
Author: llyfrgell
Recipient: callmesandy
Fandom: Criminal Minds/NCIS
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Ziva David
Rating: Really, really G. I think The Lion King is more adult. Sorry.
Word count: 2250
Disclaimer: Fanfiction is a transformative use.
Summary: Four countries, two states, five chances.
The market in the early morning was Emily’s favorite thing about Lebanon. The throngs of people became beautiful mosaics of color as they swarmed through the labyrinthine aisles, and the scents of baked goods and produce floated as another sensory layer on the cake. Emily knew how to dodge between the stalls and where to find the best flatbread and falafel, and she’d been scolded innumerable times for escaping her nanny to do just that.
This particular morning, ten-year-old Emily was content enough to follow the hijab-clad woman from stall to stall, for she’d been allowed to bring her favorite birthday present, a fluorescent green yo-yo, along as an incentive to stay close.
Absorbed in refining her walk-the-dog trick, Emily barely looked up, until the string slipped from her finger and the yo-yo skidded away from her, almost immediately disappearing among the crowds of feet. Emily yelped, dropping to hands and knees to see where the toy had rolled. Her nanny failed to notice as the young girl crawled under one stall and then the next, finally surfacing several rows from the olive vendor where her nanny’s attention remained.
Emily spun in a circle, angry at herself for losing the toy and frustrated at the failed search - and then a flash of green caught her eye. She stopped abruptly and pitched herself through the crowd, a little dizzy from the spinning. There, on the edge of the market area, another girl was playing with her yo-yo - executing a perfect walk-the-dog.
Emily’s jaw dropped and she started to dash towards the girl, but a strong grip caught her arm from behind. Her Arabic wasn’t quite strong enough yet to explain to her nanny that there really was a perfectly good reason for her disappearance (this time), and the exchange ended with a pouting Emily being marched out of the market towards the ambassador’s house, completely without her yo-yo. She threw a furious glare over her shoulder at the usurper, who thus far had appeared not to even notice Emily. This time, though, the girl looked back at her - and spun the yo-yo “around the world” with no apparent effort.
*******
For once, Emily’s all-black attire blended perfectly with the surrounding crowd. Her eyeshadow was another story, but at least her mother hadn’t been able to get on her case about wearing a black dress to a formal function at the White House. Emily might have gone for color (perhaps blood red, just to drive her mother extra crazy), if her wardrobe had included anything bright. Instead, she found herself fitting in admirably - except for being several shades paler and several degrees more sullen than any other person in attendance. And not to mention sixteen.
She had already tried to get a drink from the impeccably groomed bartender, but instead of handing her the Jack and Coke she’d ordered, he’d simply raised an eyebrow and turned away. Why did she have to attend this impossibly straightlaced party if she wasn’t even going to be treated like the rest of the guests?
Catching the bartender’s attention again, she changed her order, subtracting the Jack. Coke in hand, she turned back around to survey the partyscape. Dull music, old people in dull clothes, dull food, a girl dressed in blue, with dark skin and beautiful wavy black hair - wait. Emily froze with her Coke tipped against her lips, not even remembering the drink until it overflowed and spilled onto her dress. She spluttered and slipped the half-empty glass onto a passing waiter’s tray, not taking her eyes off the girl the whole time.
Then the girl turned, and Emily wished, for the first time in possibly her entire life, that she had taken her mother’s advice. She could have worn a better-fitting dress, maybe even in a tasteful color like burgundy or emerald, and pinned her hair up instead of leaving the permed curls to frizz every which way as usual. Then maybe, maybe, this poised, elegant girl would have come over to say hello, or even simply given her a second look, rather than breaking the accidental eye contact to say something to a much older man (her father, Emily prayed).
Emily’s eyes followed the girl as she left the room, arm hooked through the man’s elbow. She was about to write the party off as even more of a waste than usual - but the girl glanced back, just for a second, and Emily could have sworn she winked.
*******
By the time her senior year at Yale rolled around, Emily was sick and tired of receiving a Christmas card each year, because it always contained two things: a photograph of her parents smiling in front of a beautifully decorated tree in a lavish house somewhere in Europe, and a check. She had expressed her dissatisfaction to her parents, hoping they would choose to come home and spend the holidays in DC where she could join them, but instead they sent her a plane ticket for Moscow. Better than nothing, she supposed.
Finals were late that year, which was partly how Emily found herself in Gatwick Airport (or, in her personal opinion, purgatory) on Christmas Eve. A “snowstorm” had also delayed her flight - Emily scoffed at the two inches of fluff that barely registered on her scale of weather events, calibrated as it was for New Haven winters. The implacable individuals in charge of British Airways remained impervious to her opinion of the weather, and she was exhausted by the time she finally collapsed into her seat on the airplane. Emily had the window seat in a row of five, an aisle bisecting the row on the other side of the neighboring seat.
No one had claimed the aisle seat next to Emily, and she held out hope that the flight would not be full and that she would get both seats to herself. Visions of less-cramped-than-usual sleep danced in her head. She closed her eyes, figuring she could at least get a head start on her nap.
The increasing hum of the engines as the plane headed towards takeoff roused Emily out of her doze. Her face was towards the window and she smiled - apparently no one had taken the seat next to her, or surely she would have heard the person arrive. Her eyes closed again, as the engines settled into a steady airborne purr.
An unknown amount of time later, something heavy fell against Emily’s shoulder. She jerked, startled, and blinked to clear her vision. The object remained on her shoulder. Turning her head carefully (her neck cracked in the process - sleeping on airplanes was delightful), she found herself looking down on the crown of someone’s head. So much for having the seats to herself. Emily resigned herself to the invasion of her personal space - at least the woman’s shampoo smelled nice.
Before Emily could fall back asleep, though, the plane shifted and the woman moved with it, settling back onto her own headrest. One look at her made Emily glad she hadn’t disturbed the woman’s sleep - the shadows under her eyes put Emily’s own to shame. Emily saw a cut on her lip and a faded yellow-green bruise at her hairline as well, but the woman was beautiful even with the damage.
The flight attendant’s voice over the speaker announced their descent into Moscow, and Emily averted her eyes instantly to avoid being caught staring. The woman didn’t stir, however, until the plane actually reached its gate. Emily managed a smile before bending to gather her things from under the seat, and when she hauled herself back upright, the woman was gone.
*******
Emily’s father was Jewish. This wasn’t a fact the family publicized, because none of them practiced the religion and the ambassador’s postings in the Middle East would have been that much riskier if it were known that her husband was a Jew. Emily couldn’t even call herself Jewish in the strictest sense, because the heritage had to be passed through the mother.
Her grandparents, however, had been quite devout, even retiring to Israel a few years before they both passed away. They were buried there, and that was how Emily came to be standing in a graveyard just outside Tel Aviv.
The American embassy in Damascus had blown up a week before. No one had really seen it coming - Syria wasn’t considered one of the more dangerous postings in the region, especially when rockets were flying across the Lebanese/Israeli border. No one really knew who was responsible, not that it would have made much difference.
Emily would have been standing in this rocky field anyway, watching her father’s funeral.
There weren’t many people there - most of her parents’ friends were scattered across the globe, unable to leave on such short notice. Emily recognized a few faces in attendance, but there were plenty who were strangers to her.
After the ceremony, Emily walked ahead of the pack leaving the gravesite. Someone caught up to her, matching her long strides. The woman’s face was oddly familiar, but then that happened a lot - Emily had never seen any of her parents’ friends or associates with much regularity.
“I am sorry,” the woman said, “for your loss.” The depth of sorrow in her voice took Emily aback, and she looked more closely at the woman. A glint of gold drew her eye away from the woman’s face and towards a tiny Star of David necklace.
Emily opened her mouth to reply, but the woman nodded firmly and picked up her pace, quickly outdistancing Emily. She watched as the woman met up with a tall, bearded man at the edge of the parking lot, and something twinged in her memory - but then it was gone, and the woman was gone, and Emily’s father was gone.
*******
Garcia had ambushed Emily at 6pm on a Friday, refusing to leave her office door until Emily agreed to accompany her and JJ for what she called a “girls’ night.” This prospect would have been far less terrifying had it been anyone but Garcia planning the event - there was no telling what an evening organized by Emily’s free-spirited co-worker might contain.
Emily was relieved, therefore, when they ended up in a perfectly normal-looking bar (with excellent happy hour specials, Garcia assured her), mostly occupied by men in suits with discarded jackets and ties. Emily never felt like she fit in much of anywhere, but this environment was one of the places where she came closest - and she was sure Garcia knew that. For a hacker, she was at least half as much a profiler as any of the team.
The three BAU women quickly colonized a table near the back corner of the bar, and Emily offered to buy the first round. As she stood at the bar waiting for one whiskey sour, one G&T, and one “something fruity,” she felt someone crowd rather closely behind her. Emily tensed in anticipation of a bad pickup line.
“Ever seen a federal law enforcement badge up close?” a male voice fulfilled her expectations. Emily turned to see a well-built man, not unattractive for all he looked like a boy playing games in his dad’s work clothes.
“I have, actually,” she replied politely, not quite smiling.
“Oh,” he was clearly a bit thrown off, “Well, I bet you haven’t seen THIS kind.”
Emily refused to take the bait. “Maybe not, but you know, when you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” She pulled her own badge from her belt loop and let it catch the light.
“Ah well crap. It figures. Thanks for playing.” The guy turned to walk away, almost comically dejected. Emily smothered a grin. At least he’d been a good sport.
She watched the man walk back to his table, where another man sat with two dark-haired women. One of the women was gesticulating wildly with hands encased in black-and-white-striped fingerless gloves, and Emily wondered if she knew Garcia. DC was a very small city sometimes.
Her gaze drifted to the other woman, and then Emily froze. The black curly hair and shadowed dark eyes were so familiar they almost knocked the wind out of her. She turned back to the bar, her mind racing, and paid for the drinks on autopilot. Picking up all three at once, she navigated between the tables and slid the glasses in front of her friends. Emily mumbled something about the bathroom and slipped away before Garcia could ensnare her in the animated discussion.
The man was so surprised when Emily appeared beside his table that his mouthful of beer nearly wound up on the table.
“So, what kind of badge do you have?” Emily tried for as flirtatious a tone as she could muster while trying not to laugh.
The man stood, extending his hand. “NCIS Officer Tony DiNozzo, at your service.”
Emily shook the offered hand. “Aha, NCIS. I’m Special Agent Emily Prentiss.”
The other man rose to shake hands as well, introducing himself as Tim. The girl with the gloves waved and chirped, “Abby.” Emily turned to the fourth occupant of the table, who hadn’t stopped smirking since Emily had arrived. Emily inclined her head.
“I am Ziva,” the woman said simply.
Emily took her hand but did not shake it, almost distracted by watching Ziva’s other hand toy with the tiny golden Star of David around her neck.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Author: llyfrgell
Recipient: callmesandy
Fandom: Criminal Minds/NCIS
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Ziva David
Rating: Really, really G. I think The Lion King is more adult. Sorry.
Word count: 2250
Disclaimer: Fanfiction is a transformative use.
Summary: Four countries, two states, five chances.
The market in the early morning was Emily’s favorite thing about Lebanon. The throngs of people became beautiful mosaics of color as they swarmed through the labyrinthine aisles, and the scents of baked goods and produce floated as another sensory layer on the cake. Emily knew how to dodge between the stalls and where to find the best flatbread and falafel, and she’d been scolded innumerable times for escaping her nanny to do just that.
This particular morning, ten-year-old Emily was content enough to follow the hijab-clad woman from stall to stall, for she’d been allowed to bring her favorite birthday present, a fluorescent green yo-yo, along as an incentive to stay close.
Absorbed in refining her walk-the-dog trick, Emily barely looked up, until the string slipped from her finger and the yo-yo skidded away from her, almost immediately disappearing among the crowds of feet. Emily yelped, dropping to hands and knees to see where the toy had rolled. Her nanny failed to notice as the young girl crawled under one stall and then the next, finally surfacing several rows from the olive vendor where her nanny’s attention remained.
Emily spun in a circle, angry at herself for losing the toy and frustrated at the failed search - and then a flash of green caught her eye. She stopped abruptly and pitched herself through the crowd, a little dizzy from the spinning. There, on the edge of the market area, another girl was playing with her yo-yo - executing a perfect walk-the-dog.
Emily’s jaw dropped and she started to dash towards the girl, but a strong grip caught her arm from behind. Her Arabic wasn’t quite strong enough yet to explain to her nanny that there really was a perfectly good reason for her disappearance (this time), and the exchange ended with a pouting Emily being marched out of the market towards the ambassador’s house, completely without her yo-yo. She threw a furious glare over her shoulder at the usurper, who thus far had appeared not to even notice Emily. This time, though, the girl looked back at her - and spun the yo-yo “around the world” with no apparent effort.
*******
For once, Emily’s all-black attire blended perfectly with the surrounding crowd. Her eyeshadow was another story, but at least her mother hadn’t been able to get on her case about wearing a black dress to a formal function at the White House. Emily might have gone for color (perhaps blood red, just to drive her mother extra crazy), if her wardrobe had included anything bright. Instead, she found herself fitting in admirably - except for being several shades paler and several degrees more sullen than any other person in attendance. And not to mention sixteen.
She had already tried to get a drink from the impeccably groomed bartender, but instead of handing her the Jack and Coke she’d ordered, he’d simply raised an eyebrow and turned away. Why did she have to attend this impossibly straightlaced party if she wasn’t even going to be treated like the rest of the guests?
Catching the bartender’s attention again, she changed her order, subtracting the Jack. Coke in hand, she turned back around to survey the partyscape. Dull music, old people in dull clothes, dull food, a girl dressed in blue, with dark skin and beautiful wavy black hair - wait. Emily froze with her Coke tipped against her lips, not even remembering the drink until it overflowed and spilled onto her dress. She spluttered and slipped the half-empty glass onto a passing waiter’s tray, not taking her eyes off the girl the whole time.
Then the girl turned, and Emily wished, for the first time in possibly her entire life, that she had taken her mother’s advice. She could have worn a better-fitting dress, maybe even in a tasteful color like burgundy or emerald, and pinned her hair up instead of leaving the permed curls to frizz every which way as usual. Then maybe, maybe, this poised, elegant girl would have come over to say hello, or even simply given her a second look, rather than breaking the accidental eye contact to say something to a much older man (her father, Emily prayed).
Emily’s eyes followed the girl as she left the room, arm hooked through the man’s elbow. She was about to write the party off as even more of a waste than usual - but the girl glanced back, just for a second, and Emily could have sworn she winked.
*******
By the time her senior year at Yale rolled around, Emily was sick and tired of receiving a Christmas card each year, because it always contained two things: a photograph of her parents smiling in front of a beautifully decorated tree in a lavish house somewhere in Europe, and a check. She had expressed her dissatisfaction to her parents, hoping they would choose to come home and spend the holidays in DC where she could join them, but instead they sent her a plane ticket for Moscow. Better than nothing, she supposed.
Finals were late that year, which was partly how Emily found herself in Gatwick Airport (or, in her personal opinion, purgatory) on Christmas Eve. A “snowstorm” had also delayed her flight - Emily scoffed at the two inches of fluff that barely registered on her scale of weather events, calibrated as it was for New Haven winters. The implacable individuals in charge of British Airways remained impervious to her opinion of the weather, and she was exhausted by the time she finally collapsed into her seat on the airplane. Emily had the window seat in a row of five, an aisle bisecting the row on the other side of the neighboring seat.
No one had claimed the aisle seat next to Emily, and she held out hope that the flight would not be full and that she would get both seats to herself. Visions of less-cramped-than-usual sleep danced in her head. She closed her eyes, figuring she could at least get a head start on her nap.
The increasing hum of the engines as the plane headed towards takeoff roused Emily out of her doze. Her face was towards the window and she smiled - apparently no one had taken the seat next to her, or surely she would have heard the person arrive. Her eyes closed again, as the engines settled into a steady airborne purr.
An unknown amount of time later, something heavy fell against Emily’s shoulder. She jerked, startled, and blinked to clear her vision. The object remained on her shoulder. Turning her head carefully (her neck cracked in the process - sleeping on airplanes was delightful), she found herself looking down on the crown of someone’s head. So much for having the seats to herself. Emily resigned herself to the invasion of her personal space - at least the woman’s shampoo smelled nice.
Before Emily could fall back asleep, though, the plane shifted and the woman moved with it, settling back onto her own headrest. One look at her made Emily glad she hadn’t disturbed the woman’s sleep - the shadows under her eyes put Emily’s own to shame. Emily saw a cut on her lip and a faded yellow-green bruise at her hairline as well, but the woman was beautiful even with the damage.
The flight attendant’s voice over the speaker announced their descent into Moscow, and Emily averted her eyes instantly to avoid being caught staring. The woman didn’t stir, however, until the plane actually reached its gate. Emily managed a smile before bending to gather her things from under the seat, and when she hauled herself back upright, the woman was gone.
*******
Emily’s father was Jewish. This wasn’t a fact the family publicized, because none of them practiced the religion and the ambassador’s postings in the Middle East would have been that much riskier if it were known that her husband was a Jew. Emily couldn’t even call herself Jewish in the strictest sense, because the heritage had to be passed through the mother.
Her grandparents, however, had been quite devout, even retiring to Israel a few years before they both passed away. They were buried there, and that was how Emily came to be standing in a graveyard just outside Tel Aviv.
The American embassy in Damascus had blown up a week before. No one had really seen it coming - Syria wasn’t considered one of the more dangerous postings in the region, especially when rockets were flying across the Lebanese/Israeli border. No one really knew who was responsible, not that it would have made much difference.
Emily would have been standing in this rocky field anyway, watching her father’s funeral.
There weren’t many people there - most of her parents’ friends were scattered across the globe, unable to leave on such short notice. Emily recognized a few faces in attendance, but there were plenty who were strangers to her.
After the ceremony, Emily walked ahead of the pack leaving the gravesite. Someone caught up to her, matching her long strides. The woman’s face was oddly familiar, but then that happened a lot - Emily had never seen any of her parents’ friends or associates with much regularity.
“I am sorry,” the woman said, “for your loss.” The depth of sorrow in her voice took Emily aback, and she looked more closely at the woman. A glint of gold drew her eye away from the woman’s face and towards a tiny Star of David necklace.
Emily opened her mouth to reply, but the woman nodded firmly and picked up her pace, quickly outdistancing Emily. She watched as the woman met up with a tall, bearded man at the edge of the parking lot, and something twinged in her memory - but then it was gone, and the woman was gone, and Emily’s father was gone.
*******
Garcia had ambushed Emily at 6pm on a Friday, refusing to leave her office door until Emily agreed to accompany her and JJ for what she called a “girls’ night.” This prospect would have been far less terrifying had it been anyone but Garcia planning the event - there was no telling what an evening organized by Emily’s free-spirited co-worker might contain.
Emily was relieved, therefore, when they ended up in a perfectly normal-looking bar (with excellent happy hour specials, Garcia assured her), mostly occupied by men in suits with discarded jackets and ties. Emily never felt like she fit in much of anywhere, but this environment was one of the places where she came closest - and she was sure Garcia knew that. For a hacker, she was at least half as much a profiler as any of the team.
The three BAU women quickly colonized a table near the back corner of the bar, and Emily offered to buy the first round. As she stood at the bar waiting for one whiskey sour, one G&T, and one “something fruity,” she felt someone crowd rather closely behind her. Emily tensed in anticipation of a bad pickup line.
“Ever seen a federal law enforcement badge up close?” a male voice fulfilled her expectations. Emily turned to see a well-built man, not unattractive for all he looked like a boy playing games in his dad’s work clothes.
“I have, actually,” she replied politely, not quite smiling.
“Oh,” he was clearly a bit thrown off, “Well, I bet you haven’t seen THIS kind.”
Emily refused to take the bait. “Maybe not, but you know, when you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” She pulled her own badge from her belt loop and let it catch the light.
“Ah well crap. It figures. Thanks for playing.” The guy turned to walk away, almost comically dejected. Emily smothered a grin. At least he’d been a good sport.
She watched the man walk back to his table, where another man sat with two dark-haired women. One of the women was gesticulating wildly with hands encased in black-and-white-striped fingerless gloves, and Emily wondered if she knew Garcia. DC was a very small city sometimes.
Her gaze drifted to the other woman, and then Emily froze. The black curly hair and shadowed dark eyes were so familiar they almost knocked the wind out of her. She turned back to the bar, her mind racing, and paid for the drinks on autopilot. Picking up all three at once, she navigated between the tables and slid the glasses in front of her friends. Emily mumbled something about the bathroom and slipped away before Garcia could ensnare her in the animated discussion.
The man was so surprised when Emily appeared beside his table that his mouthful of beer nearly wound up on the table.
“So, what kind of badge do you have?” Emily tried for as flirtatious a tone as she could muster while trying not to laugh.
The man stood, extending his hand. “NCIS Officer Tony DiNozzo, at your service.”
Emily shook the offered hand. “Aha, NCIS. I’m Special Agent Emily Prentiss.”
The other man rose to shake hands as well, introducing himself as Tim. The girl with the gloves waved and chirped, “Abby.” Emily turned to the fourth occupant of the table, who hadn’t stopped smirking since Emily had arrived. Emily inclined her head.
“I am Ziva,” the woman said simply.
Emily took her hand but did not shake it, almost distracted by watching Ziva’s other hand toy with the tiny golden Star of David around her neck.
“It’s nice to meet you.”