“You thought you would ask me to do this and I would what? Half ass it?”
“No, I just…”
“You just thought I would half ass it.”
“Now Ziva, you’re putting words in my mouth.”
Her eyes narrowed his direction. The pressure of her glare made Tony reach for the bow tie he had so delicately tied around his neck. His office suddenly felt much smaller and much hotter than it had before. Hotter for sure. The heat was glaring at him.
“I never thought you wouldn’t do what was necessary,” Tony choked out. “This is just even more than I thought necessary.”
Ziva watched his eyes fall from her face and float down her body, stopping a few places that were very reminiscent of a move Anthony DiNozzo Sr. would make if given the chance to see Ziva in that moment. The apple sometimes fell far from the tree and sometimes it never fell at all. But she allowed him the chance. A taunt.
“I suppose I still have time to go home and change. Maybe something, I do not know, more appropriate. More like the mother of your child.”
“Absolutely not!”
Ziva burst into a fit of laughter at the staunch protest from Tony. The sound filled his office and for a moment it felt like an older version of them. Well a younger version, actually.
rewriting a story i have already half way told. now in the spinoff universe. now a little hotter. now a little better written.
Summary: Sloan’s new job involves reporting about Bucky after a month of no word from him. Bucky adjusts to his new situation. A discovery in his tent puts him on alert.
Length: 2.9 K
Characters: Sloan, Bucky, OMC and OFC.
Warnings: Worry about Bucky, Bucky having regrets, Bucky concerned about Sloan’s safety.
Part 1
💻 ⛺️
Part 2
Sloan
I filed the piece I did on a homeless shelter that had been targeted by traffickers and leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms out over my head. It had been a month since I left Bucky and according to Sam, who checked in with me regularly it had been that long since anyone had heard from him. It seemed like he had dropped off the face of the Earth. Was I worried? Yes, a person doesn’t stop caring for another person they loved, even after they separate themselves from them. At least this person didn’t. Part of me hoped that after he hooked up with whatever “private security group” he had contracted with, he would undergo a reality check and realize he wasn’t a good fit with their philosophy of anything goes as long as the price is right. But no one, and I mean no one in the Avengers, had heard from him.
“Hey, are you coming out for drinks?”
I looked up at the face of another writer at the Daily, Devlin Horne. Born in South Africa, Dev had been a thorn in the side of certain old-school military remnants of the former apartheid regime. He was an investigative reporter into the right-wing groups that longed for a return to those days, until they planted a bomb under his bed, almost killing him, when he got up to use the bathroom during the night. Instead of the pressure-sensitive device going off right away, it malfunctioned, exploding while he was in the kitchen grabbing a midnight snack. Buried under the rubble for a day until he was rescued made him realize his life was in danger if he stayed in Cape Town, so he left, coming to New York to work at the Manhattan Daily, the online news platform I became a part of after I left Bucky. We became friendly acquaintances and he checked on me daily.
“Are we celebrating something?”
“We are,” he replied. “Someone has been nominated for a Scripps Howard Award.” He looked around as if it was a big secret. “It’s not you or me, however.”
“Let me guess, Tess Murray, for her piece on the Gaza,” I said, having already heard through the grapevine. It was a prestigious nomination for an online publication. “I already heard, and I will go for one drink, only because Tess asked me, as she has an idea for a collaborative piece.”
“Really?” His accent was particularly strong at that moment, and I thought I saw something dark behind his eyes … jealousy perhaps? “Well, I guess I’ll see you at Rafters then.” He winked. “Perhaps you and I can collaborate on something, sometime.”
He left me there, walking away without giving me a chance to answer. I knew what he wanted, as he made it clear within a week of my arrival that he was interested in me. Even though I told him I wasn’t up for another relationship he had been persistent, in a friendly, non-creepy way. My in-office messaging system dinged, and I looked at the computer screen seeing a message from Tess.
That piece I mentioned working together on? Just got more interesting. Come see me now, if you’re free.
I logged out and headed over to her office. As senior correspondent and the winner of several national and international journalism awards, Tess’s office was proof of her success. Compared to my desk, sharing a space with four others, her private corner office with a view in two directions was a reward for the level of writing she filed on a regular basis. I entered, and she indicated I should shut the door. Sitting on the armchair in front of her I looked at her expectantly.
“Well, I’m going to give you a name, and if you don’t want to be part of the story because of that name I understand,” she said. “He’s been off the radar for a month, and I know you have history with him.”
To say my heart didn’t come up into my throat, threatening to choke me with its increased beating would be lying. I tried to stay neutral but even her face showed a level of excitement that I knew could make this story another award winner.
“Bucky Barnes has resurfaced,” she said. “He was spotted at an arms show in the Middle East last week, scoping out some pretty high-tech weaponry. The word in certain circles is that he is connected to the Excalibur Security Group and is leading one of their infiltration units.”
Of all the groups to be associated with, why did it have to be Excalibur? Filled with former military and CIA shadow operatives, they were known to be involved in bringing oligarchs to power in resource rich third world countries. Tess brought an image up on her computer screen, turning it so I could see photographs of Bucky handling a very advanced rifle at the show. It seemed to be made just for him, as he tried out several stances with it. There must have been a look on my face because Tess suddenly put her hand on mine.
“You, okay? Is it too soon to ask you to investigate and write about your former boyfriend?”
I swallowed then let out a breath. “Yeah, it is too soon but if he’s involved with them, it’s not a good thing. Any idea what country they’re targeting?”
“Considering the fact that he lived there for two years … it has to be Wakanda. The vacuum left by the death of King T’Challa and subsequent challenge by M’Baku to take control has convinced some consortiums that the time is right for a coup. Barnes had a very public falling out with Princess Shuri with plenty of witnesses hearing her threaten to kill him if he showed his face there again. His knowledge of the country is invaluable to the right people. I heard Excalibur offered him 8 figures, just as a bonus to go in with them. For a man who ended up in this century with nothing, many wouldn’t blame him for accepting the money. The Avengers certainly couldn’t afford that.”
I leaned back in the chair and Tess turned her computer screen away from me. I looked past her, to the view of the Empire State Building and Chrysler Building. Completed within 11 months of each other in 1930, Bucky was a teenager when they were built. The view of them was something he never got enough of, a reminder of who he used to be, before World War II and HYDRA turned him into the man he was today.
“Alright,” I said. “I’m in. What do you want me to do?”
As she outlined her investigation objectives, I tried to still the hesitancy I was already feeling about this. The Excalibur Security Group had been implicated in the kidnapping, torture and deaths of several people in the countries they had already “helped” transition to a different government; people whose only real crime was standing up to outside influence and interference. I couldn’t help but wonder why, after all his years of being a puppet of HYDRA, Bucky would align himself with an organization who seemed to follow their playbook for taking control.
Bucky
It had been five weeks since I took that ride in the windowless panel van. Being taken at gunpoint and having my head covered didn’t exactly fill me with confidence but once I was vetted and went out on a few pickups myself I realized it was SOP, Standard Operating Procedure. All new hires went through the same thing. Their bags were checked for trackers, their weapons checked for serial numbers (they were supposed to be filed off), and once we arrived at a second secret location, the operative was required to strip down and prove they weren’t wearing a wire. Because of my arm and shoulder unit I had to prove nothing in them was traceable. I must have been convincing because they allowed me to keep the arm.
There were the usual types that thought they were the baddest of all badasses but when I easily dumped them on said ass during some one-on-one confrontations, they all soon realized none of them had my skill set. It would have been laughable if not for the fact that most of these guys had received their training with the military of several different countries. Either training methods had been watered down since I took basic in 1942, or these guys had faked their resumés. I must have pleased someone because I didn’t have to prove myself after that. One of the suits hanging around where our small army was holed up, made a big deal of transferring my $10 million signing bonus into the Swiss bank account that I set up once I agreed to join. Told me that after this mission I could begin to live the high life that I was entitled to. Of course, the suit didn’t realize that as soon as the money went into the account a forensic accounting team would begin tracing the source of that transfer. The forensic team were the best of the best, and their work would begin the accumulation of evidence that would be used to prosecute the money people behind the Excalibur Security Group.
Now, five weeks after that van ride, I was in a camp, located somewhere on a remote Australian ranch, in a tent by myself, since I was also made a unit commander. It was hot, dusty, and there was no wifi for miles. But the beer was cold, the food plentiful, and I just bided my time until the day we were in a place with internet so that everything I had recorded in that time could be uploaded to the cloud. Yeah, I was getting better at the tech thing as well. Sam would be proud of me. I paused as I stopped sharpening my knives for a moment. Lying to Sam had been hard. It started with challenging his decisions on missions, then openly mocking his authority. Like the counsellor he used to be he tried to deal with it with understanding. But I was surly with him, asking what made his plans better than mine, considering I had years more experience than him. Then I deliberately didn’t follow his plans during missions. I never did it to the point of endangering lives on those occasions, but my actions did cause problems and when he called me out on it, I reacted like one of those fake badasses I took care of. Before I ended it with Sloan, Sam was the last person that I broke relations with. The look of hurt on his face when I put my face into his and told him to fuck off out of my life was something that I’ll regret forever. I hoped to hell that when this mission was done, he would accept my apology and forgive me for the terrible things I said and did.
“Barnes, CO wants you,” said Ducharme, a former French special forces sergeant, sticking his head inside my tent.
I put my knife and sharpening stone aside, then headed over to the CO’s tent. Colonel William Moorehouse was a former Marine, who was unceremoniously dumped from his command, after being caught stealing gold from a drug lord in Afghanistan. The government of the moment wanted the gold to go towards reparations. He thought it his just due for taking out the drug lord and his small army. He had to give it back then was canned after. I stopped outside his tent, as the flap was down.
“Captain Barnes reporting,” I announced. Only took me 80 years to be made Captain.
“Enter,” said the Colonel’s voice. He had a computer up and I realized at that moment that he must have wifi. With luck and some time, I might be able to upload everything recorded so far. “Barnes, we’ve been monitoring online news sources to make sure word of our upcoming excursion doesn’t get out before we execute the plan. Looks like someone had loose lips but we’re not sure who spilled the beans.”
“Sir?” I questioned, not quite sure what he wanted me to do.
The tall grey-haired man turned the laptop screen towards me, and I saw a brief article from the Manhattan Daily. Its title stood out. So did its byline of the writers.
WAKANDAN COUP ATTEMPT EXPECTED: PRIVATE SECURITY FIRM MAY BE INVOLVED
An unnamed source advised that the former Avenger, James Buchanan Barnes, recently fired from the group for increasingly disturbing behaviour has been hired by the private security firm, Excalibur Security Group. While his skill set would be coveted by any private security firm, the news of him being hired by ESG hints that his extensive knowledge of Wakanda may be utilized as part of a coup. Excalibur Security Group is no stranger to transitioning uncooperative governments, especially if they are in resource rich countries. Since the deaths of Wakandan king T’Challa, and his mother, Ramonda, the country appears to be troubled with the ascension of tribal chief M’Baku to the throne, after his challenge to the heir presumptive, Princess Shuri, was uncontested. Shuri and Barnes were recently witnessed in an unsettling encounter, threatening the other with death. The Daily will monitor the situation and report updates as they occur. Story filed by Tess Murray and Sloan Hunter.
I stood up, saying nothing for a moment. “I haven’t spoken to Sloan for over a month. She wouldn’t have known I signed with Excalibur as I only accepted after I broke it off with her.”
“I didn’t think you were the leak,” he replied, turning the laptop back to him. “That Murray woman has been a thorn in the side of several private security firms. She has eyes and ears everywhere. How are your assassin skills?”
“I would rather not use them,” I replied, as it was made very clear when I signed that I didn’t do that anymore. He gave me a look that said he didn’t like that answer. “My skills are still the best. You’re not considering a hit on the women, are you?”
“No, I just want it as an option if they start naming names,” he said. “Our contract is specific that we protect our client’s name and reputation, at the expense of our own. We have an operative in the same office as the Manhattan Daily. That person will be monitoring progress on the story. If they get too close, they will be dealt with, hopefully by our operative. If that isn’t possible, I’m afraid you may be sent to complete that operation.” I started to argue but he put up his hand. “It’s actually in your contract that you may be required for specific tasks. A hit would qualify.”
I wracked my brains trying to remember if I saw that clause before I signed. He bent over his laptop and brought up a document, turning it towards me.
“You can read it again, if you wish,” he said. “It was buried pretty deep but it’s there. Page 2, clause 4.8a.”
I read it and swore openly. “That was not in the contract I signed,” I insisted.
“Well, it’s there now,” he said smugly. “If you’re going to be a soldier of fortune you have to earn the money doing the dirty jobs, Barnes. Now get the hell out of my tent.”
Seething, I stepped out and swore again as I headed back to my tent.
“I hope you heard that,” I said, in a low voice once I was out of earshot of his tent but hopefully within range of the wifi, knowing it would record me. “It wasn’t in the contract I signed. You better make sure she’s safe and find their operative.”
When I stepped inside my tent I stopped immediately. I could smell aftershave and it wasn’t mine, although I had a vague memory of the scent. Someone had been in my tent while I was with the Colonel. Carefully, I scanned the inside of my quarters, checking to see if anything was misplaced from where I left it. Then I checked the obvious and not so obvious places to plant a bug, finding it on the side of one of the tent’s supports, in the shadows where it wasn’t readily visible. It wasn’t a standard issue bug, at least not one used by the Avengers or law enforcement. As I looked closer at it, I noticed a tiny symbol made up of four vertical lines. When I was with HYDRA some of the Russian guards and staff had it tattooed on the back of their hand, as it meant order in an ancient hieroglyphic of the culture present from about 5000 BC. To HYDRA, always using ancient cultural symbols to justify their measures, it was just another way of saying what they wanted for the world. With a smirk, I broke it in half then smashed it under my heel for good measure. I looked for another but didn’t find anything. It bothered me that someone would use a bug with that symbol on it. Was there a HYDRA sympathizer in the camp? If there was, I needed to identify them and find out what their game was. Were they part of the plan to infiltrate and destabilize Wakanda or was I a target? Either way, my mission just became a little harder.
I would love it if NCIS:LA ever gave Deeks an undercover storyline like the one SWAT has given Street in their last few episodes
I mean, I know NCIS:LA did it in season 3's "The Debt" but that was only 1 episode. A 2 or 3 part "Deeks, M." undercover storyline with Deeks backstory, Deeks wump, and lots of DENSI angst & hurt/comfort would be perfect.
they had, after all, been reminded how well they work together and what was one little undercover operation compared to days on the run anyway? it would be like the good ol' days for Tony and Ziva. wouldn't it?
