Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~o~

The Charger careened down the access road, fishtailing violently around the curves and bottoming out in the dips in the road.

G Callen clung to the chicken bar, glaring at his partner as they hit another jarring bump. "You know, I doubt Kensi and Deeks will want to climb down the ravine after us."

"Not helping, G," Sam muttered.

"Hey, I want to find her as much as the next guy," Callen said. Sam snorted in reply even as he maneuvered the car around a large rock in the road. "But we can't help her if we're dead."

"Next time, you can drive."

"Yeah, right," Callen scoffed. Nobody drove Sam Hanna's Charger, and Callen knew that only too well. The last time he'd been allowed behind the wheel, it hadn't ended well for the car.

Up ahead, they could see their suspect's truck, parked in a small clearing that represented the end of the road. Sam skidded to a stop beside the truck and was up and out of the car, gun drawn, before Callen could unhook his seatbelt.

Both men approached the vehicle, guns out, shouting at whoever was inside to show themselves, but a quick glance told Callen that no one was inside. He laid a hand on the hood of the truck where he could still feel the heat of the engine rolling off the metal.

"He can't have gone far," he said to Sam. "Truck's still warm."

Sam turned as if he was going to just charge right into the woods, and it took more than just a shout to get him to hold up.

"We can't just let him get away," Sam said.

Callen understood the instinct, but he was still wary. This was Ventrell's turf, and no matter what, they had to respect that. Besides, neither of them knew where the man had set up his marijuana grow, so crashing around in the woods without a map wouldn't do much good.

Both men's heads whipped around as a scream ripped through the air. Again, Sam made to run into the woods after their suspect and his hostage, but Callen's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Just wait," Callen said when it looked like Sam was going to break his hand off for stopping him. The two men stared at each other for a long moment, Callen willing his partner to trust him. Finally, Sam nodded, relaxing his stance and taking a deep, cleansing breath.

"Okay, G, what are you planning?"

Callen had known it might come to this, and he'd been prepared for the possibility, but now that it was more like a reality, he was torn. There was a reason he'd kept this secret for so long, but right now there was a Petty Officer out there being held hostage by a man who'd already killed three people and probably wouldn't think twice about adding another body to his count.

Desperate times and all that.

He jogged back to the passenger side of the car, tossing his gun onto the seat and toeing off his shoes as he reached into the back seat. When he straightened up, he could see Sam's eyebrows wrinkle into a confused frown. He ignored it as best he could and tossed the fabric he was holding at his partner, who caught it easily.

"What's this?"

"It belongs to Petty Officer Granger," Callen said. He pulled his shirt off over his head, then shucked his jeans, socks and underwear, tossing them all into the Charger in a messy heap.

Sam's eyebrow raced for his non-existent hairline. "You plannin' on scaring him with your pasty white ass?"

"Funny," Callen said, shaking his head. "We need to track Ventrell and the PO, and with the sun setting, you can't do it. My eyesight's better; just follow my lead."

"And for this you couldn't have left your clothes on?" Sam asked.

"Just make sure you tell Kensi and Deeks to stay with the truck," Callen said, ignoring Sam's barbed comment. "If he tries to dump her and double back, we'll have him."

"I'm still not—"

"Sam."

There must have been something in the tone of his voice, because Sam stopped mid-sentence.

"If anything happens out there, call Hetty. Tell her 'Imeetsja neispravnost' v krov' luny
.'"

"There's trouble under the Blood Moon?" Sam asked, thoroughly confused by now. "And what do you mean, 'if anything happens out there'?"

Callen just nodded at him. No sense trying to explain it all. They didn’t have time, and more importantly, neither did the Petty Officer. If he waited until he was sure Sam understood, Granger might be dead and they really didn't need her death on their consciences. Instead, he ignored his partner's confused stare and crouched down behind the car, allowing the shift to overtake him.

~o~

One minute he was staring at his partner, talking in Russian and making cryptic requests, and the next he was staring down the biggest fucking wolf he'd ever seen.

He raised his gun, but it was half-hearted at best. There was something familiar about those eyes. They seemed to glow an almost ethereal blue. The wolf's coat shone in the meager light, a sandy brown color that reminded him of a certain NCIS agent. But that was impossible.

Of course, they had the impossible for breakfast, so really, it was all relative.

"G?"

He felt ridiculous for about a second and a half, until the wolf whuffled, approaching him and licking the hand that held the gun. Sam scowled, but it carried no weight.

"You couldn't have told me this before you turned into a big damned wolf?"

The wolf—Callen, and he was going to need a helluva lot of beer to make this make sense—gave a short yip, as if in confirmation.

"Okay, I can deal with this," he muttered to himself. "But you and I are going to have a talk later. And no wiggling out of it."

Callen growled in what Sam thought might be indignation, but he really didn't have time to parse it further, because the wolf was nosing at the cloth he held in his other hand. He looked down at it, shaking it out to see what it was.

"Looks like a shirt," he said. He looked at the wolf. "You grabbed one of Granger's shirts, didn't you? For her scent? You knew this was gonna go to shit."

Sam glared at the wolf, but apparently in this form, his partner wasn't terribly impressed. And who could blame him? As a wolf, Callen easily reached his waist. Under all that fur, Sam could see muscles rippling, and he imagined that the wolf was a lot stronger than he was, and probably faster, too.

"Fine," he said. He held out the shirt, and Callen stuck his nose into it, breathing deeply of the scent. When he pulled back, he sneezed. Sam chuckled. "Allergic, huh?" Callen growled. "Hey, no biting the messenger."

Callen yipped once more, then turned and head for the trail into the woods, the one he wouldn't let Sam take earlier.

"Hey, slow down," Sam called out. "I don't want to lose you out here."

He pulled out his cell phone and checked the bars. Barely enough for a text message, and Sam grumbled at that. He typed out a quick message to Kensi and Deeks, then shoved the phone into his pocket and jogged after his partner.

They moved through the woods at a decent pace, Sam following behind Callen as he stopped every once in a while to scent the air and change direction when called for. Sam began to appreciate the necessity of the wolf form, at least on this hunt. He knew wolves had far superior senses of smell and hearing, and their night vision was better than even most dogs. Having a werewolf for a partner still freaked him out, but his desire to find the Petty Officer overrode that concern for the moment.

~o~

Callen moved through the forest quietly, appreciating the fact that his partner knew how to be quiet and stay behind him enough that his scent didn't cloud Callen's senses. They were getting close now, the scents he was following pooling in places as his quarry paused for whatever reason. Probably to listen for anyone following them.

Not that he'd hear anything. SEALs were trained to be stealthy, and Callen could move so that he made virtually no sound.

He paused and lifted his nose, scenting the air again. A new smell joined the familiar one of the Petty Officer and what he assumed was her captor. It was more earthy, smelling of vegetation and yet nothing like the smell of the trees surrounding them. It had to be the pot grow, which confirmed Callen's suspicion that he was headed for his base of operations to destroy it. He knew the only way to do that quickly would be to set fire to the plants, which would afford him an easy way to get rid of a body as well.

They just had to get there before he killed her.

A faint glow up ahead resolved into the edge of a hastily-erected camp, lanterns glowing in the night and casting barely enough light to see by. Callen stuck to the shadows, giving a low growl to warn Sam.

"I got ya," Sam said quietly. He reached out and tugged at Callen's ear, scratching him like he would a dog. Callen shook his head, casting a glare over his shoulder. "Don’t like that, huh? Fair enough."

He let his friend survey their surroundings, taking in the camp's defenses and the positioning of the rickety structures. Like this, Callen couldn't offer any suggestions. He could shift, but it would take time they didn't have to argue and plan. Besides, he was naked, and while in wolf form it wasn't a big deal, October in the Angeles National Forest wasn't exactly Malibu on a sunny day. He didn't relish the idea of changing anywhere that he couldn't get to his clothes immediately.

Finally, he could feel Sam's attention fixed on him. "I'm gonna guess you don't plan to shift back."

Callen shook his head. Not a good idea.

"Okay, assuming you can handle yourself—" Callen would have liked to yip a reprimand, but he settled for a nip to Sam's free hand. Sam chuckled. "I get it. Okay, here's what we do."

Sam outlined his plan quickly. He'd have preferred to wait for backup, but they'd told Kensi and Deeks to wait by the truck, so he knew this was their best shot. Whuffing an agreement, he slunk off to the other side of the camp, attempting to outflank their perp. He'd only see Sam and think he was alone. That worked to their advantage as long as the guy didn't do anything stupid.

He watched, waiting while Sam engaged with the suspect. The man was frantic, holding a gun on the Petty Officer, who was crouching down on the ground, her arms and legs bound with duct tape. At least he wasn't using her for a human shield, not that it mattered much considering he was pointing the gun at her head. One wrong move and she'd be dead.

Then, two things happened at virtually the same time: a bird startled out of a tree overhead, and the Petty Officer dove for cover.

Ventrell turned the gun on her, but she'd rolled away and his shot went wide. He swung back towards Sam, intent on shooting him as well when Callen pounced. He clamped down on the man's arm—not his gun arm, unfortunately—biting hard enough to break the skin. Ventrell threw a punch, the gun impacting with Callen's head and driving a wounded yelp from him as he backed away.

He let loose a low growl and rushed Ventrell just as the gun went off. He could feel the bullet tear through skin and muscle, and he wanted to curl into a ball and howl with the pain, but he knew that Sam was still out there with their victim. He'd seen him crawl over and cut her free, trying to get her to some shelter. He just had to give Sam time to get her away. Then they could work together to disarm the perp and get the hell back to civilization.

He lunged at the suspect, this time clamping down on his gun arm and squeezing hard. The man's yelp sent a thrum of satisfaction through Callen. That satisfaction was short-lived, though, as the man kicked out, his booted foot impacting Callen's ribs with a sickening thud. Callen growled through the pain and clamped down harder. He dropped the gun just as Sam stalked over, leveling his own gun at the man.

"If you don't want a bullet through that thick skull of yours, I suggest you stop fighting my partner."

Ventrell stilled. Callen gave him one last squeeze before turning him loose and crouching down, baring his teeth with a low growl.

"Since when does NCIS have dogs?" he spat, scrabbling away on hands and feet.

"Don't move another muscle, or I'll let him finish you off," Sam growled.

Finally, Ventrell stopped. Sam eyed him for a long moment, then nodded at Callen. He pushed himself to his feet, taking a few tentative steps before pausing and once again growling at their suspect. Sam holstered his gun and rolled the guy over, securing his wrists with cuffs over the loud and pained protests of their suspect.

"Royland Ventrell, you are under arrest for a whole lot of shit I don't feel like listing right now," Sam said. Ventrell let loose with another stream of curses, but Sam just tugged the cuffs tighter. "You know, I'd have a lot more sympathy for you if you'd just shut up."

He sat the perp down, then called out to the Petty Officer. She edged out from behind the tree she'd been using for cover.

"Is it safe?" she stammered out.

"All clear," Sam said.

She walked over to where Ventrell was sitting, staring daggers at Callen, who was glaring right back. "Your dog is pretty badass, sir."

"Damned right," Sam said, smiling as he winked at Callen.

Callen crouched down and rested his head on his paws, the events of the last few moments finally catching up with him.

~o~

"You gonna be okay to walk out?" Sam asked the Petty Officer.

"I'll be fine, sir," she said, nodding her head.

Sam smiled and held out his hand. "Special Agent Hanna."

"Petty Officer Granger," she said, taking his hand in a firm grip. "You can call me Callie."

"What do you say we head back for civilization, Callie?"

"I'm all for that, Agent Hanna," Callie said.

"What? You don't like the woods?" Sam said as he hauled Ventrell to his feet. "Come on, G. Let's go."

"There's a reason why I joined the Navy, sir," Callie said.

A yelp from behind them made all three turn around. Callen was struggling to his feet, unable to stay quiet as he tried to follow. Ventrell tried to pull free while his attention was diverted, but Sam tugged him back. "Where do you think you're going?"

Ventrell stopped struggling when it became clear that Sam wasn't letting go. Sam turned back to Callen, watching as Callie approached the wolf, stroking over his fur. She turned back to Sam when her hand came away bloodied.

"I think the asshole shot him, sir," she said. "He might have a couple of broken ribs, too. I'm not sure." Sam raised an eyebrow, drawing a shrug from the Petty Officer. "I grew up on a farm."

"You. Sit," Sam said to Ventrell, who huffed, but complied. Sam circled around Callen and crouched down so he could still see their perp and talk to Callie and his partner. "You think you can walk out?"

Callen tipped his head up and gave Sam the most mournful eyes he'd ever seen. Callen wasn't one to overplay injuries; unless he was missing a limb, he'd usually try to shake it off. But this time, Sam knew it was serious when his partner didn't even try to get up.

"Looks like we've got two choices," Sam said. "One, you can wait here while I walk Ventrell and the Petty Officer out; then I can come back for you. Or, I can carry you out."

Callen tried to get to his feet, giving Sam a look that could only be interpreted one way: hell no. Sam reached out and pressed a hand into the soft fur. "No way you're going to get out under your own power and you know it. And don't tell me, I know. Can't cover Ventrell while I'm humpin' your white ass. You got a better idea, I'm all ears."

Callie looked between them, probably thinking that Sam was crazy for talking to the dog like he expected it to answer. Finally, she took a deep breath. "I can cover Ventrell, sir."

Sam cocked his head, taking a long look at her. She calmly looked back, showing no signs of trauma from the ordeal she'd just been through. It took a lot of guts to stand tall when a dirtbag like Ventrell was threatening your family if you didn't help him smuggle guns to his buddies in Mexico. He nodded at Callie, finding a new appreciation for the woman he'd come here to rescue.

"You know how to use this?" he asked as he handed over his Sig.

She popped the magazine, checked the ammo, then slid it home and drew back the slide, chambering a round.

"I guess you do," Sam said, smiling.

"Told you, sir, I grew up on a farm."

"That's one helluva farm," Sam said. He turned back to his partner and ran a hand through the fur. His worry racheted up a notch when Callen didn't protest. He took a deep breath. "Okay, G, I'm gonna pick you up and carry you. Hang in there, okay?"

Callen whuffed, but otherwise held still while Sam hoisted him up and over his shoulders, wearing him like a scarf. When Sam pushed up onto his feet, Callen whimpered at the strain on his injuries.

He turned to Ventrell and kicked him in the leg. "Get up. You're leading us back out. And I promise you, if you try to run, I'll let the Petty Officer shoot you."

Ventrell scowled, but didn't say anything, just started stumbling through the underbrush, leading them out of the woods. It took them twenty minutes to make it back to the vehicles, where Kensi and Deeks were waiting for them.

"Take Ventrell," Sam said, giving the man in question a shove on the ass with his foot.

He stumbled forward, then looked over his shoulder at Sam. "Hey!"

"Shut up," Sam said. "You shot my partner. You're lucky I didn't shoot you in the ass on principle."

"Speaking of your partner," Deeks said as he grabbed Ventrell by the back of his shirt.

"He got shot trying to take this asshole down," Sam said. He jerked his head at Callie, who headed straight for the Charger and opened the back seat.

"Have you got any towels or a blanket or something?" she asked.

"In the trunk," Sam said.

"Wait, Callen's been shot?" Deeks asked. "Where?"

"Shoulder," Callie said.

Deeks looked around, obvious confusion on his face. "So, where is he? And what's with the dog?"

Sam glared at Deeks as Callie returned from rummaging around in the trunk with a blanket that she laid out on the back seat. Kensi's eyes widened as she glanced between Sam and the dog, but she didn't say anything. Sam lifted an eyebrow, but filed her reaction away for later.

"Wait, what? The dog is—"

"Deeks!" Kensi barked.

Ventrell chose that moment to shove his shoulder into Deeks' midsection and make a run for it. Unfortunately, that put him directly in Kensi's path, and she wasn't gentle. She clotheslined him, dumping him on his ass before hauling him back up none too gently.

"That's what happens when you shoot a friend of mine," she growled in his ear.

Ventrell cursed a few more times, but Sam could tell he didn't really have his heart in it anymore. Shaking his head, Sam moved to the car and eased Callen into the back seat as gently as he could. Callen whimpered some, but otherwise stayed still.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the familiar number for Ops. Hetty wasn't going to like this. At all.

~o~

"Mr. Hanna," Hetty said when the call connected. "May I assume that you have our suspect in custody?"

"Yeah, we got him," Sam said. "And I've got the Petty Officer here, too, but there's a problem."

"A problem?" Hetty asked. "What sort of problem?"

"G's been shot."

"How bad is it?"

"A through-and-through, I think," Sam said. There was a strain in his voice that she'd rarely heard, sending a frisson of unease through her.

"Something else, Mr. Hanna?"

"Imeetsja neispravnost' v krov' luny."

Henrietta Lange had seen a lot in her many years, and done more, but those words sent a chill down her spine. One of her own was in trouble. She cut a glance to her two techs. Eric Beale was frowning at the Russian phrase, but Nell Jones' eyes had gone wide. She met Hetty's gaze, giving a barely-there nod before she turned back to her terminal and set to work.

"Very well. I'm sending you an address. Have Mr. Deeks and Ms. Blye remand our suspect and his hostage to the boatshed. You will take your partner to the address I've sent, then join the rest of your team."

"And then you'll explain just what the hell is going on?" Sam asked.

"Once your partner has been seen to, we'll talk," she said. "But I warn you, you might not like what you hear."

"Can't be worse than what I've already seen."

"Be careful what you wish for," Hetty said.

"Yeah," Sam said on a sigh. "I'll call you when I have G settled."

The call disconnected abruptly. Hetty took a deep, steadying breath. No matter how much she understood that this was all part of the price they paid to keep the world safe, she would never get used to one of her agents going down in the field. At least it hadn't been so bad, but Sam's use of the code phrase could only mean one thing, and now she would have to deal with the consequences.

Knowing it was something she should have done a long time ago offered her no comfort, only the sharp reminder that there would be hell to pay for that decision.

"Ms. Jones, is everything ready?"

Nell turned and nodded. "Yep. All set."

"Then go. I'll handle the team and our guests."

Nell got up and hurriedly left the room. Eric, meanwhile, held his hand up like a kid in grade school. "Um…"

"Yes, Mr. Beale?" Hetty asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Am I the only one who has no idea what's going on?"

"No, you aren't. Gather your things. You and I are going for a ride."

Eric blanched but did as he was asked.

~o~

Marty Deeks considered himself a pretty progressive guy. He recycled everything he could, bought organic food at the grocery store and even gave blood on occasion. He had a live and let live philosophy that had served him well over the years, but he wasn't sure that anything in his life had ever prepared him for this.

Their suspect was cooling his heels in an interrogation room and they'd sent the Petty Officer home after a quick check by the EMTs. That left Kensi and Sam with him, waiting for Hetty. Sam was busy typing away on a computer, probably already organizing his thoughts for the report on this case while Kensi was sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine that someone had left behind the last time they'd been in the boatshed.

Deeks paced the room, unable to just sit still. He had all this nervous energy and no place to put it. But, considering his world had just been turned upside down, he thought maybe it was justified.

"Deeks," Sam rapped out loudly. "Sit down. You're making me dizzy."

"I don't know how you can be so calm about this," Deeks said. "Why aren’t you freaking out about this? Unless you're one, too. You are, aren't you? Oh god, I'm the only human on a team of super freaks. I don't—"

"Hey!" Kensi sat up and leveled her partner with a sharp glare. "I don’t think you want to be calling Sam a freak to his face. Probably not your smartest move."

Deeks shot an apologetic glance at Sam, who just smiled at him like he was hungry and Deeks was on the menu. "Don't worry. I don't bite. Hard."

"Maybe this was all a mistake," Deeks said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Or a dream. Yeah, that's it. It's just a dream, and any second I'm gonna wake up and realize that burritos and grape nehi don't go together."

"It's not a dream, Mr. Deeks."

Deeks spun around to find Hetty glaring up at him.

"Of course not," he muttered under his breath.

"Hetty, what—"

Hetty held up a hand, forestalling whatever Sam was going to say. "I will answer as many questions as I can, but first things first. Our suspect?"

"Is locked up in interrogation," Sam said. "We had the EMTs take care of the bites on his arms, but otherwise he's fine. We're just waiting for the MPs to take custody."

"And Petty Officer Granger?"

"She's okay," Kensi said. "A little shaken up, but glad it's over. She gave us her statement, so with the evidence we have, we shouldn't have any trouble."

"She did say she liked our dog," Sam said, smirking.

Hetty gave a wan smile as she glanced around the room, looking at each one of them carefully before she spoke again. Deeks wondered if she was looking for something in particular. Whatever it was, she must have found it, because she took a deep breath. "You no doubt have questions. I will endeavor to answer as many as I can, within reason."

"Can I go first?" Deeks asked. "Because I think I'm the most confused of anyone."

"Yeah, right," Sam snorted. "You're not the one whose partner turned into a dog."

"A wolf."

All eyes turned to Hetty, who stared back at them placidly.

"Come again?" Deeks asked.

"Mr. Callen did not transform into a dog, Mr. Hanna," Hetty said. "In point of fact, he transformed into a wolf. Canus Dirus, to be specific."

Behind him, someone squeaked. Deeks turned, seeing Eric looking totally freaked out. He turned around and looked at Hetty. "Yeah, that doesn't make any sense."

"Whether or not you think it makes sense, it is the truth," Hetty said.

"So, let me get this straight," Sam said. "Callen's a werewolf."

"No."

All eyes swung to Kensi. It was Deeks who spoke up first. "And you know this how?" When Kensi didn't answer, Deeks' eyes bugged out. "Are you one too?"

"No, Deeks, I'm not." When he gave her a disbelieving glare, she deflated a little. "My dad was a Dire Wolf."

"Okay, this isn't getting any better," Deeks said. He opened his mouth to go on, but Hetty's raised hand stopped him before he could get anything out.

"The particulars of Mr. Callen's condition are his to tell," she said, her glare daring them to push farther. "Suffice it to say that this is not a new development, and not one I was unaware of."

Deeks' eyes bugged out. "Are you one, too?"

Her enigmatic smile did nothing to reassure him.

"So, wait, does that mean that he turns into a wolf at the full moon?" Deeks asked. "Does he howl at the moon? Crave raw meat? If he bites me, will I turn into a wolf, too? 'Cuz I like my life just—Ow!"

Deeks rubbed the back of his head where Kensi had smacked him, tossing a glare at her. He hadn't even heard her sneak up behind him.

"So, how come he couldn't change back last night?" Sam asked.

Hetty sighed. "The pain from his injuries quite likely inhibited his ability to transform. Most scientists believe that the body will naturally inhibit the change because Dire Wolves heal faster in their wolf form."

"But he will recover, right?" Eric asked. He'd sidled up next to Deeks, and the worry on his face seemed to outweigh any fear or confusion he was feeling. That made one of them, at least.

"Oh yes, he'll recover," Hetty said, smiling. "He'll be up and about quite likely sooner than he should, with little ill effects from his ordeal."

"And the biting thing?" Eric asked. "He can't, you know, turn us into… whatever it is he is… by biting us, right?"

"No, Mr. Beale," Hetty said. It was clear that her patience was running thin, but she still answered him. "One does not become a Dire Wolf by being bitten by another Dire Wolf. One is born a wolf."

"Or not."

Hetty raised an eyebrow at Deeks, who just pointed to Kensi.

"Or not," Hetty said, nodding in agreement.

"But how—"

Hetty cut Eric off with another raised hand. "There are some research materials I can provide you with, if you'd like to become more familiar with the subject."

Eric's face lit up. "You mean there are scientists out there studying this phenomenon?"

"Of course," Hetty said. "As with any community, there are always those who seek to understand on a fundamental level. This is, of course, to be treated with absolute secrecy."

"Of course," Eric said, nodding eagerly. He looked as though someone had just given him the base code to a very important and heretofore unknown program. He'd be in heaven for days.

"I think I'll stick to getting my info straight from the source." He glanced at his partner meaningfully. Kensi cringed, but nodded.

"Now, it's been a long evening," Hetty said, effectively closing the discussion. "I suggest you all go home and get some rest. I'll expect your reports on my desk by noon tomorrow. Without any unnecessary embellishments, Mr. Deeks."

Deeks gave an outraged "Hey!"

"I think I'll go check on Callen, see how he's doing," Sam said.

"Mr. Callen is resting at the moment," Hetty said. "I would suggest you go home and do the same. You may visit him in the morning when he'll quite likely be more like his usual self."

Sam looked for a moment like he was going to fight Hetty on this, but he subsided with a nod. "Yeah, okay."

"Good," Hetty said, nodding.

Without further ado, she turned and left, Eric trailing behind her, his mouth running a mile a minute.

"Now what?" Deeks asked.

Sam slapped him on the back of his shoulder. "Now, we go home."

With that, he scooped up his laptop and headed out. Deeks turned to Kensi and smiled. "Looks like you and I have a date with some take-out."

~o~

Chapter Text

~o~

She doesn't remember the day she was born.

She doesn't remember the Romulan ship, bristling with death looming large in the viewscreen.

She doesn't remember the sound of screams filtering through the comm. system. She doesn't remember the deafening silence as those screams cut out when the escape pods are destroyed, one by one.

She doesn't remember her parents arguing about her name. She doesn’t remember her mother suggesting Tamerlyn (her mother-in-law's name), and her father suggesting Jamie (his father-in-law's name).

She doesn't remember her mother's quiet sobs as George Kirk breathed his last, sacrificing himself to save the two of them and hundreds more.

She doesn't remember, and she thinks that might be a blessing, the only blessing her life has ever afforded her.

Her first real memory is of her mother leaving them, going back into space (because she could no longer stand to be reminded of all she'd lost when she'd lost her husband). She remembers standing beside Sam, watching their mother drive away, and hearing the door slam behind them as Uncle Frank retreated back inside and to the whiskey bottle he carried around like a favorite toy.

There are other moments that shine, but never for the right reasons.

There's the day Sam decides he'd had enough. Turns out him leaving is also the trigger for her, because she does the most reckless thing she's ever done (up to that point) and takes off in her father's vintage corvette, running it over a cliff out of spite for Frank. She remembers spending the night in a group home because Frank refused to come get her after the Police were finished with her.

Things had pretty much gone downhill after that.

She remembers running away, finally, at the age of fifteen, when she can't stand Frank anymore. She remembers living on the street and then in a flop house with a bunch of other street kids. She remembers drinking too much and eating too little and sex with anonymous people (but not for money; she has her dignity and not much else, but she's never been as desperate as that).

And then she remembers stumbling into a bar in Riverside one fateful night. She remembers flirting with the Starfleet types (men and women, because she's never been too particular, despite her record). She remembers Cupcake taking exception to something or other, and trying to beat her up (really, Starfleet needs to re-examine their standards if they'll let a guy in who doesn't mind beating up women, despite the fact that she's learned Krav Maga at the hands of her boss's mother, a diminutive Asian woman whose son had offered her a job and a place to stay if she'd at least try to stay out of trouble).

And then there's Christopher Pike. She remembers him trying to talk her into joining Starfleet. It's not that she doesn't want to, it's that she doesn't see the point. Self-sacrifice isn't on her agenda, no matter who her father was. But then Pike goes ahead and asks the one question guaranteed to push her buttons: do you think you can do better?

She remembers giving her bike away and boarding the shuttle. The looks the other cadets (the ones from last night, fuckyouverymuch) give her as she settles in, nothing but the clothes on her back, makes the whole thing worth it.

And then there's Bones.

He's drunk, pissed and pitifully scared of space. They become best friends inside two minutes.

She remembers hacking the Academy database and assigning herself to his quarters, despite the rules that prohibit opposite-sex cohabitation (translation: they're afraid cadets will get it on in the dorms, so it's same-sex all the way, nevermind that Jamie switch-hits and cadets will find ways to get laid no matter where they live). And yes, they do have one rather spectacular night of inebriated sex early on. Somehow, strangely, it seals the deal on their friendship instead of ruining it, a fact that she is incredibly grateful for).

And then it's the Kobayashi Maru.

She hates even the suggestion of the no-win scenario, and is determined to beat it. She runs the simulation twice, calculating odds and memorizing permutations. And then she hooks up with Gaila Vro, a sexy Orion with a huge smile and even better personality (what?). She's incredibly talented with code (not that Jamie's a slouch, but this requires a little more finesse than she's used to), and in exchange for some…favors…she works magic.

Of course, there's the Vulcan.

She remembers Commander Spock confronting her at the Academic Infraction Hearing, remembers the distinct greenish cast to his features as he explained why she shouldn't have done what she did. Nevermind that the whole point of the exercise is to find a way to win a no-win scenario.

And then the call comes in. There's a heavy silence in the room, until all at once, it's as though the whole world has been set in motion. It's chaos, and as she and Bones head for the spaceport, she can't help but vibrate with purpose. This is it, she remembers thinking, this is the moment she was born for.

She doesn't know why she has that thought in that moment, but days later she will understand just how true that really is.

She remembers Bones smuggling her onboard the Enterprise. She remembers the horrible reaction to the vaccine he'd given her to get her onboard (she could have told him that'd be what would happen, if he'd stopped to ask; she allergic to, well, just about everything it seems). She remembers pieces falling into place, about the Romulans and a ship hanging like death in space.

She remembers Pike leaving, remembers the space dive with Sulu and Olsen. The firefight is over far too quickly, for all that it seems to take forever, and then she's back onboard the Enterprise and Spock is leaving to save his parents.

He can only save one.

She recognizes the haunted look in the Commander's eyes, but doesn't have the time to do anything about it because he's putting her off the ship, which pisses her off.

Then there's a mad scramble to keep from being lobster food, and a cave with a man who looks familiar, even if she's never met him before.

And then suddenly there are memories within her of a life she's never lived, memories of a face looking back at her in the mirror, so familiar and yet masculine. Her, and yet not her at all.

She remembers meeting Scotty (and how hilarious is it that this older Spock knows Scotty and tells him what he's already done) and beaming back to the ship. And she remembers Enterprise trying to drown her new Chief Engineer (oops).

She remembers the squirmy feeling in her gut as she replayed the elder Spock's words (He is compromised), and how she's going to prove it. Because there's really only one way, and despite her training (Starfleet Self Defense plus the Krav Maga) she knows very well that Spock could kill her.

Somehow, miraculously, she survives pissing off a Vulcan, and they warp out for Earth, because she'll be damned if she'll let the Romulan take her home the way he took Spock's.

And when it matters most, when she desperately needs someone to stand beside her, Spock is there. They beam over to Nero's ship and together they take on the Romulans. Spock flies the Ambassador's ship out of the Narada, while Jamie rescues Pike, and her last act as Acting Captain in this crisis is to blow the Romulans to kingdom come (well, strictly speaking, they blew themselves up when they refused her offer of a rescue, but the principle is the same).

There are days spent limping back to Earth, broken but now bowed. Endless, interminable briefings later, Starfleet decides that Jamie Tamerlyn Kirk is the only logical choice for Captain of the Enterprise. She is both elated and fearful, a strange combination, but she's done the impossible—saved Earth and helped rescue the Vulcan High Council—so this should be a piece of cake, right?

The fear is almost choking her, but she keeps going nonetheless. And just as they're about to leave spacedock, without a First Officer (because the only person she could imagine in the role has turned her down), the perfect candidate turns up.

Ambassador Spock had told her they would do great things together, becoming each other's t'hy'la (something she's promised she'll reserve judgement on). Now, she has the chance to find out.

So finally, they leave Earth's orbit, Kirk and Spock standing shoulder-to-shoulder, facing the great unknown.

~o~

Jamie woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath, despite the fact that she was alone in her quarters.

She took a deep breath, running her fingers through her short, blond hair. She hadn't had that dream in a while, but it was still just as unsettling as she remembered. It was like watching her life flash before her eyes, like she was about to die. Not something she really wanted to contemplate, but better than the alternative. At least that dream contained her own memories.

Realizing that she wasn't going to get anymore sleep tonight, she pushed herself out of bed and into the 'fresher, splashing water on her face. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and for just an instant, she saw the angular lines of a masculine face so like her own. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head to dispel the memory.

When she opened them again, she once again saw the familiar face of Jamie Tamerlyn Kirk, Captain of the Enterprise.

She shuffled back to her quarters and settled behind her desk, bringing up the list of reports from her department heads. Paperwork (a misnomer she was determined to talk to someone about, as soon as she figured out who that should be) had become the bane of her existence, the least glamorous part of being a Captain, and the one thing Christopher Pike had left out of his glowing endorsement of Starfleet. Still, she wasn't so undisciplined that she'd avoid it forever; just as long as she could avoid it, which was long enough that the staff back at 'Fleet HQ were usually just on the verge of sending a nasty-gram.

A couple of hours of mind-numbing reports had done what hours horizontal in bed hadn't been able to: she was exhausted and ready for sleep. Unfortunately, she had Alpha shift bridge duty, so instead she changed into her uniform and headed for the mess.

She'd just settled in at a table in the corner (her usual table, and one that seemed to have been reserved for the Captain after only a few uses), when her Chief Medical Officer, Leonard McCoy dropped his tray across from hers and plopped down.

"You look like you've been drug through a knothole," he said, eyeing her critically.

"Why thank you, Bones," Jamie said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You always know just what a girl wants to hear."

Bones snorted as he dug in to his eggs. "If you'd agree to get even just a little sleep, I wouldn't have to hound you, you know."

"Yeah, well," Jamie said, pursing her lips. She pushed her tray aside, no longer hungry as the memories from her dream crowded in again. She sipped on her coffee, trying and failing to push aside the cold feeling the dream always left in its wake.

"That dream again, huh?" Bones said. He paused in the middle of a bite of eggs, eyes narrowed. "You know, you could—"

"No, Bones," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not going to 'talk to someone' about this. I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he said, pointing his—thankfully empty—fork at her.

"I'm not bleeding, therefore I'm fine," she said.

Bones narrowed his eyes at his Captain. "Sounds like damned-fool Vulcan logic, if you ask me."

~o~

Chapter Text

~o~

He walked through the door, pulling it shut behind him in a vain effort to keep from getting thoroughly soaked. The rain had been sheeting down since breakfast, and while he didn't have a specific need to leave his home, he'd grown weary of staring at the walls around him.

He could be just as bored someplace else as he could at home, though his current residence was as far from his idea of home as he could get and still be called that.

He shook out his coat and ran a hand through his hair, spraying droplets around him while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The bar wasn't exactly a fine drinking establishment, but the liquor was of decent quality and plentiful. The barkeep liked him, so he wouldn't run dry until closing time.

Mostly likely.

The bar was nearly empty, just a few patrons who all kept their eyes averted as he crossed the room to slide onto a barstool. Yet another thing he liked about this place: no one paid him any attention, allowing him to drink in peace.

"The usual?" the barman asked as he sauntered over.

"The usual," he said.

The other man snorted but poured the scotch, neat per longstanding habit, then wandered away to do whatever it was he did when he wasn't tending to the needs of his patrons.

He took a sip of his drink, allowing the liquid to slide down his throat as he savored the slight burn. He didn't plan on getting drunk tonight—he never got drunk when he was in a bar, something he learned after his first bender when he'd been called back to the office after one too many. No one could do disdainful like Herself, and he'd do a lot to never see that disappointed look on anyone's face ever again.

James Bond didn't get drunk. He was a classy man with a reputation for seducing the ladies and drinking his martini's dry, shaken and not stirred.

He was not James Bond.

Not really, anyway. He'd worn the name for so many years that the line had become blurred, so that some days he didn't really know who he was. The hell of it was that no one much cared who he'd been before he took on the mantle of James Bond, and if he were to die on his next mission, no one would mourn him. The name would simply pass to the next poor sod and that would be the end of it.

He felt the air stir beside him and turned to watch an older gentleman with mostly white hair and a full beard. His eyes were the thing that dragged him in, though. Dark and wizened, as though he'd seen things that no man should see.

The barkeep never spoke a single word, just walked over and slid a glass full of amber liquid in front of the new patron. The older man flashed a smile—the edges of it were still charming, but there was a layer of tired over it that spoke to soul-deep weariness that he could definitely understand—and took a sip, sighing as though this were a ritual he'd performed hundreds of times.

"You know, they never to teach us how to let it all go," the older man said. "She took me from a raw lump of barely-competent but enthusiastic soldier and turned me into a weapon that she could point in any direction and be assured of the outcome." He frowned into his glass before he took another sip. "Some days I'm not sure if I'm more grateful or resentful."

Recognition flashed through him. This man was… well, another James Bond. In another life, they were the same man. He suddenly felt a kinship with this man, though neither of them knew the other's name.

"She was very good at spotting potential," he agreed. "She complained that I wasn't ready, even as she was handing me my first assignment."

The other man chuckled. "We're expendable, you see. If you truly weren't ready, she'd have just promoted someone else. There's always a line of men waiting to take your place. Never forget that."

~o~