The Art of Evasion
I don’t own NCIS or Buffy, but I doubt that’s a surprise to anyone.
Gibbs was absolutely infuriated. He had brought down serial killers, assassins, and corrupt politicians. So why was it that the brunette nineteen year old sitting across from him in interrogation had McGee, Tony, Ziva, and himself running in circles?
“What were you doing at my crime scene,” he grunted rather than asked.
The brunette just leaned further back in her seat, giving him a cock-eyed smirk that made him want to slap her on the back of the head, reminding him a bit of Tony’s mannerisms. Instead of answering the marine, the teen began to pick at her nails. He wasn’t even sure she was paying attention to him.
The teenager sat up, speaking in a clipped tone, “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’re going to have to do better than that. You couldn't even intimidate Clem's kittens.”
He could hear the amused smirk in her voice as he slammed his hand down on the table in anger. She was mocking him, and he would not stand for that.
“One more time, or I’ll throw you behind bars for withholding evidence. What were you doing at my crime scene,” he interrogated, utilizing a dangerous whisper.
The girl’s smirk did not falter and spoke casually, “I was running from a vampire and tripped over a dead sailor. Maybe I should’ve been watching where I was going, but I wasn’t expecting there to be a dead man in my way.”
She was really mocking him, and all it did was make him want to send Ziva in, without the cameras. “Sir, I asked for a lawyer a while ago, and I’m not telling you a damn thing until someone gets here, preferably Gunn,” the girl said before slumping backward into the chair.
Gibbs hadn’t expected this young girl to be so good at manipulation, but he’d seen her move easily from mocking to professional. He knew better than underestimating the suspect, but even he had to admit he’d underestimated her.
A booming voice, coming from the NCIS Director Jennifer Sheppard, stopped him from interrogating the irrigating girl any further, as she ordered him out of the room.
She watched as he walked out, steam basically flying from his ears. First, an overgrown teenager calling himself Very Special Agent DiNozzo had tried and failed to get her to tell him what was going on at their crime scene. He’d tried several tactics, only to fail dismally each time.
It wasn’t like she could come out and tell them that a Fyarl demon had killed the Navy Lieutenant, so she used a tactic she had learned from many hours with Xander. She found an interest for the agent and kept at it until he gave up from sheer annoyance. The guy liked movies, and it hadn’t taken long before she was grasping at straws for new movie trivia. Spending many years in Sunnydale had left little time for things that didn’t include slay-age, research, or The Bronze.
Then she realized something else. He fancied himself a ladies’ man. Years spent watching Buffy Summers ‘dumb Californian blonde’ act fool any every guy she didn’t want to see who she really was had given her plenty of ideas of how to drive the man wild, and she smirked as she watched him falter.
When the woman had come, she had to change tactics completely. The Israeli was startlingly similar in interrogation techniques to Buffy and if there was one thing the brunette knew how to do it was manipulate the blonde Slayer. The Mossad liason was smarter though, so confusing her by going in and out of ancient languages hadn’t exactly shook off the woman.
What did throw her off balance was when she fell into the language known to the very few who spoke it as 'Scooby speak,' opting to try 'Oz speak' if absolutely necessary. Twenty minutes and a migraine later, the woman left the room to an older man, Special Agent Gibbs he had called himself.
He was their Giles, and only slightly harder to work into a tizzy. His ‘glasses cleaning’ and ‘tongue clicking’ anger signs came in the form of an intent sip of the coffee that he kept close the entire session. She just hoped that he didn’t have a ‘Ripper’ side to him.
It had been techniques she’d learned from watching Faith and Spike over the years that told her exactly how to deal with him. Pretend to mock him, keep him off balance and make him question everything, or maybe even throw in a possible truth, maybe a well-placed lie like the one where he couldn't even intimidate Clem's kittens that no one outside of their world would understand completely.
Faith had gotten away with it for years, and anyone who had ever lived in Sunnydale knew people rationalize what they don’t believe. Give him a large dose of the truth and he’ll never believe it. It had been the thing, though, to almost bring out his ‘Ripper’ side.
If the lady’s voice hadn’t come through the microphone thingy, part of her wondered what the silver-haired man would’ve done.
She had known all she had to do was wait on one of three people (groups possibly): Angel and his legal team (namely Gunn), Riley and his Presidential Pardon (for Initiative activities), or most likely a pissed off sister and her watcher or one of her two best friends (all with immense power within the government on their own) as the, fairly recent, new leadership for the Watcher’s Council.
Dawn Summers wasn’t even slightly surprised to see Willow burst through the door, Resolve-Face set, followed by her sister threatening the man creatively, although opting not to wear his ribcage as a hat apparently, to leave her alone.
“Dawn, car now,” Buffy demanded, partially still in anger toward the silver-haired agent, and partially because she’d just missed her flight to Paris for a little “R&R.”
Dawn walked out of the room, succumbing to her childish side as she stuck her tongue out at the three infuriated agents. She knew Buffy would be proud.
She stifled a chuckle at her sister’s off-handed, “I guess I’m not the only Summers who has problems with authority figures.”
Willow answered in the same tone, used specifically to infuriate the agents more, “I’m pretty sure that applies to most of the Scoobies.”
“What should we do tonight anyway,” Willow asked.
“Shoes,” Buffy insisted perkily, surprising the agents.
“A new wardrobe,” Willow put in immediately.
As Watcher-in-Training, Dawn took Giles part, “The world is doomed.”
The three Sunnydale survivors turned back in the elevator to see the faces of the agents, somewhere between being completely infuriated and completely dumbfounded.
Gibbs was the first to pull his eyes away from the elevator to stare at the papers in his hand.
The blonde had told him, “I didn’t know exactly what to bring, so I brought everything.” The red-head had shrugged in resignation.
In his hand, he held a Presidential Pardon, a cease and desist order from the Secretary of the Navy and Director Sheppard, and oddly copies for both of the Summers girls’ report cards.
“That was,” Tony started, but didn’t know how to finish, so it just hung in the air.
“Kate would be amused,” McGee said, as he walked up to them. “Someone rendered Tony speechless.
“I’ll check with my contacts,” Ziva told Gibbs, quickly returning to her desk. In seconds, fluent Hebrew was heard as she questioned people who owed her favors.
“Paper trail, on it Boss,” McGee answered the unspoken order, before pulling himself to attention.
Tony stood, though, still gawking at the elevator. Gibbs walked up to his Senior Field Agent, smacking him across the back of the head.
“Back to work. Got it, Boss,” was the immediate response.
Gibbs simply turned and made his way up the stairs to find out everything he could. Gibbs was pissed. Politics just allowed his lead suspect in a murder investigation of a Navy Lieutenant walk out the door, laughing and jesting with her friends.