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"We can't carry weapons, and they don't even speak English."
- Michelle Mackey
***
Here Mackey sits. Slumped on a crappy bench on floor two of the 'Joint Operations Command' in the heart of Sydney. Grumbling curses under her breath, crossing and uncrossing her arms, and waiting.
And waiting... and waiting...
What for? Pshh, the inevitable, probably. For the other shoe to drop. For the pencil to snap, the ship to come in, the clock to strike noon, or four, or seven.... and for the writing to appear on the white plaster walls in front of JD's obnoxious, anxious face. "You're about to get sacked after being shot by Russian sleeper agents and stealing a helicopter," he says with bad taste. "How does that make you feel?"
"Getting shot? Or getting fired?"
"Getting shot and then getting fired."
"Seriously?"
"Just... taking the piss, Mackey."
His face is forlorn. A little dejected, but with a tinge of something incredibly insufferable: humor. Mackey rolls her eyes. She fights away the smile well. No need to give him any encouragement considering his head is far too large for his body as it is, but she screws up in the end. She remembers how his face had contorted in clear panic when the bullets had hit her chest and a tiny chuckle escapes from between her lips.
Softie.
JD smirks. "Finding our situation funny, then. Care to share?"
"Absolutely not," she contradicts coughing. "Nothing funny about it."
And then she stares blankly at the wall until the moment of weakness passes. The giggling settles. Her chest deflates to normal, and once she's back to her usual 'no nonsense, no laughing, no smiling' self, she clears her throat, and asks point blank, "so what are you gonna do after they fire you?"
JD unsurprisingly divulges, "eh. Go back to teaching, maybe. Love those little ankle biters... probably safer in the long run, anyway. Less Russian spies. More playground scuffles. What about you?"
Mackey deadpans, "I dunno," and she really doesn't.
Rankin is going to dance on her grave the minute she falls from grace. Special Agent Carter, too. Though, he'll be more conservative about it; will probably revoke her clearance and send her back to the states as fast as humanly possible in the name of 'cleaning up international messes.'
At least she's not important enough to be on SECNAV's radar.
"Can you crop-dust from a chopper?"
JD should have panicked the moment the Minister smiled, but he was too busy recalling Agent Mackey's words, "we lucked out," to register his inevitable fate.
"We can't carry weapons," she'd said. "They don't speak English. We don't mesh well. Do not pair me with this man. Poor decisions will be made," and to a certain extent, he agrees.
"Me and her leading a team?" he asks, once he's found the words and the will to question everything he's ever known. "I thought you were an agent afloat. Afloat, as in floating. You know, floating on the ocean, in faraway waters at least 300 kilos away from here-"
"Nautical miles, and I am well aware of the terminology, JD."
"Miles, Klicks, Knots, Hops. You Yankies and your superiority complex."
"Call me a Yank one more time and I'll show you how superior I am."
"Is that a threat?"
"A damn promise-"
"Mm-hmm, sure: a real threatening one-"
"AGENTS!" Special Agent Carter's voice is low. He sighs through his teeth, leaning back in his armchair through the static on-screen: a product of shaky connection.
"Fake bickering will not convince Director Vance to omit his recommendation, nor his decision on this matter. You two are hereby co-running NCIS Sydney for the foreseeable future and that is final. Do you understand? Or am I going to have to hire someone to hold your hand throughout this transition to ensure the two of you play nice?"
JD nods a beat before Agent Mackey. "I understand."
"Yes, Sir. I understand."
"We understand, that is. NCIS and AFP. Best of friends." He winks. "Through thin and thick, us."
"It's thick and thin," Agent Mackey corrects. She huffs, but JD can see the twinge of a smile beneath her softening frown. It's the third grin of the day, so he figures he must be doing something right. All the sarcasm and bad jokes. Instead of answering with a snarky reply, he merely shrugs and says, honestly,
"Welcome to the beautiful, wonderful world of Sydney, Australia. Maybe I'll get you a T-shirt."
Mackey is not a part of the Australian Federal Police. She was never AFP, is not currently AFP, and never will be AFP, much to JD's obvious chagrin. "So let me get this straightened out," he complains. "You come here. To our turf. On your little USS military boat thing-"
"Ship."
"... convince Bluebird to break the law, get shot in the chest twice, and steal a helicopter after shaking up the hornets-"
"Spies."
"But I'm the one that has to wear your little colors and letters and what not?" He clicks his teeth. "NCIS Sydney. That doesn't seem right fair, now does it?"
Mackey just smirks, or at least she tries. It's more of a smile, really. With a hum, she stares off into the harbor, where the USS Ronald Reagan is flanked by a RAN 152 frigate, and follows the reflection of clouds on murky water as they reach up to the horizon. It's a calm, quiet evening... the way the wind tussles her hair, winding the curls tight in meaningless patterns reminds her of home. Dirt in her teeth and grit all over her face.
Her fingers are reaching out before she can stop them and as she outlines the shape of a fighter jet, a cough captures her attention.
"Agent Mackey."
"Mmmm." She continues her journey and reminds firmly, "just Mackey."
"Right, Mackey. Sure... so uh, anyway. Before we go the partner route, getting all up into each other's business and driving one another mad, I have a question for you. It isn't exactly nosey, but it is a bit..." he cringes. "Deep?"
Mackey groans. "No. I'm not married. No. I'm not dating anyone, and no. I don't plan on dating anyone anytime soon. That clear anything up?"
JD's face goes bright red. Almost as flush as the beer in his hand, which results in Mackey nearly losing composure once again. "No, that's not... that wasn't what I was asking," he stutters. "But uh... not married and not planning on it. Gotcha. Understood loud and um, crystal- crystal clear. Crystal clear? That's how you say it, right?"
"Calm down, Cowboy. You look like you're about to explode."
She takes the hat from her head and places it snug on his. A little tight. He'll have to loosen it up a few notches for everday use, but it'll do, and while he's distracted at the gesture, she confiscates the case of beer from his arms.
He attempts to grab it back, but to no avail. She's too fast. "Hey- wha- seriously?"
"Hurry up," she calls out from over her shoulder, a flash of pastel blue in her peripheral vision. "You've got about five seconds before I take off with the goods and leave you in the dust."
"You're mad. Like two different people in the body of one," he sputters. "Let me guess- sleeper agent, too?"
"I can't hear you over all the pointless whining."
"We're lying now, then? Good to know."
"How do you manage to get anything done between all the griping and complaining?"
"Easy." His beaming grin is atrocious. "The anything comes after the complaining and before the griping." He's side by side with her at this point; managed to catch up to her relatively quickly. The beer's fault, obviously. Not hers. "Look. Earlier at the boat, when we were on the cargo deck playing footsie with the Russians. I gotta ask it now before it gnaws at me. Why did you... why'd you put your hand behind your back?"
Mackey stops in her tracks, thus causing JD to overshoot his stride.
Oh... right.
He rubs the nape of his neck and backtracks, which effectively blocks her escape route. She tries to focus on something other than his face, but his freshly acquired NCIS hat is sitting lopsided over his temple, casting shadows onto the dock, and that's distracting.
"You knew he'd think you were packing, so... why? Why risk it all? Why fake a weapon when you knew he'd shoot you for it?"
"Do you want the real answer?" she asks. "Or the fake one?"
A sliver of a smile. "I'm intrigued there's even a real answer option in this decision. Honored, quite frankly, so let's go for that one then, yeah?"
Mackey shrugs. She abandons the Budweiser to wooden planks and murmurs, lips tense, "it was taking too long."
"Huh?"
"The hostage situation," she explains. "With Dee and the guns and the standstill. Cooper wasn't going to shoot. Her gun was down, Dee and I were obviously out, so that left you. And... you were taking too long."
"Taking too long? I don't... I don't understand what that-"
"He was going to kill him." Mackey's voice breaks. So small, she prays JD doesn't register it. "This wasn't your typical bad guy. Gun to Dee's head, I did what was required to make you shoot. Freed up the gun to give you enough space to fire back."
"You didn't know he'd aim for the chest, though."
"Maybe not. But as big as my head was, I assumed the gut was an easier target." Her self-deprecation does little to ease the sting. "Less bloody, too, and he didn't look like the type of guy to clean up after."
JD's jaw hangs agape. He goes still for a moment, scoffs, then looks away. "You are batshit insane," he finally says, hands on his hips, jacket completely open. "Full blown mad. Here I thought there was only room for one wanker on deck, but you?" He cracks a smile. "Evie's just as crazy as me, you know. Or you don't, but you will. Blue is scared shit of everything. Rosie is eccentric... always a day away from retirement, that guy, and I'm a full-blown menace who loses pissing contests to foreigners."
"So... what? You saying I know how to pick 'em or something?"
JD plucks the hat off his head, shoving it down on hers before she can protest. "I wouldn't say you're done for, but let's pray your mate has some form of self-preservation in his noggin, yeah? 'Cause if not, this partnership is a hundo percent screwed."
He slaps her on the back. Hard. And when Mackey sputters, "screwed?" as she attempts to hit him back- "Pretty sure that's an Americ...an... an American thing, oh come on-" he's already half-way down the boardwalk with the alcohol, waddling off to Lord knows where.
"Seriously?" she yells. "Sarge!"
"WHAT!"
"What are you... I... what..." but to no avail. Her words go unheard under his cockneyed accent, "too scared to race me? Afraid you'll lose your honor or something bogus like that?" and the air becomes strangely calm.
The breeze touches her cheek. Like a memory from all those years ago... back home. His hair spiked straight up like mountains. Waiting for the worst to happen and being relieved when it didn't.
She thought he'd be angrier, honestly, or at least a part of her did. That JD would get mad at her for taking unnecessary risks and demand she come up with a better, more intelligent plan next time, but there's something wrong with him. With both of them, Mackey thinks, memorizing this feeling. Knows, actually. She's seen the way he operates- same as he's seen her.
The two of them are more similar than she'd care to admit.
And just like that, her legs ramp up, separate from her mind. She doesn't mean to run- truly, she doesn't- but she's already in a sprint by the time she's got her wits about her, and the freedom she gains from each step is thrilling. Child-like. Strange- God, this is... so strange. Her hands take hold of the NCIS hat on her head to stop it from flying off and she lets her heart pound as wild as it wants. And then she shoves her ponytail through the back of the ballcap, tilts her face to the sky- the terrifying start of something unknown in her chest- and goes racing after her idiot counterpart.
She runs into him of course. Bumping heads, almost ramming them both into the harbor soaking wet. But weirdly enough, a few months down the line, after a slew of 80-hour work weeks and paralyzing kidnapping scares, Mackey will remember with fondness that she didn't frown once the entire way down.