Chapter Text
"Are you sure this is what Mackey would do?"
"Look. We get on board, ID the bad guys, call in the troops."
"If you say so."
- Evie Cooper and DeShawn Jackson
***
Evie is standing tall between two freakishly, stupid looking fake-pirate terrorists and feeling pretty damn anxious. The champagne in her system isn't much, but it's enough substance to get her through this. This, of course, being 'marrying two random people in holy matrimony on the pirate's equivalent of an old Ute and hoping to the gods above she doesn't puke.'
"Ahem..."
Evie blinks, vision clearing.
"Dearly beloved." That's how these things usually begin, right? Yeah, probably. "We are gathered here today to join two lovely people together in Holy Matrimony. Jenn and Tony. Or as I like to call them... Jony!" Her snort interrupts the lull. I'm hilarious. "Jony. Ugh, that is good. That's so good, yeah?"
Silence.
Evie clears her throat. You aren't drunk, just nervous, she reminds herself. A badass federal agent with thighs for days scared about being on a little boat? It's a boat! Get it together.
She slicks back her hair with her palm and continues a tad too loud, "mm, right. Tony and Jenn. This, uh. This being their... big day. I'd like to take a moment to ask everyone here to close their eyes. Just for a minute."
Everyone looks at her with blank stares. One innocent wedding guest even points to herself: me? - to which Evie fakes a confidant grin and an even savvier wink. "I know it's strange," she says. "Trust me. Just... close your eyes. Everyone, yeah. Yep, just like that. All eyes closed."
She looks for Dee as she ad-libs. Come on, DeShawn, where are you? And when she spots him in the crowd, nodding and encouraging her antics, it suddenly gets a little easier to breathe.
"Think of your happiest memory together. First date, first kiss, walking on the beach. You know, antagonizing one another with salt water and sand. Whatever your happiest moment is, think of... think of that."
Dee looks half-content to obey her. His eyes go hazy, dazing off in distant recollection, leaving Evie to wonder what he's remembering. What he had for dinner yesterday? Maybe someone from the past. A best friend? A JAG friend?
Mackey?
The seriousness of the situation has her pushing her head forward, eyes widened- Come on, Dee! Focus!- and he raises his brows in acknowledgement. "On the count of three," he mouths, lips taut. "Pull out your gun."
Evie nods, and the countdown begins.
Three seconds. She says brashly, "remember how happy you are together, and how happy you're going to be in the future." Two. "To be so lucky, that you've found the one person that gets you like no one else does... cherish that, alright?" One. "Remember to cherish that and one another and NCIS PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"
She aims her gun at the captain's head. Her heart pounds. "Hands up! Now!" But the excitement culls itself beat by beat. The Glocks have materialized out of nowhere, in both hands of every crewmember like goddamn magic.
Evie's stomach drops.
There's a cry from behind her, Jenn's heavy breathing leading Evie to readjust her grip. She orders, voice low, "put the gun down," and is answered with a laugh and an eye roll as the fake captain scoffs.
"You're clearly outnumbered," he goads.
"Yeah? Well, I can shoot you before he shoots her."
"Then do it. I die; you die... he dies." A tilt of his head to where DeShawn is holding two men at gunpoint. Firm and steady. "Someone else takes my place. They'll step up... do what they need to do. Same outcome, just a little messier."
Evie doesn't say anything. DeShawn's jaw is clenched, but his eyebrows are furrowed and when he peers her way: do we do it or not? Evie glances at the dickhead smirking back at her and racks her brain for an answer.
Maybe if I kick him in the balls? Grab his gun? - no, stupid idea- call for help? Can't call for help, no phone- no communication...
Dickhead interrupts, annunciating with each syllable, "put your weapons down. Now. Before you do something you'll regret." He looks her down, then up. Like a pervert. Cocky bastard. "Don't make me repeat myself."
At the same time, Jenn's whimper heightens. Her stilted cry has turned to sobs. That's strike two, and when a sharp gasp escapes her lips, courtesy of a pistol-whip to her would-be husband's head, the decision is dutifully made.
Evie raises her hands. "Alright... alright," she says. "Easy does it."
"Gun on the ground. Now!"
"Okay. Look... I'm complying. Gun is on the ground-o." She sets her piece gently on the deck. "I'm no longer armed. Let's just work this out," and the air heaves out from within her lungs.
Steel boots come out of nowhere, making incredible contact with her gut. "Get his," she hears as she keels over. A pain ignites from within her wrists, but she lets it be. She's forced roughly onto the ground: so hard, it cuts into her cheap Hollywood-Esque type costume as her body meets wood.
Splinters? On her knees?
Evie blows a stray hair out of her face.
Wonderful.
Captain Dickhead doesn't care in the slightest. "You're next," he orders, with his eyes on Dee. "Lower the guns."
Dee, of course, is unconvinced. He keeps his position, both unphased and damn near threatening. That is, until Dickhead's gun meets Evie's forehead. The barrel is cold on her skin, equivalent to icy barbed wire, and for some reason, DeShawn's demeanor changes. A snap of the finger and he's all-too ready to surrender.
"Okay, okay, lowering the weapons. Easy now, don't shoot."
Evie protests, "what are you doing?" The gun clicks and her voice retreats. DeShawn merely smiles, like being held captive is normal or this is some kind of game.
"It'll be okay."
The guns settle on the ground. His hands go up.
"I'm unarmed. My guns are discarded. We can work this out, okay? Nobody needs to get hurt." Evie breathes a sigh of relief- it'll be okay. He's fine. We'll figure out a way to escape- but the fake captain raises his arm and the shots ring out, red bubbling up. Two blasts- BOOM! BOOM! and the crimson bursts from Dee's chest in slow motion.
Evie's heart beats out of her body.
This isn't happening. No, this isn't. Down- over the side- he's gone off the side- he's off the side. He'll drown! He'll DROWN- his name wrenches itself from her throat before she can stifle it, "DEE!" and she lurches forward. She can save him. She can fix this. He isn't... he- he can swim, he's alive. He's not dead- not dead, can't be dead- but below her, there's only darkness. No brown jacket or camera or blood trail to be seen, and her voice hitches, "no."
She whispers, fists clenched with her face to the ocean, "no... please, no."
Her prayer goes unanswered. Dickhead orders, "contain her-" and suddenly she's back to splinters and rope. "Grab her phone."
"On it-"
"Ensure... yeah-"
"... yeah... mm, call the number- can't unlock- well get her to do it, then. Come here- no, stop moving!" Evie's face is shoved in front of DeShawn's cheesy grin. A shwoop and the office number comes popping up. She's shoved away once they get what they want, left to curl inward on the deck with her arms behind her back and her face pressed into the wood.
Her brain is still whirling.
He's gone... he's gone- he's not... no. No. Stop, enough- shut up- and she takes a shaky breath. The water spilling down her cheek makes it difficult to maintain composure, so she wipes it away. The blood doesn't can't matter. It won't matter. You've been here before; she scolds and berates and digs a nail tip into her thigh to halt the sob that's breaking.
You can deal with this again.
Isn't that what Mason used to say? Don't shatter. Just... hide yourself. Everything. All of it. Right?
To throw away the parts of herself she doesn't need and then bury the tendencies she can't for the life of her change.
Don't be a coward. Don't be stupud, be... be DeShawn.
She grits her teeth.
Be Dee. Confident with a plan. Smart. Knowledgeable. His voice is in her head, "you know your ins and your outs, Girl. Take care of yourself. You've got this. Don't panic."
Evie listens. She scans the deck. Jenn and company are bound in ropes in the center of the boat. Dickhead is still speaking, words barely audible, "that came from... back, do exactly- as... not engage," while the rest of the crew lurks close by. There are guns everywhere. No way out of this but overboard- a disconcerting thought. But Mackey breaks out over the speaker, clear and crisp, "you're a dead man, Hart," and DeShawn's words tumble back in.
"Get on board, visualize the bad guys, call in the team..."
"What next?" she wants to ask. "You didn't tell me what to do next, Dee?" The frustration threatens to overtake her, but clarity comes in the form of hatred. Her eyes meet Hart's and the answer goes crystal:
The water.
Her jaw tenses. The second she has the chance, she'll cut the ropes. Yeah. Maybe she can use her nails, or a cutlass, and then she'll fling herself into his body and pummel them both into the deep, murky waters until he chokes to death on the harbor.
It'll be a two for one, her and Dee, with Dickhead as a bonus, and that'd give the others more time.
They just need more time.
"... mm. Yeah- get her up... on what they're planning- information, that's what I... fine- I'll do it!"
Evie's hair is taken in one grab, hands forcing her from the ground and onto her knees. "Tell me everything about NCIS," Hart demands and only silence follows. Mackey's dulcet tone is gone. Dee is gone. All that's left is Hart and Evie, and they're both dead men walking.
What does Evie have to lose?
"What am I up against, huh?" he asks. "Little water cops? Ocean police? Stop- enough with the laughing-" he digs into her skull with his fingers to cut off her chuckle, but it doesn't work completely. She manages to squeak out a cough. "Why are you laughing?!"
Evie can barely breathe. His breath is molesting her face, hot on her cheek, and she hoarsely explains, "you should probably make peace with your god, captain."
"Why?"
"You know that guy that you shot and tossed overboard? My partner? Mmm, yeah... he was the Boss' best friend. Her second in command, you know? The one who holds the team together. Our silly glue or putty, or puddy... silly puddy or whatever-"
He scoffs, "is that supposed to be some sort of threat?" Evie shakes her head. She forces her legs to stand; one at a time, lessening the pressure of his hand on her scalp until she's eye level.
"Nah. It's a promise," she says, and she leans in close. "Better start saying your prayers now, mate. 'Cause you are so fucking dead."
She head butts him as hard as she can and grins when the blood goes streaming down his face. She doesn't flinch when his knee slams into her chest. Not this time.
No.
This time, she takes it. Every kick and punch and wail, letting his fragile little ego steal away her mind until the darkness threatens her vision and her ears erupt in earth-shattering pain. She counts the fuzzy bits- stay awake, gotta stay 'wake- but the darkness goes more, and more... and more... mo... until the world slips through her fingers and rolls off the edge. It falls all at once, like water...
Evie falls with it.