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Entry tags:
ficlet: NCIS, Coffee Break, Jenny Shepard
disclaimer: not mine
rating: PG
characters: Jenny Shepard, Trent Kort (I checked many places, most say it's a 'K')
set: this is a possible episode insert to 'Bury Your Dead', with allusions to 'Internal Affairs'.
length: barely 700 words
notes: I've always believed in certain versions of events.
Coffee Break
by ALC Punk!
"He has become a liability."
The words drifted discreetly to her across the not-so crowded coffee shop. Jenny Shepard ignored them, refusing to look up from her book to the man speaking. This late, of course, the coffee wasn't really calming her nerves. But she wasn't drinking it for that anymore than she was reading the book to relax. The snap-focus of adrenaline was still making her hyper-aware of everything around her, taste, touch, smell...
Trent Kort smoked cigars, the sound rusty in his voice and the stench coating the back of her throat without asking.
"I commend you, director Shepard," he said, dropping into the chair across from her.
Of course he never asked permission. Jenny would never expect that of a man like Kort. "What do you want?" The question sounded unwilling, but she was vaguely curious. And asking never hurt anyone.
Least of all her.
"I could ask the same of you," he returned equably, his voice containing something that might have been a smile.
"What I want," she said, not looking up from the page, as though all of the secrets in the world were hers to read. Reaching the end, she turned it, starting anew at the top of the next page, "is to be left alone to finish my book and drink my coffee."
"It's cold."
"Then I'll order another." Some of her annoyance leaked into her voice, making it sound thin to her own ears.
"No you won't. The petty choices of fictional characters is nothing to the urge you have to see someone in reality dead." He sounded very smug and certain of himself. An illusion that she would love to wipe from him with something more physical than words, but she was the director of NCIS, and directors didn't go around punching valuable members of the CIA.
Her lips turned up in a smile and she finally paused in her reading, raising her eyes to look at him. "Is that what you think of me, Mr. Kort?"
"It's what I know of you, director." He was smiling, though it didn't reach his eyes, as he leaned towards her and his voice dropped, "You want La Grenouille dead."
"Do I." She leaned, too, her voice doing the same conspiratorial drop in volume, "Only, the thing is, Mr. Kort--I'm not an assassin." Her eyes turned to steel, "I leave that sort of wetworks to the CIA."
"You have no idea--"
Dismissively, Jenny glanced back at her book and read another line, missing the rest of his statement before she replied. "Spare me the bullshit. It's funny how many files become un-classified when you're the director of NCIS."
A glance at his face showed amusement. "Files don't tell you everything."
"Intriguing. I thought they couldn't speak at all."
His mask slipped, annoyance shining through, "Director, I had come to the impression that we had an understanding--"
"Had we." She sighed and marked her place with a finger again. "Mr. Kort, I would like to extend my thanks for your recent cooperation with NCIS in a serious internal and external security affair, but as you can see, we appear to be at an end to the need of your services."
Kort's eyes went blank, and he inclined his head, acknowledging the dismissal, though he didn't rise from his seat. "Worried the hero won't get the girl?"
"Something like that." She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to leave.
"Predictable."
A smile skirted her lips and she took a sip of her definitely cold coffee again before replying, her voice warm with amusement, "But at least the prose is better than your veiled secrets."
"My veiled secrets could have helped you in your quest," was his quiet reply before he stood and placed his chair back under the table. "Good night, director Shepard."
"Good night, Mr. Kort." She bent her head, book open before she'd finished speaking, eyes scanning the text for where she'd stopped, picking up the tail of the narrative again as he walked away.
When she was certain he was gone, she released a breath and reached for her coffee again. This time, the shaking in her fingers belied the calm of her exterior, and she closed her eyes as she drank, wondering how long it would be before she could forget the surprise in the dead man's face as she held her gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
-f-
rating: PG
characters: Jenny Shepard, Trent Kort (I checked many places, most say it's a 'K')
set: this is a possible episode insert to 'Bury Your Dead', with allusions to 'Internal Affairs'.
length: barely 700 words
notes: I've always believed in certain versions of events.
Coffee Break
by ALC Punk!
"He has become a liability."
The words drifted discreetly to her across the not-so crowded coffee shop. Jenny Shepard ignored them, refusing to look up from her book to the man speaking. This late, of course, the coffee wasn't really calming her nerves. But she wasn't drinking it for that anymore than she was reading the book to relax. The snap-focus of adrenaline was still making her hyper-aware of everything around her, taste, touch, smell...
Trent Kort smoked cigars, the sound rusty in his voice and the stench coating the back of her throat without asking.
"I commend you, director Shepard," he said, dropping into the chair across from her.
Of course he never asked permission. Jenny would never expect that of a man like Kort. "What do you want?" The question sounded unwilling, but she was vaguely curious. And asking never hurt anyone.
Least of all her.
"I could ask the same of you," he returned equably, his voice containing something that might have been a smile.
"What I want," she said, not looking up from the page, as though all of the secrets in the world were hers to read. Reaching the end, she turned it, starting anew at the top of the next page, "is to be left alone to finish my book and drink my coffee."
"It's cold."
"Then I'll order another." Some of her annoyance leaked into her voice, making it sound thin to her own ears.
"No you won't. The petty choices of fictional characters is nothing to the urge you have to see someone in reality dead." He sounded very smug and certain of himself. An illusion that she would love to wipe from him with something more physical than words, but she was the director of NCIS, and directors didn't go around punching valuable members of the CIA.
Her lips turned up in a smile and she finally paused in her reading, raising her eyes to look at him. "Is that what you think of me, Mr. Kort?"
"It's what I know of you, director." He was smiling, though it didn't reach his eyes, as he leaned towards her and his voice dropped, "You want La Grenouille dead."
"Do I." She leaned, too, her voice doing the same conspiratorial drop in volume, "Only, the thing is, Mr. Kort--I'm not an assassin." Her eyes turned to steel, "I leave that sort of wetworks to the CIA."
"You have no idea--"
Dismissively, Jenny glanced back at her book and read another line, missing the rest of his statement before she replied. "Spare me the bullshit. It's funny how many files become un-classified when you're the director of NCIS."
A glance at his face showed amusement. "Files don't tell you everything."
"Intriguing. I thought they couldn't speak at all."
His mask slipped, annoyance shining through, "Director, I had come to the impression that we had an understanding--"
"Had we." She sighed and marked her place with a finger again. "Mr. Kort, I would like to extend my thanks for your recent cooperation with NCIS in a serious internal and external security affair, but as you can see, we appear to be at an end to the need of your services."
Kort's eyes went blank, and he inclined his head, acknowledging the dismissal, though he didn't rise from his seat. "Worried the hero won't get the girl?"
"Something like that." She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to leave.
"Predictable."
A smile skirted her lips and she took a sip of her definitely cold coffee again before replying, her voice warm with amusement, "But at least the prose is better than your veiled secrets."
"My veiled secrets could have helped you in your quest," was his quiet reply before he stood and placed his chair back under the table. "Good night, director Shepard."
"Good night, Mr. Kort." She bent her head, book open before she'd finished speaking, eyes scanning the text for where she'd stopped, picking up the tail of the narrative again as he walked away.
When she was certain he was gone, she released a breath and reached for her coffee again. This time, the shaking in her fingers belied the calm of her exterior, and she closed her eyes as she drank, wondering how long it would be before she could forget the surprise in the dead man's face as she held her gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
-f-
no subject
Trent Kort smoked cigars, the sound rusty in his voice and the stench coating the back of her throat without asking.
That line is fantastic.
Can I pimp this to the editors on
no subject
Sure. I figured there were places, but was too lazy to look.