Virginia, Just outside of Quantico.
The group of girls walked down the street, laughing and talking as they made their way home from school. One by one, they waved to their friends and turned down side-streets until only one was left. Sarai shouldered her backpack, pulling a long black ponytail out of the way of the thick shoulder strap, and kept walking. She pulled an MP3 player out of her pocket and stuck her headphones into her ears. She walked along the sidewalk, oblivious to her surroundings as she mouthed along to Everlast. It didn’t take long for her to take a few wrong turns and end up in one of the dingier parts of town. She glanced up, confused, and pulled out the headset, stuffing the whole bundle back into her pocket. She glanced down every street as she passed it, trying to find a familiar name, but to no avail. Suddenly, she became aware of a muffled struggle in a nearby alley. Curiosity overwhelmed her, and she snuck up to the entrance, peeking into the dark alleyway. A tall, dark man was standing over a dying older man, having just stabbed him suicide style. The gasp escaped her before she could stop it. “Grandperé!”
The other man spun around. “Hey!” She didn’t wait around, just kicked off her shoes and ran, her bare feet pounding against the pavement. The backpack fell from her shoulder as she raced down the street, chest heaving as she prayed to make it home safely. Unfortunately, she was lost already, and she wasn’t too concerned with stopping to read the signs anymore. She found herself right back where she had started, tiring quickly. Then her foot her a rock and she rolled to the ground, clutching her ankle. The man, who had been hard on her heels, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into an alley opposite the one where her grandfather lay dead. She tried to struggle, but he had an iron grip and she couldn’t get away. He tore at her clothes and threw her to the ground, half-naked. She knew what would be next, and kicked her leg out at him. His hand shot out and caught the kick, twisting her leg under her. And then it was too late and she was pinned between heat and stone cold. The pain was blinding, her eyes swam, and she saw spots, biting her lip until she tasted blood to keep from screaming. She felt the invasions, and the tearing, and she stayed conscious, wishing, for the first time in her life, for the rising cold of a fainting spell. But she couldn’t make one come. She cried out as her body betrayed her and sobbed quietly, waiting for it all to end. Finally it did, and she breathed a sigh of relief, until she saw the blade. She tried to scream, but he silenced her, pressing his thumb into her throat. Too late, she felt the rising tide of blackness as she fainted against the wall, already having felt the knife slash through her body. She woke to a thin wailing sound, not realizing it was coming from her own lips, and she fought to clear the fogginess from her brain. Her hand brushed against something and she turned. She turned away again just as quickly, throwing up in the corner. Her grandfather lay next to her, dead, his eyes staring straight ahead, a knife in his chest. Sarai put her hand over his heart, praying over the dead man. “Grandperé.” She murmured, sadly. “How could this happen?”
Suddenly, someone appeared in the entrance to the alley, and Sarai flinched. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Said the man gently. “Are you alright?”
Even in her present state, Sarai knew that that was an unnecessary question. “Hospital, quickly.” She murmured, feeling the blackness coming back as she kept bleeding. He nodded and dialed 911.
The next time she woke, there was a doctor standing over her, about to give her anesthesia for surgery. She blacked out again quickly. Suddenly, she was in a tunnel, thousands of smaller tunnels branching off of the major one. She glanced into each one as she passed it, but they were all so dark that she kept going. Finally there was light. Someone stood in front of her, speaking to her, tapping her wounds. She watched, fascinated, as they healed. She was being told she had a purpose in life, that she could still choose to go back. She saw the gates of heaven open in front of her, and walked towards them. The person watched sadly. She stood in between the gates, not in heaven, and not out of it, for a long time, seeing her options, her life if she returned. The lives of the people she touched. And then those same lives if she kept walking. Death, heaven, was a kinder option to her, but these others, they would suffer for her selfishness. She turned around slowly, walking back to the angel, who began smiling. “A gift.” They said, handing her a box. “Open it.” Inside was a small crystal heart. She glanced up, confused. “Like Alice through the Looking Glass. The right thing for the right time. It will always be with you when you need it. It will give you the power to become whatever you need to be at that moment. You must live for the now, because, as you’ve just seen, unexpected things can happen.”
Sarai looked at the angel. “How will I ever just be me?”
“When the time comes for you to do that, you will know.” Came the answer as she walked back through the tunnel. She found herself in darkness again, swirling mists around her, faces, voices, confusion. She put her hands over her ears. “Stop!” Sarai yelled. Then the girl woke up, flinging back the white sheet over her body and finding herself in the hospital morgue. She swung her legs over the edge of the gurney and grabbed some alcohol swabs and dropped them onto the gurney she’d been lying on, searching for anything that would make a spark. Finally, she grabbed a lamp and smashed it over the swabs. Flames sprang up and she raced for the stairs. She stepped out on the main floor, and grabbed a pair of nurses’ greens from a laundry basket. She slipped into a bathroom to change and then slipped out of the hospital, completely unnoticed in the chaos as the fire alarms went off. She arrived home and knocked sharply. María opened the door. “O, gracias Dio!” gasped the woman. “I was so worried!” she scolded in Spanish.
“I’m sorry, María.” Answered Sarai, also in Spanish. “I got really lost, and it took me a while to find a cab.” She headed to the stairs, trudging up them. “I’m going to bed.” Sarai collapsed on her bed, her hands shaking slightly as she curled into a tight ball on top of the covers. She jumped when she heard the knock at the door. “Come in!” she said, fighting to slow her racing heart.
María pushed the door open, holding a small plate. “I brought you some dinner.” She told the girl, sitting down next to her.
“I’m…I’m not hungry.” Sarai curled up tighter.
María glanced down at her, concerned. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked, setting the plate down on the nightstand. Sarai flinched when the woman touched her shoulder, still jumpy. “Sarai, talk to me. What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Muttered Sarai petulantly.
“Too bad.” Replied María sharply. “What really happened to you this afternoon?”
Sarai took a deep, shuddering breath. “Grandperé’s dead.” She said softly. “Murdered. I saw it.”
María let out a stream of violent Spanish that, unfortunately, Sarai understood perfectly. “Are you alright? Do you know who did it? Did they see you?”
“I’m fine.” Lied Sarai. “I don’t know a name, but I could probably describe him. I ran as soon as I realized what was happening. I ran and kept running.” Sarai’s talent for convincing lies was getting a workout as she tried to deflect any concern that might be had for her.
María petted Sarai’s hair soothingly. “You’ll be fine, Mija. I’m going to go call your mother. Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”
Sarai buried her face in the pillow as the woman hurried out of the room. Her quiet sobs were absorbed by the fabric as she let out the shame she’d been hiding.
Paris.
The two of them were on another major assignment, only this one was far more dangerous. He hadn’t learned anything new since the last time he’d seen the woman from Queens, chameleon as he called her since she seemed to switch her looks, voice, and personality every time he saw her. He still suspected a connection between the her and his partner, but it was only a feeling. The phone in their little apartment rang, and he picked up, mind still on the chameleon. “Bonjour?”
“Is Jennifer there?” asked a small voice, wavering slightly, thin with fear or something else like it. Gibbs recognized it, even though it was very different, as the voice of the Queens assassin and perked up.
“No, can I take a message?”
“I don’t…No…at least…She said she’d be there.” The voice said, helpless and uncertain. Gibbs wondered why she was so nervous. “No, I’ll just call back later.”
Just then Jen strode into the room. Gibbs hurried to speak. “Hold on, she just came in.” he handed the phone over. “It’s for you.” Then he got up and left the room, listening carefully from the other side of the door. Unfortunately, his effort was wasted. Jen was speaking in Hebrew, a language that Gibbs knew nothing about, nor had he realized that Jen could speak it. He did know about tones though, and Jen’s tones were becoming more and more pained, anxious. He heard her hang up and stepped back into the room. Jen was leaning against the wall, listlessly, her head in her hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.
She looked up, anger and pain on her features. “Nothing. I’ve got to go.” She slammed the door on the way out. He sighed. He was never going to figure this out, was he? At least he knew she was connected now. His eyes strayed to an envelope on the window sill. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. A newspaper clipping fell out. He unfolded it and read.
No Progress in Suicide Alley Case, read the headline. Eight days ago, two people were discovered in a Virginia alleyway with extensive stab wounds. NIS has yet to release the identities of the victims, but one of them is rumoured to be the retired Navy commander, Jasper Sheppard. Currently, all that is known is that one victim is an older male, and the other is a teenage girl. The girl was still alive when they were found by Mr. Patrick Hendrickson, a banker. Ambulances showed up in a matter of minutes, but the girl passed away on the operating table. It was originally suggested that these deaths were some sort of suicide pact based on the style of stabbing, but new evidence has come to light that the two were murdered. No information is known about who the girl might be or where she came from.
He frowned, recognizing Jen’s father’s name. If her father was dead, surely that meant something, and perhaps the Queens assassin had realized too late who her victim was. No, that didn’t make sense, but what else was there? She could be the Jane Doe, except the Jane Doe was a child, and there was no way any teenager could kill with that much skill and cold-bloodedness. He sighed with frustration and put the article back in its envelope, not noticing the loose scrawl on the other side of it. "Razi can’t remember.-
Jen hurried straight to the hospital from the airport, asking after her daughter’s room. She strode down the hallways until she came to the door, then she froze. Another woman, dark and beautiful, sat next to the sixteen year old’s sleeping form. She bit her lip and pushed aside the sliding door, stepping into the room. The other woman looked up. “I’m glad you could make it, Jennifer.” She said, her Israeli accent dramatically altering the English.
“Call me Jen.” Replied the red-head. “Nothing could have kept me away. Is she alright?” Jen sat down next to Sarai, her hand reaching out and taking the teenager’s.
“She’s doing better. The miscarriage took a lot out of her, and she still has nightmares sometimes, they say, but when she’s awake, you wouldn’t know anything had happened.” Ivanna sighed. “You don’t have to be so nervous around me, Jen. I’m not the jealous type, and, to be honest, I admire you for how well you’ve managed all these years. She’s a wonderful girl.”
Jen smiled. “Thank you Ivanna. I admire you as well. And I owe you a lot.” She bit her lip again, eyes on her daughter. “I feel helpless. This is all my fault.”
“It is not!” replied Ivanna sharply. “You stumbled across something, that’s all. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
“He killed my father, and raped and stabbed my daughter.” Swore Jen passionately. “I could have done something if I’d ever been there for them. I...I could have been there.”
“Stop blaming yourself!”
“You’ve never come so close to losing a daughter, Ivanna! Your girls are so much safer than my baby. They have all of Mossad looking after them. All Sarai has is me, and I’m gone so much.”
“She doesn’t blame you, so neither should…”
A small sound interrupted the two women. Sarai was awaking slowly. Her eyes fluttered open, glancing over and doing a double take. “Mamá!” she gasped, sitting up quickly. She threw her arms around Jen’s neck. “Oh, Mamá, you came! I missed you, so much.”
Jen hugged her daughter, struggling with her tears. “I’m not going to leave again, Raz, I promise. I’ll stay with you.”
“No! What you do, it’s so important.”
“Nothing is more important than you, Sarai.” Replied Jen, wrathfully. “And I swear, I’ll find who did this to you.”
Ivanna looked on, smiling at the mother-daughter reunion. “We already know who did it, dear. And he’s not going to go unpunished. I should go, the girls will be getting home soon, and I should be there when they do.”
“Thank you, Ivanna.” Whispered Jen. Sarai waved goodbye to her step-mother, then turned back to Jen. “I’m here to take you back to Virginia, Raz. The nurses say you’re ready to go home. Are you ready?”
Sarai nodded. “I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.”
“Alright. I’ll be waiting just out in the lobby.” She kissed the girl’s forehead and stepped out, maternal instincts raging inside her.
Jen was perched in a tree, waiting, when Jacob Tehran appeared. Eli Davíd had sent the operative out to Virginia on a false assignment. Jen aimed her gun at his stomach and fired. Jacob fell to the ground, writhing in pain, and Jen leaped to the ground, standing over him. “You should not have touched my daughter.” She said coldly. “That was a mistake.”
“You shouldn’t have tried to look into our activities.” He gasped back, fading fast.
“I really don’t give a damn about that anymore. I just care that you hurt my little girl, and for that, you’ll pay.” She leveled her weapon at him and the gun spat out four rounds, one in each arm and leg. Jen had no pity for the man, only a desire to torture him to death. As it was, she could see the life-light leaving his eyes so she took aim one last time. “Burn in hell, you son of a bitch!” she spat, and fired a round through his forehead. His eyes glazed over instantly and she kicked him in the head, vindictively. “May you be judged for who you truly are.” She murmured and kicked his body into a nearby ditch. She stuck a match and dropped it on his body, walking away from the funeral pyre, unrepentant.
Sarai stood in the cemetery, watching as an American flag was draped over her grandfather’s casket. The anonymity afforded to her by a Muslim woman’s heavy black veil was the only reason she was here. She touched the necklace at her throat, choking back tears. She saw her mother standing near the front of the grieving crowd, her face drawn and pale. Sarai stepped carefully through the graves as the men and women around her grandfather’s grave dispersed. She pulled a single Stainless Steel rose, it’s delicate lavender centre fading into pure white, from her wrap and dropped it onto the freshly dug earth as she passed. “Rest easy Grandperé.” She murmured. “I’ll never forget you.” And with that, she disappeared into the dusk, heading for home.
When she reached the Virginia house, María opened the door, drawing Sarai inside. The girl threw back her veil sadly, and María didn’t have the heart to scold her for sneaking out. “Don’t go into the study, Mija.” Murmured the young Hispanic. “There is a gentleman there for Señorita Jennifer.”
“Okay, María. I won’t get you into any more trouble today.” Answered Sarai in quiet Spanish. “I just wanted to go up to my room anyway.”
Jenny hung up her coat as she stepped inside, sighing wearily. “There’s someone here to see you, Señorita.” María poked her head out of the kitchen. “Perhaps you would like to invite him to stay for dinner? It will be ready soon.” Said the woman in gentle Spanish.
“No thanks, María.” Replied Jen. “I’m not in the mood for guests. I’ll deal with it.” She headed into the study and wasn’t too surprised to find Gibbs sitting across from her father’s chair. “What are you doing here, Jethro?” she asked softly.
“I just came to offer my sympathies.” He replied calmly.
“And to see if I would take you back? No, Jethro, I’ve got bigger things to deal with right now.”
“Like what? Work? That never stopped you before.” They both flashed back to the long nights in Paris.
“Not work, other things. Thank you for the visit, but I must ask you to leave.”
Gibbs got up and stepped right up to her. “I am sorry for your loss, Jen.” He murmured, then he left the room, grabbing his coat as he left. Jenny watched him go, without regret, but neither of them noticed the young girl’s face at the top of the stairs. Sarai watched with curiosity as Gibbs left her house. She felt a faint, unfamiliar twist in her stomach as she observed, for the first time, the rugged good looks of the NIS agent. She curbed the attraction as she realized what she was feeling, knowing that it wasn’t wise, but the path of events had already been set in motion.
Sarai perched herself provocatively on the stair rails, waiting for her target to show up, her black hair shorter than she was used to since her rape. She’d lopped it off in an attempt to forget, attempt being the key word. She felt eyes on her and turned her head a scant inch, the watching becoming the watched. She knew she looked like a prostitute, and she’d expected to have to ward off ‘clients’. What she hadn’t expected was to be burned. Familiar hands settled on her hips and a voice breathed in her ear, making her shiver. “I liked your hair long, Ice Queen. And dark.” Whispered Michael, dragging his fingers through her blonde locks.
She leaned her head back on his shoulder, looking up at him, her green eyes laughing with a hint of annoyance. “You took my advice?” She asked, keeping her voice low and seductive. The average person on the street didn’t want to listen to pillow talk. “What the hell are you doing in this part of the world, Michael?”
“I’m in favour.” He replied easily. “I get the fun jobs.”
“You’re seventeen.”
He shrugged, brushing his fingers along her sides. “So it was this or the service, forgive me for the choice.”
She smiled, slipping her hand up into his hair. “You grew it out.” She observed, enjoying the soft texture. “I like it better this way.”
“I figured you would.” He smirked. “So, what do you say?”
She sighed, dropping her hand to her side. “I’m working, Michael. I don’t do freebies.”
He nodded, recognizing the change in task. Her eyes were sharper, her muscles coiled, and he knew that whoever she was here to find had just appeared. He pitied the man what little of life he had left. Michael nodded and dropped his mouth to hers briefly, holding his own against her lips. “Maybe later.” He said huskily, striding away. But Sarai knew he wouldn’t be far, waiting either to assist her or for her to finish so they could talk more.
She smiled flirtatiously at the man who approached her, his eyes lingering more on her body than her face, which was probably a mistake on his part. “Hey.” She murmured, sliding off the rail.
He looked her over, carefully, and she tipped her chin up proudly under his gaze. Her cover was that of a whore, but not a cheap one. She was dressed to seduce, not sell. “You busy?” he asked gruffly, a packet of bills peeking out of his jacket pocket before vanishing again.
She took note of the numbers on the bills and the expensive clothes then moved gracefully to perch herself on his arm. “No.” she replied, guiding him up the apartment steps. She closed and locked the door behind them and stepped up to him, pulling the peasant blouse over her head. She pushed him up against the wall, letting him slide her bra straps down her shoulders. She felt his arms coil around her narrow waist, fingers climbing up her spine to unclasp her bra. He froze, and his eyes flashed open, but it was too late. The cold metal knife he’d felt under his fingertips was at his throat. Sarai jerked the knife forward, grazing her own neck with the edge. He crumpled and she unlocked herself from his arms as he fell, stepping away from the body. She slipped back into her top and waited a half an hour before leaving, striding calmly down the street.
Michael fell into step with her at the corner. “Why’d you get set on the poor bastard?” he asked in Hebrew.
“He belongs to a terrorist group from the Gaza Strip and he has a weakness for women.” Replied Sarai, the Hebrew sounding sharp to her ears, now used to the softer intonations of English. “What are you doing here, Michael?” she asked again.
“Looking for you.” Her stride faltered, but only for a second. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you since my father died.”
Now she did stop walking, yanking him into a dark walkway between buildings. “If you’re here to tell me how sorry you are, et cetera, so help me God…” she hissed, her eyes flinty.
“I’m here to tell you that I’m the one who turned him in.” he interrupted. “I found some papers in his desk, and when I realized what they were, I went to the Director. I as good as killed my own father.” There was both pain and fury in his voice, and her eyes softened.
“It’s not your fault, Michael. It…If…If it helps any, it was a mistake.” She told him timidly. “Things were never supposed to turn out that way.”
“It doesn’t help.” Growled Michael, pulling her close to him. “My own father, and I didn’t see it. Didn’t see that he was a traitor and worse, that he would…hurt anyone like that. But especially you, Areille.”
Sarai closed her eyes, curling her fingers into his arms. “It takes more than a rogue operative to take me down. I’ve had better training than that.” Damn right she had, combat training, languages, stealth, survival, weapons, and intel gathering, ever since she was six years old. But even at fifteen, almost sixteen, she hadn’t been quite a match for a full grown rogue operative. She’d made sure she would be since then, though. No one would beat her now, she was sure of it. She wouldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t ever fall prey to the terror that still ate at her when she wasn’t careful. She couldn’t. “I’m the best.” She said out loud, more needing to convince herself than anyone else.
“You always were.” He agreed. “ And I’ve still got the scars to prove it.” She laughed quietly, the tension lightening as she remembered their lessons together. “So, about my following your advice…” he hinted, hopefully.
Sarai’s smile faded. “I don’t have much time for a personal life. And you’re going places. I’m not. No reason to hold yourself back.”
He frowned, annoyed. “Are you always going to be like this Areille?” he demanded. “Always holding back, never letting yourself get close to anyone?”
Unbidden, her mind flew to the handsome NIS agent that she knew was trying to figure her out. She shut down that thought, resteeling her heart. “Yes.” she replied coolly.
“Did you ever care, or were you just playing?”
“I care about you the same way I care about Tali and Ziv.” She sighed, kissing his cheek. “I would give my life for any one of you and I will love you until the day I die, but as a brother. Falling in love simply isn’t in the cards for me. Not with you, not with anyone.” Michael looked disappointed, but he nodded and they continued down the road together. Little did Sarai know, as she laughed and chatted with her old friend, that love would hit her sooner than she could imagine.
Author's Chapter Notes:
When Jen's job finds its way back to her father and daughter, Sarai's way of life will never be the same. What used to be a game has become dangerously real and she turns to the very work that destroyed her to build herself back up. But once she begins to bury the past, will she be able to escape the future?
Chapter End Notes:
Up to this point, I know it's been pretty much the same as the others. I am fairly content with the way the story goes up until chapter three. Please stick with me just a little longer, it does get better.