Yeah, I'm not dead. Hurrah! I don't like studying and therefore when I attempt to open up a document on MSWord under the pretence of study, I end up writing fic instead.
So. Ignore the outrageously impossible to comprehend timelines that I've conveniently decided to mess up - all you need to know is DA came first. And. Um. Yeah. On we go!
It doesn't take Max too long to find the place she was looking for. Her bike slows down to a crawl as her feet come off the pedals and scrape the floor. She swings into as spot by a blue sedan and removes her sunglasses. A stray thought regarding how they are inappropriately named they were crosses her mind as it is nearly nine at night and the sun is somewhere halfway across the world.
Max pockets her keys and takes a look around, more out of habit than actual requirement. It had been far too long since she was able to shake that feeling of being constantly watched. She cast a quick look around, noting possible exit and entryways before walking into the bar.
The soft jazzy music irritated her more than she would have expected it to, probably the result of spending too much time in Crash and similar bars with their own version of music, loud and trashy. Of course, she wasn't at Crash, or anywhere even close to that particular time in her life.
She walks up casually to the bartender and grins at him in a way that she knows will get her the information she wants. Within fifteen minutes, she establishes that she had finally found the right bar, and revels in the success of Step One of her mission. After several more minutes loitering around as to not raise suspicion of anyone who could have been watching her, she leaves through exit number two and makes her way back to the hotel she was putting up in.
She returns to the bar every other night, each time sporting a slightly different hairdo and waits patiently to see if she would get the answer she had come looking for. She gives herself two hours of surveillance time before she leaves, each time hoping the next time she makes an appearance; she will be able to quash the uneasy gut feeling gnawing at her insides.
She is in Washington for two weeks, far longer than she'd expected, before she lucks out. She sips on her girly pink drink inconspicuously in the corner idly wondering if all jazz music were just that tormenting. She turns her head to the entrance as a loud, rowdy group enters, probably already slightly intoxicated.
Nerd, another nerd, hot woman, old man, pigtails.
Not who she had come looking for. Still, the group was amusing to watch and so she does for a while, enjoying their conversation regarding bowling nuns and foam parties and internet pranks. Max smiles to herself and for once appreciates her extraordinary abilities she otherwise considers the curse of her existence.
The group collectively grows quiet as another man- Gibbs! Pigtails squeals - approaches their table, and Max realises he was their boss, or at the very least an authoritative figure in their group. He had a cute smile, she notices, and he glances at her as if he knew she's been watching him. Rather than looking away as was customary these days, she raises her glass in acknowledgement and gives him a small nod and what she passes off as a flirtatious smile. He smiles back at her and it didn't hurt to know that after all these years she still hadn't lost her touch.
She looks at her watch before deciding that she would leave in ten minutes if her subject doesn't show. She watches the group a little longer, now slightly more subdued after the arrival of their boss person.
Pigtails - her name was Abby, which Max gleans from her inappropriate eavesdropping, suddenly jumps up in delight, her attention drawn to someone who had just entered the bar. Nerd one and two follow suit not too long after, though the two older men and the woman holds back. Max allows herself to follow their gaze and nearly chokes on her drink.
He had arrived.
Abby screams his name in childish delight and throws her arms around him in greeting.
Tony. Tony. Tony.
They had missed him.
He was glad to be back.
They were glad to have him back.
He hated that boat.
His four month disappearance from the face of the Earth had worried Max, but as she watches him return hugs and handshakes and exchange awkward 'hi's and 'hello's, she knows it is okay now. Max tears her eyes away from the scene before her and finishes the last of her drink, her mission finally completed.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickle in alert almost immediately and she knows she had lingered for far too long. She instinctively feels him staring at her as she gets ready to leave. She knows he sees her and she keeps her back turned to him while she dodges past people around as she makes her exit.
She cuts across the other side of the bar, taking the longest way out. She can make it back to home base in a matter of hours, and she mentally prepares for the onslaught of questions that she would be peppered with when she got to them, running through premade answers and excuses for her two week long disappearance.
She is nearly out before someone catches her arm from behind, and it takes every ounce of her willpower not to turn around and start kicking.
"It's good to know you're okay."
His voice sounded different. Older. Happier. Un-Logan.
She makes it a point not to swivel around and envelop him in a hug and instead, she raises her hand to touch the fingers around her arm softly before shrugging them off.
Er, yeah. This was a crossover with NCIS in case that wasn't clear. I always had this little what if scenario thing in my head where Max and Logan go their separate ways after the events of S2, with her becoming a fugitive running for her life and Logan going deep cover into the government trying to help her from the 'inside' only she wouldn't know it. Yet. Anyway. That's another story for another day.
Read and review please :)