Fiona and Ziva Walk Into a Bar . . .
Rated "T" for language, alcoholic beverage combinations and discussions of violence
Thank you to all of you who have reviewed my prior fanfics and favorited my stories! I really, really appreciate it!
Thanks to my Mom, I have recently become a fan of NCIS. As I'm catching up on episodes through Netflix and reruns on USA Network, I started thinking how much these characters have in common, even though they're on opposite sides of the "thin blue line." Inspired by the USA Network commercials that have characters from different shows mingling with each other, here's a short fic for fans of both shows. I don't own anything connected with Burn Notice or NCIS, so please don't sue. Imagine this during Season 4 of Burn Notice and post-Season 7 of NCIS, so there may be spoilers for each. This is my first crossover fic, and my first fic for either show, so constructive but polite reviews would be appreciated!
And away we go . . .
Fiona Glenanne was pissed off with Michael Westen– again.
He was spending another night meeting with some old contact who was in town for a couple of days in another attempt to find out how he might get back in the good graces of the alphabet soup intelligence services to "get his old life back." Fiona didn't get why Michael wanted his old life back – who was to say after a few years he wouldn't end up in the same position he's in now? She told herself he wouldn't be Michael if he sat on the sidelines and accepted his fate, but that thought didn't give her any peace. So she decided to go to a non-touristy bar in her neighborhood to get a special drink that the bartender knew how to make just right. As she sat down at the bar, the bartender in question set down a coaster with an ice water and a lime wedge.
"Buenos noches, Señorita Fiona," he grinned.
"Buenos noches, Javier," Fiona replied somewhat wearily.
"What would you like this evening?"
"How about the usual?"
"You mean a black and blue?"
Ziva David, a few blocks away, couldn't sleep. Her boss said he had to meet with a former spy, someone who might be able to make some of his current problems go away – someone who operated outside of the system. This was a personal favor, not NCIS business. Ziva knew it was a huge risk for Gibbs to take, but she also knew why he had killed Pedro Hernandez. She understood the need for revenge in a way her teammates didn't. They would be able to sympathize with Gibbs's loss of his first wife, Shannon, as well as his 8-year-old daughter Kelly, but they couldn't empathize like she did. This quest had led to Miami and someone Gibbs knew from his days working in Eastern Europe. It was a one-on-one meeting, which Ziva didn't like the sound of, but she reluctantly respected Gibbs's request to go it alone. He assured her he'd bring her up to speed when it was over.
"Perhaps a nightcap will help me get to sleep," Ziva thought.
Ziva pulled on the lightest pair of jeans she owned and a lightweight white Henley shirt. She asked the night clerk at the hotel for the nearest low-key bar, and he told her about Javier's. She slipped him a tip through a handshake and arrived within five minutes.
The bar was nearly deserted, except for a couple of elderly men nursing their scotches while they played a game of chess and an attractive woman in a clingy orange dress and leopard print strappy Jimmy Choos. Ziva decided to also sit at the bar, but keep a seat between her and the other woman. As she sat down, the two-toned drink caught her eye.
"Excuse me," Ziva said to the well-dressed woman, "if you don't mind my asking, what are you drinking?"
Fiona let out a small laugh. "Oh? This? It's called a black and blue. It's a variation of a black and tan. Instead of using Bass Ale, Javier substitutes Leinenkugel's Berry Weiss. The combination makes it taste like blueberries."
Ziva looked at the drink curiously. "Why do they not mix?"
"Two reasons. Javier knows how to pour using a spoon to keep them separate, plus the nitrogen in the Guinness is lighter than the carbon dioxide in the Leinenkugel's. Do you want a sip?"
"Why not?" Ziva replied as she sipped the strange mixed brew. She definitely wasn't a "girly drink" type who liked her alcohol to taste like fruit juice, but this was more like a blueberry pie in beer form. Much to her surprise, she liked it. She carefully set the frosty mug back down on the bar and slowly slid it back to Fiona.
"Actually, that is delicious," Ziva said. "I think I will order one."
"Javier," Fiona called. "Can you please bring a black and blue for-"
"Ziva," she said as she offered her hand.
"Fiona," Fiona replied while shaking Ziva's hand. "If I'm not mistaken, you sound like you're from Israel. Are you visiting family or here on vacation?"
Ziva shook her head as Javier slowly poured her two-part drink. "Neither. I am helping my boss with a personal matter. But you are right – I grew up in Tel Aviv. As for you, I detect a slight Irish accent. Am I right?"
"Yes, it's where I grew up, but I live here now. It's a long story, but let's just say I can't go back," Fiona lamented.
"I know the feeling. I cannot go back to Israel. Too many . . . memories. I recently became an American citizen, so this is my home now – in D.C. I am starting over."
"Well, America is a very good place to do that," Fiona said as Javier handed Ziva her black and blue. Fiona raised her mug. "To America."
"To America," Ziva repeated as she clinked her mug against Fiona's.
The women knocked back about a quarter of their respective beers before setting them down on the bar.
"By the way, nice Jimmy Choos," Ziva said.
"Thanks. I like your Bandolinos. Aren't those the Shiante boots I saw from Piperlime? I was thinking about getting those. Are they comfortable?"
"Very. With my job, I do a lot of running around, so I need my shoes to be comfortable, but I still want to look like a girl."
"I know the feeling. In my job, I have to run a lot as well, so I've had to get used to running in heels. Men have NO idea how good they've got it," Fiona said.
"Men have no idea about many things," Ziva replied.
"Amen, sister," Fiona said. "To the wisdom of women -l'chaim!"
"Sláinte," Ziva replied.
They both took another healthy sip before setting their mugs back down.
"What is the saying I've heard – 'Men: can't live with them, can't shoot them?'"
"Well, that is the saying, but, if you know what you're doing, you could shoot them," Fiona replied.
"True," Ziva mused. "You could use a Galil Sniping Rifle, which has a velocity of about 2,700 feet per second. You can get a head shot 300 meters away."
"Yes, but the Galil is almost 18 pounds." Fiona retorted. "If you want to make a fast getaway, you need something lighter. I like the L42A1, which is a little less than 10 pounds and has a muzzle velocity of 2,750 feet per second."
"I suppose it depends on the setting – if you are shooting from a roof, a more exposed area, or if you are in a crowd," Ziva said.
"Absolutely," Fiona agreed. As each woman took a sip from her respective mug, they thought the same thing: Who the hell am I dealing with here?
Ziva let out a chuckle. "My co-worker Tony would say at this point we sound like the main characters from that Hitchcock movie where two people meet and agree to kill their enemies for each other."
"Oh, you mean Strangers on a Train? Great film."
"Not that we are plotting murder or anything here," Ziva quickly added.
"Of course not," Fiona said. "Not that they don't push us to the limit sometimes."
"They certainly do," Ziva added.
The ladies finished their beers and ordered another round. Ziva insisted on paying for this one since Fiona had introduced her to this interesting mix of beers. Ziva studied Javier's technique so she could try to duplicate it when she returned to D.C. Then Fiona paid for the next one. They were alternating paying for rounds while they talked and before they knew it, the clock struck midnight. It was as if they had known each other for years and were catching up.
"This reminds me of late-night talks I used to have with my sister Talia," Ziva said. "I miss those talks."
"You should call her," Fiona said.
"It would not do any good. She was killed in a Hamas suicide bombing when she was 16," Ziva said.
"I'm so sorry," Fiona said. "That's absolutely terrible." She took a sip before continuing. "I lost my sister Claire when a British soldier fired into a crowd."
"That is awful. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like my sister," Ziva said.
A short, uncomfortable silence was broken by Javier serving new black and blues.
"To our sisters," Fiona said while raising her mug slightly.
"To our sisters," Ziva echoed. They clinked their mugs and sipped a little. Ziva's phone then rang. Ziva quickly set her mug down and excused herself to answer the phone. It was Gibbs.
"Where are you? I called the hotel and the clerk said you went bar-hopping?"
"Not bar-hopping per se. Well, I suppose you could say I hopped to one bar."
"Which one? We can meet you," Gibbs replied.
"I'm at a place called Javier's. Do you want directions?"
"I'm with a local. He can get us there. I'll see you in a few."
Ziva went back to the bar and told Fiona that her boss was coming over. Fiona, in the meantime, had received a text from Michael asking if she was still up. She told him she was and he told her he'd be stopping by soon because he'd be in her neighborhood. Fiona had replied that was fine and was getting ready to head home.
"Wait – I know this might sound odd, but I really enjoyed talking to you," Ziva began. "I usually do not do this, but could I have your cell number or email? I do not have a lot of female friends. I hope you will not be offended by this, but so many women are kind of—what's the word I'm looking for -"
"I can't really think of a polite word, but I know you mean. I feel the same way. Give me your number, and I'll call you so you have mine," Fiona said.
As the women traded contact info, Gibbs walked into the bar with his friend. When the women turned to face the men, they stared at each other in shock.
"Fiona?" Michael asked.
"Michael Westen?" Ziva asked.
"Ziva David?" Michael said in shock. "What are you doing in Miami?"
"Well, it seems like almost everyone knows everyone already," Gibbs said. "Except I haven't met-"
"Oh, sorry – Fiona Glenanne, this is Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Michael said.
"How do you do?" Gibbs said while gently taking Fiona's hand.
"Um, Gibbs, can I talk to you for a moment?" Ziva asked. Gibbs followed her to a corner of the bar.
"Gibbs, do you know who she is? Former member of the IRA, reputed arms dealer – and Michael Westen is a burned spy! What do you think we can accomplish working with such – such – people?"
"They can get intel we can't. Or, at least, they can get it faster," Gibbs replied.
"But how can we act on it if it is obtained illegally?" Ziva asked.
"We can confirm it – legally."
"But he is out for a reason and she is wanted by Interpol for crimes that go back years!" Ziva retorted.
"Look," Gibbs began, "I understand your concerns, but we can't refuse any help right now. I've known Michael for years and I never believed he was a traitor. As for Fiona, I understand why she did what she did, and I think you would too, if you knew the story. Besides, she's with Michael now and I trust his judgment. Don't you believe everyone deserves a second chance?"
That was the thing about Gibbs: he always knew where to twist the emotional knife. Ziva thought about the past three hours of intense conversation, of sisters lost, of frustrations with the men they loved, of not being able to return to where they each grew up, and she realized Gibbs was right – as usual.
"They're with NCIS! They're federal agents! Michael, they can arrest me!" Fiona said with detectable panic.
"They're not going to arrest you," Michael assured Fiona. "I have a good history with each of them – on separate operations and before they knew each other – but still. I promise, everything is going to be fine."
Ziva and Gibbs walked back toward Fiona and Michael, and all four of them sat down at a table.
"Good thing we traded contact info – it looks like we will be spending a lot of time together," Ziva said with a slightly uneasy smile.
"Enough time that you might want to give my Jimmy Choos a test drive?" Fiona joked, which made Ziva laugh and relax a bit.
"What the hell are Jimmy Choos?" Gibbs asked while Michael shook his head.
I'm not sure if I'll be able to figure out how to continue this, but if I get both the inspiration and encouragement from enough people, I will do my best. Thanks for reading!