11Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction using characters from the show NCIS, which is trademarked by CBS. I do not claim any ownership over anything affiliated with the show and all rights go to their respected owners. This story is for entertainment purposes only and is not part of the official story line. I do not own the images used in the cover photo, and if the owners wish for the images to not be use I will oblige and remove them and it is only being used as a visual aid for this story. I aim to make this story as original as possible, so therefore I ask you to refrain from copying.
Now that I've got the disclaimer out of the way I'd like to thank you for giving my story a chance, whether you have been lead here from the original version of this story or you are an entirely new reader. If you are a reader from my previous story "DiNozzo's daughter" I would like to remind you that the plot line will differentiate from the original so therefore the other story will most likely be irrelevant to this one. I'm also going to warn you that the character will most likely be a bit OC, this is mainly because I do believe that becoming a parent or having a parental role over someone changes you and I hope that it's reflected in this piece. Or in other words, I have no hopes of writing the characters realistically and I suck at dialogue. So anyway, thank you for coming here, and I hope you enjoy the story.
UPDATE: 28/07/15
Long time no see, I found this story as I was transferring documents from my broken laptop (RIP) onto my new one. It's been a long time since I watched the show and I've just found out that Cote has left (cries), but I thought I could improve this and so I gave it a whirl...hopefully you like it and I'll update the latter chapters soon and then if I kick my butt I'll actually write something new!
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Chapter One:
I glance at the screen showing my flight information and I can't help curse technology. I mean, I get it! Do you have to keep blaring it in my face? I'm leaving in a couple of minutes, if I didn't know that my boarding time is 8 o'clock by now I think it'd be a little bit screwed. Oh and I'm going to Washington, how nice! Fancy giving me a weather report too?
OK, maybe I'm a little aggy...and my desire to smash the departure board into oblivion may be a sign that I'm 'emotionally compromised' as Nimoy so eloquently puts it. But the constant reminder that I've got less than two hours left in this country is getting to me. Sure, there's no language barrier but they all sound weird and call things stupid names. I mean 'sidewalk', do you really need to tell people where to walk?! And 'Mom', why is there an 'o'? Like it's 'MUM' people. Okay, maybe that one makes a little more sense...mother has an o in it and all. But still I don't want to go to a weird country where they call things weird names and talk weird and...and...and...argh! I just don't want to go! But do I get a say in this, nope! That would mean listening to a fifteen year old, and lets be honest we know zilch about the world around us, I mean, it's not like in next year we sit major exams and can leave school to join the ever fantastic world of employment.
Life sucks.
And the reason for this pent-up teenage rant? My mother.
I came home from school one day to be told out of the blue that I'm going to be living with my absentee father, who (let me just reiterate) lives in another freaking country! Now, it's not entirely his fault, he didn't know I was alive. But that's a whole can of worms which I really don't want to get into right now. And seeing as this woman is made of steel my furious rants turned nothing but a blind eye, and trust me I put up some compelling arguments. But no, apparently my opinion means nothing to her. Neither does my education, or my friends, or you know my complete lack of desire to meet the man who fathered me right now; I mean I was planning on going all Amanda Bynes on him like in 'What a Girl Wants' but you know with the countries swapped round and all. But no, it's not like my opinion matters at all!
But what really gets me, what I can't seem to understand, is how she can stand there in front of me with tears in her eyes saying that she'll miss me and going on and on about how she doesn't want me to leave. When SHE is the one bloody sending me away in the first place! I mean, if you don't want to send me away, don't! Not too difficult a bit of logic to work out if you ask me.
And I can't even hate her properly. Even as she smooths out my clothes like she does every time I go away on a school trip; I can't hate her and I don't want to. She's my mum, and no matter how p-ed off she makes me sometimes the sight of red-rimmed eyes and her running eyeliner makes me want to run into her arms like a little kid.
"Now you call when you get there, even if you arrive at midnight...which you shouldn't unless there's a delay or something, but I think we'd know about that by now..."
"Mum" I cut off her croaky ramblings with a small smile. "I will, stop worrying."
"It's my job sweetie, I can't help but think about everything that could go wrong. What if the plane malfunctions? What if..."
"MUM!" I can't help the slight exasperation which slips into my tone.
"Sorry, it's just...you're my little girl and you're leaving me."
"Not by choice." I jibe bitterly. She sighs.
"Lexi, I know. I know you don't want to go. Just promise me you'll give him a chance. He's you're Dad." I move away from her embrace, she still doesn't get it, I don't want to give her up for this stranger. Why is she making me do this?
"I know, I know. God! I get it; he's a great guy yada-yada-ya!"
"Lex..."
"No! Mum it's not fair! I don't want to go, please don't make me go..."
"I have to darling..."
"No you don't! I can just stay here!"
"Lex"
"No! It's not fair."
"Lex." Great she's angry. "I'm not changing my mind, you're going to live with your father and that's final." I stare at her and I hate how my eyes prickle with tears. I don't want to go.
"I love you." She whispers as she pulls me into a hug. God how I'll miss these.
"I love you more." I murmur into her coat.
"That's not possible." And despite it all I can't help the smile that breaches my face at our old saying. "Now go. Off you pop." She breaks the hug with a pat on my back as she pushes me away. "You don't want to miss your flight." I nod. Now I've got to walk away. Picking up my rucksack I slug it over my shoulder. "You've check that you haven't got any liquid in there right?"
"Yes Mum."
"And you've got your money to buy a drink, you know how expensive they are on the plane."
"Yes Mum."
"Passport and boarding pass?"
"They're in the inside pocket, where you told me to put them."
"Good girl. Now go on, don't want to be late." I check the departure board...we've got plenty of time. I force myself to take a deep breath and lunge into tight hug; goodbye mum. I break away and start to walk over to the security check; right left right left. Keep going, don't look back. But as I reach the queue I can't resist and I quickly glance back, only for my eyes to clasp onto my mother standing alone on the shiny granite floor, looking the smallest I've ever seen her. I internally curse myself, why did I do that? I can't leave her, oh god I can't leave her! But I keep moving forward in the queue. My eyes are burning, I hate this. Why do I have to do this? But I keep moving forward doing what I'm told until a man operating one of the metal detectors asks me if I am alright. No, I'm not, but I nod my head.
"Said goodbye to my mum." I manage to reply, it seems to satisfy him as he nods as if he completely understands, but he doesn't.
I am being flown away to live with my dad, who I don't know, to live a new life which I don't want, and I've just had to leave my Mum standing there crying because I'm not strong enough to reassure her that everything is going to be alright. Sure he must completely and utterly understand what I'm going through.
The man – who I may or may not have dubbed as Beard-y in my attempt to cheer myself up - quickly checks my belongings to make sure there are no sharp objects or anything, then hands my rucksack back to me and tells me to go through to the shopping area with a small smile. So I numbly do as I am told and walk towards the shopping area, and to my surprise I can smell the sweet scent of freshly baked cakes and the strong sent of coffee, man I want coffee, I walk around for a while browsing in the shops, never buying anything. Then before I know it it's time to go to the boarding gate. I robotic-ally follow the Tannoy's instructions, but as I reach the gate I'm suddenly filled with the sense of dread, causing my stomach to clench and I begin to wonder if I will be able to keep my breakfast down. A woman in a neat blue dress and thick make up asks me for my boarding pass and to check my Passport. I pass them to her and she checks them both, tears the end of my boarding pass and returns them to me, just like they do in the films only this time it's real.
Butterflies start world war three in my stomach as I walk down the stairs, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to puke. Reaching the bottom I am surprised to find a small shuttle bus waiting to take the passengers to the plane, they don't show these in films. I cautiously board and the doors suddenly shut behind me, I jump out of shock and a man in a navy suit quietly muffles a laugh. I can feel my face turning red out of embarrassment and anger at his rude attitude. My stomach churns and my heart goes cold when the possibility of my father being like this crosses my mind. Forcing it away quickly I decide to mull over the possibility later, I'll have plenty of time on the plane, but my main priority now is to get away from that blasted man. I scan this decrepit bus, but to no relief the only hand hold left is by him. I cannot help but be reminded of all of the books I have read in the past; where the writer foreshadows events of great evil or sadness with small moments like this. Perhaps this is showing my inevitable inability to fit in to 'the land of possibility' or whatever it's dubbed. But, no, this is reality - we don't get warnings. I know that for sure.
The jerk of the bus sends me to reality suddenly, and I'm surprised to find that I've missed us setting off. Mum always did say I had another world up there. Now for the struggle of finding my seat. When I finally make it out of the jungle of people I can't help but curse my lack of height - let's just say I take after my mum. As I look in front of me I am hardly surprised to find a small white plane waiting for us, I'm at an airport of course there are going to be planes...but I thought it'd be bigger, as we're going to America and all. This lucky plane gets the delightful experience of my glare, and possibly my breakfast if my stomach does not settle down. I drag my feet across the tarmac toward the evil stairs of doom, as they are now being called. I climb the steps too quickly up and nearly fall flat on my face, perfect. I glance behind me praying that the man had not seen, but judging by the smirk across his face I am going to become the hilarious subject of the pompous dinner parties that he most likely attends. I scowl at him and envision punching him in the face, but apparently I am still unable to give a good glare and all I end up doing is making him laugh more. Yep life is perfect. I pick myself up brushing off the slightly painful indents of the steps on my hand.
Another air-hostess, who bears a scarily good resemblance to the woman before escorts me to my seat with a smile which I'm sure, is meant to be reassuring. She tells me that the plane will be taking off shortly, in a manner that I cannot help but think is patronising – but then again perhaps I'm just being a bit cynical at the moment. She continues to tell me that once we are in the air, refreshments will be sold, and I cannot help but be thankful that I convinced Aunt Jane and Mum – mainly Aunt Jane surprisingly – not to make me have an escort. A few minutes later the air-hostess gives a safety announcement in a couple of different languages, which is a little confusing since we are going to America from England and I'm pretty sure we speak the same language. I fasten my seat belt up as she instructs us to, again I begin to wonder who actually needs instructions for this. The rest of the announcement was a bore, but I listened anyway as she drones on; she then informs us that we can listen to music by plugging head phones into the arm rest, but she then tells us that we can only listen to music after we are in the air, and once again reminds us all to switch off all out mobile devices as they can interfere with the plane or something, I wasn't really listening, but I did switch my phone to aeroplane mode…because they have that now Ms Flight Attendant who is giving me suspicious looks, seriously people these days so untrusting – but then again I was smiling at her quite coyly, okay that's a lie I was full out grinning at her, but who cares it was fun.
An hour later we were soaring through the sky above the clouds, with the blue sea beneath us. Every so often there was a little bit of turbulence but the air-hostess - or was it flight attendant? I cannot even begin to remember which one was politically correct these days - assures us all that we are safe and that the only reason we felt it is because we are flying in a small plane, which then leads me to question why we are on a small plane again; surely more people travel to America than this! As time passes I start to notice little ships in the sea, and the memory of me playing battleship with my friends when I was younger gets brought to mind - Mum preferred me to play with dolls but they got boring after a while. Another thing to cross my mind is the fact that we are getting further and further away from my home and closer to America, and therefore my new future. Thinking of what my future holds causes my mind draws a blank. However, the childish fear that my father won't like me nags at the back of my mind. I hope that it won't be true. Maybe I'll be lucky and he'll accept me for who I am with warm open arms...which I won't run into as...you know...he's a stranger and that might be a little awkward. But then, that might make things worse. Oh for Christ's sake what do I do?! There should be a Dummies guide to this: 'What to do when meeting your father for the first time'. I'm sure it'd be a bestseller. I mean I'm this kid he never knew existed which - luckily for him - has now been dumped on him with very little warning.
Which might I say was just enough time to take a crash course on American culture before I left, which pretty much means I forced my friends to watch all the American films that I could get my hands on with me. For my sake I hope high school, not secondary school, won't be like it's depicted in the films with all the cliques and stuff. To be honest If I see a cheerleader I might scream, or run away...they're scary regardless. But if I have learnt one important thing from my intensive internet search is that the academic year begins in August (not September like it does in the UK), now the problem may not be very obvious to you, but when you are going to another country which thankfully speaks the same language as you do, but has a entirely different schooling system which confuses you to no end because it varies in different states and in England it's simple because the government regulates the entire thing and it hasn't really changed in decades, it's good to start at beginning of the academic year or even after a school holiday, but no I'm starting slap bang in the middle of term and I'm freaking out, because the stupid VISA application took FOREVER! Oh and never mind the fact that I'm just about to meet my father. My life is just too bloody perfect.
I'm brought out of my internal monologue as we hit another round of turbulence, but this time I'm pretty sure my stomach isn't going to be able to handle it, I reach for the sick bag positioned conveniently in front of me, and well I don't think anybody needs a running commentary on that...
Once I'm pretty sure my stomach is empty I rinse my mouth with the water that the (who I have now decided is a very nice) air-hostess gave me sometime during my little bonding session with a paper bag, much to the disdain of Mr. Snotty Suit Guy. Did I mention I was sitting next to him? No? Well he's been glaring at me for the last few hours now, and I'm wondering if I should get up and go to the bathroom just so he has to move out of my way, that'll infuriate him. I like that word 'infuriate' sounds kinda posh, forget irritate or annoy infuriate just paints that lovely picture of someone face flushing with anger and then steam sprouting from their ears as they try to rein it all it. I wonder if that would happen to Mr. Suit, probably not, would be entertaining though...a hit on YouTube, better not though because if for some god awful reason this plane goes down I don't want to give him a reason to push me out. I release a sigh as I sink down into the chair, perhaps I can pass these next few hours sleeping. Settling on that idea I turn away from Mr. Suit to face the window as I focus on the clouds trickling by below me, I really don't want his face scaring my mind as I sleep, I'd probably have nightmares for the rest of my life.
I have been watching my suitcase go round and round the conveyer belt for a couple of minutes now but I can't bring myself to pull it off, because pulling it off means I am one step closer to meeting someone who did not even know of my existence till a few months ago. I decide to let it circle a few times more just to pass the time. As I stare at it I can't help but reminisce about the time we bought that case: I was eleven and a massive Doctor Who fan and I somehow managed to link everything with the show. And sure enough, there was my lone - though extremely large - suitcase travailing on the conveyer belt, the closest colour to TARDIS blue. After five extremely long minutes I know that I have to pick it up and meet my father. It takes shorter than I thought to reach the exit, but the problem for me is walking through the doors. I use the breathing exercise Mum taught me - which share a scary resemblance to the ones of Sharpay Evans - to try to relax, I walk through the door and there he is waiting for me with one of those stupid signs with scruffy writing.
"Alexandria?" He asks, in a voice which I've only ever heard muffled from the brief and positively awkward phone conversations we've held. Full name...brilliant. I can see immediately the similarities in our appearances; we both have the same mossy brown hair and hazel eyes, though mine seem slightly browner (that's from Mum), and I'll admit that I'm curious about where the similarities end, but curiosity killed the cat...at least that's what Mum always says. I've never really liked cats. After a few minutes of just standing there I realise I still haven't spoken. As I start to speak my mouth becomes ridiculously dry, and refuses to form words, so in the end I just nod, and give what I hope is a smile. But let's be honest it's more like a grimace.
Okay so that's the new version of chapter one, if any of my old readers are around: HI! and I'm sorry for taking so long. If I do continue I'd love to have a Beta who can hopefully kick my butt into gear and keep me writing and correct any of my atrociously wrong ideas about what America is like (never been) as if you haven't guessed already I am English!
So anyway, thanks for reading!
IsobelFrances