Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own NCIS: New Orleans.

A/N: This takes place after episode 1x15. There's a light dash of Brody/Pride, but could technically be taken as friendship depending on how you squint. This chapter is from Brody's POV. And, as always, I blame everything on BonesBird. Hope you enjoy!

Meredith Brody was an expert interrogator, trained to pick up on subtle human mannerisms, but she'd also been part of enough security details to notice little details in her surroundings as well. For most of the night, while she'd been with the team, she hadn't felt the need to be on alert. The celebration in the streets had been loud, and hectic, and filled with various stimuli. She'd been to her fair share of parties, but the one tonight hadn't been like anything she'd been to before. Even in such a new and unusual situation she hadn't really felt the need to be on guard though.

Not until now at least.

It was a gut instinct. A feeling as if someone was watching and getting a little too close. There were no out of place sounds though, none that she could hear over the celebration still going on just a couple streets over, and no one had been tailing her during the taxi drive home. The feeling had only started when she'd gotten out of the car and started walking down the sidewalk.

She glanced carefully around as she calmly walked, trying to pinpoint anything out of place. There was nothing and so she decided it was probably only a little left over adrenaline from all the excitement of the night. Her own unease about being in such an unfamiliar position.

It was then she felt a presence behind her though and heard the tale-tell sign of feet shuffling against concrete. She quickly turned, her back to the door of her house at the end of the walkway, and her hand reached automatically for the gun at her hip. She didn't have her gun though. She'd left it at the office just as the others had before going out to the party.

It wasn't needed anyway, as she quickly realized seconds later. A group of five college age kids stumbled past the walkway leading to her house. They were completely unaware of her existence it seemed as they moved past. Two were trying, and failing, to untangle their long strands of colorful beads while another snickered a little hysterically while she tried to keep the fourth from falling face first into the sidewalk. The fifth member of the group, a muscular looking man wearing a dark purple mask with a long, curved nose, trailed behind. He seemed a little out of place to her, but then again she'd seen a lot of odd things that night.

Once they'd moved past the walkway Brody relaxed, rolling her eyes at her own paranoia, and turned to head into her house. Just as she turned the loud pop and fizzle of fireworks erupted down the street and at the same time she felt a looming presence again.

"Agent Brody."

She was already spinning around when she heard her name said through the sound of the fireworks. She instantly began getting into a defensive position, but it was too late. As soon as she turned all the way around a sharp pain exploded through her side. The purple, hooked nosed mask of the passerby filled her vision as she was momentarily frozen in place from the pain radiating through her abdomen.

"I've reached my own verdict," the masked attacker said. He shuffled a little closer, his knees brushing against her legs and the sharp hook nose of the mask only inches from her face.

She looked down to find a knife sticking out of her abdomen, a purple gloved hand holding the hilt as blood oozed from the wound. As she stared, her mind buzzing but her limbs unwilling to move, she watched as the knife was twisted and jerked upwards. It sent another wave of pain through her side and she couldn't stop the grunt of pain that escaped.

The next thing she knew the knife was pulled out and her attacker caught her as her legs gave out from under her. It was only blurred images and distance sounds of fireworks and cheering that filtered through her foggy mind as she felt herself being pulled away. To where she didn't now. Her thoughts were nothing more than jumbled bits of lights and sounds and pain.

She felt her head hit something hard, but her eyes were already half-closed.

"I'll be your executioner. Just as you were for Marcus Shanks."

The name rang through the haze of her mind like a fog horn and she forced her eyes to open. Standing over her was her attacker with the knife in hand. He knelt down and pressed the edge of the blade to her throat, the razor sharp edge piercing her skin just enough to cause a trickle of blood to run down her neck.

"Shanks," she breathed out half-coherently.

The knife was pressed even closer, held in place more firmly, making it hard to breathe and slicing her throat a little deeper. "Goodbye, Agent Brody." The voice shook with anger, making it sound more like a hiss than anything.

Through her jumbled and hazy mind the situation clicked.

She was going to die.

But not without a fight. She quickly summoned what remained of her strength and brought her knee up with as much force as she could manage. Her attacker released a strangled yell and fell off to the side. She heard him coughing as he tried to catch his breath and she took the opportunity to roll onto her side in an attempt to get away.

Her mind and body both were still too sluggish to move fast enough though and a second later she felt his hand grab a handful of her hair and yank her back while the blade of the knife was brought to her throat again from behind.

"Hey, what are you doing!" The voice, which she distantly recognized as that of her neighbor, was followed by a bright light streaming from a side window as it was thrown open.

Her attacker cursed under his breath and in one quick movement he sliced through her throat with the knife and stood to run away. Brody fell onto her back as she tried to breath, but nothing seemed to be working. Something warm began pooling underneath her as her eyes drifted shut even as she tried to stay coherent.

By the time her neighbor reached her side she had finally slipped into the painless darkness of unconsciousness.