Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own any of the characters, copyrights, trademarks, etc of NCIS. I am merely pulling them out to play with and will gladly return them when I'm finished. Only the idea is mine.

Author's Note: I don't think I have to tell y'all that I sometimes dream up some really wacked out twisted stories. This promises to be one of them. Surprising twists and turns ahead, out of character behavior, several little scenes that the kiddies don't need to read (rated for sexual content, language and violence)…I ran the idea by Goats whose response was "That is so twisted. You're going to write it, right?" So yeah. Here we go. Hold onto your hats, folks! This is the first (and hopefully ONLY) Season 4 fic I ever plan to write. Don't worry if you have questions—that's intentional.

Episode Spoilers: Eh…vague references to Hiatus and Season 4…but it's vague. You have to squint to see it.

Special thanks to my wonderful beta, Gotgoats, for encouraging my twisted weirdness hahaha

Hit
Chapter 1
By Headbanger Rockstar

Searcy O'Flannagan had seen some crazy things in her day. Seventy-one years on this earth had shown her love, loss, babies being born, old friends passing on. She'd seen hope, she'd seen it fail, she'd seen pain and watched it be overcome. She'd seen drugs dealt, bought, made, sold, used as currency, used as a weapon. She'd seen sex used in the same ways. She'd seen lies, betrayal, honesty, desperation…she'd experienced all of those at least once. She knew the rain would make her joints hurt, and the sun would burn her eyes. Her hair had faded from spun gold to the color of dried out straw, her blue eyes were clear, twinkling with wisdom and mischief. The wrinkles on her face told of years of smiling and laughter. The darkness in her gaze told of a life lived hard, a graduate of the School of Hard Knocks. She hoarded money like a pauper, but spent it like a prince. Her children moved away years ago, and her Lonnie had died just last year. Her friends checked on her at least once a day, making sure she had enough milk in her refrigerator, making sure there was coffee, making sure she had someone to talk to.

She pushed her laundry cart along, checking each motel room carefully. Despite the clientele, she worked hard to make each room as comfortable and clean as possible. Other employees scoffed at her dedication, but Searcy was hired nearly 50 years ago to do a job. This job. Back in the 60s the hotel had seen a much finer population, though still intermingled with all of the strife and bad habits that the motel hid within its walls even now. She'd been hired as a housekeeper, told to keep the rooms presentable and welcoming to visitors. That was her job, her position, her station in life. And she loved her job. She enjoyed writing their stories in her head. She'd look around the room, walls barely standing after the previous evening's couplings, and she'd try to figure out the story. Where had it started? Where did it move? Was it just inside the door or closer to the bed? A pillow was on the floor—did they screw each other there? In some kinky position? Did they throw the pillow off the bed in haste because it was in the way? She'd grow their stories in her head, amusing herself until her shift was over, when she'd go home and write them all down.

It surprised everyone in her circle that Searcy still worked in the little corner motel near the highway. She'd worked there since the 60s, back when sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll had swept the nation and taken its youth with it. She'd seem people come and go, hookers, businessmen, married couples looking for a wild night. She'd been there, seen it, done it, heard of it, and could write lessons on life that would boggle the minds of any person who stopped and chatted with her long enough to receive the learning. Her job was in housekeeping; she'd cleaned up after all sorts of heinous activities. There was evidence of drugs, abuse of every variety, affairs, unsavory behavior, you name it; she'd seen it all.

Or at least she thought she'd seen it all.

xxx

NCIS Director Jennifer Sheppard flopped bonelessly back onto the bed and rolled her head to the side. A slow smile dragged itself across her face and her eyes twinkled with mischief. Next to her, CIA Agent Trent Kort lit a cigarette.

"Gotta tell ya one thing, Madam Director," he smiled, "you're one hell of a lay."

She slapped him roughly across the face. "I told you not to refer to me by my title when we're in public you dumb shit," she snapped. She pushed herself up on an elbow and snatched the cigarette out of her lover's lips and took a healthy drag off of it.

Trent smiled wolfishly. "I like it when you get rough." His voice was still rough with sex.

Jenny reached over and grabbed hold of Trent's used tool and squeezed it. Just as he was about to lodge a complaint about how tightly she was now gripping him, she ramped it up a notch and dug in her nails. "How's this for rough?" she asked. "I own you. You're mine."

Trent, despite delicate parts of his anatomy being held in what could easily become a bear trap, snickered. "Doubtful," he plucked the cigarette out of her mouth and took his own drag off of it.

She arched an eyebrow at the implied challenge. "That a fact?" she asked. "What would you do…better question, what would your superiors do, if it suddenly got out that you'd raped the Director of NCIS? A federal agency? A high ranking government official? Why, I'd wager they'd have your head on a silver platter."

"This is neither the time, nor the place for either of us to begin quoting the Gospels," Kort said tightly. "And I think I'm going to call your bluff. Besides. How could you possibly benefit from this?"

"Well, if you do what I ask you to, then there are many ways for me to reap some benefits. If you don't…well I can rest assured that you'll be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for your crimes against me. I'll have your badge, your job, your home, everything you hold dear will be mine."

Kort took another drag off the cigarette. Fuck, what a mess. "Tell me what you're thinking and allow me to make an informed decision. It may be that I actually do prefer incarceration over whatever scheme you've dreamed up."

Outside the door, Searcy O'Flannagan listened as the Director of NCI-whosiwhatsit explained exactly what she wanted the CIA man to do for her. She hadn't meant to listen in, but she'd been preparing to knock on the door when she heard them speaking and heard the sound of a well-placed slap. She'd placed several slaps of her own in her day, so she knew the sound well. Once she began listening to the story unfolding behind the closed door, she couldn't help herself. She listened as names were listed, quietly, along with the fates they would meet if the man complied with the woman's wishes. Her eyes widened as she realized she was witnessing a crime in the making and she wondered if she should report it. Wondered who you even report something like that to. Then again…these were, as the lady put it, a CIA agent and a "high ranking government official". Did she dare cross them? What would happen to her? Her house? Her children?

She decided to move beyond this particular room on this particular day and not mention it to anyone. She hid around the corner near the ice machine and watched as the couple left the room a few minutes later. The lady certainly looked like she was a high ranking government official. Bright red hair swept up elegantly and a smart suit with snappy shoes to go along with it. She looked horribly uncomfortable, as though she was ashamed to be here, as though she was fearful of being caught. And she wondered who those people were that were listed off. Were they federal agents? Criminals? Government workers? She'd heard a couple of the names before…watching the news and reading the headlines…she recognized that two of the names were definitely other NCIS Agents. Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Anthony DiNozzo. She'd heard of them. They had the best case solving rate of all the law enforcement agencies in Washington DC. But the others? Troy McGovern, Judy Aimes, Harold Gerber, Paula Cassidy…who were these people? What was their crime that this beautiful woman wanted them to die? Was this woman powerful enough to actually convince the CIA man to do it? Would he be the one to do it or would there be someone else involved that Searcy didn't know about?

She watched as they disappeared down the stairs, then unlocked their hotel room door and stood in the picture window, gazing down on them as they each climbed into separate cars—government issue navy blue and black—and drove away in separate directions.

She wondered if the CIA man would take her up on her offer, or if he'd rather go to jail.

Searcy didn't know about him, but she thought maybe being in jail would be better than owing that woman any favors.

TBC