Ep 01 - One More Day's Light

The main squad room was unusually calm for a Tuesday. Phones ringing, keyboards clacking and a coffee machine losing an argument somewhere in the background. For a few rare minutes, the room almost looked like a normal office.

At one of the central desks, Special Agent John Malcolm frowned at his screen. “This makes absolutely no sense,” he muttered. “Someone explain this to me. The lab requested twenty ballistic gel dummies for forensic testing.”

Lexa glanced over. “Sounds reasonable.”

Malcolm scrolled again. “The shipment confirmation says two hundred.”

Then Lexa’s dry response landed cleanly. “Well. I hope the lab enjoys their new population boom.”

Two desks away, Anya was leaning back in a swivel chair, boots hooked on the edge of Samira’s desk.

“Ballistic dummies? Amateur hour,” Anya chimed in. “If you’re gonna embezzle, at least be creative.”

Samira didn’t look up. She had a small electronic casing open in front of her, wires exposed, fingers moving with quiet precision.

“You reversed the polarity on the signal relay,” she said calmly.

Malcolm blinked. “I did not.”

“You did.”

Lexa smirked. “She did.”

Malcolm leaned back defensively. “That relay passed inspection.”

Samira clipped one wire, reattached it, and slid the casing back toward him. “It passed despite you,” she corrected. “Not because of you.”

Anya grinned. “Don’t take it personally, John. She disassembles bombs for fun. You’re basically a Lego set.”

Malcolm stared at the device. “…Is it safe?”

Samira gave him a look. “As safe as it can be.”

“By NCIS standards or yours?”

“Yes.”

“That is not comforting.”

Lexa rose from her chair, sipping coffee. “You know, most interns make copies and fetch coffee.”

Anya tilted her head. “We tried that once. The copier jammed in self-defense.”

Footsteps approached. The atmosphere shifted before anyone even turned. Special Agent Tobias Franklin stepped into the squad room with an unreadable expression. No raised voice. No theatrics.

“Grab your gear,” he said evenly. “We have a hostage situation.”

Anya’s posture straightened instantly. A small, dangerous smile curved her lips. “Location?” she asked.

“Naval family outreach center. Two former contractors. Armed, barricaded, possible IED.”

Samira’s boots hit the floor in one fluid motion. “Tell me they at least built something interesting.”

Franklin met her eyes. “Let’s find out.”

Malcolm stood, grabbing his vest. “Baltimore PD’s already on scene?”

“Yes.”

Lexa sighed. “The new chief is still trying to measure everything with a ruler?”

Franklin’s expression didn’t change. “Probably...”

Anya slung her tactical vest over her shoulder. “Oh good. I was worried this morning would lack friction.”

Samira was already checking her kit, movements quick, efficient, almost eager.

Malcolm glanced at her. “You’re enjoying this.”

She didn’t deny it. “I prefer problems that can go boom,” she replied.

Franklin gave the room one last scan. “SUV, five minutes.”

The room snapped from banter to motion. And just like that, the calm was gone.

***

The SUV rolled to a stop behind a line of patrol cars. Blue lights painted the building in fractured pulses. Baltimore PD was already on scene and had the whole place taped off. Lieutenant Harris stepped forward immediately.

“What’s the situation?” Franklin asked.

“Pretty much unchanged. Two armed suspects, four hostages and we´re trying to confirm a possible explosive device,” Harris replied.

In the background, a broad-shouldered man was barking orders at three officers at once, voice cutting through the sirens.

Samira tilted her head. “Who’s the bulldog?”

Harris exhaled and answered in a resigned voice. “Meet Donald Braxton. Our new chief.”

Anya squinted. “Bozhe moy… That’s the new chief?!”

As if summoned by tone alone, Braxton turned, spotted them — and stormed over. “This is a restricted area! Harris, the tape isn’t for decoration!”

Franklin stepped forward with his usual calm and authority. “Calm down. We are from NCIS. Special agents Franklin, Malcolm and Knight.”

“Chief Braxton, PD. I don't know who called you here, but unless you brought a negotiator, you can turn around.”

“This is a Naval facility. This falls under our jurisdiction.”

“Yeah? And this is the city of Baltimore, that means this is my responsibility and-.” Braxton’s eyes shifted — and stopped. “And what are kids doing here?!”

“Junior Agents Khalil and Volkova,” Franklin replied evenly. “They’re with us.”

For a long time Braxton stared at both Samira and Anya. “You brought minors into an active hostage situation? Are you crazy?”

Before anyone could respond, an officer ran up. “Chief! Confirmed device inside. Hostages are sitting on it. One of the perps has a remote trigger.”

Braxton swore. “Fine. Call the bomb squad.”

“No need,” Franklin said calmly and nodded towards Samira. “We have one right here.”

Samira´s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Time to shine!”

Braxton blinked in confusion. “Absolutely not!”

Franklin ignored the protest and turned to the policeman. “Back entrance?”

“There is one, but probably boobytrapped.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Samira said, already moving.

Braxton had none of that. “Wait a minute! Take care of what?! This is a real hostage situation, not some training simulation for kids!”

Anya had enough and stepped between them without hesitation. “If volume would solve every hostage situation, we’d be out of our jobs. So step aside and let the pros handle it.”

Braxton's face turned dark crimson. “Hey, who do you think you're talking to?!”

Samira nudged Franklin. “Can I punch him?”

“Normally I’d say yes. But you might work for him someday, so… I don't recommend it. Go take care of the back door.”

Samira vanished like a wraith. Only a few moments later the comm crackled. “Guys, the back door is open. I'm going for the bomb.”

“Good work,” Franklin answered and turned to Anya. “Hey, Rapunzel! You´re up! See if you can get a jump on them. OK, people, let's move! You´re standing here like you´re selling girl scout cookies!”

Anya put on her devilish grin and dashed behind the building leaving a stunned police chief in the middle of an argument. The three agents went through the front door and got into position.

The comm crackled again. “Uzi here, got my eyes on the bad guys. Standing by.”

“Good,” Franklin whispered. “We wait for Samira to disarm the device and then we storm the place.”

“No need, done already! Amateur wiring. Those guys should stop watching tutorials on YouTube.”

Franklin made a hand gesture and the agents moved out.

“NCIS! Freeze!”

Before the attackers could react, Anya jumped down through a missing air vent cover right in the middle between them. She quickly grabbed the weapon of one of them, kicked the other one in the chin and then punched the first one. Both were on the floor within seconds. Franklin just slowly shook his head with a satisfying smile. Almost three years… and they still manage to surprise me.

A few minutes later the front door opened, the agents walked out with the scared but saved hostages, then Anya dragging the two arrested and lastly Samira, holding the disarmed IED and happily whistling. When she saw Braxton, she just tossed it once and then put it in his hands. “All yours! Next time, call sooner!”

The agents and the Fangs left the crime scene leaving Braxton in a small existential crisis that even deepened, when he realised what he was holding in his hands.

***

Evening at the orphanage. The living room was buried under paper. Textbooks, case files, printed statutes, highlighted forensic manuals. Michelle sat cross-legged on the floor with color-coded notes. Aya was sprawled on the couch with a tablet. Trella sat at the coffee table, flipping through agency protocols with mechanical focus. The atmosphere wasn’t tense. It was determined. Quick footsteps echoed from the stairs. Michelle’s dad appeared, jacket half on, checking his watch.

Michelle looked up. “Dad, where are you going in such a hurry? You’re not on duty. Is there an emergency?”

“No, no. Some people just came to take a look at our house. I completely forgot that they scheduled it for today.”

Michelle’s pen stopped. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to sell it.”

He sighed, but not impatiently. “We both live here now. That house is empty. Empty houses attract problems.”

Aya didn’t look up from her tablet. “Also ghosts.”

Trella gave her a flat look. Aya shrugged.

Michelle leaned back slightly. “Don’t you think we’re kinda cramped here? Tomorrow Rio and Yuno will come for a visit. Where exactly are we putting them? Milena’s torture room?”

Aya smirked. “It does have excellent soundproofing.”

Michelle’s dad tried not to smile. “They’re only here for a week. We’ll manage.”

Trella looked up. “Still, we should reorganize. Half the downstairs rooms have been unused since we became junior agents.”

That lingered for a second. Since we became junior agents… Michelle’s expression softened. Nostalgic. “Yeah… but they still hold a lot of memories.”

“Do you miss it?” Trella asked.

Michelle thought about it. “Yes and no. It was exciting. Crazy. Half the time we didn’t know if we’d make it to the next week. But now we don't have to face constant danger and have a stable future.”

“Yeah… I was afraid of it at first, but this really ain't bad,” Aya leaned back looking at her junior badge. “I sometimes miss tossing grenades, but I definitely don´t miss grenades being tossed at me.”

That earned a soft laugh. Trella didn’t laugh, but there was a faint almost-smile.

Michelle’s dad adjusted his jacket. “I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t burn the place down while studying counterterrorism.”

Aya saluted lazily. “No promises.”

As he was leaving, he almost got run over by Samira and Anya storming in like a small natural disaster.

Michelle looked up from her notes. “Welcome home. How was your day?”

Anya dropped onto the armrest instead of an actual seat. “Productive. Loud. Mildly explosive.”

Samira kicked off her boots. “Hostage situation. Two perps, four hostages and an amateur bomb.”

Aya raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least let the bomb squad feel useful?”

Samira grinned. “They can watch the bodycam footage later. Oh, by the way, Trella, your next rotation is with Baltimore PD, right?”

“Actually it will be my last rotation, why?”

“We met the new chief. Rapunzel almost strangled him with her braids.”

“Heeeey! I did not!”

Michelle and Aya burst out laughing. Trella didn’t. Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her file. “That doesn’t sound good,” she said quietly.

Anya shrugged. “Relax. He’ll bark, puff up, threaten to arrest everyone… then he’ll get over it once he sees what we can do.”

Trella held their gaze for a second longer than necessary. “Thanks for the warning.”

***

Early morning at the Baltimore PD. The bullpen was already alive. Phones ringing, coffee brewing, papers moving. Trella and Mei-Ling stood outside the chief’s office. Inside, Braxton looked less explosive than yesterday. Tired, composed, controlled. He gestured them in. “So. You’re the junior agents. I’ll be direct. I don’t agree with this program. Sending minors into active investigations? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

Trella met his gaze evenly. “We’ve been operational for years, sir. We know how to handle ourselves.”

“That stare won't help you. It doesn’t make you adults. You wanna be here? Fine. I´ll give you a desk and you can start sorting out some papers from the archive.”

“Now wait a minute! We are supposed to be on active cases! You have-”

“I have what? I have a responsibility! For the whole department and you two! I am not Stevens! And I-”

“And you have your orders! Baltimore PD is a part of the training program! Period! If you have a problem with that, I can call director Lang and let her explain it to you!”

That wasn´t a look of entitled teenagers, that was a look of two seasoned operatives. He gave in. “Fine, I´ll assign you a supervisor.”

“Supervisor?! This is my final rotation. According to the schedule I should be working on my own!”

“Forget it! Either you take a supervisor or go home!”

Trella understood there is no way to crack this boulder. “Fine… A supervisor then.”

Braxton presses the intercom. “Cardona, my office.”

A moment later, a man in his early forties stepped in. Relaxed posture, observant eyes.

“This is Detective Antonio Cardona. He’ll be your point.”

Cardona offered an easy smile. “Tony’s fine. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi, I'm Mei-Ling and this is Trella. Interesting accent.”

“I was born in Italy. So… we have our first case here. A dead guy at the Marine Terminal. Looks like a work accident, but needs to be checked out.”

“Yeah, we know that place well,” Mei-Ling said, already heading for the door. “Hey, Trella, you´re coming or what?”

Mei-Ling stopped mid step a bit confused seeing Trella stare into nothing. “Trella? Hello? Earth to Trella!”

Her voice yanked her back to reality. “Oh, yeah… Sorry… It´s nothing. Let´s go.”