Jack's newly rebuilt home was still a two-story house, but now reinforced with brick and concrete, built solid enough to become a century-old structure. Even a rocket launcher—unless it was a heavy-duty 107mm—wouldn't be enough to collapse it.
Though the house had been fully renovated and Jack had slowly filled it with furniture, until now he hadn't really spent a full night here. He was either crashing at the Wolf brothers' farm on weekends or sneaking into Zoe's place like a phantom on short leaves.
This was the first time he'd properly stayed overnight in his new home. Thankfully, Uncle John—the eternal warm-hearted man—had helped prep everything. He'd called a cleaning crew earlier in the evening to give the house a deep clean, and he and his wife Grace had even picked up fresh bedding.
The fridge was already stocked with vegetables, meat, dairy, and eggs—all courtesy of the Wolf farm.
These days, Chris was tied up running the company and planning his wedding with Dana, spending almost half the year away from L.A. The farm was now mostly handled by Braxton and Professor Hubble, Justin's father.
"All that's missing now is a lady of the house—then this would be perfect," Danny said casually as he walked in.
Jack nearly choked on his own spit.
"Let's get some rest. Dawn's just a few hours away. Callen and Hanna said they'd pick us up early," Jack quickly diverted, not wanting to let Danny's accidental matchmaker tendencies activate.
Fortunately, Danny was still single himself and had just been making small talk. He gave a brief sigh, nodded, and went to wash up and hit the bed.
Jack pulled out his laptop to respond to a few work emails. Back in New York, the Fugitive Task Force had picked up a new case. They were now in Allentown, Pennsylvania, hunting an arsonist and two amateur hitmen.
A father and son had been gunned down in an amusement park. The center's manager was severely injured, and the place was set on fire. One suspect left a name—"Sicarius"—in an old 80s arcade machine.
Sicarius, a deadly spider genus—also Latin for assassin. But the actual killings weren't carried out by this "Sicarius," but rather by a man and woman posing as hitmen. Details were still murky, but Jubal and the team had already ID'd the two killers and were tracking their movements.
After reminding the team to stay safe, Jack shut his laptop and finally went upstairs for a good night's sleep.
The next morning, two NCIS agents pulled up in front of Jack's place bright and early. Hanna's ride? A gleaming black 1970 Dodge Challenger—impossible to miss.
After Jack reluctantly agreed to ride with the guy and his muscle car, the group headed out and soon arrived at a weathered-looking old monastery.
"Danny Williams of Five-O, Sergeant Cheng Ho Kelly, and Supervisory Special Agent Jack Tavor from the FBI," Callen introduced enthusiastically as he greeted two waiting colleagues at the entrance.
"This is Special Agent Kensi Blye and LAPD liaison Detective Marty Deeks."
"Pleasure to meet you," the two sides exchanged warm greetings. The "golden retriever" Deeks made a point to shake Jack's hand.
"Agent Tavor—I heard you used to be LAPD?"
"That's right. Just call me Jack," Jack replied with a smile. He was genuinely pleased to see some familiar faces. If memory served, these two were a couple.
Though NCIS: Los Angeles was a lesser-known spinoff, it had still run for over ten years. Unlike the main series, this one had a stable cast and rarely messed with its character relationships.
"This place is wild. Makes me feel like I need a margarita and some spicy corn chips," Danny said as he gawked at the building—clearly not your average field office.
The monastery featured massive floor-to-ceiling windows, brass folding screens, weathered iron railings, and creeping vines that grew along the interior balconies. It was a strange blend of rustic history and sleek tech—yet somehow, it worked.
"This is a textbook example of California's Spanish Mission Revival architecture," said an aged voice.
A petite elderly woman appeared, hands behind her back. She was barely 4'8", impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, wearing black tortoiseshell glasses that hung from a delicate chain.
She looked frail, skin papery and slightly hunched with age. But the moment her sharp eyes met yours, they stripped away all pretense—leaving you feeling like you'd just been x-rayed.
"This is our operations director, Hetty Lange," Hanna began the introductions, but the old woman raised a hand to silence him.
"Detective Danny Williams. Detective Cheng Ho Kelly. Thank you both for your help, gentlemen."
"It's our duty. No way we'd sit out something this dangerous," Danny replied, though noticeably more cautious around the formidable Hetty. Cheng Ho, however, bowed slightly, exuding calm and respect.
Jack, meanwhile, was wondering why she hadn't mentioned him by name.
"I agree. Which is why you're the first outsiders to set foot in this ops center. That speaks to the gravity of the situation," Hetty continued solemnly, sounding very much like a school principal about to lay down the law.
Ah, so that's what she meant. Jack wasn't considered an outsider here.
Danny's poorly timed sense of humor defused the tension. "Hey, I appreciate you didn't blindfold us on the way in."
Hetty let out a dry chuckle, then turned to Kensi. "Why don't you and Mr. Deeks brief our guests? I need a word with these three."
She pointed first to Jack, then gestured to Callen and Hanna.
"Me?" Jack blinked, confused. This was the first time they'd met—yet Hetty was acting like she'd known him for years.
"Jack… Jack… Jack…" Hetty muttered, repeating his name as she led them through the monastery.
Her desk was tucked into a corner of what used to be the monastery's chapel. From her seat, she had a perfect view of the main floor and the second-floor walkways.
The desk itself? A finely carved walnut masterpiece. Behind it stood an old European-style folding screen, adorned with a noble family crest.
Hetty paced behind her desk a few times before stopping to look at Jack directly.
"At least three old friends have mentioned your name to me, Jack. You should know—at my age, I don't have many living old friends left."
Jack gave an awkward smile. Without even looking, he could feel Callen and Hanna's curious gazes boring into the back of his head.
Aside from old CIA spook Joe Mason, he couldn't think of who else she might be referring to. Maybe bald-headed Frank? Beyond that, he drew a blank.
Hetty Lange had the résumé of a Cold War relic—and considering this was a crossover universe full of interconnected TV worlds, that history was probably even deeper than he realized.
Just imagining all the cold war spy shows and dramas she might've actually lived through made Jack's skin crawl.
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