Going Under

The hue in the sky was shifting, brightening into a more intense blue. Lowering his gaze downwards to the ground Detective Marty Deeks watched a receding wave erode away the footprints he had left in the wet sand as he had departed the water. In a handful of seconds the deep impressions were filled in with a mixture of water and sand, leaving no trace behind that they had even once been there.

Things always vanished so quickly and Marty had realized early in life that you had to seize what you desired while it was still in your sights. Because like footprints caught up in an ocean wave they would soon be snatched from your grasp. He began walking again, but changed course to veer off to the right to where drier warmer sand engulfed the bare skin of his feet.

After placing his surf board aside he collapsed onto the beach. Hands tucked under the back of his head he stared up into the hazy blueness overhead. Nothing could compare to early mornings spent with a board and some good surf. The prediction he had made to Kensi about the gulls the prior afternoon had panned out. The surf had been just right, powerful but not truly chaotic.

The thought of his conversation with the NCIS Agent brought others tumbling to his mind. The Special Projects division of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service had been like visiting an alien planet. From their headquarters tucked away inside a thoroughly non-descript and definitely unofficial looking building to all their techie gadgets and gizmos right on through to their rather astute yet quite possibly dangerous leader who was disguised outwardly as a tiny older lady the experience had made the Los Angeles Police Department seem cookie cutter and run of the mill.

Marty had to admit he had gotten a kick out of it all. There had been a cloak and dagger atmosphere surrounding their sleek operation. And a piece of him was drawn to that kind of game. Not that undercover work for the LAPD was not like a game. It was just the LAPD version was more like a cheap game where resources were sorely limited and you had to make something out of nothing. Kind of like when you were a kid playing cops and robbers, making binoculars out of paper towel rolls and guns out of broken bike parts. You had to use your imagination, creativity, and a whole hell of a lot of resourcefulness.

Initially, when the Blood & Guts Warriors Gym investigation had collided with NCIS he had been desperate to retain his hold on the case, ready to defend his right to it tooth and nail. But they had surprised him a little. It was one thing for the higher ups to say make it a joint endeavor and completely another for that to actually be the way it played out.

When Hetty had said that because active marines were involved that made it NCIS jurisdiction he had expected to be given the cold shoulder and to be promptly pointed in the direction of the nearest exit door. But, no, they had actually incorporated him into the case even calling upon him to help get Agent Hanna out of a bind. Alright, so they had done it with some clearly displayed reluctance but he had tried to overlook it as a compromise to not having the door slammed shut in his face. He was used to being on the outside and having to work his way into things.

Actually it had been kind of a nice change since in his own department he was no stranger to the cold shoulder and people hoping he would exit post haste. Undercover cops were kind of like hot potatoes, good for their feeding you what you needed function but not something you wanted to come in contact with for too long for fear of getting burned.

Most of Marty Deeks days and nights were spent flying solo and although that made it all the more an adventure, some kind of whacked out adrenaline filled carnival ride, there had been something about the way NCIS had worked together as a team he had found appealing. They were kind of like the island of misfit toys with super ninja spy skills added in.

Deeks was no stranger to feeling like a misfit. He wasn't insecure about being different just aware that his style might be a little out of left field for most. The majority of the hours of his life were spent being someone else though so what did it really matter. But the NCIS team members had certainly been unique in their own ways as well.

First there was Hetty. He had gotten a total kick out of her, even if she had threatened him with a letter opener. She was tough, but she seemed fair if you presented your case well enough. She was someone who held logic and forethought in high regard. That was, of course, until you failed to follow instructions properly and she came for you with that shiny rather sharp looking letter opener of hers. Marty had no doubt that she knew exactly how to use it to inflict bodily harm and that she would not hesitate to do so.

Their lead agent, Callen, seemed almost over controlled in his outward behavior. Marty got the sense that there was a lot boiling under the surface and that the agent had to use a whole boat load of restraint to keep it all at bay. Maybe it was what fueled the smugness that crept to the surface now and then. Or maybe it was just the seemingly bottomless pit of successful undercover experience that everyone had alluded to which manifested the swagger. But at the same time all that staying in control and composed meant he looked before he leapt and that could save your ass in undercover work.

Agent Sam Hanna was a whole other piece of work. Marty had gotten the vibe that Hanna had not been overly impressed with him. Well, really maybe it was more that Hanna had flat out said as much and not just the vibe cluing him into it. Hanna was military through and through. Marty had had no doubts about that when the man had waltzed into the gym that first day. Even without knowing Hanna, or rather at the time DeMarco Williams, was law enforcement Marty knew this was a man who could be all business and get a job done no matter what it took. The man reeked of the call of duty.

Like Hanna, Agent Blye had not expressed much confidence in him. She seemed to have a need to one up him and show how sorely his skills paled in comparison to her own. At first he thought maybe it was because she was female and sometimes in law enforcement that meant having to overcompensate. He had had discussion with other female officers and they had given him insight into their struggles in that regard. But that theory had faded into the background when he noticed that she only really did it constantly around him. So then he considered the possibility that she was having fun messing with him. As if she thought she could get away with it because he was some dumb local cop and she was a fed. Maybe even a little bit of a territorial thing mixed in too. He hadn't quite put his finger on it yet. He could see that she was someone who made you earn her respect and she would put up as many seriously high walls to you getting there as she possibly could.

It didn't truly bother him. He was not afraid of a challenge. He prided himself on surprising people. Often others made the mistake of under estimating him. He would fly low on the radar and then when they least expected it he would take them off guard with his abilities. However, of all the team members Kensi would be the last to openly come around to him being part of the team as the liaison officer.

Marty sat up, pulling his bent knees towards his chest. His wet suit was drying out but the breeze was cool on his bare skin and damp hair. Drawing his knees in closer to his body he folded his arms on top of his kneecaps. It provided some slight protection from the wind.

He looked out over the water, watching the surfers still out on the waves. The surf had been strong and a bit unforgiving when he was out there. It remained that way still. It was not long before one of the surfers in his sights lost his balance on the board and was taken under by a wave. The detective had noticed him earlier and it was clear the young man was not yet schooled in many areas of surfing.

"Ride it out," Marty whispered.

"Ride it out and it'll release you," he continued, knowing that the young surfer probably did not realize yet that you shouldn't fight the wave. You needed to let it toss you around a little and then it would release you in its own good time. You couldn't force it to let you go.

Just as he had predicted the young man came part way up and was fighting the wave he had gotten caught up in. The wave tumbled him under again as he flailed and sputtered. Then, finally finished with him, the water released him back to the surface. If the young man hadn't been schooled before he most likely was now. While you were inside the wave, submerged and tumbling, it felt like you were drowning, lungs burning for air and mind panicked to find up from down. It was not something you easily forgot.

Marty had been there before and not just when he had first started surfing. It had been the same when he had been new to undercover work. Those first few times had been the most terrifying. On only his second time under the bad guys had thrown in an unexpected twist and it needed an immediate reaction from him. It had felt like losing your balance on a surf board and then being sucked into a monstrous churning wall of water.

He remembered that he had literally held back his breath when he realized what was happening and his mind had begun to desperately race to figure out which direction was the correct one to go in. Stick to the official plan given by his handler or create a new one. At first he had struggled against the change of plans his cohorts had made. But as soon as the bad guys started to push back, informing him that he was low man on the totem pole and that this was going down a certain way with or without him he had realized that he just needed to roll with the punches and ride it out. You had to adapt to the forces surrounding you in order to survive. Just like you had to adapt to letting the wave toss you around and it would let you go on its own timeline and in its own way. You simply had to respect its force and power and wait for the opportunity to regain control once it sets you free.

Marty suspected that those that had been doing undercover work for any length of time had experienced the drowning thing at least once. Those that had figured out how to react to it were the ones still on the job afterward. Those that had not had either quit the undercover gig or were now six feet under. He had gotten the sense that the members of the NCIS team could relate to that aspect, or rather milestone, of being an undercover cop. Although they hadn't really treated him much like they could relate or that they were any kind of equals.

Outwardly Marty blew off the snide remarks and condescending smirks. Maybe his job title only presented him as some local level detective but he knew he was good at what he did. Maybe he didn't have the tightly organized operations that the NCIS team had or the high end techno gadgets or even an undercover vehicle that didn't require a pep talk in order to start up in the morning, but Marty Deeks could talk his way in and out, could disguise himself so well that he had been arrested without being recognized for who he was more than once, could recall details as if they had just been written out on a chalkboard in front of him, and when it came to reading people he was always spot on. Okay, maybe he had an off day here and there, but his track record was pretty damn good on that point. He would figure out one Agent Kensi Blye yet.

Noticing that the sun had crept considerably higher above the horizon Marty hopped to his feet. He smiled as a realization hit him. He had to confess that there was one thing that compared to the early mornings, his board, and good surf. And that for Detective Marty Deeks was going undercover.

For him going under was not like drowning anymore. Going under was something you rode out, something you survived, that reminded you that you were still alive and kicking. If you were lucky it would spit you back out on the other side to the surface. Probably a little worse for wear but still standing. Marty had the mental and physical reminders of that wear and tear. That didn't mean that in the back of his mind Marty wasn't fully aware that a wave might come along sometime that would refuse to spit him back out to the life saving air above it. One day his cover would be blown. One day the criminals he had buddied up to in order to take them down would turn to him and address him not as Billy Scripps or Mike Collins or any other of a dozen aliases, but as Detective Marty Deeks. And that would be the day the wave wouldn't release him. That would be the day that going under once again would feel as if he had been taken under by an unforgiving wave that insisted upon drowning him.

With a departing glance to the crashing waves and blue sky he grabbed his board and headed off towards his car. He was going under again and needed to meet up with his handler, Detective Jess Traynor. His cover, like that fantastic morning surf, was deep and strong. But the surf had released him back out the other side and up to the surface this day. Hopefully, going under as Dale John Sully to take down a human trafficker would have the same outcome.

But he was keenly aware that a fair chance existed that one day the last words he would ever hear would include his real name. Someone on the wrong side of the law would look him straight in the eye and address him as Detective Deeks. Then those terrifying words would be followed by his last sight-the business end of a gun.

But that was the risk of flying solo and going under. You never knew which day would be the one in which you go under only to never resurface again. The day no one is there to back you up and save you from drowning.

The End