Toxic Vengeance
Summary: Deeks is taken by unknown men, whom attempt to get information from him in an attempt to gain vengeance over the team. The story is rated M, and there are dark themes in this story, vivid mentions and descriptions of torture. Not for everyone, you have been warned.
Warning: There will be vivid descriptions of torture in this story.
Even though it's not the usual fluff I write, I hope you'll enjoy this attempt at a different story; it will be multiple characters, focusing on Deeks' mental torment and anguish and eventually his recovery. As always, any and all reviews, critiques, etc. are much appreciated.
All the best, Cape
"Wakey, wakey," he heard a faint voice reach out for him, but to no avail. A dark fog encompassed him in the land of the unconscious and he was unable to react to the muted sound, much less answer it directly.
A few moments later, he felt a dull pain on both his cheeks, what he would later recognize to be the result of someone slapping him. Surprisingly, the impact helped drive away some of the haze, that had clouded his mind and had disallowed him any responses to his surroundings.
"Wakey, wakey," the male voice tried again, the almost sickening sweet tone in which the voice uttered the words gave Deeks instant goosebumps, before he was able to suppress the reaction.
As the cloudiness of his mind dissipated, vivid thoughts reminded him of why he had lost his consciousness in the first place. He was on his way down the flight of stairs from his apartment, when he heard some rustling, he had turned around to check it out only to be struck by something from another angle before he remembered a sharp pain in his neck.
It was as if a vice was slowly tightening around his temples, and even though his eyes was closed, he could feel the room spinning as he was fighting back the wave of nausea. It became obvious to him that he was either suffering from a concussion, was influenced by some form of drugs, or both in the worst-case scenario.
Deciding against opening his eyes, Deeks instead tried to focus on all the surrounding sounds, trying to decipher where he might be, and who might have taken him. He could hear at least two pairs of shoes shuffling on what sounded like concrete, and some faint traffic, which he quickly wrote off as being useless, seeing as traffic can be heard from anywhere in Los Angeles and its' suburbs.
Actually that wasn't useless, he told himself inwardly after a short moment, since he now knew that he must still have been in the city of angels. His thoughts went to his team, and even though he did not know how long he had been out for, he had no doubts that his team would already be looking for him, doing anything in their power to find him and get him back. Sam and Callen would probably be chasing down every lead the Wonder Twins would find, and Kensi… his sweet, beloved Kensi. They had been in a relationship now for more than a year, and he couldn't even fathom what she was going through right now.
No matter what length Sam, Callen, Nell, and Eric and perhaps even Hetty would go to in order to see him come back to them, he knew it paled in comparison to the length of what Kensi Marie Blye would. She would tear the entire city down in order to find him, of that he was sure. He just needed to keep his promise of not leaving her until she did.
"No need to play possum anymore," the man continued in the vomit-inducingly sweet voice, almost singsongy as if he was speaking to a young child.
A hard strike to Deeks' midsection was a stark contrast to the voice. The unexpected punch causing him to cough and gasp for air.
"Now, was that so hard?" The sickening sweet voice turned to one of mocking laughter.
Once he had finally regained control of his breathing, Deeks looked at the man standing in front of him. He was an older man, dressed in a fine suit, Canali, if he wasn't mistaken, black greying hair and a beard covered his otherwise scarred face. After giving the well-dressed culprit a one-over and promptly nicknaming him Scarface for further referencing, he looked around the room, four brick walls and a metal door was all the could see for the blinding lights that was directed at him. He blinked rapidly to regain his sight, as he let his gaze drift down upon himself, seeing that he was sitting in a chair. As he tried moving his arms, he could feel his wrists tightly tied to the armrests of the wooden chair, and likewise, his ankles tied to the stool legs.
"Now," the culprit spoke up, causing Deeks to look at him. "We can do this one of two ways, the easy way… or the hard way."
"Isn't that a bit cliché?" Deeks countered disobligingly.
Not in the mood for any cockiness, the older man grabbed Deeks' cheeks forcefully with one hand, forcing him to look right into his eyes, which were now disturbingly close and dark with anger. He spoke in a fierce whisper, "I don't care how long it'll take for me to get the information from you. In fact, I might even enjoy if you struggle a bit. Your choice."
The man got his response, when the blond detective spat him in the face, making his reluctance to give any information clear to everyone in the room.
The man took out a small handkerchief from his back pocket and slowly wiped away the saliva from his face, staring at Deeks the entire time as his expression turned even grimmer than previously. He turned to the two men behind him, whom Deeks had been unable to see previously due to the spotlights, and nodded once, causing them to rush to the bound man, throwing several hard punches to his face and midsection.
A minute later, the two brutes both stepped back, looking mighty proud of themselves, as Deeks groaned in pain. He had a hard time catching his breath, undoubtedly caused by a cracked rib. His left eye had already started to swell shut, and he had trouble seeing anything but a blur from it. A cut on his forehead and split lip slowly tainted his otherwise white t-shirt with his crimson red blood.
"You just had to choose the hard way, didn't you?" The boss of the group said, "Well, now you know what happens if you don't give me the answer I'm looking for."
Flashbacks to the terrible event where he and Sam had been captured went through his head and he found himself fearing that the culprits in front of him would force his mouth open, just as Sidorov and his men had done previously. An involuntary shudder released throughout his body at the dark thoughts the drill had caused.
"Scared?" Scarface laughed at him, obviously having seen the shudder.
"Nah," Deeks chuckled, regaining his composure as he drew strength from the fact that he survived the last encounter, where he was tied to a chair. "Just a bit chilly in here, that's all," he told the man with a signature smirk designed to annoy anyone.
"Well," Scarface said, as he started to remove his suit jacket. "I guess we can't have that you're uncomfortable," he chuckled to himself at the dark joke, before he walked to stand right in front of the restrained man. "Whom are you working for?" The man finally asked after a prolonged period of staring.
Deeks looked scrutinizing at the man, whatever it was that he had expected to be asked, this certainly wasn't it. He thought through his options, which was either telling the man NCIS, LAPD, or some obviously untrue thing and through that showing his defiance. An obvious choice, "I'm a hairdresser," he told the man smiling.
The man's expression turned to a foul scowl, as he backhanded Deeks' right cheek, causing another cut as the man's rings connected with the soft flesh. "I know you're with LAPD, I just need to know which agency, and which branch it is, that you're working with."
The blond liaison swallowed deeply, once again considering his options. He now knew that there had to be a connection to one of the cases, which he and the team had worked with, but since he did not recognize the man in front of him, or his gorillas, he had no clue which. The only things certain at that moment was that, one, he was going to be as defiant as ever, and, two, it was going to hurt like hell.
Another hard slap prevented him from further planning, "I'm waiting." The man coldly told him.
"I tend to work closely with our local bakery shop, you know how cops can't live without donu-" was all he was able to say, before the man's closed fist connected with his jaw.
Several more punches were thrown, until his head started sagging forward, his chin resting on his chest. That was unacceptable according to the man, who fiercely yanked his hair backwards, almost ripping the blond tendrils out by the root, so the beaten man would be forced to look at him once more.
"Who are you working for?" The anger was clear in the voice.
"I'm sorry I lied." He started, the usual smirk now somewhat hidden beneath the bruises and swellings that had already started to form. "It's not a bakery, it's actually more of a patisserie."
He knew he would take an additional beating for that impudent comment, but he couldn't stop himself. Being defiant towards violent tyrants had been something he had done, ever since he was just a child, and since there was no way in hell, he was going to give away The Office of Special Projects, he decided he might as well go with what he knows.
Unsurprisingly, the man was not appreciative of his witty reply, and retorted in the most expected way, by beating the hell out of him, having his two minions take over for him after he had thrown the first few punches. The onslaught continued until Deeks was unable to distinguish the blows from one another, as it was all a big blur of pain in the end. Dark spots started to appear in front of him, as his vision faltered, until he was encompassed by the welcomed unconsciousness once again.
...
"Shaggy not with you?" The large ex-Navy SEAL asked his female colleague, as she walked into the bullpen, bag over one shoulder and a coffee in the opposite hand.
"Good morning to you, too," she just laughed at her friend.
"Did you have an argument?" The team lead asked jokingly, joining the conversation.
"No, we just had one of our 'days off.' I'm sure he'll be here soon," she smiled easily.
The two senior agents knew about their younger counterpart's arrangement. Ever since the case that had resulted in Sam taking a sniper bullet to the chest and the gurkha, Thapa's unfortunate demise, Deeks and Kensi would periodically spend a night by themselves in order to avoid getting on each other's nerves. Preventative measures as Deeks called it.
With the minor mystery of the missing surfer solved, the team settled in for what seemed to be a morning of paperwork. No pressing cases meant catching up on whatever forms and reports needed, much to the glee of their operations manager.
"Shouldn't he be here by now?" Sam broke the silence.
The detective wasn't exactly known for his punctuality, but it was almost half an hour past when they would usually be there.
"He should," Kensi agreed, looking at her watch. "I'll try and call him," she said and pulled out her phone, quickly hitting speed dial.
After thirty seconds of her colleagues watching her curiously, she shook her head at them, as she was met by her boyfriend's voicemail message, "You've reached the phone of Marty Deeks. I've probably gone surfing. Leave a message and your number after the beep."
"Alright," Callen exclaimed as he stood up. "I'll go up to OPS, see if Eric and Nell can find out where he is."
Kensi watched as the team lead ascended the stairs, worry starting to creep in at the uncharacteristically late Deeks. She forced herself to get back to the dull paperwork, but the tiny feeling of dread at the no-show made it hard for her to concentrate on the task at hand, causing her to continuously peek at the empty staircase, as she waited for Callen to return with any news of his whereabouts.
Instead of Callen returning, it was the technical operator, who made his presence known. "Guys, you'd better come up here. Tell Hetty as well," Eric shouted a few minutes after the team lead had left the bullpen, panic etched into his every word.
Hetty had, of course, heard Eric's call as well and was already headed towards the staircase. The two agents quickly followed their operations manager up the stairs and into OPS.
"This footage is from last night," Eric started, glancing unsurely at the female agent.
"That's outside Deeks' place," Kensi realized, as she looked worriedly at the footage.
It showed Deeks walking towards the stairs at his apartment complex. He turned towards something off camera, when a man blitzed him with a baseball bat, knocking him in the head with the wooden weapon, causing Kensi to gasp loudly at the sight. A second man quickly appeared from where the detective had originally turned towards, and he pushed what looked to be a syringe into his neck. The blond went completely limp after just a few seconds, and the two men carried the lifeless body into a vehicle that had driven up onto the curb during the attack.
The whole thing lasted perhaps twenty seconds at the most before they were gone.
Callen and Sam shared a look. Given their occupations, they both highly doubted that he was taken for a ransom, making the more likely scenario that he was taken for information, and knowing how defiant the detective could be, would most likely mean torture. They both decided to leave that abhorrent thought unvoiced, neither wanting to further agitate their female coworker.
"He's been taken more than twelve hours ago?" Kensi asked, her voice faltering ever so slightly, as she attempted to keep up appearances for her team.
"I'm sorry, Kensi," Eric told her.
"Can't you track his phone?" Kensi asked anxiously.
"No, I'm sorry." Nell told her best friend, "They've turned it off. I've tried turning it back on, but they must have either removed the SIM-card or destroyed the phone," she told everyone in the room apologetically, even though it wasn't her fault.
Hetty nodded in acceptance, "I want you to track that vehicle, Mr. Beale," she said stoically. The experienced woman knew she had to remain focused and could not allow her feelings to cloud her rationale at times like this. "Ms. Jones, keep working the video, see if you can get a clear shot of these men's faces to run."
"On it," the tiny, redheaded woman acknowledged the order, as she turned in her chair and started typing furiously at the keyboard.
"You want us to go to the crime scene?" The team lead asked, when they didn't receive an order.
"Although I doubt you will find anything, you and Mr. Hanna may go to Mr. Deeks' apartment. See if these men left something."
The two senior agents quickly left the operations room, not wanting to waste a single second. Time was always of the essence whenever the crime was kidnapping, but in this case even more so, as the victim was a dear friend and colleague of theirs, and the culprits already had more than twelve hours of head start on them.
"What about me, Hetty?" Kensi asked, frustrated at not having anything to do currently after she had just watched her partner and boyfriend get kidnapped.
"My office, Ms. Blye," the operations manager told her calmly. "If Mr. Beale and Ms. Jones find anything, I would appreciate having you nearby to get there quickly, in case it's far from Mr. Deeks' apartment."
The small woman left before Kensi had any chance to disagree, causing her to look unsurely around the room. Her best friend caught her troubled gaze, "We'll let you know as soon as we have anything." The pixie-like woman assured her, before softly adding, "We'll find him, Kens."
"We have to, Nell." She responded quieter, concern and fear lacing her every word, as worst-case scenarios were running rampant through her head. Recollections of both the horrible event at the hands of the Russian weapons dealer and when he was taken from her and placed in danger, courtesy of Internal Affairs threatening to place him in county jail, ran through her head.
She shook her head violently, forcing the terrible thoughts out of her head. A sympathetic look from Nell and a deep breath later, she made her way out of the room and towards her operation manager's open office, hoping the powerful woman would somehow be able to find a lead or pull any favors that might help.
The tiny woman had her back turned, busy making a fresh batch of tea.
Kensi sat down in the chair opposite her operations manager, hoping for the best, but mentally prepared herself for the worst.
"Tea, dear?"
"No thank you," the agent politely declined. "Why are you keeping me here?" She then asked, thinking she might as well get right to it.
"I thought I already made that clear. You are to stay here in case Mr. Beale and Ms. Jones find any leads." She explained calmly.
Kensi gave her boss a look of disbelief, not buying that as the woman's reasoning, to why she had to stay back at the Spanish Mission. "I'm not going to stay cooped up here, Hetty." She told the elder woman defiantly.
"I wouldn't insult you by expecting you to, dear," she was quick to assure the younger woman. "But I have a feeling that Mr. Beale and Ms. Jones will find something soon, and since our team is already down a member, I can't have all three of you in the opposite side of the city, since time is of the essence."
This time she sounded more sincere, and Kensi found herself wondering whether or not that truly was the only reasoning behind her being forced to stay back at the Mission.
"Whilst we are waiting for that to happen, I want you to look through all the major cases we have worked through the last two years. See if there might be any that stands out as having people get away, family, or business partners with a potential for wanting vengeance."
"Alright," she nodded at her operations manager, happy that she now had a task to work on.
She went to her desk and flipped open her laptop, opening up one of the many folders with cases. She was focused on working through them fast, wanting to increase the odds of finding the man whom she cared most about in the entire world.
...
An assault of intense coldness awoke him from his black depths, causing him to gasp for air in a feeble attempt to overcome the shock, which the icy water that had been poured over him had caused.
"It seems you are tougher than I thought," the well-dressed man conceded. "Remember when I said I might enjoy it if you struggled? Well, I'm going to enjoy this very much," Scarface continued with a feral grin.
Before Deeks had any chance to regain composure and retort, the two goons poured yet another bucket of icy water over him. He could feel the ice cubes connect with the base of his skull, as they continued to slowly pour the near freezing liquid over him, drenching his clothes further and rapidly decreasing his core temperature, causing him to shiver.
"Whom are you working for?" The man asked, after they had finished pouring the bucket.
He tried to form words, but was caught in a loop of having to control his rapid breathing, his mind working overtime to combat the numbness the icy water had brought. Instead of answering verbally, he decided to go with a hateful glare instead.
"As you wish," the man nodded, a smirk slowly spreading across his scarred face. He signaled for the two men currently standing on either side of the shivering detective, they promptly pulled the chair backwards, tipping it, causing Deeks to slam his head against the hard concrete flooring. They made quick work of removing his shoes and socks, exposing his feet.
Deeks to a deep breath, or as deep as his already cracked rib would allow, in anticipation for the pain to come. He knew that feet were incredibly sensitive, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was coming next.
From his tied and supine position, he couldn't get a good look up towards his feet, so when the first strike landed, he was unprepared and a cry of pain escaped from his vocal chord, before he was able to suppress it.
Scarface walked slowly around the feet of the restrained detective, methodically hitting him with the wooden cane he held tightly in his hand, making sure to hit a different spot each time, as the tormentor continuously asked about whom he worked for.
Angry red welts had immediately formed on the soles of both feet, and the blond captive was no longer able to suppress any outbursts of pain. His pale face was one of anguish and tears, as the onslaught of violence continued against his bare soles.
"Which agency are you working for? Is it the FBI? CIA?" Scarface angrily asked, momentarily stopping the torture.
"I don't actually recall the name." He croaked, "It's near my precinct and they sell some really nice cream filled-"
He didn't get to show more defiance, as a yelp of despair escaped his throat. Scarface had unsheathed a knife and had broken the tender skin on Deeks' left sole, slowly dragging the sharp blade over the welts and along the entire length of the foot, causing the liaison officer to writhe in pain, clenching his teeth to overcome the need to scream aloud.
"Let's try that again, shall we?" Scarface asked the panting man rhetorically, after he was finished dragging the blade through the sensitive skin. "Which agency are you working for?"
No answer.
"You're doing this to yourself, you know," the well-dressed man laughed, as he started the dragging the reddened blade across the right sole this time.
He made sure that he used enough pressure, so that the wounds were deep enough to cause major pain, but not deep enough to risk any substantial bleeding.
This time clenching his teeth wasn't enough to suppress the outburst, as the anguished scream released from his throat, reverberating in the small, enclosed room.
"We'll give you a moment to reconsider giving us the information we want," The man stoically told him, exiting the room.
His two companions turned off the two powerful lamps, before they, too, left. The metallic sound of the door closing behind him, signaling that he was now alone.
He was lying, tied to the chair in complete darkness, pain erupting from his feet, chest, and head, as he started shivering again. The cold concrete and his still drenched clothes causing equal discomfort.
His thoughts wandered to his girlfriend, once again. He had no idea what time it was, but he was certain that the minute Kensi would find out he was taken, she would let nothing stop her before she and the team found and rescued him.
That was the thought going through his head, as the pain slowly overtook his body again, before he allowed himself to be pulled into painless unconsciousness once again.