Title: The Trouble With Trunks (...and Guns)

Author: Snow'sLuckyCat (aka Sharma)

Fandom: Deception, 2018

Categories: Hurt/Comfort / Humor

Characters: Cameron Black, Kay Daniels, Mike Alvarez + Joan

P.O.V.: 1st person, dual. Chapter 1 is from Cameron's perspective, but Chapter 2 is from Kay's.

Spoilers: Just for 1x03, "Escapology."

Summary: Being hit over the head with a gun and then trapped within the trunk of an unfamiliar car is definitely NOT my idea of a good time.

Author's Notes: What if the probable concussion that Cameron suffered at the hands of those fake FBI agents achieved more of a dent to his disguised sting operation later on at the art museum than was shown during the course of the actual episode?

Disclaimer: It's Chris Fedak's world. I'm just livin' in it, and borrowing his awesome Deception characters for a quick spin around the studio lot. I make no money off of this endeavor, so please don't sue me. Thanks! :)

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Part One: Vertigo And A Killer Headache

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Kay Daniels is suddenly in front of me, her momentary good humor dropping off of her face like a swiftly closing theater curtain. And then everything is shifting. Suddenly, she's no longer standing in front of me with her arms folded tightly folded like some mom about to scold their kid. Now, she's hovering above me. Staring down at me, concern etched upon her face.

"How'd you do that?" I say. My voice's usual crisp diction is slurred however. As if every word is running together. As if I've just been on a bender for the past few hours. Even though I'm sure that didn't happen. Or fairly sure, anyway. All the preceding events that have led up until this moment are a bit fuzzy in my brain right now though.

I try to crawl out of my oddly jumbled mind and back into the present.

My vision finally clears up again, and I notice that Kay's mouth is open, talking, trying to explain something to me, but I can't hear anything at all. It's as if she's staying silent. But, that can't be right. Can it? 'Cuz if there's one thing I know, it's that Kay Daniels doesn't really like magic.

So, instead, I concentrate on her lips to read them. Clever trick I learned from my dad, in amongst all of the other clever bits I learned from him.

But, then, her lips get blurry again, and I'm left back in the figurative dark of further frustrated incomprehension.

"What...the...hell?" I puff into the cool night air, my frustration showing in a mild snarl that unexpectedly punctuates the last word.

Receiving no discernible reply, I spiral back into my brain. Is Kay Daniels actually another magician, masquerading as someone she isn't? That would be the biggest trick of all, wouldn't it?

I get my answer to that internal question rather quickly though, pointing towards the negative on my Kay-is-a-secret-magician scale, when a sharp pain jabs itself into the back of my head. Nope. Not a magician then. A secret sadist maybe. But not an illusionist.

Wait... Something must be wrong with my head. Kay would never deliberately, maliciously hurt me. At least I don't think she would knowingly do so.

"Stop doing that...Kay. ...Hurts." My voice sounds weaker and even more slurred than before. The unknown pressure, meanwhile, simply increases.

I try ineffectually to brush the offending pressure away in protest with my right hand, but another hand gently grabs that arm and guides it back down to my side.

"You're bleeding, Cameron. I'm just trying to slow it down. Try to stay awake, okay? I think you've scored yourself a pretty solid concussion."

"Ow." I mutter in response, complaining dispassionately. But, at least, I seem to be properly hearing again.

"Mike, you go secure the docent. I'll make sure Cam here doesn't get into any more trouble."

"Got it, partner."

The extra set of hands, ones that had apparently been holding my body still, promptly disappear from my line of sight.

"She's got a name, Kay. It's Joan," I gently correct, as my previously fairly blank memory slots itself back into its normally quick rhythm and rhyme.

"Yeah, well then, Joan hit you with something pretty heavy, Cam."

"Wasn't her. Was one of those big guys with guns that I thought were some more of your FBI guys."

I squirm just a tad, visibly letting Kay know that I want up. That I'm okay to move again.

Reluctantly, she helps me to sit up. Everything sloshes around for a bit, then slowly steadies. Just in time for me to see Mike leading Joan over to our 2-person on-the-ground huddle.

"Oh, God. Oh, no. Cameron!? Is he all right?"

At first, the errant blonde docent looks at me tearfully, apologetically. But, she's directing her actual question to Kay, who is apparently supporting my rather sloppy seated position, by kneeling directly behind me.

Kay is shocked silent by this unexpected outpouring of sympathy from a now-known accomplice in our art heist case. But, I had probably saved her life. Again. So, she was showing some genuine concern. Then again, I had been tricked by her innocence before.

"...It was one of the goons that grabbed us. The taller man hit Cameron on the back of the head with the butt of a handgun. He went down - hard - and was out. Then, they dragged us both over to the car and locked us up in the trunk. He literally woke up just a few minutes ago," Joan quickly explains, with about as much detail as a meticulous artist would have about her latest masterwork.

Kay is all business though. Already calculating something. "When was this?"

"About 3 pm. Just a couple of hours after I was released from the hospital. Cameron and I had a lovely coffee date, and..."

Kay stops her with a hand before she can ramble on any further and turns back to me. "It's now closer to 5 pm, Cam."

The news that I'd been trapped in that smelly car trunk for nearly two full hours and unconscious for just about all of that time scares me more than I thought it would. Mainly because I'd never been hit by a gun before. At least not maliciously. In jest? Sure. But, it was always a prop gun, so it never really hurt.

So, this situation is a new one for me. And it's an unsettling experience that I never, ever want to repeat. Now I know exactly what a smashed watermelon must feel like. Not good, that's for sure.

As Mike continues with Joan, past us and towards his government-issued SUV, I clear my throat, mind suddenly working overtime to come up with a viable plan. And also to cover up the discombobulated sensations that I'm still currently feeling.

"...Guys! Hold up a minute. That means the museum closes in one hour! We gotta get back there in time, Kay. 'Cuz Joan wasn't the only one in on it. And the main culprit is about to cash in his stolen art chips. For keeps this time. So, how about it, Joan? Since he sold you up the river, are you up for a little payback time?"

Off of the errant docent's vigorous nod of approval, I smile. Things are finally looking up.

"...First thing's first though. Where has the real Cezanne collection been hiding out since this morning?" I ask.

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To Be Concluded...in Part Two.

A/N #2: Please read & review, people, because reviews let me know if I'm on the right track with things, like certain characters & their distinctive inner & outer voices. :)

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