The traffic cameras near the convenience store were useful – up to a point. The footage revealed a gray Mustang that was clearly the getaway vehicle, but there just wasn't the right angle to see the number plates. That was bad. Even worse was the fact that the camera was too far away to make a positive ID on the shooters. But the real sting in the tail came when they realized the guys had been inside the shop for seven minutes. Seven minutes to do a simple hold-up that should have taken ninety seconds at the very most. Something didn't add up, but it looked like they had hit a dead end.

"Bring up the nearest camera to 1894 Parkson Avenue, please," Hetty requested. "West end of the street, one hour before the shooting."

Eric complied instantly and an image flashed onto the screen. Hetty was aware the address meant nothing to the rest of her team. It was only when the footage showed Marty jogging casually across the road, hair blowing in the light morning breeze, that they realized what they were looking at.

"I wouldn't be doing a good job if I didn't keep an eye on my agents," Hetty remarked tartly, annoyed both at their sheer lack of basic knowledge about a colleague and at the fact they did not bother to conceal their surprise. Callen winced as the barb hit home.

I'm the team leader and I never bothered to find out where Deeks lived. I don't know anything about him. That guy in the convenience store knows more about Deeks than I do. How did this happen? Where did we go so wrong? How did we let this happen?

Forcing his attention back to the footage, Callen's mind registered something out of place.

"Rewind the tape, Eric. And focus in on the bottom left-hand corner." And there it was, the same gray Mustang they spotted outside the convenience store. Damn, that wasn't good.

"Those guys in the Mustang were waiting for him!" Sam exhaled in disbelief and horror.

Callen agreed. "Deeks didn't stumble on a robbery," he announced. "He was ambushed."

Everything changed in an instant. Suddenly there was a new game in play and they had been caught off-guard.

"One never gets used to the idea of losing an agent," Hetty reflected. "On duty or off. Go make him safe." That was the number one priority. Nothing else came close to being as important as that. Nothing else mattered.

Kensi sat by Deeks' bed, watching him closely, willing him wake up. She watched and she waited. She seemed to have been waiting around all day, but it was still morning. This was the longest day ever and it was hardly begun. Her cell rang and she answered it quickly.

"Kensi?" It was Callen and he sounded distracted. "How is he?"

"He's out of surgery and he's going to be okay."

"This wasn't a random shooting. Deeks was targeted. You're now on security detail and we're coming over."

"Before you go – the hospital wanted to know who Deeks' next of kin is."

"Good question." He ended the call and turned to Hetty. "Who is Deeks next of kin?" She'd know. Hetty knew everything about her team. She knew where Deeks lived, she knew that Sam over-watered his lawn, she knew about his own visits to his sister's grave. Hetty knew everything.

"Good question." She wouldn't meet his eye. Realizing she would say nothing more, Callen left, feeling strangely perplexed. First a random shooting that turned out to be deliberate, then Hetty's decidedly strange behavior, now it turned out Deeks had no next of kin noted. Something was definitely out of kilter. It made him feel uneasy, like he wasn't quite seeing the whole picture.

Sitting at the side of Deeks' bed, watching him as he slept gave Kensi plenty of time for thinking. Someone was out to get Deeks? It didn't make sense. But there were procedures that would be put into place automatically and within ten minutes, fifteen at the most, the hospital would be full of cops. He would be safe here. If anyone wanted to get to Deeks, they would have to go through the LAPD and then they would have Kensi Blye, NCIS agent, to deal with. She wasn't about to let him get hurt again. One bullet was bad enough, two were terrible and a third would probably kill him. But she was here and she wasn't going to let that happen. Nothing more could hurt him.

Kensi looked across the room and out into the corridor. She could just see a sliver of window and a shaft of bright sunlight dancing across the floor. The sun was shining and Deeks was going to be alright. Despite everything, it was a good day. Kensi let her mind drift off into a pleasant daydream. Her favorite daydream, the one she replayed over and over again...

Oh, that operation when Sam had been undercover in Oakville prison as Hakeem Fayed... that was when she had seen him at his best! She and Deeks were part of the escape plan, playing two very dead paramedics, who were dumped unceremoniously on the ground while Sam and the others made off in the ambulance. Okay, that bit hadn't been quite so great. The concrete was cold and the fake blood was unpleasantly sticky. But then, the moment the coast was clear, Deeks had stood up, and promptly stripped off the blood-soaked uniform. He had seemed totally unconcerned at the fact he was only wearing boxers underneath it and had just stood there, with a slight smirk on his face. If she closed her eyes, she could relive the moment in glorious Technicolor…

Damn, but he looked fine. I bet he's a swimmer. He's got a swimmer's body with those broad shoulders and narrow hips. He knew exactly how good he looked standing there and he was enjoying it. So was I, only I wasn't going to let him see that. Oh boy, those great pecs and that washboard stomach. And those cute boxer shorts. He had that whole "surfer dude" vibe going on and he knew it. Oh yes, he looked good...

His hair looked good too. Actually, his hair always looks good. It looks good now, even if it is falling over his forehead. Maybe I should just brush it back a bit? No, better not. He might wake up. How come his hair always looks so good? Why do I want to touch him so much?

I wonder what he's wearing right now? Did they cut all his clothes off in the emergency room? I mean, that's pretty standard, isn't it? I bet they did. I bet he's naked. Those covers are pulled right up to his waist, but maybe if I could just move them a little and...

"Am I dead?" Deeks' voice interrupted her fantasy. He sounded surprisingly normal and Kensi came back to reality with a thud.

I'm supposed to be guarding him, not lusting after him. Maybe I'm suffering from delayed shock? I wonder if that tan ends where his boxer shorts would be, or if it goes all the way down... Help! What's wrong with me? This is sick! I'm one sick, sick woman.

"I figure I must be dead." Deeks sounded confused and his eyes weren't quite focusing properly. But he was awake and he was alive.

"Hey there!" Kensi couldn't keep the smile out of her voice as relief flooded through her body. "You're not getting rid of me that easily!" She fought back the impulse to take hold of his hand, to run her fingers through his hair. She was an NCIS agent and right now she had a job to do. Doing her job well was the best way she could help Deeks. It wouldn't help him if she got all mushy and went to pieces, no matter how much she wanted to. Her job was to make sure nothing more happened to him. There would be a time for everything else later on. And Kensi was going to make sure that time was well-spent. She had a lot of questions to ask, a lot of lost time to make up for. She'd been given a second chance.

A nurse came in at that moment, and Kensi went into professional mode, checking her out, watching her like a hawk as she checked Deeks over.

"Is there anyone you want me to contact?" she asked after the nurse had finally left. "Any friends or family? Girlfriend?"

Deeks looked at her briefly and then dropped his gaze. "I'm dying, aren't I?"

"Not yet." Not on my watch. "Who's your next of kin?"

"That's a good question," he replied sadly. It was funny, but Kensi would have sworn Deeks looked genuinely confused.

This journey was different. This time the relief in the car was almost palpable.

"He's lucky he's not dead," Sam fumed. "I'm going to kill him."

"Give him some slack," Callen advised. He could understand where Sam was coming from, but this wasn't the time or the place.

But Sam was on a roll and he wasn't about to stop. "What was Deeks thinking about? Same routine every day? He should know better. I change my routine every single day. I never use the same route twice. As soon as he gets better..." I'm not going let that happen to him again. I should have looked out for him. I'm a senior agent and I should have done my job properly. If I had, maybe he wouldn't be lying there in the hospital with two holes in his chest.

"Cut him some slack," Callen repeated patiently. "It was his neighborhood, he felt safe there. And remember, Deeks has been traumatized, so don't go in with that attitude. Go easy on him. He's a cop, not an agent."

At what point does he become one of us, an NCIS agent? Deeks has been with us for six months now. We should have made sure he knew the score. We should have taken the time to go over things with him. This is our fault. We're all to blame. We should have looked out for him. I should have looked out for him. Why didn't I look out for him?

Guilt was a futile exercise. It ate you up from the inside out and then doubled back on itself. It occupied your mind when you should be concentrating on other things. Guilt was your conscience finding a direct path to your brain. Guilt was uncomfortable.

Callen and Sam drove in silence after that, letting their mutual guilt absorb their thoughts. They allowed themselves to be distracted and they completely failed to notice the gray Mustang three cars behind them, until it was almost too late. And that meant they were as bad as Deeks. Only they had no excuses. They were senior NCIS agents and they'd dropped the ball.

There was a screech of tires, a flurry of bullets and the pumping sound of blood rushing through dilated veins as their adrenaline levels soared. They worked in slick synchronicity, each man knowing where his partner would be automatically. It was a well-rehearsed routine. Only it wasn't perfect. One man was down, dead before he hit the ground. He wasn't going to tell them anything. But the other one got away. They let the other one get clean away. It was a basic mistake, the kind a probie would get razzed about.

"Those guys are good!" Sam admitted. He didn't like to think about what could have happened. The shooters had almost got to Deeks again. He hated it when he fouled up. This was a lousy day and it was getting worse by the second.

Something had been bothering Callen since the convenience store. "That detective Versey – he didn't even bother to put a protective detail on one of his own. Versey admitted that he didn't like Deeks, but he did say he was a good cop. So why the LAPD put on an automatic police guard? Why did it have to take NCIS to do that?"

Cops looked after their own. That was an unwritten rule. So what was going on here? The whole day was a complete mess and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. One thing was clear to Callen as he entered the hospital ward– he wasn't going to start asking Deeks questions right now. The guy looked like hell. Which was fair enough, given what he been through.

"It won't happen again." Deeks avoided their eyes and looked completely miserable. He felt like such a fool. It was like being a kid again and having his older brother tell him off for doing something stupid. All he'd ever wanted to do was to be half as good as his brother.

If Chris had lived, I reckon he would have been a lot like Callen. Only he would have kicked my butt into the middle of next week for being such a careless idiot.

"We'll let it slide." After what had just happened outside, Callen didn't feel he was in a position to lecture anyone about personal security and taking appropriate precautions.

Sam had no such compunctions. "After you recover, you and I are going to have a little talk." He meant it kindly, but the look on Deeks' face made him feel like he'd just kicked a cringing puppy. Some days were just plain bad from the get-go. This particular day was rancid.

Callen ran through the facts, so far as they knew them. It didn't take long.

"Why would someone target me?" Deeks asked, looking genuinely confused. It seemed like they were going to such a lot of trouble. Those guys in the gray Mustang must have been trying to finish the job they'd started in the shop earlier that morning. He reeled off details of the shooter automatically.

"Small guy, small gun. He was about five-seven, wiry, pretty fast."

That fit the description of the guy Eric had identified as a likely candidate.

"Looked like he used a two-two," Deeks added.

"We recovered forty-five rhino casings on the drive outside, "Sam informed him. Deeks looked shattered, but he deserved to know the facts. He owed him that much. No use in trying to sugar-coat things. "Somebody really doesn't like you."

"Why didn't he get it right first time?" It was a good question. But nobody could answer him.

I was lying right in front of him. I was an easy target. Why didn't he go for the kill shot?

"Miss Jones?" Hetty beckoned the intelligence analyst over. "I'd like you to do some research into Gordon John Brandel. He was released from Folsom State Prison in 1996."

Nell nodded and scanned the brief details on the discharge sheet. It was the sole piece of evidence in the file folder. There wasn't much to go on. So the sooner she got started, the better.

"Full checks, please. Parole, contacts and addresses. I want to know everything about him since his release."

Nell wondered who this guy was and how Hetty had tied him into the investigation. There was so little detail on him, it didn't seem possible that she could have plucked his name out of thin air. Hetty was a legend in intelligence circles, but surely even she wasn't that good?

"And Miss Jones? Discretely."

That woman could put so much meaning into one single word, Nell reflected, as she hugged the slim folder to her chest and ran upstairs to begin her work. She was beginning to learn when to keep her mouth shut, but nobody said her mind couldn't work overtime. A little speculation could be very productive, after all.

Hetty sat quietly and let her thoughts run back, rewinding the years. Gordon John Brandel. The youngest and most successful of the famous Brandel Brothers. Twenty years ago, that name had been everywhere: Brandel Brothers were among the top property owners in America, with a massive portfolio of hotels, conference centers and malls; holdings that stretched from coast to coast. Everyone knew them; everyone wanted to work with them. Going into business with the Brandels was the nearest thing to a certainty you could get in business.

Thirty years ago, Jack Brandel had been living the American dream. He was the golden boy of the family, who ran the company's west coast operations and lived in a Malibu mansion that was featured in Architectural Digest. He was handsome and talented and he'd even managed to marry well. The proof that he had really made it into the big time was when the wedding photographs were published in People magazine. Jack had the world at his feet and his press service confirmed that more column inches were devoted to him than Donald Trump. Life was very sweet.

His fall was just as swift. And now the business was dismantled, the name of Brandel Brothers was almost forgotten and nobody had seen Jack for years. Well, it was time to change all that. There was a price to be paid and an old score to settle. And Hetty wanted answers. She'd waited too long and today she had realized that it was almost too late.

Where did it all start to go so wrong, Jack? When did the power go to your head, so that you thought you were invincible? You had it all and you threw it all away. Twenty years ago, you were still a young man, with two young sons and a beautiful wife who adored you. You had more money than you could spend in a dozen lifetimes and you ruined everything. Did you think the cocaine would make you Superman? Did you start to believe you were like those superheroes in the comic books Marty used to devour? For a clever man, you were incredibly stupid.

Do you know what your imprisonment did to your family, Jack? Christopher dropped out of Harvard and enlisted in the Marines. He was killed in Iraq. His family never got his body back. So there was no grave to grieve at. That was the last straw for Maryanne. She couldn't live with all those tragedies. Your wife took an overdose and she died. Maryanne died when she was still a young woman. She should have had her whole life ahead of her to look forward to. And now I suspect you are involved in this operation. I don't know how and I don't know why, but rest assured of one thing, Jack: I'm going to track you down and you are going to pay for all the damage you've done.

Being shot is nothing like it is in the movies, Marty thought, trying to find a position that reduced the pain levels from screaming agony to almost bearable. He couldn't. Each position he tried was worse than the last. Eventually, he gave it up as a bad job and tried to ignore the waves of pain that peaked with each breath he took.

No matter how hard you train, there are some things that your body just can't cope with and this is definitely one of them. It feels like there are raw ends of bone grinding together inside me and they must have cut every muscle in my chest. His hand reached out and pressed the pain button. I don't feel like I'll ever be able to get out of this bed without collapsing.

"Have you ever been shot?" he asked, more to kill the awkward silence than anything else. Kensi kept giving him the strangest looks and he was too tired and in too much pain to try to figure them out.

She must be fed up just sitting here and watching me fall in and out of sleep. Bet she wishes she was with Sam and Callen, doing something more exciting.

Kensi shook her head.

"I don't believe you." The morphine was starting work, and he was starting to say things that really should be left unsaid.

"It's true. I've never been shot." Kensi felt like she was confessing. She had never told anyone that before, preferring just to let them wonder. Why do I feel so bad about admitting that? It's not like I've failed. But I just feel like I won't be a real agent until I've been shot. And that's crazy.

"Really? I always thought you were a lot like Wonder Woman, and now I know you are. You're bulletproof". Oh God, these drugs work fast. Shut up, Marty. Next thing you know you'll be calling her by her Superhero name: Kensi the Confident.

"There's a lot we haven't told each other." There's a lot I should have told you. Like how I think you're a pretty decent guy. And how watching you try not to let on how much pain you're in is breaking my heart.

Deeks shut his eyes for a second. There's something she's not telling me.

Kensi decided it was time to change the subject. "Sam faxed over a list of suspects. Lots of names – got to be over a hundred." That was an impressive tally. Sam had added that, although Versey clearly didn't like Deeks, he admitted he was a good cop. Which meant a lot, coming from that particular source. And she was holding the proof right here in her hands.

"I didn't realize I'd pissed off that many people," Deeks said, scarcely able to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

She tried to lighten the atmosphere. "I was actually thinking the list was pretty short!" Her attempt at levity failed completely.

"Maybe you should add your name to it?" he said flatly. He gave her a beseeching look and Kensi almost dropped her guard.

Does he really think that? Have I really been that bad to work with? Why am I such a bitch to him?

For a moment, they just looked at one another, and then Deeks dropped his gaze and plucked nervously at the Band-Aid covering the IV site. He didn't have the strength to pretend anymore. It was easier just to give up the struggle and say what he really felt. "I just got lazy and made myself an easy target."

"You shouldn't beat yourself up." Let me make it better.

"I can't help it. It's one of the things I'm good at." One of the very few things. Don't you agree, Kensi?

And maybe it was the drugs working, but suddenly Deeks experienced the most vivid flashback, like some weird acid trip. He could see the shooter from this morning so clearly, see the gun pointing right in his face so that he was staring straight down the barrel. He could relive the exact moment when he realized he was going to die.

"Some cop, huh?" he asked wryly.

Kensi could not think of a single thing she could say in response that would give him some solace. She wanted desperately to comfort him, but could not begin to find the right words. I've failed him again. Why can't I say what I feel? That I was so terrified when I heard he was shot? That I've been fighting my feelings for him since the very first day I saw him, even before I knew he was an undercover cop. That right now I want to lean over and kiss him like there is no tomorrow. Why can't I do that?

Only she knew that saying or doing any of these things would ruin everything, so her only option was to sit quietly and just say nothing at all.

Marty was too tired to see the look of anguish on her face. All he knew was that he had bared his soul to her, told her how inadequate and stupid he felt and he'd got nothing back. Not one single word. Kensi had just looked at him.

All of a sudden, everything seemed completely pointless to him and the slide into morphine-flavored oblivion was a welcome release.

He's been through hell and he still looks gorgeous. I want him so much it hurts. And I don't know what to do. This is such a mess. How come his hair still looks so good? Oh great, I've completely lost it. I can't even control my thoughts. I wonder if he is wearing boxer short or if he is naked under those covers? Guess I'll never find out.

Kensi sat patiently until she was certain Deeks was sound asleep and then she stood up quietly, leaned across the bed and stroked his bare arm gently. She didn't trust herself to kiss him, although she badly wanted to. And then she sat back down and waited some more. It seemed like all she was doing today was waiting. It was almost a relief when Nell came in an hour later, even if Deeks did reveal some extraordinary information that altered everything she thought she knew about him.