Chapter 3: Love, Hate, and Other Four Letter Words

"As of right now, your main objective, Mr. Callen, is to find the bomb and those responsible before the fundraiser." Even over the phone and with a distance of over a thousand miles, Hetty still has the power to make one feel like a little boy, or at least that's how Deeks feels. Judging by that wrinkle forming between Callen's eyebrows, Deeks is willing to bet that Callen feels the same way.

"That part I'm clear on," Callen says, leaning against the kitchen counter of the militia's former home. "What I don't understand is why the Governor isn't taking this seriously."

"According to his advisors, he is," Hetty responds, her tone making it clear she doesn't believe it even for a moment. "However, I don't think it would hurt to personally remind the man that there is an angry militia armed with a bomb on his heels. It'd also be good to learn whether or not he or his staff has had any other issues with the group. It might help to shed some light as to where nearly forty men could be hiding."

"You want us to go to Helena?" Deeks asks incredulously. "You do realize that's like two hours away and most of the roads here are closed due to a blizzard, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Deeks, I am aware," she tells him. He's pretty certain if he were standing in front of her, she'd have tilted her head, clasped her hands behind her back, and arched one eyebrow completing that condescending motherly tone she's just used, the one that should only be reserved for dealing with hardheaded five year olds.

"Of course you are," he says, earning an elbow to the ribs from Kensi.

"I think it would be best if you split up," Hetty continues as though she hadn't heard Deeks' current bout of cheekiness. "Two of you should head into town, see if any of the locals have anything more to offer on the militia. In a town that small, there is sure to be someone who knows something."

"Sam and I will talk to the Governor," Callen says, frowning at the thought of the two-hour drive across snow-covered roads, "Kensi, you and Deeks can go to town."

"Keep us updated, Mr. Callen," Hetty says, adding a quick but serious "Be careful," to the team before hanging up.

"Alright, so we've got one truck and two places to be," Deeks points out, already knowing that Sam and Callen will get the diesel behemoth parked outside for their two hour journey, leaving he and Kensi stranded and looking for a ride.

"We can get a ride into town with one of the Sheriff's men," Kensi tells him, turning to see if the Sheriff is still in sight. "I'm sure they have an extra vehicle we can borrow back at the station."

"Yeah, because going to interview people who hate the government and authority in a police cruiser is going to go over so well," Deeks says, eyes rolling to emphasize the sarcasm.

Before anyone can say another word, one of the officers from outside walks into the kitchen. He's wearing a thick coat, and a baseball cap along with his uniform. He's holding his cell phone in one hand, looking at it as though it had sprung arms and decided to do the Macarena.

"Excuse me, is one of you Special Agent Callen?" he asks, finally looking up from his phone, but not losing the confused look.

Callen nods and steps forward, which only seems to intensify the man's confusion. "Do you know a, uh…a Henrietta Lange?" the man asks, saying the name slowly, like it's a foreign word he's wanting to pronounce correctly.

"Yes," Callen says, his face starting to mirror the man's confusion. "Why?"

The man laughs a little, still confused but slightly amused. Shaking the phone in one hand and pointing out the window with his thumb with the other, he smiles a nervous smile. "She says I'm to give you and your partner a ride."

Callen and the others stare at the man for a moment, before looking to where his thumb is pointing. Sitting in the yard on the other side of the police cars is the helicopter that had been circling the property nearly half an hour earlier.

They stare a moment more, each taking the time to appreciate what's just happened. Finally, Deeks just laughs and shakes his head.

"God, I love that woman."

-:-

"I think I hate this town and everybody in it." Deeks slams the passenger door and begins stomping around the front of the truck. It's been nearly four hours already, four hours of slow driving and long distances. Having gotten started at six in the morning, there hadn't been a lot of businesses open in town, leaving Kensi and Deeks no choice but to drive across the county from farm to farm, only to have doors slammed in their faces, if they were opened at all.

"Nothing, nada. We've been at this for hours, and have yet to find a single person who will talk to us."

Kensi doesn't say anything, she just lets him complain. Truthfully, she's feeling the same way—irritated and angry. Her hand is hurting, the cut starting to itch as it begins to heal. She's cold, her fingers hurt from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, and she thinks she might be going blind from staring at fields of fluorescent white snow.

Yet, for once, she's not going to try to one-up her partner. Because, yes her hand hurts, but that was a result of her own stupidity. Deeks is sick, and ice-cube hands or not, he's running a fever. His voice has taken on a more scratchy tenor, and he's already gone through two travel-sized packets of tissues. Add that to a night of interrupted sleep, she knows constantly having the door slammed in his face is just making things worse.

"It's almost lunch time, Deeks," she says, putting the truck keys into her pocket as she walks towards the front porch. "Sheriff said the power wasn't out in town. Two more houses, then we'll go get something to eat," she promises, only to stop dead in her tracks when the all too familiar sound of a shotgun being readied follows the slow squeak of a screen door.

"It'd be best if you just turned around and got back in your truck."

For a moment, just one tiny moment, Deeks wants to turn to Kensi and say 'Oh my god, it's Chuck Norris.' But he doesn't, mainly because Mr. Norris is very steadily holding a shotgun at his face, beard and flannel shirt or not.

"Joseph Tanner," Kensi calls out, using the man's true name, "We're with NC—"

"I know who you are," Joseph interrupts, swinging the shotgun around to face Kensi, "And I still think it'd be best if you left."

"Alright, Mr. Tanner," Deeks says, slowly taking a step backwards in the direction of the truck. "We don't want any trouble here."

"That makes two of us," Joe says, the gun still aimed at Kensi. "You might want to take that lunch a little early, sweetheart. There isn't anyone around here who's gonna want to talk to the feds."

Kensi bites the inside of her cheek, forcing herself not to react to the 'sweetheart' line. Were the guy not holding a shotgun, she'd show him just how sweet she could be. But deciding that living trumps pride, she follows in Deeks' footsteps and begins to back away, her hand slowly reaching for the truck keys.

She doesn't even bother with a seatbelt as she puts the truck in gear and drives away, putting as much distance between Joseph Tanner and them as she can.

"Well, that was fun," Deeks deadpans. If he wasn't serious when he said he thought he hated this town earlier, he is now. "I hate this town."

"I'm pretty certain they hate us, too," she says, slowing her speed now that the farmhouse is out of site.

Deeks raises his eyebrows in agreement, as he looks out the windshield at the sea of white. It's like the desert, only prettier. White as far as the eye can see, unblemished. "So, you still want to check out two more houses, or are we just gonna go right into town and piss off everyone there?"

"When we order our food, don't mention that we're with the government," Kensi warns, seriously considering going back to their farmhouse and dining on Twinkies and cold potato soup. She doesn't know if everyone in this town is supportive of the militia, or if they're just afraid to cross them. Either way, even in their absence, the militia is putting up roadblocks in their investigation.

"Yeah, I prefer my food spit free, thank you very much. Although with the serious 'love you' vibe the townsfolk are sending our way, they're probably more likely to spike our coffee with rat poison." Deeks rubs at his eyes, trying to get the itchy/watery feel to go away.

"Love you vibe?" Kensi asks, cutting her eyes to look at her partner.

Deeks laughs a little, his head falling back to lie against the headrest. "Yeah, 'love' probably isn't right. Maybe another four-letter word…"

"Yeah, maybe," Kensi agrees with a smile. They drive in silence for a little while, both letting the adrenaline brought on by having a gun pulled on them fade away, each silently running over the incident in their head, their own personal 'replay'.

"He called you sweetheart," Deeks says after a while. He turns his head, watching as Kensi's jaw tightens. He knows how she feels about pet names, it's what makes it so great that he's the only person that hasn't suffered the wrath of Fern, even after calling her Sugarbear.

She readjusts her grip on the steering wheel, her eyes squinting as she pushes on the gas. "I hate this town."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Helicopter or motorcycle?" Callen asks, the sound of the propellers dying in the distance as he and Sam make their way to the Governor's mansion. The place looks like a scene from a postcard, the snow sparkles in the early morning sunlight. Dozens of workers move about the property, clearing away snow and ice from sidewalks and railings, trying to hide the effects of the blizzard. They each wear thick gloves and heavy scarves to protect their fingers and noses from the biting cold, the fluorescent worker vests reflecting as much as the snow.

"What?" Sam asks, knowing Callen's about to start up one of their ridiculous 'would you rather' conversations.

"Helicopter or motorcycle? Which one's more fun to ride?" Callen clarifies as he rings the doorbell, his hand reaching for the badge in his pocket.

"Easy, motorcycle," Sam answers with a smile, knowing that Callen's going to disagree. It doesn't matter what he had said, Callen will always disagree. If he had said helicopter, Callen would have preferred the motorcycle, but since he didn't…

"Seriously? You get to fly with a helicopter, Sam." They're both facing the door, neither having to look at the other to know that he's listening, each waiting for the door to open, each prepared to put their professional faces on at the last second.

"Yeah, but while someone else is at the controls. With a motorcycle, I'm in control," Sam explains. Callen laughs, not too loud since he sees someone walking towards them through the thick, crystallized glass on the door.

"It all comes down to control with you, doesn't it?"

Sam laughs now, his badge ready to show as he can hear the footsteps on the other side of the door. "You call me a control freak, and I'll call you a hypocrite," he warns with a whisper as the door opens wide, a young man in a suit and tie welcoming them into the house.

"Agents, this way," he says with one look at their badges. Obviously, he had been expecting them. They follow him through the marbled foyer, past the large spiral staircase, and into an elegant office, complete with dark wood furniture, polished to shine even in the dim lighting.

"Agents Callen and Hanna, I presume," Governor Dempsey begins, standing and offering them his hand. "I spoke with your boss, she was quite…vocal about me meeting with you."

"She's just worried you're not taking this militia threat seriously," Callen begins, sitting in one of the armed chairs in front of the large desk. "And to be honest, I have to agree."

"Oh, we're taking it seriously," Dempsey promises, "My team is working now to increase security for both me and my family. I'm not so naïve as to be blasé about a possible death threat, Agent."

"No sir, but it would be best to cancel the fundraiser. Jett Hawkins and his men are all very capable of acting on their plans," Sam warns, not liking the Governor's devil-may-care attitude. Hundreds of people will be at the fundraiser, hundreds of lives are in danger, not just that of the Governor.

"And I've been told that you and your team are very capable of stopping all of this militia mess before the fundraiser even takes place," Dempsey says with a bit of condescension, making it very clear that this 'militia mess' is nothing more than a thorn in his side. "Or have I been misled?"

Callen can tell by Sam's forced 'No, sir,' that his partner is trying very hard to remember those anger control techniques they teach in the Navy. If it weren't for the fact that he's a good person and knows to put what's right before pride, Callen would just say to hell with it all, and leave the Governor to lie in the bed he's all too willing to make.

But Callen is a good person, most days of the week, and pride is just going to have to take one in the sac this time around and let Governor Dumbass have the last word.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Kensi and Deeks are sitting in the back booth of the diner for two reasons. One, with most of the county's power being out, its citizen had flocked to town hoping for a warm meal and a warm room, leaving few choices in terms of where to sit. The second reason is that the corner booth gives them a wide view of the diner and the door, letting them see everyone that comes and goes, which is a good thing should Joseph 'Chuck Norris' Tanner or any of his friends decide to show up for the chicken potpie special of the day.

"You know what? This is actually pretty good," Deeks says around a mouthful of chicken, carrots, and celery as he points to his plate with his fork. Kensi nods in agreement, her own plate already half-cleared as she takes a sip of her coffee.

"Would you like a top-off?" the young waitress asks as she passes their table carrying a stack of dirty dishes.

Kensi smiles, "When you have time," she says, knowing the girl is busy. A few minutes later, Lindsey, if her nametag is correct, comes back to the table, a pot of coffee in her hand.

"If you don't mind me asking," she begins, slowly pouring the coffee into Kensi's waiting cup so as not to spill, "are you two of those Navy cops everyone's talking about?"

Deeks suddenly stops chewing, his eyes casting downwards towards his potpie suspiciously. Kensi sits her own fork down as she watches Deeks slowly swallow the suddenly heavy mouthful.

"Why do you ask?" Kensi keeps her voice friendly, her smile soft.

"Just curious, my daddy was in the Marines like a hundred years ago," the girl begins, seemingly oblivious to the pair's sudden discomfort, which in a way, works to calm both Kensi and Deeks. "And earlier this morning, this place was full of cops getting breakfast and coffee to go, all talking about NCIS, helicopters, and that idiot Jett Hawkins."

Deeks watches the girl's comfort with them, the way she smiles when she realizes she has an attentive audience. Judging by her behavior, Deeks feels it's probably safe to finish his potpie, that more than likely, Kensi's cup hadn't just been filled with arsenic.

"You know Jett Hawkins?" Deeks asks, once again picking up his fork.

"Everyone knows Jett," the waitress says, her eyes rolling as though the mere mention of the man is annoying. "He's some military fanatical or radical or…something." She shakes her head and shrugs, seemingly fine with not being able to find the right word. "Anyway, he grew up with my daddy, and—"

"Hey, can I get some of that coffee?" someone yells from a few tables down. The waitress smiles, and waves at the waiting customer, letting him know she'll be right with him.

"Would you mind giving us your dad's information?" Kensi asks before the girl can begin another breathless spiel. "We'd like to talk to him ourselves, maybe he can help us out a little with our investigation."

"Sure, no problem," she says, picking up the carafe and starting towards the waiting table, "I'll just leave it with your check."

"Well, looky there," Deeks says, happily shoveling in another bite of steadily cooling potpie. "We didn't have to go looking for a lead, a lead came to us."

A few minutes later, Deeks is paying as Kensi reads over the name their waitress had given them.

-:-

This time, Deeks drives. A full stomach, and two cups of coffee to go along with a possible new source of information has helped to drastically lift his mood. Kensi has removed her gloves, her fingers working around the wrapping Sam had put in place the night before.

She had called Eric before leaving the diner, giving him the new name to run with the hopes that he'll be able to tell them whether or not the new guy is likely to pull a shotgun on them when they try to ask him questions. Now, driving through the dead zone, she has no way of calling Sam and Callen, no way of asking them whether or not they're on their way back or are they still in Helena interviewing the Governor and his staff.

It's just after noon by the time their temporary home comes into view, its barn and silo standing in the backdrop. They had noticed the truck traveling behind them for a while. While a little unnerved, they hadn't been too worried. Due to the blizzard, most roads had been closed, forcing drivers to take roads they normally wouldn't travel, that and their house isn't the only farm down their particular road.

But as they climb out of the truck and make their way to the front door, that absentee sense of worry makes a sudden yet tardy arrival.

Deeks is standing on the porch waiting for Kensi to unlock the front door when that lone truck suddenly pulls into their yard. As rifles and shotguns suddenly make an appearance, another truck barreling down the snowy road, Deeks' earlier thought is permanently cemented in stone.

He hates this town, and all the people in it.

TBC…