Discord: Chapter 4

...

He saw her watching him. She had been looking over at him ever since he came into the bar three hours ago. She wasn't his type, but she had a certain beauty and Max Gentry had never worried about types much anyway. He motioned to the bartender to refill his shot glass and stole a look at her through the haze of cigarette smoke. His vision was a little blurry from the amount of whiskey he'd had, but he could see she was interested. Her hair was a curly mess, light brown and frizzy and her dress was low cut, short, tight and provocative. Her lips were painted a disturbing color of pink, but what the hell, he thought, I'm not interested in her lips.

He downed his drink and stumbled to his feet, but grabbed the bar as a searing pain in his side tore through him and sweat broke out on his forehead. He steadied himself as he wondered again if the quack doctor Camacho had taken him to had really removed the bullet or had just pretended to. The pain had been excruciating for over a week after he was shot, but now it was down to a dull throb most of the time, unless he moved too suddenly like just now. Then it would scream through his body and bring him to the edge of collapse. He was still weak and he was still pissed, which was why he was trying to drink himself into oblivion, and had been since Callen had reminded him of what he really was, a poor imitation of dear old dad. He laughed out loud at the thought and called for another drink. Nothing like a little whiskey to dull the pain, or a lot for that matter, and he grunted at the other trait he'd inherited from his father.

The woman made her move then, slinking toward him with a decidedly predatory look on her face. Why she would want to be with someone as blasted as he was he didn't know, but he looked forward to the distraction. Remembering what he had done to Kensi only made him incredibly sad and thinking about Callen made him just plain angry. Maybe a little nooky, as Sam once called it, would help him forget why he was here in Long Beach with a searing pain in his side, working undercover with a degenerate arms dealer who got his thrills from playing with little runaway girls. Remembering the last girl he'd seen Camacho with made him feel sick. She couldn't have been older than twelve and he had been invited to join the party but was able to beg off due to his gunshot wound. It was the only thing that made getting shot worthwhile.

"Hi, baby," the curly-headed woman whispered with her bright pink lips. "Want to have some fun?"

"What's your name, curly?" He slurred the words in her direction. He noticed she wasn't wearing a bra and her attributes were impressive.

"Wanda," she replied, and for some reason that struck Deeks as incredibly funny and he began to laugh. Wanda looked confused by his laughter and her brow furrowed as she looked up into his face.

"Well, Wanda baby, what did you have in mind?" Deeks decided it would have to be Max having fun with ol' curly-haired Wanda, because up close she was scary looking.

Ever since he had helped Kensi and Callen escape, he had been bouncing back and forth in his mind between himself and his alias. Some days he felt like Deeks and at other times he would just let Max take over. It scared him a little at how easy it was to let Max dominate and for some reason, he felt more comfortable as Max now than he did as Deeks. And as the days and nights passed, and he spent more time as Max, he wasn't all that anxious to return to being Deeks. Besides, he told himself, maybe he had always been Max and Deeks was an alias.

He shivered as that thought passed through his mind and images of his father hovered in the shadows. He wondered if his dad would have liked him as Max. He certainly had never taken a shine to Marty. Max wouldn't have put up with the beatings his dad rained down on him during much of his childhood. Max would have fought back. Maybe he became Max the day he shot his father. Maybe being Max all the time wasn't such a bad idea. Nobody would mess with him and he could have fun with women like pink-lipped Wanda. Max liked Wanda and he wanted to see what else was under that ugly, tight fitting dress.

Max staggered out of the bar with his hand firmly planted on Wanda's glorious butt and he was looking forward to being kissed by those incredibly bright pink lips. He hadn't had sex in three months, so he was feeling extremely horny and he was pretty sure Wanda would take care of that. She seemed happy, but what she didn't know was that Max Gentry was a mean drunk and when he lost control the nights didn't turn out to be quite so much fun. Deeks was gone now, completely overshadowed by his dark alter ego who was possessed by the bad-assed character of a father who knew how to hurt a woman and who enjoyed doing it. Max would enjoy the night, but Wanda wouldn't and she wasn't seen in that bar again for a long time.

...

"Max, get your head together," Camacho shook his shoulder as he was lying on the cot in a utility room of a deserted industrial building next to the Union Pacific rail yard in Long Beach. "Meet me upstairs in fifteen minutes or I'll have Sanchez kick your ass."

Deeks moaned as he tried to sit up. His head was pounding as he stumbled to the sink in the tiny bathroom and began searching for aspirin. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a head of hair that had a mind of its own, but what caught his attention was the bright pink lipstick smeared across the front of his shirt. His mind raced to remember the previous night, but it was a blank. When he found the aspirin, he noticed the bruises on his knuckles and splatters of blood on his sleeve and suddenly an image of a hysterical woman blotted out everything else and he sat down on the edge of the toilet and vomited onto the worn linoleum.

"Max, what did you do?" he whispered to himself as Sanchez appeared in the doorway.

"Have some fun last night, Max?" Sanchez laughed. "You better clean that up when the meeting's over, man. Camacho will be pissed if he sees it." Sanchez left him there and he stood up and stared at his face in the mirror, trying to decide who he was looking at, Max or Deeks.

Deeks' eyes suddenly watered as dark memories nearly sent him over the edge, and he grabbed the edge of the sink and held on as if his life depended on it. He remembered laughing at her name, but that was the innocent part. It was her crying screams he remembered now and he felt the self-hatred crash down on him and threaten to derail his mind. Max was responsible, he kept telling himself. It wasn't me, it wasn't Deeks.

"You fucking bastard!" he shouted at the image in the mirror and he knew it didn't matter which one had done it, because they were the same person and he wasn't sure he could live with that.

"You win, daddy, you win," he whispered. Then he washed his face and changed into the dark clothes of Max Gentry and walked slowly up the metal stairs to Camacho's office.

...

Hetty was having tea when her cell rang and she almost dropped her cup when she saw the ID of the caller. They hadn't heard from Deeks in the three weeks since he had helped Kensi and Callen escape. Kensi had been a basket case and Callen was just now starting to return to normal after suffering the skull fracture that had kept him in the hospital for two weeks. He wasn't a hundred percent, but his mind was finally sharp and Sam was starting to baby him less.

"Mr. Deeks, nice of you to call," Hetty's voice was strained and angry which she hoped he heard on his end. "We were hoping to hear from you earlier."

"I had nothing to say until now," Max said slowly as he heard the tension in Hetty's voice. "Camacho has been contacted by the terrorist group Sendero Luminoso. They are looking for military grade weapons, especially missiles and RDX explosives and they are coming to meet Camacho in three days."

"Shining Path, the group out of Peru. They haven't been making much noise lately. Do you know who Camacho's supplier is?" Hetty got Callen's attention quickly as she moved into the bullpen.

"Not yet, but I'll let you know as soon as I do." Max's voice sounded hollow and Hetty held her breath as he spoke.

"Mr. Deeks, are you okay?" Hetty saw the questioning looks of concern and hopefulness she was getting from the team and she wished she could see his eyes so she could see what the truth was behind the words.

"Still in some pain, but nothing I can't handle," Max's voice hardened and he sounded tired.

"Where are you, Mr. Deeks?"

"Long Beach," he said, "We're in a building by the rail yard. Tell Eric to get a fix off my cell phone."

"Could you manage to get away for a meeting?" Hetty asked quietly. "There are some people here who would like to see you in person." She smiled as she said the last part, looking at Kensi, and he must have sensed it on the other end.

"I'll think about it," he said coldly and Hetty was suddenly afraid for him.

"Mr. Deeks, it might do you some good to see a friendly face after all this time," she said, trying to encourage him.

"And who's face would that be?" His voice was full of bitterness and her fear grew.

"Mr. Deeks..."

But he didn't let her finish; cutting her off with words that haunted her and the team when they replayed the conversation up in Ops.

"My name is Max."

Then the line went dead.

...