Warnings: This earns it T rating, language reference to sex and what not. Nothing graphic.
Chapter 7: What's Behind Door No. 2?
"Everyone good?" Callen asks, his gun out as he scans the seemingly empty yard. When no one answers him, he turns towards his team. All eyes are on Deeks, his hands clenching his side as he nods his head up and down, quietly whispering "I'm okay, I'm okay" as Hetty kneels beside him.
Eric's standing, his eyes darting back and forth between Deeks and the burning cabin, his arm gently cradled across his chest. "Eric?" Callen asks, his eyes gesturing to the injured arm when Eric looks at him questioningly.
"I'm okay," Eric says, sounding a little more honest than Deeks.
"Sam," Hetty says, gathering Sam's attention with the uncharacteristic use of his first name. She hands him a small gun she had pulled out of the pocket of her jacket before turning back to Deeks. "He can't have gotten far," she says over her shoulder, hinting that they should go look for whomever started the fire.
Sam meets Callen's eyes, silently forming a plan. They stick to the tree line; Callen circling the cabin's left while Sam goes right. They're in perfect sync with one another. Knees bent, feet rolling on the ground, twigs pressing into the soft earth beneath their weight. Their eyes study each shadow, watching for movement as they round the cabin, both straightening to their full height as the motorcycle comes into view.
"NCIS! FREEZE!" They yell, their voices drowned out by the sounds of the bike's engine revving to life, the spin of tires flinging gravel as the driver speeds out of the clearing.
Sam and Callen both ready themselves, fingers tightening on the triggers when they see it. They each jump to the side, curling into a ball as their arms rise to cover their heads. The glass shatters, the cocktail exploding into the grass as the driver gets away.
"SAM!" Callen screams, standing in time to see the bike's taillight disappear down the driveway.
"I'm good," Sam says, the anger in his voice heard over the roaring fire. "Bastard got away." Callen can only nod in reaction to Sam's needless observation.
"Phone?" he asks, only to have Sam point at the cabin, a disgusted look on his face.
"We gotta get out of here," Sam says, judging the distance between the cabin and the trees. "Get Fire and Rescue out here before the forest catches fire."
"Hotwire the van. Meet us round back. We can call for help from the ranger's station." Callen waits long enough to see Sam's terse nod before he's jogging back towards the rest of the team.
"We heard an explosion," Kensi says, meeting him halfway. Her hair's a mess, she's barefoot and wearing a worn pair of pajama pants and a faded blue t-shirt. Her fingers keep twitching, almost as though the muscles in her hand know that she should be holding a gun.
"Molotov," is Callen's only answer as he continues to walk past her. "Sam's getting the van. We're going to the ranger's station."
"You don't have the phone?" Kensi asks as she jogs to keep up with Callen's brisk pace. "What about your phone? I mean Nichols already knows where we are, it won't hurt to turn it back on."
Callen glances back towards the cabin when he hears the distinct sound of glass breaking. "It was in my bag."
"Our weapons, the computers…" Kensi grits her teeth, rubbing her hands on the leg of her pants as she tries to control her anger. "Eric got burned. It's not that bad, but it probably hurts like hell."
"We can call for an ambulance once we get to the station," Callen tells her as they approach the tree. He notices for the first time that he and Hetty are the only two wearing shoes. "How's Deeks?"
"I'm fine," Deeks answers, opening his eyes as his head rests against the tree. "Pain just caught me a little off guard that's all. Just needed to catch my breath."
"Eric?" Callen asks, seeming to accept Deeks' answer.
"It's not that bad," Eric quickly assures him, holding his arm up as proof. Callen sees the nasty redness even in the dark, and he knows Eric's just trying to put on a brave face. Burns hurt, no matter how small, and this one runs the length from Eric's hand to his elbow.
"Nell? What about you? How's your side?"
"Hardly even feel it," she says, making Callen think his team is composed of nothing but liars.
"Did you see him, Mr. Callen?" Hetty asks, stopping Callen from calling anyone's bluff.
"He was on a motorcycle," he tells her. "Tossed a Molotov at us and got away before we could get a shot off."
"And Mr. Hanna?"
"Hotwiring the van." As if he had been waiting for a cue, the headlights of the van shine around the corner, illuminating the team. As Sam pulls the van around, Callen sees that the driver's side window had been busted in, explaining the sound of breaking glass he had heard earlier. The van must have been locked.
Deeks is already standing, shaking off Kensi's helping hand as the team loads into the van, Sam wasting no time putting the vehicle in gear and speeding towards the ranger's station.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Nell sits quietly, her hands resting in her lap listening to Hetty talk with the rangers as they iron out a plan of action. She's cold. Trying to keep her toes warm, she pulls the hem of her pants' legs down over her feet, curling her toes around the fabric as she sits on her hands.
Callen's pacing impatiently back and forth. The separate panes of glass in the trophy case distort his reflection as he walks by, Monty watching from his spot near Deeks, his head moving left to right with each turn Callen makes.
Kensi's leaning against the doorframe, watching as the medic checks Deeks over. Despite his insistence that he was fine, Hetty had offered no reprieve from the medical attention, going so far as threatening to tie Deeks down and do the exam herself should he continue to be a "stubborn bastard".
He's sitting on the edge of one of the rangers' desks, the left side of the t-shirt he had worn when leaving the hospital resting on his shoulder, his arm out of the sleeve so the medic can look at his side. The stitches remained intact throughout his journey through the window. The bruises have darkened over the last thirty-odd hours, making it look much worse than it actually is—or so Deeks keeps insisting. Kensi just rolls her eyes and tells him he isn't fooling anybody. Neither mentions the fact that all of his prescriptions were left in the cabin.
"You said you were shot when?" the medic asks, removing his gloves and signaling it's okay for Deeks to put his shirt back on correctly.
"Yesterday," Kensi answers as Deeks smooths his shirt down over his stomach.
"Day before yesterday, Kens. It's after midnight," Deeks points out, gesturing to the large clock on the far wall of the nearly empty ranger's station.
Kensi looks as though she's about to tell Deeks exactly what he can do with his specifics when the medic interferes. "Why aren't you in the hospital, man?"
"He kept driving the nurses crazy." Kensi smirks as she pulls her unruly hair over one shoulder, trying to tame the loose curls. "They practically begged us to take him home."
"Please, you just wanted to take care of me yourself. Admit it, Fern. You like the thought of me, you, a sponge bath…"
Kensi simply stares at him, one nostril flaring in disgust. "The only scenario that will include you, me, and a bath is if I'm drowning you."
"Drowning me in love, you mean."
Kensi rolls her eyes as she gently shoves his shoulder. "I think you mean I'll love doing it," she says as the medic shakes his head, laughing at the couple before him.
"I'm gonna leave you two to sort that out on your own," he tells them, closing his kit and handing Deeks a clipboard of papers to sign saying he refused to go to the hospital. "But it was nice meeting you Marty. Fern," he says, nodding his head in good-bye to Kensi as he takes the signed papers from Deeks.
Kensi lets the smile fall from her face as she stares daggers at her partner who's too busy laughing to notice how angry she seems.
"You're an idiot," she mutters under her breath as she moves to sit next to him, purposefully not sitting too close.
Eric laughs from his spot at a nearby desk. The entire right side of his face and neck look as though he's suffering from a really bad sunburn. His arm had gotten the worst of it, blistering near the elbow. The medic had spread a thick cream from his wrist to the bend in his arm, wrapping it in a bandage to prevent infection.
The ambulance was called shortly after Fire and Rescue was dispatched to the cabin, and if either of the two, young medics were surprised to see the small station taken over by pajama-clad agents they hadn't shown it.
There had only been two rangers on duty when Sam drove the van into the parking lot almost thirty minutes ago. Both are easily classified as rookies, having no more than three years experience between the two of them. Where as the medics seemed perfectly at ease working amongst the eccentric agents who look every part the group that literally just jumped out of bed, Rangers Martinez and Rogers had been a tad bit overwhelmed.
Sam's angry demeanor, the obvious ire that seemed to radiate off him in droves probably hadn't helped ease the two twenty-something year olds. The moment Sam had walked through the door, baggy wife-beater, loose sweat pants, no shoes, they had immediately reached for their guns. Only Hetty's quick entrance had stopped them from actually drawing their weapons.
It had taken a few minutes to sort out exactly who was who, the team's badges and IDs having been left in the cabin, but for the most part, a quick phone call to the Chief Ranger and Head of Park Services had quickly sorted out the issue.
Hetty looks to the clock on the wall, frowning as another minute passes by and there's still no sign of the second SCPD officer. The number of resources available to the team is limited, the threat of exposure for the unit and the possibility of Nichols finding them being very high. The two officers that had escorted them from the hospital, on loan from the Santa Clarita Police Department and a handful of Forest Rangers are all the outside security the team has. The fact that it's taking much longer than expected for Officer Sharpe to arrive is only expounding the frustration Hetty's felt since seeing the cabin go up in flames, the majority of her team still inside.
Officer Daniels chews on his thumbnail, occasionally darting glances outside, searching for his quiet partner. He had arrived shortly after the medics, his eyes rimmed in red, his clothes slightly wrinkled, blending in perfectly with the motley crew of sleep-deprived agents. He had looked around the station, confusion written all over his face as he searched for his missing partner.
"He's staying at the Inn on the edge of the forest," Daniels had told Callen. "Dispatch would have radioed him in. He should have beaten the damn medics."
Five minutes later, and Officer Daniels is about ready to climb the walls. He and Officer Sharpe have only been partners for about a year. In that time, Sharpe hadn't had a lot to say, but Daniels insists he's someone to be trusted.
"Something has to be wrong," he finally says, glancing once more at the silent parking lot. "He shoulda been here by now."
Callen looks to Sam leaning against an empty desk, his borrowed gun sitting near the computer's mouse. "Hetty, Daniels and I are gonna go check on Sharpe, see if we can't figure out what's keeping him. Call us if he shows up."
Hetty nods, giving her consent even though Callen hadn't outright asked for it. "And ," she says, stopping him from walking through the door, "please—"
"Be careful," he finishes for her. "Don't worry, Hetty. We'll be right back."
As soon as they're out the door, Hetty breathes in deeply, holding it for a moment before sighing heavily. It's a stress-relieving tactic she picked up years ago, one she seems to have been using often lately.
"Hetty," Sam says, drawing her attention away from the fact that her agent is leaving more or less on his own. "What are we gonna do? G can't be going out there without backup. We don't have any weapons, no ID, badges. Hell we don't even have shoes."
"I'm well aware, Mr. Hanna, but what do you suppose we do?"
Sam clenches his jaw, shaking his head in frustration. He doesn't know what to do, this type of thing isn't supposed to happen. They've all taken precautions to insure that they're safe, that they wouldn't have to worry when they're off the clock. Yet, somehow Andrew Nichols has managed to throw all that out the window.
"I don't know, Hetty. But we gotta do something."
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Just after midnight, the small bed n' breakfast style Inn located about ten miles from the now burned cabin is completely quiet, a few cars parked outside being the only sign that anyone's home.
Officer Daniels parks his cruiser next to a rundown Toyota. As he kills the engine, the porch light comes on, the front door opening to reveal an old woman in a dressing gown, her thin grey hair falling loose around her shoulders.
She doesn't say anything, simply stands on the doorstep, the screen door separating her from the two men.
"Mrs. Jepson, sorry to bother you so late," Officer Daniels begins, shutting his door behind him as he walks up the front steps, "we're just here to get Nick."
Mrs. Jepson looks to Callen before turning her light eyes back to Officer Daniels. "He's in his room," she says as she pushes the screen door open, inviting them inside. "And Gregory, it'd be nice if you reminded your partner that I run a B&B and that neither one of those stand for 'Brothel'." She squints her eyes, showing her contempt for whatever Nick Sharpe had been up to.
"Excuse me?" Officer Daniels says, stopping his trek up the stairs. The Inn has only five bedrooms available for rent, all of them upstairs.
"You heard me," she snaps, jutting her chin towards the ceiling. "This house is old. These walls aren't exactly sound proof. I thought you boys were here for business, not to entertain loose women."
Officer Daniels stares at the woman, at a complete loss for words. He and Officer Sharpe had been taking turns staying at the Inn, splitting shifts so one of them would always be close should the NCIS agents need them. Tonight was Nick's turn. Nowhere in the plan did it include picking up women. Not while on the clock.
"I'll talk to him," he finally says, sharing a slightly embarrassed yet amused look with Callen.
They continue up the stairs, stopping at the first door on the right, a large, brass '2' screwed in place just below the peephole signaling the room's number. Officer Daniels raps his knuckles against the door. "Nick open up, man."
When there's no sound, he knocks again, slightly louder than before. "Nick!" After a few moments of no response, Callen steps forward. "Officer Sharpe. This is Special Agent Callen. Can you open the door, please?"
Silence.
Callen nods to the worried officer standing beside him, gesturing to the doorknob, signaling for him to unlock it. Officer Daniels digs in his pockets, pulling out the spare room key. When he pushes the door open, he takes a step back, struggling to make his mind catch up with what he's seeing.
The room smells like sex. The bed sheets are rumpled, pulled halfway off the bed, tangling around Nick Sharpe's still legs. He's on the floor, lying on his side. He's completely nude, wearing nothing more than the used condom resting against his thigh, supporting Mrs. Jepson's accusation.
His head's tilted at an odd angle, a small knife protruding just below his jaw. A Texas Toothpick Callen recalls as he takes a step closer to the dead officer. Aside from the blood staining the sheets and the body lying on the floor, there's no sign of a struggle. Officer Nick Sharpe had never expected it.
Callen turns to Officer Daniels. The man's still standing just outside the door, his eyes wide as he stares at his dead partner. "Daniels?" Callen says, trying to get the man's attention. Slowly, as though he's in shock, Officer Daniels turns, unblinking towards Callen.
"You need to call this in. I'm going to go talk to Mrs. Jepson." Daniels nods, his hand going to his phone as his eyes go back to the body.
As he walks by, Callen squeezes the officer's shoulder, offering support as he begins descending the stairs. He needs to learn more about this 'loose woman' Mrs. Jepson had seen.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
The ranger station isn't very large. There are about six desks in the main bullpen, a large conference room that mostly serves as a dining room, a private office for the Chief Ranger, and a small holding cell in the back, just in case.
The cell isn't any bigger than a standard walk-in closet—big enough to hold a single bed, a little legroom, nothing special. Most days, the rangers use it to take naps, the nightshift fighting to call dibs on the single cot inside.
That's where Deeks finds himself, only partly against his will. He's surprised Kensi hasn't shut the door, locking him inside. The fire had woken him from a drug induced sleep, adrenaline and pain forcing him awake. It had been a couple of hours since he had last taken any medicine, and now, over an hour after the fire, all traces of pain relief are slowly starting to wear off.
The whole "let's jump out the window" move hadn't really caused any damage, but it definitely didn't feel good. He feels the heat coming from his side, the steady throb deep within reminding him it's not what one would classify as a 'flesh wound'. The medics left soon after Callen, the Fire Chief arriving after that, asking questions, demanding answers, wanting to know what "Dumb Fuck", his words, was responsible for starting a fire that could have potentially burnt down the entire forest.
Hetty had quickly brought him up to date on the situation, informing him if he quit being such an intolerable, ornery excuse for a man he might learn a little faster. Everyone, the rangers included, had to duck their heads to hide their smiles. For someone so small, Henrietta Lange knows how to pack a punch, and it's always worth watching as long as she's on your side.
Shortly after the Fire Chief left to return to the cabin a little angrier than before, his pride wounded, Deeks had started to feel the effects of the last few hours. He tried to hide it by sitting down in one of the empty desk chairs, but his slow movements, his suddenly quiet demeanor had tipped Kensi off.
After tattling on him to Hetty, Kensi successfully 'convinced' Deeks to lie down, at least until Callen gets back and they start to make a plan. That was almost thirty minutes ago, and now Deeks is fighting to stay awake.
More than once, he's had to stop himself from asking for his meds, temporarily forgetting that they're most likely a pile of melted plastic and ash by now. He's lying on his right side facing the metal bars, watching as Eric slowly moves a computer mouse back and forth.
Nell's typing away at an adjacent computer. The station has internet access, allowing them to get in touch with D.C. Hetty's already called the director, informing him of what's happened. Sam's sitting across from Kensi, slowly making a pile of neon colored origami from the steadily dwindling stack of post-it notes.
Kensi looks like she's about to snap. She keeps looking towards the door, occasionally glancing towards Deeks' cell, insuring that he's still lying down. Her fingers tap the phone resting on the edge of the desk.
Deeks turns his attention back to Eric, lifting his head as he notices the small orange circles decorating the tech's pajama bottoms.
"Eric, are you wearing pumpkin pants?"
Eric looks at Deeks, confused for a moment before he lets his eyes fall, taking in the brightly colored pants. "They're jack-o-lanterns," he clarifies, looking up defensively.
The question "What are jack-o-lanterns made from?" is on the tip of Deeks' tongue. The sight of headlights passing through the windows stops him from asking it. He rises up on his elbows, stretching his neck to see whether or not the Fire Chief is about to make an encore performance.
Callen quickly enters, the air-pressured hinge stopping the door from slamming against the wall. A uniformed officer follows him inside, both frowning as Callen makes a beeline for Hetty.
"Sharpe's dead," he tells her, loud enough for the other agents to hear. "And Nichols has a partner."
Deeks ignores the pain in his side, the silent warning that it'd probably be best if he stayed lying down. He's across the bullpen, discretely leaning his weight against a desk by the time Callen begins accounting how he and Officer Daniels had discovered Sharpe's body, and why he's come to believe that Nichols isn't working alone.
"According to the Inn's manager, the woman's small, blonde, and dresses like a tramp," he finishes with a smile, reading from the borrowed piece of stationary Mrs. Jepson had let him use to take notes, disdainfully describing the 'hussy' that had fled the Inn on 'one of them motor bicycles'.
"She was on a motorcycle?" Hetty asks, her mind going to the same place as the others. "Are you sure Mr. Callen, that the person you saw at the cabin was a man?"
"No, not really. They were wearing a helmet and a jacket. That and the bomb they tossed at us was kind of distracting," Callen admits, looking to Sam for confirmation.
"It could have been a woman. It was dark…" Sam says, shaking his head as he tries to remember.
"Could it be his ex?" Kensi asks, dismayed to learn that they now have two people trying to kill them. "What was her name? Miranda?"
"No, she's in Colorado," Eric tells her, unconsciously looking towards the window and the empty darkness outside. "Callen talked to her yesterday."
"So what? She seduced Sharpe into telling her where we were and then killed him? Seriously?" Deeks asks, not really wanting to believe it, but unable to come up with another explanation. Whoever the arsonist was, they had managed to find them, with or without Sharpe's help.
"That's what it looks like." Callen sets the small piece of floral stationary on the desk, placing his hands on his hips as he tries to think. "SCPD are processing the scene now. She left her DNA, the murder weapon. If she's in the system, we'll know who she is within a few hours."
Hetty clasps her hands behind her back, straightening her posture as she prepares to deliver more bad news. "I've spoken with the director. He wants to move us out of state until the matter's resolved—"
"Hetty, we can't leave," Callen says angrily, not happy with the idea of having to hide.
"Let me finish, Mr. Callen. As I was saying, the director wants us to move. However, I've managed to convince him that we need to stay. No one else is going to be able to catch these people. Unfortunately, he's given us a time limit."
Sam crosses his arms, taking a defensive stance. "How long?"
"Three days," Hetty tells him, clearly not happy about it. "Lets hope it doesn't take us that long."
Review? That'd be nice...