a/n: Sorry about the wait - life got away from me. Sorry about the length - the chapter got away from me. Thanks for sticking with this and I hope you enjoy :)
"I looked it up."
Renko starts scraping dirt from under his fingernail with an old toothpick. "Looked what up?"
"That's disgusting."
He glances over, totally unapologetic. "Would you rather I left it there?"
"You could wash your hands in a sink."
He gestures around them. "I see no sink."
"Anyway," she sighs and drops her hands from the steering wheel, "I know the difference between a bikini bar and a strip club."
"I bet you loved the search results that popped up when you googled that."
She glares at him. Mostly to cover her embarrassment. They were pretty graphic.
"Going to enlighten me?"
She's slightly irritated, but not enough to keep her from sharing her wealth of knowledge with the uninformed. "A strip club has no alcohol and no clothes, and a bikini bar has alcohol and clothes."
"So nipples or booze? What an awful choice to make."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, awful."
"You get to see them while you drink. I don't expect you to understand."
"Yeah, I go home most nights, open a beer and stare at my breasts."
"I do that too, but it's never very gratifying."
"You're disgusting."
He puts the toothpick in his mouth. "So I've been told."
She does go home some nights, open a beer and stare at leggy models, but that's only once a week. Probably not worth mentioning.
It's been over a month since Deeks went under on his op and she hasn't heard a word from him. Which, you know, is fine and understandable, but mostly it's completely and utterly awful. Because once you open up your life to fit someone into it it's got a specially shaped hole that they're expected to fill. And that hole, that Deeks-shaped hole, has been empty for a long time. And it sucks.
And not just because she's lonely, which she is, but also because she's worried about him. Because while she may be home alone, he's out there alone and out there is a much harder place to be. She knows he's capable, more than capable - and she knows he's doing what he loves - but he's still somewhere she isn't, surrounded with bad people doing bad things, and he doesn't have backup. He doesn't have a partner.
She runs her hand through her hair and settles in against it, elbow propped at the base of the window, eyes unfocused as she stares ahead.
No matter how many times she tells herself that she was better before, that she hurt less, she can't convince herself of the fact that her life before, like the life she's living right now in his absence, was the one she should choose. Work was the highlight of her day - was the only part that held any joy. But with Deeks? She laughed, she smiled, she felt warm and enveloped in something. She was happy. She had a partner.
And just like in the job, it made all the difference.
"Dude," says Renko, drawing Kensi from her thoughts. He's staring through the binoculars, leaning forward, like the few inches will make the zoom more effective. "No way."
"They done with Gold Watch already?" she asks. She hasn't been listening to the conversation on the comms, but she feels like she wasn't so unfocused that she would miss the whole thing concluding.
"Nope," he answers, surrendering the binoculars.
"Well then what..." She puts them to her eyes, turning the knob slightly to bring the image into focus. "The hell?"
"Black Range Rover driving to Los Angeles from Vegas tomorrow," says Brenner. "Fire up some flares. Create a roadblock. Pull the driver out, give him a ticket. Take him for," he waves a hand as he considers, "resisting arrest. Once he's locked up, you get paid."
"What's his name?" Callen asks.
"Not important."
"You want us to arrest the right guy, we're gonna need a name."
Brenner sighs. "Phil Crombie. Ex-con. Business rival of mine. I need him off the street so I can complete a deal."
"So, uh," Renko says in their ears. "You've got company."
"What if we say no?"
"You," Brenner points to Sam, "won't." He turns his finger to Callen. "You? I don't care about. I only need one of you."
Callen sits forward. "Excuse me?"
"I only need two officers for this job," says Brenner, turning toward the front of the bar, "and I've already got one."
Sam follows Brenner's gaze and sees Deeks at the entry, eyes searching. They land on Brenner and he waves Deeks over before turning back to Sam and Callen with a smile. "How's that for dramatic timing?"
Sam's fists clench under the table. Of course. Of course their mark would approach Deeks first and he'd insert himself into their op. Because these things just can't play out the way they're supposed to. It would be too easy.
When Deeks arrives at the table, Brenner continues, "This is Officer Howard, I believe you've met."
"You don't need Howard," Sam says, not even sparing Deeks a glance. "Exley and I are partners. He should be the second guy."
Brenner makes a face like he's considering it. "Yeah, no. That doesn't work for me." He pushes up out of his seat, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt. "I like to put my own pieces into play."
Sam's about to try again, to reason another way - to insist he keeps his partner, but a glance from Callen forces him to back down.
They don't have to like it, but they have to do it. They can't lose this guy before they've even started.
Brenner waves his finger between Sam and Deeks and flashes a disingenuous grin. "Don't fuck this up."
Once Brenner's out the door, Deeks cuts his eyes to Sam. "Trying to cut me out? Really?"
"Get over yourself, Deeks. It isn't about you. It's about us getting this job done. We've been under for six months."
"You've been working one shift a week for six months. I've been there full-time for the last five weeks. Give me some credit."
"This is an NCIS -"
He waves him off. "Bullshit. This is dirty cops."
"This is military hardware."
"I'm sorry, I must have missed the part where he mentioned that."
Deeks is beyond tired of being Officer Darren Howard, beyond tired of being on the highway patrol, and beyond tired of this fucking assignment. And he should be done with it - would be done with it, if crap hadn't started hitting the fan in the last twenty-four hours. He was all set to make the bust on this ring - the date and time set with his lieutenant. He could practically taste his freedom, smell the salty ocean air, feel Monty's fur between his fingers, hear his name on Kensi's lips. And then Paul Beane turned up dead, some asshole started talking about a big business venture, and Bates decided he wanted to catch the bigger fish.
So here he is, a fish on the line he's been tending non-stop and these two jerks on the shore trying to steal what he's caught.
Callen puts his hands up. "Look, obviously we're in this together, so let's start acting like it."
"Maybe you can even be glad it's me that's the second guy and not a wild card."
Sam snorts. "That assumes you're not one."
Deeks rolls his eyes. What does a guy have to do to prove himself to these guys? "We may not be on the same team, but we're on the same side. I'll get my job done and you take care of yours."
Sam gives him one last look before pushing out of his chair. "At least one of those things is gonna pan out to be true."
Callen steps into the mission and shakes his head. "Not now, Kensi."
"Not now? Not now?"
Okay, that was a long shot.
"I agree 'not now,'" she continues, arms folded so tightly in front of her he's afraid she might snap. "Now isn't the time. Five weeks ago was the time."
He maneuvers past her to his desk. "It wasn't any of your concern."
"Like hell it wasn't."
He grabs his bag and shoves some files into it, gathering up a good steam before he swings around to face her. "The operation was for Sam and I, not you. Not until Hetty pulled the team into it. It's not my job to keep you informed of every assignment I'm put on and the details surrounding it."
"I'm not asking you to tell me about the op, Callen, I'm asking you to let me know when Deeks is involved."
"He wasn't."
"He was there!"
"Yeah, he was there. He's been undercover at the CHP for the last few weeks. But that's not your business."
"It is my business!" Her voice had been creeping up slightly more with every word since his name had crossed her lips and her crescendo has just about reached fortissimo.
"Then take that up with him."
She deflates at that, and he immediately regrets the edge he's taken with his tone.
"You're my friend," she says, softer now. "And you know how worried about him I've been."
"Do I, Kens?" He leans against the desk. "You don't talk to me about your life, you've never outright said that you and he are dating. Sure you've been edgy, but maybe you're on a juice cleanse or something."
She glares at him.
"Look, regardless, I'm not the one you should be mad at."
"Oh, I'm mad at Sam too."
He shakes his head, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips. "Not him either."
She huffs. "Regardless of what Deeks should or shouldn't have told me, you could have mentioned it. You could have told me you knew where he was and what he was doing."
She's right, he knows. He's seen her moping around, he's overheard her talking with Renko. He knows how she feels about Deeks and knows that he could have eased some of her tension these past few weeks if he'd volunteered the information. But it's Kensi and it's her life and it was easier to tell himself that it wasn't his business than it was to get himself caught up in the middle.
He nods and pushes off his desk. "Okay, I'm sorry. Can I make it up to you with a milkshake, or do you have someone else to go yell at?"
She drops her arms to her sides and exhales. "No, I'm free."
"So 'Steve Brenner' is an alias," says Eric, pulling up a prison record on the big screen. "His real name's Justin Marchetti. Did nine years in federal prison for running a Ponzi scheme."
Nell taps on her tablet. "Some people thought he was a Wall Street savant until $20 million of his clients' money disappeared. Mostly retirement funds and life savings."
"His buddies are all former French military - GIGN."
"That's an elite counter terrorist unit," says Sam, folding his arms across his chest. "Their services don't come cheap."
The ops doors slide open and Deeks walks in. At least Kensi's pretty sure it's Deeks. She's not risking a glance in that direction because she's not going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence.
"And what do we have on Phil Crombie, the guy Marchetti wants us to stop?" Callen asks, after a nod at the room's newest occupant.
"Hey, Deeks," says Eric. "Crazy how you wound up on a case with us again, yeah?"
"It's a small world."
"Well, yeah, and also," Eric continues, "we work in the same city and operate in the same circles, so, well, maybe not hugely crazy. But still cool."
"Very cool."
"Eric?" Callen prompts. "Crombie?"
"Right!" He turns back to the screen. "Crombie did a dime in Folsom for drug trafficking. Released last year. Currently employed by a restaurant in Santa Monica."
Kensi digs her fingers into the table in front of her to keep from launching herself across the room at Deeks. She's not sure if she'd attack him in anger or lust, but she's not interested in doing either in front of her teammates. "What, did he graduate from narcotics to military hardware?"
Before anyone can answer, Deeks' phone starts ringing. He pulls it out of his pocket. "It's got to be Marchetti."
Eric nods. "All right. Ready to start the trace."
"Howard," Deeks answers.
Marchetti's voice comes over the speaker. "The Range Rover will be passing Marker 447 on Route 138 at exactly 4:00 PM."
"You sure Crombie's on board?" Deeks asks, doing his best to keep him on the line. From the hurried, clipped tone Marchetti's using, Kensi's sure it's futile.
"He's driving. Don't screw it up."
The phone disconnects and Eric shakes his head. "He's using an encrypted sat phone. Not even close."
The briefing ends and the team disperses, but Deeks lingers, watching Kensi as she stands ramrod straight, fingers wrapped around the edge of the table. He's seen her annoyed, he's seen her frustrated, but this level of pissed off is a whole new beast. He's not ashamed to say he's a little bit terrified.
"Kens?"
Her head swivels in his direction, but she doesn't make eye contact. "Come with me," she says coolly, before brushing past him and out of the room.
Okay, he's a lot terrified.
He follows her down the stairs and around the corner, down the hallway and into the - firing range. Oh, great.
"Listen, Kens," he says as he crosses the threshold, "I wanted to -"
She closes the door behind him and spins around. "Don't you give me that 'I wanted to tell you' bullshit."
"I did!"
"If you wanted to, you could have!"
"I know you haven't ever been deep cover -"
"Don't you dare."
"- but when you go deep, you cut off all ties," he continues, trying to ignore the way her eyes have narrowed. "All ties. Not just some of them."
She shakes her head, fuming. "You were under as a cop. You had plenty of opportunities to text me."
"I didn't have my phone."
"You don't know my number?"
"I didn't want to compromise -"
"I wouldn't have compromised anything!"
"I know you wouldn't, I'm not making this about you, Kensi."
"It is about me! You were working with my team -"
He throws up his hands. "Which also has nothing to do with it."
"That's such bullshit, Deeks." She brings her hand up to her forehead before dropping it in exasperation. "You left. On Christmas."
"I know. I'm really sorry."
"You don't know," she insists, and he thinks maybe there are tears brimming. "You don't know what that meant to me."
From the expression on her face, the clear hurt in her tone, he's certain he doesn't. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You did."
His heart clenches and he curls his hands into fists, forcing himself not to reach out to her.
"And I understood it," she says. "I did."
"It's the job."
"Yeah, it's the job. But you could have reached out. You could have contacted me."
"Once I'm under -"
"Once you're under you're still you and I'm still me and if it won't terribly inconvenience you, you could send a message to let me know you're okay. Or at least I'll know you're okay enough to tap a couple -"
He shakes his head, risking a step forward. "It's not about inconveniencing me, Kensi. I realize it sucks for me to disappear like that - it sucked for me too - but when I go deep cover I drop everything. That's how it works. I lock my phone up in my desk, I shut off the lights in my office and I turn off Marty Deeks. I become someone else. Unless I'm meeting my handler that doesn't drop. It can't. Because if it does - if I risk being me for even a second, then I risk everything."
"You can't just take five minutes -"
"Do you know what I'd do with those five minutes? I'd spend every second of it thinking about you, and trying to contact you or be with you. I'd pull myself so far out of the op and into a world I'd much rather be inhabiting and I don't know that I'd be able to force myself to go completely back in. Or worse, I'd slip. Just for a second. Just one word. Or one look. And then it's over."
She softens at that, her body releasing some of the visible tension.
"Believe me," he takes another step, bringing a hand up to her arm, and god it feels so good to touch her, "please believe me, that I wanted to contact you. That seeing Sam and Callen made it infinitely harder - but that I couldn't let myself. Because I've never had to do this job - I've never had to be inside when I wanted so very badly to be out."
He reaches out with his other hand and slides both down to clasp hers. "I've never had something at home that I wanted as badly as you, Kensi, and I wasn't sure I could keep my head in the game."
Her fingers grasp his loosely, but it's enough to reassure him.
"I don't know how," she says, "but we're going to have to figure out a way to do this differently. Because I understand what you're saying, but I can't handle you being out there and me not knowing. I can't live like that. It's too hard."
He inches even closer, drawn in by her eyes, her lips.
"Yo, Kensi," Renko says, the door to the range swinging open.
Deeks and Kensi jump apart and he shifts his attention awkwardly to the floor.
"Callen wants us to go back to Paul Beane's garage." Renkos eyes dart between them. "Sorry, but we've gotta go."
"Okay." Kensi nods, glancing at Deeks one last time. "Be careful, please."
"I will," he promises, and he watches her walk out the door, hoping that even though things aren't resolved, at least they're headed in the right direction.
Sam sees the muzzle of the riffle and then sees nothing.
He feels everything, all at once. Pain in his chest, spreading to his arms, like lava in his veins. His head hits the dirt, rocks scrape his skin. His body is heavy, throbbing, shaking, and bullets thunder in his ears as he rolls, trying to drag himself out of the fight before he's on the receiving end of anything worse. He knows he has to get up, to get out, but his limbs are like lead and he can't find the strength to move them.
Everything's a little blurry, but his vision is suddenly filled with Deeks, face determined as he provides cover fire, hand firm on Sam's back. As the two of them manage to get Sam to his feet, something explodes on the road. They duck back, together, pressing themselves into the dirt and brush as the barrage of bullets continues to thump rhythmically in his ears and under his skin.
"You okay?" Deeks voice pierces through the cacophony, his hand again pressed into Sam's back.
"Vest took the hit," Sam manages, but he's not sure with what air.
Deeks nods, watching the scene ahead of them through squinted eyes, his gun poised to return fire. "Marchetti's guys."
"Yeah," says Sam, his gun rising to do the same. He thinks thank you but lacks the capacity to say it, instead determined to show it in the best way he can - by keeping his partner alive.
Kensi's at her desk, being exactly zero percent productive when she hears Renko's voice around the corner.
"You guys okay?"
She practically leaps out of her chair, coming around her desk just as Sam and Deeks step into the bullpen.
"Sam, you okay? Deeks?" she breathes.
"I'm good, Kensi, thanks," Sam says, patting Deeks on the back. She's too focused on Deeks to bother asking the questions that Sam's move raises.
He looks fine, she heard he was fine, but she still needs to touch him to make sure.
"I'm good too," he assures her, as she hovers in front of him, wondering if it would be appropriate to hug. Wondering if he wants her to. She reaches out, brushing the skin of his wrist with her fingertips. It's been over a month since she's felt the pressure of him against her and she's aching for it now more than ever.
"You said you were going to be careful."
"That was me being careful." He holds up his other hand and wiggles his fingers. "All pieces in working order. What else can you ask for?"
"Could you repeat that?" Hetty's voice comes from behind her. Kensi tears her gaze from Deeks and turns to find her boss on the phone, frown etched deeply into her features.
"Empty Quiver. Indeed." Hetty hangs up her phone and announces, "Empty Quiver, ladies and gentlemen."
Kensi's hand slips from Deeks wrist to his palm and holds on.
So it was military hardware after all.
"Renko, take him!"
Deeks hears Callen's voice in his ear and feels Kensi hovering beside him. He was surprised when Kensi suggested that Renko be on overwatch, but glad, her presence familiar and comforting. He's spent so long going into these things without anyone at his side, and he hasn't had her company that often, but it feels right, it fits, in a way that nothing else ever quite has.
"Driver and passenger are down," Renko calls over the comm and Deeks listens as Callen and Sam proceed to help him dispose of the final merc.
Kensi makes a motion, suggesting they split up and he nods, knowing it's the best way to clear the rest of the building. He watches as she goes past a stack of obnoxiously orange dishes and disappears out of sight.
He listens to the team with one ear and keeps tuned in to his surroundings with the other, sweeping the barrel of his weapon along with his eyes as he makes his way through the warehouse. It seems to be empty, but he's sure it's not - Marchetti's not the kind of guy who'd leave this operation in the hands of minions. Not even the highly trained, ex-operative kind. If he's not on the ground somewhere, then he's nearby -
His thoughts are interrupted by a shout and the sounds of a scuffle. His heart lodges in his throat and he pushes it down, channeling his adrenaline and sharpening it into focus.
He pushes through the swinging door and finds Kensi across the room, the barrel of a gun pressed against her back, hands up in surrender. The physicist is on the floor, nursing what appears to be a badly broken nose and looking seriously pissed off.
"You don't want to shoot me," Kensi says.
"I don't know about that." Marchetti tightens his hold. "My cell mate at Eastwood spoke very highly of the thrill of taking a life. Very poetic. You'd be surprised."
"I've done it. Not something I'd recommend."
"I'm not really interested in taking advice from Combat Barbie," he answers. "No offense."
"Offense taken," she says, ducking down as the words clip off and thrusting her right foot back into his shin as she moves.
He falls, but falls forward, taking her with him, and they hit the ground together. The gun clatters to the floor and spins away from them as they wrestle, the sudden loudness of metal colliding with concrete ricocheting off the high walls.
Deeks' feet began moving in concert with Kensi's, his body somehow knowing what she was about to do even though his mind registered the sudden violence as a surprise. The warehouse isn't immense. It isn't even that big. But every yard matters because that's another fraction of a second he's not there for her.
Five. Four. Less than a handful of seconds now until he'll be close enough to bark an order at Marchetti that has any meaning. The assault rifle in his hands is comforting, but it's worthless when the intended target is wrapped around Kensi.
Two. One.
"Stop."
The voice is quiet, commanding. More importantly, it isn't his own. He doesn't need to look over his shoulder to know who's there. His eyes blink closed for the briefest of moments, shutting over the image of Marchetti's gun sliding across the smooth floor. It doesn't take the mind of a Hollywood director to fill in the pieces - Richards pulling herself toward the firearm, finding her feet, and then watching an idiot detective ignore his training as he races over to rescue his partner.
"You can drop the rifle."
Deeks turns slightly toward Richards, keeping Kensi and Marchetti in the corner of his eye but directing most of his gaze toward the new threat.
"You know you're going to have trouble shooting me with the safety on."
The pistol coughs as it discharges through the silencer. Deeks flinches involuntarily in concert with the sound of the bullet passing by his head.
"Okay, I guess it's not. Must be the angle. It looked -"
Another cough and he feels a second bullet pass by on the other side. He's usually the first to attempt to disarm a situation using humor, but he's pretty sure there's only one logical place left for the third bullet to go. And he isn't particularly interested in tempting the armed woman opposite him.
"Let's try this again," she says without a hint of emotion. "Lose the rifle."
He lets the tip of the rifle guide the weapon down to the floor at his feet, cushioning the last few inches by letting the butt rest on the toe of his shoe. The sounds of wrestling behind him have died down except for the occasional grunt. He's pretty sure that's a good thing, but decides against looking back over his shoulder to assess the situation.
"Let him go, Barbie."
A moment passes with no sound. No movement. No acknowledgement. He breathes in slowly, not wanting to disrupt the situation. Another grunt from over his shoulder. This time it is definitely a man's grunt. He can picture Kensi behind Marchetti, forearm constricting around his throat and making anything more than a grunt impossible.
"You let him go or Ken over here is going to need a trip to Malibu General to plug the bullet hole."
Another moment passes, just long enough to release the breath he realized he'd been holding and brace himself. He's not sure for what. He'd like to think he knows she'll release Marchetti. He knows he would if he were in her shoes, but he realized that first time with her on the beach that she was an enigma to him. He realized after watching her around the members of her team that it wasn't just him.
Just as he starts wondering whether he should make a move on his own, he hears the rustle of clothing behind him and an audible exhale as Kensi's arm slides off of Marchetti's throat.
"The rifle." Her eyes flick down toward Deeks' feet for the briefest moment. "Kick it to me."
The muscles in his leg tense up, releasing all at once as he flicks upward with his toe. Richards' eyes leave Deeks and focus on the weapon that is now rifling across the empty space between them. The first twitch of her eyes flipped Deeks' switch and put him into motion, following the trajectory of the projectile.
Richards' forearm sweeps up, taking the brunt of the impact from the rifle as it connects with her. The hand holding the pistol realigns on its own path, bringing the barrel in line with Deeks, but by now he's too close. He crashes into her and propels her backwards, half pushing, half falling. But all that matters is he is close enough to make a difference.
He wraps his arms around his opponent, enveloping her with the only weapons he has, and letting his momentum do the difficult work of taking her out of the fight. They crash against one of the packing crates and Richards' head whips back into the wood slats. He feels, rather than hears, the pistol discharge against him. The impact against his abdomen drives him off of Richards and down to his knees. He looks up in time to see her now limp form falling down on to him, pushing him off balance and spinning him around so that he's facing back toward where Kensi and Marchetti had been.
He mentally registers his partner's form over an inert figure stretched out on the floor.
"How'd... you… I mean… that was... quick." His words come out in staccato, punctuated by heavy breaths.
"Deeks, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm… I just…"
He knows what he wants to say. He wants to tell her he's fine. He wants to tell her he's sorry for splitting up. He wants to make sure she's okay. But the pain in his midsection is blossoming upward and outward and the blackness that had been hovering at the edge of his vision sweeps in and envelops him in the bliss of nothingness.
His eyes open slowly. She knew it might take a while, but every second had been an exercise in agony.
"You bastard."
He stares up at her, obviously confused.
"Wait a second. I'm the bastard? What happened?"
"You blacked out. Took a bullet to the vest that knocked the wind out of you. And yes."
"Yes?" His brow furrows and his eyes narrow slightly.
She can feel her body start to release now that he's awake. He had only been unconscious a few moments; barely enough time for her to get him out of his vest and check his vitals. But that was all the time she needed to run through a handful of scenarios in her head that all involved a future without him. The way she had felt had been unlike anything she had ever felt before. She knows she should say something reassuring, but she can't focus on anything but the hopelessness that had flooded through her when his eyes rolled back in his head, his body went slack, and he dropped forward onto the floor.
"Yes. Yes, you're the bastard. You're not allowed to scare me like that."
His eyes widen. Then narrow. Then close altogether. He takes in a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds before letting it go.
"I am always here, Kensi," he says, hugging her like she's been dreaming about for weeks. His body is pressed against hers, his face against her hair. She isn't really sure when he sat up, or when his arms encircled her, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters right now except their closeness.
"I want to be here," his voice continues softly. "Whenever I can, I want to be here."
She hopes that will be enough.
