Chapter 10

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This chapter rated M, so be warned.

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The first time he called she hung up on him. The second time, she called him a couple of choice names before abruptly ending the call, but on his third try she didn't say anything and he rushed to explain why he hadn't answered any of her calls and why it had taken over a two weeks to finally respond. He used every cute nickname he could think of to sweeten his words and make her believe that he truly wanted to see her again. She finally agreed, but he knew she had been hurt by his actions and he very much wanted to make it up to her, recalling her sensuous body and how easy she was to be with. When he finished writing down her address and ended the call, he looked up to see Vega staring at him with a small grin on his face.

"You're a real piece of work, Deeks," he said. "She's hot, dude. Nice."

"She takes my mind off things," he answered.

"I bet she does."

"You got a girl, man?" Deeks asked as he scraped the remains of breakfast into the trash.

"Did once," he said, hesitating before answering. "Tough to get a date when you're living under a freeway."

"Of course," Deeks looked cautiously at the man as he cleaned the table. "Sorry."

"You apologize a lot, you know that?" There was an edge to his voice and Deeks looked up quickly at him. "Quit it."

Deeks had been noticing how short tempered Vega had been recently and he knew the tell tale signs of someone missing the need for alcohol. He hadn't seen him take a drink in the week he'd been living with him, and he wondered how long he would last before he succumbed to the craving. He had taken him to a couple of AA meetings, but he'd been antsy there and angry afterwards, never speaking to anyone and wanting to be alone when they got back to his apartment.

"I'd apologize for saying sorry, but I don't want to piss you off," Deeks said offhandedly with a crooked grin, hoping to ease the sudden tension.

"I had a girl back home," Vega said as he slumped into a chair. "Her family owned orchards."

"Where's home?"

"Gustine," Vega laughed. "Never heard of it have you? Little town in the San Joaquin Valley off Interstate 5. Not much there except orchards and dairy cows. More cows than people when I was growing up. Close to Santa Cruz though. Good surfin'."

"You surf?" Deeks brightened at the information, having had no one to surf with in a while.

"I did. Not since I got back from Iraq," Vega snorted as he stood. "Seems kinda frivolous now."

"Not if it helps you cope with things," Deeks said.

"You're a naïve sonofabitch sometimes," Vega snapped.

"Bullshit," Deeks bristled at the comment, turning to face the man.

"Why you doing this, man?" Vega asked, standing quickly and aggressively stepping up to him. "Helping the downtrodden ex-soldier get on his feet make you feel good? Huh?"

"You're full of shit, brother," Deeks said.

"I'm not your brother, asshole," he sneered and then grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, slamming it behind him as he left.

"Dammit."

Deeks was shaken by the exchanged, wondering if he wasn't as naïve as the man had accused him of being. Why he thought getting him off the streets would change him, he wasn't sure, but he couldn't turn his back on him, not after what they had been through together. He'd tried to get him to talk about his experience in Iraq a couple of nights ago, but Vega had just stared at him silently until he backed off. He understood that, never wanting to talk about Vernon's death unless pushed by Maggie. He worried that Vega wouldn't return, but if he did, he was set on getting him to the beach. There was solace there. At least there was for him. Getting Vega out on a board might be just the thing the man needed. He sure as hell hoped so, but questions lingered over his own need to help the veteran, and he wondered if he was fooling himself into believing the man could change.

A flitting image of his father made him pause. It was one of the memories he couldn't rid himself of whenever he thought of his dad. He had been maybe six or seven when his dad had stumbled home dead drunk demanding something to eat and his mother had heated up some leftover beans. At that age, he'd still longed to be noticed by his dad, not as wary of him drunk as he would be later. He had brought a bowl over and sat down next to him, smiling tentatively as they ate together, watching him take in sloppy mouthfuls of the steaming beans until his father noticed. He still remembered how he smelled, the powerful odor of whiskey making his head swim a little and his eyes water. His dad hardly ever touched him gently, so when he'd reached for him he'd flinched, but his dad simply ran his calloused fingers through his long hair, finally patting him roughly on the head as his eyes blinked slowly. He still remembered how thrilled he had felt at that moment, acknowledged like that by his father, and the simple joy of watching him as he worked on a plate of beans. His mother tried to pull him away, but he resisted, whining that he wanted to stay and his dad had cussed at her to leave them alone, shoving her away. It had made him feel special to be alone with his father even if it was at his mother's expense. He still felt guilty about that.

His father's breathing had eventually become heavy as he leaned over the remaining soupy leftovers, his head drooping lower and lower making him concerned with how close he was to the plate. He had reached out and shaken his dad's arm, making him aware and he had looked at him with bleary, bloodshot eyes and then backhanded him across the cheek, sending him sprawling on the linoleum floor. He'd ended up leaning against the stove, scared out of his mind and frozen in place as he'd watched his dad hunch once again over his dinner. He didn't move until his dad's face fell in the beans, his own tears coming silently from the shock of it all. He got a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he recalled that night, the empty sadness he'd felt then and the still fresh feeling of embarrassment at seeing his father passed out in a plate of beans.

"Sonofabitch."

He hated that memory, his mind reaching out to Vega, hoping the man would never sink that low. He shook himself and got up, needing distance from the dark memories and questioning if he truly wanted to help the vet or was just trying to assuage some of the intensity of his own pain. He'd remembered his mother telling him more than once that she'd always thought she could change his father when he'd first started drinking, but her voice was always abjectly sad when she said it, her face weary with regret as if she was somehow to blame.

He was grateful when the phone rang and grateful when Nika told him to come to her apartment right that minute, telling him she wanted to kiss his ass and making him laugh, sending his depressing memories into the back of his mind. He needed her. He needed the distraction of being with her, welcoming his body's response to the image of their lovemaking now overtaking his mind, obliterating the darkness of the past.

...

Nika lived in a building just off the seedy end of Melrose and looked in need of a paint job and a few repairs, but the inside of her apartment was clean and remarkably neat. The walls were dark as were the few pieces of furniture, which looked to be from the fifties, giving the place a retro feel. She had pulled him inside as soon as she'd opened the door, giggling before kissing him warmly in welcome, already tearing at his clothes, pushing up his long sleeved tee, her hands moving over his bare chest and then around his back.

"Hey, Sweet Buns. Slow down," he said as he tried to control her urgency.

She stopped and stepped back, pouting at him, her dark eyes bright and he knew she was high.

"Want some X? It's new. It's laced with something good," she whispered. "Come on. I missed you."

"No drugs, baby," he cautioned. "Not any more."

"More for me, then," she giggled.

She was dressed in a short, dark purple tank top that hung loosely off one shoulder, her bare nipples prominent as they pushed against the thin fabric. Her skirt was long and black, and she stared at him as she undid the drawstring that held it up, letting it fall into a puddle at her feet. She wore nothing but a thong underneath and he felt a thrill course through his groin as he hardened at the sight of her.

"You want me," she stated, her pink tongue darting out as she stepped toward him.

He licked his lips as he reached for her, catching her arms above the elbows and pulling her into his body, which was now pulsing with want. As he wrapped an arm around her back, she arched over it, leaning back to offer her breasts, giggling as he pulled her tank top down, squeezing her breast as he took her nipple into his mouth, groaning softly as his tongue moved. His other hand found her ass, grasping it and moving her body against his growing lust. Her hands were under his shirt now, her fingers clawing and moving rhythmically over his back. He picked her up, carrying her to the stark leather couch, sitting her down as he dropped to his knees, his hands clasping her ass and then pulling the thong away as his mouth sought the heat between her legs. Her ecstatic cries as she came made him laugh and he leaned back to look at her, lightly touching the tips of her rigid nipples and panting as he watched her tremble. He stroked her throat and down between her breasts, running his tongue slowly around each nipple in turn until he was close to jacking off in his pants. She must have sensed it, sliding out from under him and pushing him onto the couch, quickly unzipping him as he yanked off his shirt. He stretched out on the cool leather as she slowly slid his pants off, taking his shoes and socks with them. He watched her with turbulent eyes as she came up between his legs, her hands running up his bare thighs, massaging as she went, taking her time as she crawled up his body. Her tongue and mouth performed magic and he couldn't suppress a loud moan as he went over the edge, the slickness easing her way up his chest. She stared down at him with over bright eyes, kissing him softly as she entangled her fingers in his hair.

"Turn over," she whispered.

"You can't get my ass out of your mind, can you, Cupcake?" he smirked.

"Shut up. You're my sex toy," she said quite seriously, making him laugh out loud before he turned over.

She nibbled the back of his neck as her hands roamed through his hair. He had his arms stretched out over his head and she ran her hands down into his armpits as she slid down his body, kissing her way down his spine. He swallowed hard and felt himself begin to relax as she massaged the tight muscles in his back. When she reached the small of his back, he laughed lightly at the tickling sensation her tongue made as it trailed down to the end of his spine. She pressed her breasts against him and trailed her fingers down his back, her warm mouth moving over his ass, her tongue making languid circles, her small bites exciting him once again.

"Your body is so beautiful," she said quietly.

He turned over and pulled her down on top of him, holding her tiny waist as they moved in rhythm, the heat building until she cried out and leaned back against his bent knees as he panted out his own orgasm. She laughed and collapsed against his chest, breathing easily as she tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her legs around his, clinging to him as she eased toward sleep. He stroked her arm and held her close, his hand caressing her ass as she slept. It had been quite awhile since he had been with one woman for a long period of time, usually just having a brief explosive sexual encounter and then parting ways. It was easier. Less emotional entanglements. He had shied away from deep relationships, wary of where they might lead, afraid of the expectations and their consequences. But he felt an odd fondness for Nika, and he wanted to stay with her for a while and get to know her, if she let him.

He'd often wondered if his parents had ever really loved each other, and if they had, what was it that caused that love to wither, replaced by anger, recrimination and violence. When he was a child, he thought he was the one to blame for their arguments and he still held onto some of that guilt, and their pain had kept him guarded throughout his life, not wanting to be hurt or to hurt anyone else. Love was not necessarily the answer in life. There were other ways to be happy and being with Nika made him happy and he knew neither one wanted to complicate things by adding love to the mix.

...

He was dead tired when he got home, still marveling at Nika's insatiable appetite for sex and upset with her need for the drugs that enhanced her experience. He had gotten angry with her after she insisted he do them with her, his refusal making her pout and storm around briefly, but she simply popped another pill before he could stop her. He had yelled at her and tried to dress to leave, but she'd begged him to stay, softening his anger with whispered suggestive comments as she stroked him, exciting him as she always did, and his resolve had crumbled as her body writhed against him. He couldn't resist her, couldn't turn away when she opened her legs to him and began to touch herself. He had exploded with want and a deep desire to have her and she gave him instant gratification. Now he questioned himself, realizing they were using each other, but unable to deny that he was okay with that. He worried about her drug use, but the temptation of her body and what she did to him had him rationalizing that the drugs weren't addictive, so she wasn't being hurt by them. His reasoning sounded weak now that he was out of her presence and he began to silently berate himself for his own weakness.

He had done his share of drugs in college, always more wary of hard alcohol than the recreational drugs available at every party. He had stayed away from any drug that made him lose complete control, but the stresses of college and how to pay for it had led him to give in occasionally to those that relaxed him. Now he found himself in a relationship with a woman he cared about who thought nothing of popping the latest pill-of-the-month, something he couldn't do if he wanted to keep his job. When he was cleared for duty, he knew they would be constantly testing him, making sure that he kept his word that his days of doing any kind of drug was over, that he was committed to being the best cop he could be and one that followed the rules. And he was committed to doing that, his mind flashing back to Vernon's support and counsel about what it took to be a good cop. The man had been a real straight arrow, cool, but always by the book and he wished he could talk to him about Nika and her drug use. He was fairly sure what he would say, but when he was with her, all his reason went out the window.

The people in his life at the moment were both users, Nika with ecstasy and Vega fighting his need to drown his pain in whiskey. He wanted to help them both, but how to do that would have to wait for another day. He was exhausted, and on Monday he would be reporting to a new division and a new commanding officer, having to prove he was fit for duty. He needed to get back to work, to concentrate on something other than his current situation. Tomorrow morning he was going to haul Vega to the beach and kick his ass until he got up on a board and rode a couple of waves. But right now, he needed a shower and a good night's sleep.

The sound of the front door crashing open ended all thoughts of a hot shower and he quickly grabbed his service weapon from the nightstand, moving quickly and silently into his darkened living room. A sharp, angry curse followed the sound of a breaking lamp and he switched on the overhead light to find Vega stumbling toward the kitchen. He could smell the whiskey on him from across the room and he slowly lowered his gun and leaned heavily against the doorframe, saddened by the disheveled state the man was in.

"Hey, amigo," the slurred words close to unintelligible.

The only thing holding him up was the kitchen counter he was clinging to. His jacket was ripped and he held a bloody hand to his mouth, one eye already turning black. Deeks returned to the bedroom and locked up his weapon before wetting a washcloth and grabbing a bottle of aspirin. When he got back to the front room, Vega had managed to make it to one of the chairs, moaning as he held his ribs. Deeks sat on the coffee table and cleaned him up as best he could, the man swiping at his hand as he worked, cursing he assumed, although the words were difficult to understand. He drew him a glass of water and forced him to take the pills, cussing when Vega knocked the glass from his hand.

"I'm only trying to help, man," Deeks finally said.

"Don't need your fuckin' help," he yelled in his face, struggling to get to his feet.

"You need to sleep it off," Deeks said as he helped him up.

"You don't know shit, Deeks," he mumbled, shoving him away and almost falling as he did.

"What's to know, asshole? You got stinkin' drunk and picked a fight, hopefully with just one guy," he snapped back.

"Three," he smiled and held up two fingers.

"Go to sleep, Vega," he said wearily. "We can talk in the morning."

"Talk?"

"Yeah, talk."

"Fuck you. Don't wanna hear it," Vega croaked out as he stumbled for the door. "Leavin'."

"No you're not," Deeks said as he caught his arm to stop him.

He was surprised at how much power there was behind the punch, considering how drunk Vega was, but he ended up on his backside anyway, with the taste of blood in his mouth. When he got to his feet Vega charged him, which he sidestepped easily, tripping him as his temper flared.

"Stop it, brother," he said softly as Vega lay on the floor.

"Call me that again and I'll kill you," Vega's voice was suddenly very clear and very angry.

He scrambled to his feet and advanced slowly toward him, the look on his face one of concentrated fury. Deeks took a step back, his arms held wide as the man stalked him with unfocused eyes, but stoic determination.

"I don't want to fight you," Deeks said softly.

"Fight or die."

"You don't mean that," Deeks said with a hint of surprise at the threat.

The man in front of him smiled, his nostrils flaring as he bull rushed him. Deeks almost managed to evade him, but a heavily muscled forearm caught him in the throat and slammed him against the front door. Bright pin points of light flashed as he struggled to stay conscious, fighting as Vega's hands closed around his throat, choking him down to the floor. He hit him a few times in the ribs, but he was slowly losing consciousness and his punches were ineffective as the world started to go gray. He fell back on instinct and the moves he had learned on the streets, clawing at Vega's eyes and nose until he felt his grip loosen. He pushed up, trying to get him off, but the man was too strong, forcing him down again, his face full of rage.

"Vega," he choked out. "Stop."

It was the last thing he remembered, going limp as the world spun into darkness.

The feel of a cold wet cloth on his face brought him back and he came awake fighting and coughing up blood. He struck out blindly, but someone grabbed his arms and pushed him down and he opened his eyes at Vega's sorrowful words.

"I'm sorry, amigo," he whispered, holding his face in his hands as he hovered over him. "Forgive me, man. Forgive me."

"Get the fuck out," Deeks gasped, turning on his side as a coughing fit took him.

He fought to get free of the man's body and the old familiar smell of whiskey, kicking and crawling away until Vega fell onto the floor beside him. Deeks shook as he fought to catch his breath, spitting out blood and heaving as he sucked in air. Caustic memories and the feeling of blind panic he'd lived with as a child flooded in. He was furious at being plunged back into that and wanted nothing more than to be free of it and the man crying beside him.

"I didn't mean it," Vega mumbled.

"Where have I heard that before," Deeks whispered as he pulled himself into a sitting position against the wall.

"You okay?" Vega asked, his voice choked with tears. "Did I hurt you?"

Deeks' laugh was short and hollow, his mind reeling with all the times he'd heard those words from the man who should have loved him.

"My dad used to ask me that early on," he finally managed to say. "He said he didn't mean it either, but he sure as hell kept doing it."

"God, Deeks. I didn't know," Vega said.

"I don't give a fuck," he said roughly as he ran his hands over his face. "You want to drink yourself into oblivion over something that happened to you, go ahead. I won't try to change your mind. I should know better than anyone that words mean nothing to a drunk. Now, get out. I'm done, man."

Deeks struggled to his feet and stepped over Vega, ignoring his apologies and his plea for forgiveness. He looked longingly at the shower, but had no energy left, tumbling onto his bed with a roaring headache and a chest tight with simmering anger. Sleep came quickly, but his dreams were filled with old reflections from his past and he woke in a sweat, listening for approaching footsteps that stumbled in the dark. He lay still, panting out the remains of his remembered fear and fighting the depression that always followed, until he heard the front door close. He let fatigue pull him away from his troubled thoughts of failure, finally closing his eyes against the demons that still haunted him.

...

Even though he felt like shit and his throat was raw, he was determined to spend the morning on the waves. He needed the respite from his regret at having kicked Vega out. He was a good man, but last night he was different. Last night he saw how far the man had fallen. Last night he felt as if he'd gone back in time, wishing that good part of the man in front of him would understand what was happening to him and the pain it caused. But, just like his childhood hopes for his father, his wishes had turned into wisps of empty words, not strong enough to make a man see. He should have known, but berating himself did nothing and sure as hell didn't make him feel any better, so he threw himself on his board and pushed out into the crashing, cold gray waves, looking for relief and needed solitude, wanting to simply forget.

The retreating storm from yesterday had left powerful waves in its wake, but he persisted in his need to ride them. Fighting them let him rid himself of the remaining anger he still carried, leaving him wondering why he cared about a man he'd just met who had choked him out in his own living room. The third set of waves were big and turbulent, but he gathered his remaining strength and caught the largest breaker, dropping down inside the barrel of the wave as it roared toward the beach. He cut up toward the crest, but miscalculated the curl and it flipped him up and he wiped out dramatically, hitting the hard surface of the swirling gray water and dragged under and tumbled toward shore, fighting to hold his breath as he struggled to break on top. He slammed into the bottom, taking in a mouthful of salt water, choking on it as the first hint of panic rushed through him. He kicked off the bottom and finally broke the surface of the water, gasping for air and fighting the white water as he stumbled to get his feet under him. He felt strong arms grab him, helping him up and out of the water, the roaring sound of the waves welcome after the hollow silence underwater. He collapsed face down on the wet sand, coughing water out of his sore throat, thankful to be on solid ground.

"Take a couple of breaths, amigo," the soft familiar voice surprising him.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Trying to make amends, man," Vega replied as he dropped onto the wet sand beside him. "Pretty wild wipeout, dude. Thought you said you were a great surfer?"

"How'd you find me?"

"You told me this was one of your favorite spots," he answered as he stared out at the breaking waves. "I tried 'em all."

"What do you want?" Deeks asked.

"You said we'd talk."

"And you choked me out for it."

"You got a pretty good scrape on your shoulder," Vega said as if it was the proper answer. "That wave was massive, man. Roughed you up pretty bad. Lucky your board didn't knock you out."

Deeks took a couple of deep breaths and unclipped his board leash before he struggled to his feet, pushing Vega's hand away as he tried to help. He dragged his board over to his stuff and buried his face in a beach towel, refusing to acknowledge Vega's presence.

"Deeks?" He said quietly. "I wasn't lying when I said I was sorry. You'll never know how much. I know I hurt you, but that ain't me."

"It is now," Deeks said roughly as he hefted his board and started up the beach.

"I'm tryin', man," Vega pleaded.

"You could have killed me last night," Deeks stopped and turned to face him. "Is that the man you want to be? You keep going and one of these nights you won't be able to stop yourself. You'll get pissed off at someone like you did last night and you'll kill him. That's who you are when you drink, man. You wanted to kill me. I don't know why and maybe you don't either, but that doesn't make any difference, because it's only going to get worse."

"Maybe I can stop," Vega mumbled.

"No you can't. Not by yourself. Not without help," Deeks said wearily. "But if you keep lying to yourself, you'll never overcome it, man. You have to want it. You have to do it for yourself. You need help, buddy."

"I don't deserve help," Vega whispered. "I already killed somebody, Deeks, and they gave me a medal for it. How do I live with that kind of bullshit? I shot a twelve-year-old boy because I thought he was placing an IED. I held him in my arms and watched him die. How do I live with that, man?"

Deeks was stunned, unable to respond to such a revelation. Tears streamed down Vega's face as he dropped to his knees in the cold sand and Deeks sat down next to him.

"When you went limp under my hands last night it scared the shit out of me," Vega choke out. "You helped me and I almost killed you. You're a cop. Arrest me, amigo. Arrest me before I do something worse than I've already done."

"Come on, man," Deeks said. "Let's go get a cup of coffee. I know someone you can talk to. She'll know what to do and you won't have to go to jail."

"Why can't you just arrest me, dude?"

"Because you're a friend."

...

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