I'm kind of sad, because this story's almost over. It just means I'll have to write another one. It's insane how much fun I'm having with this thing.
Heads up, Bard15 said something about "forcing their hand" and SilverSentinal21 wanted a Callen/Eric moment. So I forced the two together.
Chapter 10: A Guide to Scrambling Bad Eggs
The kit's spread out on the counter. Gauze, tape, ointment, scissors, all he'll need ready at his fingertips. It's awkward having to do everything with his left hand, but he doesn't really have any other choice.
A few of the blisters near his elbow have popped, staining the loosely wrapped gauze a yellowish tinge. He hisses as he pulls it away from his arm, the dried material sticking to the sensitive skin, the damaged flesh breaking away with the gauze.
He takes a steadying breath as the fresh air renews the ache in his arm. The feel of the antibiotic cream is cool, instantly easing the fresh sting of the burn. He spreads it evenly, careful not to suffocate the wound.
The sound of the floorboards shifting outside the bedroom catches his attention. Eric peeks his head through the bathroom door just as Callen walks into the room making his way to the bed. Callen's reaching for the extra pillows when he notices Eric watching him, the cream on his arm shining, a fresh roll of gauze in his hand.
"Need any help?" Callen offers, gesturing to the new bandage in Eric's left hand. Eric looks down at his arm, trying to determine whether or not he'll actually be able to wrap it effectively on his own.
"If you don't mind." He smiles shyly as he holds the gauze out to Callen. Dropping the pillows back on the bed, Callen walks to the bathroom door, taking the gauze as he examines Eric's arm.
"I bet this hurts like a bitch," Callen says, successfully sounding casual and sympathetic all at the same time.
"It's up there," Eric admits, holding the end of the gauze against his palm with his thumb as Callen begins to loosely wrap it around his arm. "Definitely beats that time I slammed my thumb in the car door." Seeing the amused look on Callen's face, Eric quickly adds, "Don't ask."
Callen simply shrugs, continuing to work the gauze further up Eric's arm, making sure not to make it too tight. "Deeks has a bottle of Tylenol."
"Yeah, he already shared," Eric tells him. Eric hadn't even had to ask. Deeks had simply tossed the bottle at him, catching him off guard as he gracelessly caught it against his chest. "I think Nell's got it, last I checked."
Callen nods as he reaches for the medical tape to secure the gauze in place. He fights back a yawn, his body overtaxed, and raging war against his stubborn determination to keep going. He can't remember the last time he slept, the last time any of them aside from Deeks had a good six hours of uninterrupted sleep-Deeks had only managed to get the rest because his body's trying to recover, and what he got hadn't been enough.
He can see the fatigue starting to take effect on everyone. Standing beneath the bright lights in the bathroom, Callen can make out the dark circles hiding behind Eric's glasses. They need to hurry and figure out what the hell's going on so they can rest—something they've more than earned.
"Now would be a good time for you or Hetty to come up with one of your weird ass plans," Eric says around a timid smile, drawing Callen's thoughts back to the present. Callen cuts the excess gauze from Eric's arm, tossing the scissors and tape back on the counter before crossing his arms and tilting his head, playful smile forming on his lips.
"Did you just refer to Hetty's plans as 'weird ass'?"
Eric's eyes widen slightly as he realizes what it his he's just said. Nervously, he peeks out the bathroom door, almost expecting Hetty to be standing right outside. When it seems as though the coast is clear, he turns back to Callen, face completely serious.
"Please don't tell her I said that," he begs, whispering conspiratorially.
Callen uncrosses his arms, fighting back a smile as he meets Eric's eyes, forcing the expression to match the seriousness he sees in Eric's. "Eric, I would never do that. I actually like you." He allows a small smile when he sees embarrassed relief take the place of worry.
"Besides," Callen continues as he makes his way back to the pillows on the bed, "I'd only wish the wrath of Henrietta Lange on my worst enemy."
"Such as Natalia Cruz?" Eric guesses, leaning against the bathroom's doorframe. Callen points at Eric, giving him a look that says he hit the nail on the head. Eric just smiles as he turns around to clean up the first-aid kit, leaving Callen to gather the spare pillows.
Callen's halfway down the hallway when he hears Eric saying his name again. He turns to find the tech standing near the bedroom door, one hand resting on the doorframe like it's a lifeline, anchoring him to safety.
"Do you play poker?" Eric asks. Even though he's smiling, Callen can tell Eric's nervous about asking, peaking his interest even more.
"Do you?" Callen ask in return, trying to imagine Eric sitting at a table with a pair of dark sunglasses, a cigar, and a pile of chips.
"Yeah," Eric answers with enthusiasm, his hand falling from the frame, deeming it's safe to continue. "I used to compete in tournaments… before I got banned from Vegas," he finishes, his smile falling near the end. Callen quirks an eyebrow, impressed and intrigued by this new bit of information.
"Anyway," Eric continues before Callen can ask why he's been banned from Vegas, "In poker, sometimes you've got nothing and you gotta bluff—"
"And sometimes you've got to force their hand," Callen finishes, nodding as he begins to catch on. "We've got nothing and you think we should force Natalia's hand."
Eric smiles, a full smile free of embarrassment. Still holding the pillows, Callen shakes his head in amusement, "Looks like Hetty and I aren't the only ones with weird ass ideas."
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Hetty's sitting in the recliner, a pen in her hand as she studies the long list of names before her. It had taken two pages to write the names of every one of her employees. Two pages worth of suspects. Two pages worth of reasons to be completely overcome with emotion.
Hetty likes to think she knows her employees, better than they know themselves in some cases. Ninety-nine percent of the people who work for her she had personally vetted, sought out, and invited to join her team. The small percentage she hadn't chosen had been assigned to the LA office by the last two directors, Jenny Shepherd and Leon Vance. Even then, Hetty felt as though she could trust them.
Now, watching as Deeks shifts uncomfortably on the couch, unsuccessfully trying to find a position in which his side isn't hurting, Hetty wonders whether or not her lapse in judgment could result in the death of one of her agents. It's already come close more times than she cares to count.
"D'you narrow it down, yet?" Deeks asks sleepily from the couch. He's lying on his back, one arm tossed lazily across his eyes blocking out the afternoon sun shining through the open windows. Hetty isn't sure if Nell or Kensi is to blame for the blanket tucked comfortably around his sides, cocooning him into the cushions.
She sets the pen down, folding her hands together over her lap. "Narrow what down, Mr. Deeks?"
"Who you think the mole could be," he answers, not even bothering to remove his arm from his eyes. "You were writing for a while. Figured that's what you were doing."
"I was," she admits, letting her eyes fall back to the long list of names. "And I haven't, to answer your question. I'm ashamed to admit I haven't a clue as to whom the mole could be. I was foolishly under the impression that I knew each person that worked for me."
Deeks finally moves, one blue eye peeking at her from beneath his arm. "Are you seriously telling me you're taking blame for this? 'Cause it sounds like you are."
"I am not naïve, Mr. Deeks. I am responsible for each person on this list. At least one of them is conspiring with a psychopath to kill us, and is partly responsible for the deaths of two men that we know of, one of them being a police officer."
Deeks lets his arm cover his eyes again. "So you got a few bad eggs, doesn't mean you should blame it all on the chicken." His tone is soft and sincere, not matching the words.
Hetty smiles despite her desire not to. "Did you just call me a hen?" She sees the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile, one shoulder shifting with a shrug.
"If it makes you feel any better," he begins, not attempting to apologize or deny it, "that analogy leaves all of us being your chicks."
Hetty can't help the small laugh that escapes her as he says it, nor the feeling of love that the comparison brings forth. "Thank you, Marty Deeks," she says warmly, feeling significantly better than she had moments before, despite the dilemma the team still faces.
"You're welcome, Henrietta Lange."
Once again picking up her pen, she returns her attention to the daunting task at hand. Her eyes scan the list, searching for that bad egg. She's about twenty names in when she recognizes the sound of someone walking towards her, the smooth gait telling her who it is.
"Are you trying to sneak up on me, Mr. Callen?" she teases, smiling when she hears a stutter in the gait. Deeks lifts his head, looking over the armrest to see Callen approaching with an armful of pillows.
Callen smiles, opening his mouth to retaliate with 'like anyone could sneak up on you,' but seeing how Natalia Cruz had managed to do just that, he quickly changes his mind. "I'm not that skilled," he says instead, holding up the pillows for Deeks to see, gesturing for the detective to sit up.
Deeks pulls himself up, taking the offered pillows and tucking them behind and beside him, making him look like the poster-boy for comfort on the oversized couch. He settles back down, smiling contently as he sighs dramatically, showing his appreciation.
Hetty watches the exchange in silence, waiting until Callen takes the empty chair across from her before setting her pen back down.
"I'm not going to like this am I?" she asks, seeing that forced look of innocence Callen only wears when he's about to ask her for something he knows she won't like.
"Like what?" Callen says, feigning ignorance.
"Mr. Callen, I know you," she says, looking at him over the edge of her glasses, her elbows resting on the armrests, her fingers steepled, "You're about to ask me to allow you to go forth with some cockamamie idea."
Callen tilts his head in thought. Looking to Deeks, he asks, "Is 'cockamamie' Hetty-Speech for 'weird ass'?"
Deeks purses his lips, considering his answer. "I hope not," he says after a moment, fake sincerity playing out, "'Cause she uses it when she's talking about me all the time." He manages to hold his smile at bay long enough for Hetty to look back at Callen.
"You've done it before," she says, pointing an accusing finger at him, "And you're about to do it again. I can see it in your eyes."
"Man, Momma Hen knows her chicks," Deeks says, looking back and forth between Hetty and Callen.
Callen simply glares at Deeks. "Don't be cheeky," he says, purposefully borrowing one of Hetty's preferred adjectives for the man. Deeks just laughs as Callen turns back to Hetty.
Feeling as though it's best to just come out and say it, Callen begins the task of convincing Hetty of the plan. "I think we're sitting on a pair of twos, and we need to bluff," he says, continuing with Eric's poker metaphor.
Hetty stares at him, her eyes squinted as she considers what he's asking. "And what if she calls our bluff, Mr. Callen?"
"She won't," he assures her.
"She might," she counters.
"There are always risks in poker, Hetty."
"But I don't like the idea of gambling with your lives, Mr. Callen." Her sharp tone makes it clear he'll have to try harder.
"Hetty," he leans forward, eyes pleading with her to understand, "this woman's been watching us, all of us. She's managed to turn one of our people against us, and we've got no way of knowing who to trust. This is the only way."
She doesn't move, doesn't give anything away as she thinks through the possibilities, the risks. Callen knows he has her when she sighs heavily, her hands falling to her lap. He knows better than to smile in victory.
"What do you have in mind?" she asks.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Agent Sorenson's outside with Agent Ryker, securing the perimeter. The team's all seated around the living room, Hetty, Deeks, and Callen maintaining their previous spots. Kensi's sitting at Deeks' feet, Nell situated beside her on the couch's armrest. Eric's leaning over the back of the couch. Sam's on the floor, his back against the wall, his arms resting on his bent knees.
"So, what's the plan?" he asks again, now that everyone's in the same room.
"We're gonna try and lure either Natalia or the mole out into the open," Callen explains, looking to Hetty to see if she's really okay with it. She's not looking at him, choosing instead to watch the reactions of the rest of the team. "Assuming the mole's on top of his game, it'd be safe to say that should anything concerning us cross the wire, the mole would report back to Natalia."
"You want to lay breadcrumbs," Kensi says, happy to finally be doing something other than sitting around.
Callen nods, encouraged by Kensi's apparent enthusiasm. "We'll have Nell and Eric send a hackable message to Director Vance and LAPD saying we have reason to believe that this safe house has been compromised, and that we're being moved to a secondary location."
"Technically, it'd be like a third-ary location, seeing how this is the secondary safe house," Deeks points out, only to receive a few eye rolls, a couple of smiles, and a nudge from his partner, urging him not to interrupt.
"We'll act as though we're moving, keep our eyes peeled, and hope one of them shows up," Callen finishes.
"LAPD has already agreed to have a SWAT team in position upon your arrival, you'll be wearing vests and will be armed," Hetty says, finally deciding to speak up. "Agent Ryker will accompany you, while Agent Sorenson and Mr. Deeks will remain here with myself and Mr. Beale."
Deeks rubs his eyes tiredly. He hadn't liked the idea the first time he heard it, he likes it even less now that they're actually preparing to carry it out. Nell's been hurt. Yes, it's only a graze, but he knows she's still hurting. He knows Kensi's perfectly capable of holding her own, but he'd feel better knowing he had her back. "This is insane," he says.
"Name one of our plans that hasn't been," Sam challenges, sensing Deeks' discomfort.
"Uh…give me a minute." Deeks squints his eyes as he tries to think. All that comes to mind are faked deaths, false neo-Nazis, laser rooms, a broken Internet, grenade launchers, and the name Fern.
After several moments of silence and no obvious choice, Callen laughs. "Exactly."
TBC...
There's only a few more chapters left.