Warning: This chapter contains references to and short descriptions of spousal and child abuse, it isn't too graphic, but I just wanted to give a heads-up.
Chapter 10: From Brandel to Deeks
"Martin boy, I remember you were such a talker when you were a kid, don't you wanna talk to your father after so long?" A slight chuckle followed the words, as Gordon Brandel was clearly enjoying the obvious surprise and speechlessness of his son.
Deeks hanged out the phone, threw it on the bed and ran from the room. It couldn't be, it couldn't be, it couldn't be…
He didn't stop when the old man from the hotel called his name, or when his wife asked him about lunch, he just keep running until he reached the beach and fell to the sand, his knees weak and his body still shaking.
He flashed back to seating in a similar position in the sand, but on a different beach back in LA. It was just after his encounter with Sidorov when he was feeling like his life was about to end. His feeling now was similar to that and his mind started being invaded by all the nightmares and demons from the past.
-x-x-x-
He was running as fast as he could, he never remembered ever feeling this alive…
And he kept running, and running… running for his life…
He didn't stop running until he found his favorite depth. The blue depths of the ocean. The freedom of the beach. The steadiness of the sand. The warmth of the sun. And the cold of the water.
He let his body fall on the sand, and for the first time in the last hour he allowed himself to breathe, not the physiological process you only did to merely survive, but to really breathe. To feel alive more than just be alive.
He started remembering the last five months of his life, and again tried to understand the moment it all had gone so wrong... When his father turned from a caring and loving man, into a monster who enjoyed beating his wife and son. He was constantly told it was his fault, but he couldn't understand why.
He remembered the blood, the screams and the smell of alcohol in the air. And for the first time in those five months, he fully let himself cry.
How could he be the one to blame when he was only eight?
-x-x-x-
Sitting on the sand, Deeks stared at the water as he remembered that first night in which he had ran away from home. Not being able to take any more hits and just needing to escape. This couldn't be happening…
As that time nearly 30 years ago, he allowed himself to cry, just this time the tears were just tears, water and salt, there was no blood mix in between. Blood brought upon by the fists of his own father.
After five minutes he couldn't see clear anymore, his sight obscured by the tears that just kept coming, and coming, seemingly never wanting to stop.
A lot of time had passed since that night when he was eight, and the following three years that had only brought more pain and misery, only stopping with a bullet from the gun given to him by his best friend…
-x-x-x-
He looked at the boy sitting across from him in the bus and noticed how similar they looked.
But it wasn't really their look… One was dark-haired, the other one blonde. One had brown eyes, the other one blue. One was tall and strong, the other one short and scrawny.
Still they were the same. Marked by the black eye that stood out in both of their faces, the bruises on their arms, and the sadness in their eyes.
That day a deep friendship was born. One that had its roots on shared traumas, fears and dreams. One that turned just Ray and just Marty, into Marty and Ray.
-x-x-x-
He smiled as he remembered that first meeting. How after staring at each other for the majority of the bus ride, and then realizing they both shared the same stop, the older boy had decided to introduce himself. Surprised when he ask for a name and just got a whispered Marty, and then a "just Marty" when he asked for a last name, he decided to reply with a "just Ray" in return. Looking back at it, that day saved his life. It gave him the first real friend he ever got, his first taste of loyalty, and the safe haven both boys had desperately needed.
Before he had time to stop them, tears starting coming up again. He missed his friend and he felt no shame. He was an adult now, but even grown up men needed a friend. He understood what witsec meant, but he still wished against his better judgement that he could go and see him again. He would take a bus, a plane, a boat, whatever he needed to take him there, but deep down he knew that possibility wasn't available to him.
Life was not static and nothing was eternal, not even those perfect things people wished to keep forever. Friends changed, some died, others left, and some were just taken away.
-x-x-x-
It had been three months since their first meeting, Ray was ten and Marty was eight. They were hanging out after school, both wanting to delay going back home as much as they could. Both knowing what could be waiting for them there, and neither of them wanting to face it.
After talking for another hour and seeing it was getting late, they said their goodbyes and started down the different streets that would take them to their respective houses. After all, they weren't the only victims and the anger of their fathers could very well be directed at their mothers if they were not home.
That night the blonde boy was already in bed, when his drunk father got home and marched towards his room. His team lost the game, and he had lost a lot of money. So someone needed to pay… not the friend that got him into gambling, or the boss that took his job away, not himself for his mistakes, but his son. The man wasn't sure why, he just knew he needed an outlet for his anger and young Marty was the perfect choice, he was small, vulnerable and a little brat, who was just meant to be another casualty.
The first hit struck him in the face, forcing him awake. The second one went to his gut. The third one never came as he pushed his drunk father away and got out of bed. He ran downstairs and towards the door, never looking back, just running for his life.
Panting he got to his safe place, he went around the back and threw a rock against the right side window. After just two minutes it opened, and the wide-eyed face of his best friend appeared from above the window frame. He helped the younger boy climb into his room, not even bothering to ask why he was there, as the answer would be the same one of all the other times this same thing had happened in the last few months.
They had turned into each other's salvation. When one father was in rampage, the boy ran to his friend, and to the place where he was always welcomed. This worked perfectly fine, until the unfortunate nights in which both fathers were in a rampage at the same time.
-x-x-x-
Peace could be found in the unlikeliest of sources and for young Deeks it had come in the form of a boy with a similar background to his and a heart full of love that was being wasted.
He remembered all the nights he ran to Ray's house to escape from his father's fists, and the times Ray ran to his to escape his own father's attacks.
That arrangement worked perfectly until one of the worst nights of his life. Almost 30 years in the future and the memory still hurt, but it also carried with it the discovery of the first thing that ever brought him pure joy.
-x-x-x-
Another night, and another moment of jolting awake by the fist on his face.
Another night, and another marathon and run for his life.
Another night, and another climb through the window and eventual peace. Or so he thought.
Ray as any other night opened his window and helped the smaller kid climb up to his room. He wouldn't deny his friend the help, but he was aware his father was home, and the night might not end in the best way.
It took them both boys about half an hour to realize peace wasn't in store for everybody, and the door swinging open with a bang proved to them that more pain was the only thing in their future.
This was one of those nights in which both fathers were in a rampage and both boys knew what to do. They ran.
Ray being bigger was able to quickly make his way to the door of his room and to the stairs leading to the front door, he ran and ran and, when he finally felt safe, decided to turn around to check out for the younger boy, not finding him there.
Marty had managed to get to the stairs and almost the front door, but a hand on his wrist stopped his progress and kept him in the house when Ray kept moving forward.
The beating took only about ten minutes until he was able to find an opening and got out the door. Again he ran, and ran, and ran, stopping only three blocks away from the house when he couldn't keep going anymore. He took some minutes to catch his breath and started the painful walk towards his second safe haven, not at all surprised to find a worried Ray already waiting for him there.
The night at the beach felt colder than in the city, and between apologies from Ray and pain from within themselves, both boys fell asleep, side by side, below a palm tree and protected only by the glow of the moon.
-x-x-x-
Deeks looked up and couldn't stop staring at the moon, not being able to comprehend the complexity of the universe and the fact that this moon was the same one that 30 years prior had accompanied him during his darkest nights. Ones that started that night after the encounter with Ray's father but that didn't end until much later.
After the beating he took that day he never again dared go to Ray's house to escape from his father. He was a young boy, but taking a beating was always a hit to a man's pride. It was embarrassing enough to be hit by his own father but that was his punishment to bare, and he wouldn't take it from anyone else.
That's when the beach turned into his savior.
-x-x-x-
Martin, Martin, Martin… The words resonated on his head, pushed against his skull and invaded his every sense. It was his name, but one he currently despised, as the mocking way in which his father said it was usually the precursor to the beating he would be forced to endure.
He thought he was dreaming, a recurrent nightmare that never let him go. His father three feet tall chasing him around the city… Martin, Martin, Martin, resonating against every wall… His mother's screams… And eventually the blood that made him slip… Bringing an end to the nightmare in his head but a welcome to the one currently in his room.
Again a fist to the face is what really jolted him awake. He already expected the one that would follow to his gut, but this time it never came. His father instead grabbed him by the collar of his pajama and threw him against the wall. Then came the repetitive screams… How he was to blame, how he was worthless, how he was a little brat that needed to be taught a lesson…
He couldn't take it anymore so he pushed himself from the floor, shoved his father away from him and ran towards the door and freedom.
Not being able to go to Ray's anymore, he ran to the beach. His newfound escape since that night with Ray's father.
For the third night in the last two weeks he slept under the stars, with the sand as his only support, the moon as his protector and the saltiness in the air as his friend.
Morning came and he opened his eyes to find what looked like an older version of himself looking down at him. The man had dirty blonde hair that was long enough to reach his mid-back and covered most of his eyes. He had a surfboard in one hand and the other one reached down at the young boy.
He asked what he was doing there and mentioning how this was not the first time he had seen him there, a fact young Marty knew very well as his greatest pleasure of sleeping in the beach was to wake up in the morning to stare at the early risers riding the big LA waves. The man who introduced himself as Bill, offered some breakfast and kept inquiring for a story, but then, realizing he wouldn't get any, invited the young boy to join him in the water.
With every night that his father's fists pushed him into the beach, he got closer to Bill and his family of surfers. They taught him the art of the board, the meaning of the ocean and the life of the surfer.
-x-x-x-
He hadn't seen the old man in a long time, the last day being around 15 years ago, when he had gone to that same beach to tell his friend he had passed the California Bar and was now a lawyer. The man had cried and the pride Deeks saw in his eyes had filled his heart with joy. After that day, life changed and the innocence that his father hadn't been able to take from him, was ultimately stolen by the realities of his job.
His dreams of saving the world, or at least some people in it, died when he realized as a lawyer you were usually too late. The crime had already been committed and the only thing you could do was fight for punishment. But many times that never came. Too many technicalities, too many mistakes, and too many bad guys walking away.
That's when he decided to become a cop, if he couldn't punish all the bad guys he could at least try to stop the senseless acts from being committed in the first place. Then came the undercover life, and the many nights in which he didn't recognized the man in the mirror.
Bill had also been a savior, and one who with time, provided a lot more than surfing advice and turned into the first positive male role model in his life. He didn't want him to see the man he had become so he had stopped going to the beach as his life on LAPD got darker and darker. The next time he decided to visit his friend was years later, when he was already working in NCIS, and was again proud of the man he had turned out to be. He had been told the man had moved away and he realized then he had missed his chance.
People usually thought they had all the time in the world. Why say what you mean today if you still have tomorrow? By visit tomorrow if you still have next week? But sometimes, tomorrow and next week never came, and the last opportunity you could have had was forfeited without you even realizing it.
Other times it didn't, you took the opportunity and ran with it…
-x-x-x-
He held the gun in between his small hands and marveled at his weight.
He held a bullet in between his small fingers and wondered how such a tiny thing could cause so much damage?
He held his life and future in between that gun and bullet, but still he prayed that he would never have to use them.
Ray had just given him the gun, he was 10 now and it had been two years since he had met the boy that turned into his best friend and who had just given him a way for his protection. The older boy was 12 now, and had already started running around some tough crowds. He had matured quicker than the blonde boy, and had already seen some of the worst the world had to offer. And in his determination not to let a bad fate befall his little brother, he was now teaching said brother how to use said gun.
-x-x-x-
When he held a gun for the first time at the mere age of 10 he despised the weapon, not even wanting to learn, and hating himself for eventually taking it to his house, to his room, and under his bed.
At that time he would never have guessed his future would end up being such highly tied to guns. After all, for the past 12 years or so, he had shot one at least three days per week.
As a kid, a gun had scared him, it held too much power, and he saw it as a little object that held the line between life and death. But as an adult, he saw it as a mandatory evil. One that could be used for awful things, but one that could also be used to put an end to those awful things, just as he had done at 11.
-x-x-x-
Young Marty had been woken up by the screams of his mother. He could hear the familiar sound of fists striking a foreign body, the sobs of his mother, and the screams of his father. The sounds made his skin crawl and he couldn't take it anymore.
He opened the door and silently made his way downstairs. The sight that welcomed him was the most frightening image he had seen in his short life, and sadly, he had seen a lot of it.
His mother laid on the floor, wearing a blue dress smeared with blood, and she looked dead. His father stood above her, with his back against his son, and appeared to just be deep in thought. Marty's breathing caught in his throat and he thought he was about to die too.
He then focused on the body of the woman that made his misery of a life worth leaving and the silent and slight rise and fall of her chest which proved that she was at least still breathing.
Gathering all his courage he made his way into the room and confronted his father. Brandel turned around in surprise and pointed the loaded shotgun that he had been pointing at Roberta towards his young son.
Eyes wide, Marty wondered if he was about to die. He didn't want to die. He was only 11. And young boys weren't meant to die at 11.
Brandel walked towards young Marty and after putting the shotgun on the living room table, grabbed him by the throat and hurled his small body against the door. He went back to his son and again took hold of his throat, this time lifting his body and pushing him against the wall, blocking his airway and bringing darkness into the young boy's world.
Sensing that his son was about to pass out he released his hold allowing for the air to flow back into his small lungs but still keeping him pressed against the wall. Then the familiar fists came, until Marty could only see red. Not from anger, but from the blood running down his face.
Mother unconscious on the ground, and son almost in the same state next to her, the father walked back towards the table and reclaimed his gun.
It was a game for him, as he waved the gun between woman and boy, trying to decide shooting whom would bring him more pleasure.
Taking advantage of his father's distraction, young Marty silently stood up and gingerly walked to his room. The echo of the screams, the pulsing of his own blood, and the tears running down his face providing all the fuel he needed to make the painful walk. He lifted his mattress and took hold of his gun. He cocked it and, with one hand on the gun and the other holding his injured ribs, walked back into the living room.
He found his father screaming for him, calling for Martin-boy, the little brat that needed to be taught a lesson, and he appreciated the surprise on Brandel's face when he saw the gun. But then his father laughed, and taunted him as he had been doing for the past three years. After all, Marty was just a weak boy, one that would never be able to shot his own father.
Brandel pointed the loaded weapon and shoot at his son, in his alcohol-induced daze missing him and only gracing his arm. The young boy's arm stung, but if something good had come from his living hell, was that he had been hardened against the pain.
Before Gordon Brandel was able to load the shotgun again, young Marty lifted his gun, pointed as his friend had taught him and pulled the trigger with trembling hands.
Brandel screamed and fell against the living room table as Martin Brandel, gun still held in his small hand, collapsed on top of his mother's still unconscious form. The family, none of them having any strength to continue, remained in the same position until the police found them when they got to the house 15 minutes later.
-x-x-x-
Marty Deeks remembered the day Martin Brandel had died. Not by a bullet from his father but from a decision from his own young self. He had legally changed his name after the trial and when his mother had won full custody of him.
Brandel was dead forever, and Deeks would rise from the ashes.
And he had.
At least until one week ago, when his world had been torn apart by that first envelope, and one hour ago when he realized Brandel was not at all dead. He then thought back to that day, and the way the police had found the family, and his mind instantly went back to the third envelope his father had sent and the one Kensi almost saw: the crime scene photo of the night that changed his life…
The blonde man brushed the tears from his face, cleared his throat and stood up. He looked at the sand, the ocean, the sun and the seagulls. And eventually he looked inside into his mind and heart, finding a smiling Kensi, determined Callen, serious Sam, mysterious Hetty, powerful Granger, funny Eric, sweet Nell, loving Roberta, teasing Bates, faithful Ray, loyal Franc, and carefree Bill, all staring back at him. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he allowed for his new found clarity to spread around his body.
He knew what he needed to do.
And this time, it might cost him his life.
But he wouldn't wait as long as he did as a kid.
And this time, it would end completely on his terms.
This chapter is very special to me, and the prospect of posting it, kept me going when I doubted myself. It didn't even start as a Ghost chapter, just as something I wrote one bad night when I needed to unwind. I have been nervous to post it, but today I'm happy to finally share it with you. Thanks as usual for reading and reviewing, and I hope you all continue to enjoy the rest of this story.