Chapter Twenty: And if you don't love me now part IV
"Wipe your feet!" Caroline said automatically. "I'm fed up with half the beach being traipsed into this house."
Bobby scampered happily up to her and gave a vigorous shake, starting at his head and continuing to the of his tail and depositing another pile of sand onto the floor.
"Sorry." Marty carefully wiped both feet and then took off his shoes, just to be doubly sure, before approaching her with a bashful look. "I'm really sorry." She still had the ability to make him feel like a little kid.
"You had every right to be annoyed. I should be the one to apologise." At the end of the day, all that Caroline cared about was that he was safe. And she'd never been able to stay angry with him for long, especially when he put on that wounded puppy look.
"I wasn't angry at you – more angry with life in general." He pulled her into a hug. "I don't blame you – or Joe. I never have."
"Don't blame Hetty either," Joe advised. "She did everything she could to get you back safely. At considerable risk to her career and to her life."
"Hetty always has an ulterior motive. Usually wrapped up in duplicity and tied in a bow of intrigue. Using a double granny-knot to boot." Marty shrugged. "It happened. Nothing's going to change that. But I'm getting fed up with Hetty pulling the strings off-screen. There's just too many things that have happened and they all trace back to her."
"Hetty usually has a good reason for everything she does, you know. Just remember that. And remember too that sometimes, she's had to do things she may regret, like all of us. But Hetty tries to make amends – to sort things out. Look how she got you out of LAPD. Do you really think you would have lasted much longer in those undercover ops you were getting assigned? The ones with the crap cover stories and the minimum back-up in place. You were on a hiding to nothing there and you know it, if you're honest with yourself. Hetty did you a big favour." Behind his back, Joe carefully crossed his fingers. With any luck, Marty would never discover who had alerted Hetty to that situation in the first place. It had only taken one phone call, just as Joe had suspected it would.
"I pissed off a lot of people, I guess. Especially the shields." Marty was beginning to wonder though – perhaps things had been deliberately lax? Butit was ridiculous to think these conspiracies went as far as the police force – wasn't it? "But it was crappy, you're right. Even when I got shot a few months back at that convenience store, LAPD didn't seem too bothered. And I was one of them. I still am – technically." Thinking about some of the undercover operations he'd run, Marty realised he had hurt people just as much as Hetty had, especially when he was living as Max Gentry for all those months. That guy had been a complete bastard, and there was a time when it had been difficult to know where he ended and Max begun. Marty wasn't proud of the things he had done as Max, but he had to live with them. The past couldn't be changed. He began to get an insight into how Hetty must feel.
"Maybe Hetty did you a favour –got you out of LAPD while you were still alive and kicking?" Kensi suggested.
"Could be. Just look - I'm still kicking. Every step of the way."
Joe smiled. "You kicked me that night I collected you in the park. I reached out to take you from Hetty and you screamed blue murder and kicked me right in the family jewels. I was singing soprano for a week afterwards."
"Sorry. I don't remember, if that's any consolation." Only there were faint memories stirring at the back of Marty's mind. Memories of being cold and frightened, of being in a dark room and wanting his Mommy and Daddy so much. Of crying and realising that for the first time in his life nobody was going to come and comfort him. The predominant memory was of being completely alone. Marty shivered, despite the fact the sun was fully up and the house was already pleasantly warm. This was the source of his nightmares, the white nights that had cursed him for years. The sleepless nights of untold terrors and fear that gripped him so completely he could not escape its clutches.
"You were terrified. You didn't know what you were doing," Joe consoled him. "And I was just so damned glad to have you safe in my arms, I really didn't care. I'd let you down – they caught me off-guard and knocked me out that day you were taken. It was all my fault."
"It was nobody's fault," Marty said and was surprised to find that he actually believed it. "Not even Hetty's," he added reluctantly. "But don't ever tell her I said that. I want to see her squirm just a little bit when we finally catch up and have that long-overdue chat."
"I'd pay good money to see that. And I expect a front row seat." Caroline was not so ready to forgive and forget. She had a lot of anger stored up over the years and was not so ready to let Hetty off the hook. "So go find her, Marty. Use those detective skills of yours and bring that woman back here." She swatted him on the butt. "And make sure you eat something first. And that goes for you too, Kensi."
"I know when I'm beat." Marty remembered Sam's words from earlier that morning and decided to give in gracefully, for once. Besides, it looked as if they were going to be making a long trip in the near future and he'd never been able to stomach airline food. By the time they eventually joined the rest of the team in the library, events had moved one. Literally, as it transpired.
"Hetty's not staying in one place too long. We've just found a booking on Air France to London Heathrow, leaving Charles de Gaulle 8pm local time." Eric looked up from the screen and did a quick calculation. "Shit. Which means she's already in the air." His fingers flew over the keys. "In fact, they should be landing right about now."
Callen stared at the original booking details. "She's used her real name. It's like she's taunting them deliberately." This wasn't good – Hetty was the last person to break the rules like that, unless she felt she had no other option.
"Or us," Sam said. "Maybe she wants us to find her? It could even be her way of asking for help. Still, it could be interesting. I've never been to England."
Nico looked up from her seat in the corner where she and George were trying to appear interested in a game of Scrabble. "It rains a lot. Most of the time, I seem to remember. They have these big red buses that drive on the wrong side of the road, they have an obsession with queuing and they drink tea."
"Not unlike the old Soviet block then: Hetty should feel right at home. At least we won't have any language problems." Callen straightened up and looked around the room. "We're going then?" Under the circumstances, he couldn't exactly order them to do anything; this had to be a group decision. "Deeks?"
"I'm going. I've still got more questions than answers. Plus, there's that small matter of family loyalty. Kensi?"
"Count me in. I don't trust you not to get yourself killed. Sam?"
"No need to ask. I'm with you guys."
"You're kind of needing us to stay here, aren't you?" Nell said, knowing what the answer would be. "But you know I'd come in a heartbeat." Somehow she had got pulled into their lives and the prospect of the team several thousand miles away on the other side of the world was quite terrifying.
"We know. You and Eric hold the fort back here for us, alright? Keep an eye on Vance for us."
"And I'll just stay and chew my fingernails up to the elbow, shall I?" Nico asked acerbically.
"Next time we need a world-famous pianist, you'll be first on the list. Until then – you stay here, where Caroline and Joe can keep an eye on you." Callen softened his words with a meaningful glance. "At least Hetty's solved one dilemma for us – by using her own name, we can go in officially."
"That means NCIS are picking up the tab for the plane tickets? Damn." Deeks looked seriously worried. "They'll fly us coach. We've got to do something about that." He wandered off, muttering under his breath.
"Is he serious?"
Nico looked incredulous. "You really want to spend a long-haul flight sitting upright, squished so tightly against the person in the next seat that your elbows knock together like castanets and eating rubber chicken? Or do you want a nice, comfortable seat that turns into a bed, so you can have a decent sleep and arrive looking and feeling like a human being? There's no contest."
"There is if you're not rich," Sam reminded her. Most of his flights had been on military transport, which made coach seem positively luxurious by contrast.
"Tell Vance to upgrade you - my treat. On one condition."
Callen was not buying any pigs in pokes. "And that is?"
"We meet up in Paris afterwards. Just you, me and the Eiffel Tower." Nico lowered one eyelid slowly in a highly suggestive manner and Callen found himself blushing.
"That way you'll always have Paris." Kensi couldn't resist the quip.
"They hate my accent in Paris. Last time I was told that I spoke like a Canadian," Callen said. "I don't think they meant it as a compliment."
"Don't worry, honey. The French love me. Anyway, I think you're a cunning linguist."
Sam hadn't thought it was possible to Callen to blush any more deeply, but he was wrong.
"You might want to hold off booking those flights," Eric warned. "Hetty's landed, but she's just booked an onward flight at Heathrow."
"She's not staying in London?" Callen took a look at the flight details and shook his head. "What is she playing at?"