Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, triple thank you for the nice and encouraging feedback.
I'm sorry I take a bit longer with the posting... those term papers are a pain in a**. I would love to hand in my fanfiction as term paper, that would make it so much more fun.
Anyway, I don't remember if I said that before, but I admit it again: I'm not the greatest crime-writer. I'm working on it also through writing this story here, so you'll have to bear with me. I have a bigger plan in mind (far, far, far away...) and I hope I make this work, but there is still some figuring out to do... so many possibilities, so many chances and so little time... ;)
I hope you'll like it either way.
Read, review, enjoy ;)
The next morning, Marty opens his eyes as the sunlight hits his eyes. He lets out a groan as he sits up, his body protesting at every movement. Adrenaline will do that to you, he calls back to mind as he runs a hand over his face. Marty can hear the other downstairs talking – and he lets out a sigh when the realization hits him again that he managed to keep the girls safe. They didn't die in that ambush. They are alive and talking. They are all alive. That's all that matters. That has to be all that matters.
He straightens up and tests his knee, feeling a dull ache when he puts weight on it. The teenager walks around a few steps, happy that he won't have to wear a crutch, but will be fine just carefully walking. Marty puts on his boots before he goes over to the stairs. As he wants to walk down he realizes that this gives his knee still aches. He looks at the railing another time, before he decides that this might be the better option. He sits down on the rim and swiftly slides down the stairs as suddenly Sam comes into view, gasping, "Marty!"
The kid looks bewildered for a second as he stretches out his left arm to hop over the pole at the end, swiftly landing on the unhurt leg.
"What are you doing?!" the man cries out. Really, he will have enough explaining to do that the kid got hurt while babysitting. That he falls down the stairs and breaks his neck is no option.
"Getting down the stairs," Marty knits his eyebrows.
"But why didn't you...," Sam grimaces, to which Marty shrugs, "Walking's okay, but walking the stairs kinda hurts my knee, so I went for this."
"You could've called and I would've gotten you down," Sam argues.
"I do that all the time, really," Marty smirks. And that is true. Sam rolls his eyes, even though there is a smile on his lips, "Okay, fine. How are you?"
"Sore, but... good," Marty shrugs.
"Good. Wanna have some breakfast?" Sam offers.
"... I burned your kitchen down," Marty makes a face, so Sam explains quickly, "I got some takeaway this morning. C'mon, you must be starving."
He pats the teenager on the shoulder as he walks into the dining room where the girls are already munching pancakes.
"Morning Marty, how are you?" Michelle beams at him.
"Good, thanks," Marty nods.
"Marty, have some pancakes! They are awe-some!" Marie yelps cheerfully. Marty has to chuckle. It's so great that the children are okay... and that they are so cheerful. Cheerful is good. Cheerful means happy. And they should be happy.
"I bet, muffin," he snickers.
"Marie, stop tossing them around,those ain't frisbees," Sam lectures the girls, "Jasmine, stop that!"
He already proceeds to the table where the girls are messing with the food.
"Marty? Can I talk to you for a second, next door?" Michelle says as she comes up to him. Marty frowns but then nods. They walk into the hallway.
"What is it?" he asks curiously. But that is when Michelle is already kneeling in front of him and hugs him tightly, eyes tightly shut. Marty stares for a second, but then eases to her touch.
"Uh...," Marty makes a face, but Michelle already says, "I'm sorry, I know you don't like that, but I just have to. You saved my two baby girls. You are my personal hero and we are standing in your debt till the day we die."
She pulls away to look at him, "I just wanted to properly thank you."
"You're... welcome," Marty licks his lips, flashing a shy smile.
"Not all teenagers would go that far, you know?" she says
"I'm not like most teenagers," Marty snickers.
"No, you're definitely special," Michelle smiles. She tousles his hair.
"Sam saved G, too, does all the time... when he's in trouble. And for that I thank him, too. I mean... thanks to Sam I still have him. So ugh, I'm glad that I could... help," Marty shrugs. He gave it some thought ever since G was hurt. If not for the team, Marty may never have met his brother, because he could have died on a mission. So he can't help but feel gratitude for Sam and the team. They made it happen that they could meet.
She claps him affectionately on the cheek, "G is so lucky to have you."
"I'm lucky to have him... so we are lucky to have each other," Marty shrugs. He is long for as long as G is good. That's the way he lives.
"Okay, emotionally crazy mom is gone now," she grins, wiping a sole tear away, before she flashes the brightest of smiles again, "let's head back, shall we?"
Marty nods. The two rejoin the others.
"I actually thought you'd sleep through the day," she grimaces.
"Nah, was too... busy last night," Marty shrugs.
"... how did you get down the stairs, by the way?" she frowns, to which Marty can't help but chuckle, "You two think very much the same. That is kinda creepy."
"That's when you live with someone for too long," Michelle shrugs with a smirk.
"Too long?" Sam makes a face, but then ignores the comment, "Marty slid down the railing."
"Oh my!" Michelle grimaces.
"I'm really good at this. I even do it over at G's apartment, like... all the time," Marty admits.
"I bet he hates you for that," Sam chuckles.
"Well, to me it's... uhm... normal, I guess," Marty explains, "Before I got to stay with G... this was my usual routine. I mean, down to the sub and all, us streetkids always did it like that coz it's faster and... brings fun."
Marty did that when he was with a group of other children, before the time in the ring, of course. They were brought back to their parents about a month later, but the month they had was real fun. They goofed around and pulled stunts like this. One boy, his name was Daniel, had a skateboard and he taught Marty how to use it. That was too cool to be true, really, and one of the few good memories he has of his time in the streets. Back then, he felt normal, if only for the few seconds it took him to slide down the railing. It was a taste of freedom, of fun, joy.
"When I did it the first time at G's apartment, he straightly wanted to grab me and yank me back, almost knocking me down. I mean, I don't have balance problems, but if someone grabs you with the Paw of Death, you kinda lose it," Marty goes on, chuckling at the memory.
"You fell?" Michelle grimaces.
"Nah, I balanced out and then stopped halfway. G was really mad and said I almost gave him a heart-attack," Marty explains.
"Yeah, kinda with him on that one," Sam grumbles, causing Marty to smirk, "Well, so he tried to forbid me at first, but then realized that I'm really good at this... and... now we both do it."
"No way," Sam cries out. G Callen doing that?! No way!
"Sure," Marty nods frantically, "I'm still holding the record for speed, though."
"That guy, really," Sam shakes his head. Once again, it just shows that Marty changed his partner, in a good way, a very good way. Sam only hopes that he didn't destroy this thanks to this ambush, though. It would be an absolute pity if G lost that, thanks to him.
"Good thing when your brother's also competitive, then you get him into challenges faster," Marty shrugs.
"He's gonna get that in his face some time soon when he calls one of my actions reckless again. Ha!" Sam jokes. He doesn't want Marty to see that he is actually... worried... to face G, after what happened last night. He still thinks his partner might raise his gun at him.
"Oh my, I just sold him out," Marty chuckles, but Sam assures him, "There's worse."
"... how bad is it with the kitchen... and the lawn?" Marty asks. Right, there was that...
"We'll have a mechanic over today, but as far as I see things, we'll just have to get a new oven and some new furniture for the kitchen. And I wanted to get a new kitchen anyways... right, honey?" Michelle smirks at her husband, who grimaces, "You must know you did her about the hugest of favors with this, coz I said we wouldn't get one until the old one is broken."
"Ah, I can see it in front of my eyes... maybe peach this time," Michelle taps her chin with her index finger mindfully.
"No colors named after fruit," Sam argues.
"Well, and as for the garden. We'll only need a new bush... but I hated that thing with all my heart anyways, so again, you did me much of a favor," Michelle smirks. It's really minor compared to what they were able to keep, the children, namely. Yet, it's also true, she hated that thing.
"What? It was a normal bush," Sam argues, but Michelle retorts, "I swear to God, since you planted it, there's more weed than ever!"
"You're just imagining things," Sam shakes his head.
"Then it's good," Marty smiles. He is glad that even in that chaos, normalcy seems to be able to survive. Sam and Michelle joke. The girls toss pancakes around. Life is good. Because it's, well, alive.
They finish up breakfast. Marie and Jasmine pout for a while after their parents cut the pancakes into tiny pieces, so that they couldn't use them as frisbees anymore, but after a bit of whining, they are back to the game and start to goof through the house.
"Okay, I think we'll be heading out," Sam smirks.
"Okay, be careful," Michelle nods, giving him a chaste kiss.
"Will do. C'mon, Marty," Sam says. The teenager follows his lead, "Bye, everyone!"
"Bye!" the girls and Michelle reply. Marty and Sam leave the house and walk to the car.
"Where are we heading?" Marty says once they are on the road.
"To your brother. He's itching to see you," Sam declares.
"Yeah... me, too," Marty admits. And God knows he is! Sam smirks as he makes his way to hospital. He walks Marty to the room where Callen is snarling at an orderly. That guy surely didn't sleep at all and is one bucket full of sunshine this morning. Marty stands there for a second, unsure.
"You can just go in," Sam smirks at him. Marty nods before he goes inside. As Callen's eyes find the teenager, his features instantly ease. The nurse takes his leave.
"Hey, buddy," Callen greets him, trying hard not to sound teary. Marty stands there, unsure once again, but then just runs up to him and wraps his arms around Callen's shoulders, careful to avoid the stab wound. The older man pats him on the back and his head, kissing his locks a few times, visibly relieved to finally have him by his side again. Callen can actually feel a lot of tension fading from his features once he has physical contact with the kid, breathing in his scent, feeling the touch of his hair, seeing the bright blue in his eyes. He didn't lose him. Thank God.
Callen's eyes wander off to his partner, who is smirking at that. G mouths a thank you over Marty's shoulder. Sam nods before he walks off, figuring that those two need the time by themselves. They can still talk later.
"I'm so glad to see you. You okay, buddy?" Callen asks. Marty draws away a little, glancing at him, "... yeah."
Callen takes in the amount of damage, each bruise making his skin itchy to kick that certain someone right in the nuts for daring to hurt him. Marty is still a little pale, but who can blame him after the shock, really?
"How are you?" Marty asks cautiously.
"Better now that you're here, kiddo. I think I can get released tonight or tomorrow. I'm going insane here," G smirks.
"You were stabbed," Marty insists. Stabbed. That means a knife in your stomach. A knife!
"Yep, but there are those funny sheets you can sign," Callen snickers.
"But please don't sign out AMA just coz of me, G. You're hurt, badly," Marty argues frantically, but Callen explains, "It's worse than it looks, okay? And if I weren't up for it, be sure Hetty wouldn't allow."
Marty studies his face, before he warns him, "I'll take you up on that."
"Is that a threat?" Callen smirks.
"Might be...," Marty shrugs. The older brother chuckles before he moves a little to the side. "Hop on."
Marty simply obeys and sits on the rim. Both enjoy the closeness. It feels... normal. And that is nice.
"So," Callen begins, "real conversation now. How are you?"
"I'm okay," Marty assures. G looks at him, cocking an eyebrow at the teen.
"I didn't have a panic attack. I was okay with Michelle hugging me... it's alright," Marty explains.
"What about calling up Keith or Richard?" Callen asks.
"We agreed that I only have to talk to them if I'm panicking or if I want to. And now... I don't want to. I... I just wanna be here, not in some private room to talk my feelings. It's not like I will escape this forever, but... maybe at least for now?" Marty pleads.
"Okay," G nods. By now he knows pretty well when Marty is lying about his condition, at least he gives himself that much credit by now. He grins, "I'll take you up on that."
"Alright," Marty smirks back at him. It feels good to be back to this state of... chaos. Marty falls silent after that, lost in thoughts. His wrists flex involuntarily.
"What is it?" Callen asks in a soft voice.
"Dunno... is just...," the teenager shrugs.
"What?" Callen questions another time.
"... is nothing," Marty shakes his head.
"Marty, now look at me," Callen demands sternly. The teenager turns his head to face him.
"I know nothing, that's not nothing. Just tell me what's wrong," Callen argues. It might be that sometimes he doesn't know what's going on inside the teenager's head, the hell, he doesn't know on most occasions, but a thing or two he knows already. And one thing is that he knows when there is actually something on Marty's mind that's bothering him.
Marty licks his lips before he speaks up again, "... I hoped I would never have to do that again."
"Do what?" Callen questions.
"... fight like that," Marty whispers, "It was just... just like out in the streets. I mean... when... when you just fight for..."
"Life?" Callen provides. Marty nods his head, "It feels different. It's not like... boxing or whatever. It's raw and bloody... And all I could think was... was how to protect the girls. No matter what the costs."
"And what's wrong about that?" Callen questions.
"I could've killed at least one of them, I could've killed him," Marty grimaces.
"Marty, first thing: you didn't," Callen argues, "Second, even if you had, this would've been to protect the girls and you – and there's nothing wrong about that."
"I choked this guy out, G. I... I mean... what if I hadn't pulled back in time and...," Marty bites his lower lip. Callen grabs his shoulder, "You pulled back, Marty."
"... I'm just going this through again and again... and then I think... what if he had gotten the girls and... would I've still been fine just tying him up? Would I have...," Marty grimaces, his voice no more than a whisper.
"... normally that's no question you should be asking yourself, at that age," Callen grimaces. Really, Marty has to answer questions not even most adults have to think about. Whether they would have killed another person... or did... if you sacrifice your life for someone else... if you'd pull back in time... those aren't questions people should be asking themselves.
"Not the first time," Marty mumbles. Callen glances at him, so the teenager goes on, "... I did some bad stuff out in the streets. Like... real bad."
"What do you mean?" Callen asks cautiously.
"I thought that when I went away... that I wouldn't have that anymore, like... I hoped that I could go through this without...," Marty grimaces, not finding the words.
"Using violence?" Callen provides.
"That," Marty nods. He knows that his older brother is aware of the shooting, though that his all Marty will ever say about the matter. So G knows that violence wasn't unfamiliar to Marty, even before he was in the streets.
"How long did it last?" Callen questions.
"... two months, eight days, twenty three hours...," Marty says. He could even tell him the minutes, seconds. That is a night he'll never forget, and God knows he tried.
"What happened?" the older brother asks, so Marty goes on, "... At first I camped in an empty warehouse downtown, as far away as I could get. I didn't know about how to rotate buildings by that time. I was just so stupid. Either way... it was... my place, had my stuff there and... one night, I came back and just wanted to sleep coz I felt hungry and thought that sleep would serve as a remedy. But when I came to my room... there was this guy in there, maybe seventeen. He just grabbed me and yanked me to the ground, said that his gang owned the place and I polluted it. I wanted to leave, but he wouldn't let me. He started to punch me and... and I heard the others coming after him, to help. I panicked. And then... I... I just kicked him in the groin, coz even when I didn't know much 'bout fighting, I knew that this always hurt... well, and then... I just hit him with that brick that lay on the ground, in the nose, in the stomach, the cheek, the chest. I didn't even hear him scream or cry. Inside my head there was just this thud, again and again... then the others came in. One of them raised a gun at me. So I jumped out the window, landed in the dumpster below, and ran off."
"Did he die?" the older brother questions, but Marty shakes his head, "No. I saw him about half a year later, much taller, and as the boss of a bigger gang. He still had the scar from the broken nose I gave him."
"So you didn't kill him, Marty, you pulled back," Callen argues.
"Coz I got interrupted," Marty replies.
"Still, you did," Callen says.
"But... I didn't know that, until I saw him. I thought he was dead. I thought that I had killed the first person back then. I thought that... for that half year I was convinced that I already was a murderer," the teenager admits, and Callen has to swallow, hard, "But you weren't."
"... I didn't know. And so... in that half year I dug into the deepest holes I could find so that I wouldn't hurt anyone again. I was so damn afraid I might do it again, you know... that this was... in me. That it had been in me all along," the teenager grimaces. This reaches back far further than he will admit to his brother now, but it remains. Marty is afraid that this is in him, was there all along, and just waits for the right opportunity to come back out to play its vicious game.
"My hands didn't shake," Marty grits his teeth, glancing at his knuckles.
"What do you mean?" the older brother blinks at him.
"That's what upset me, already back in that warehouse. My hands just won't shake. They never do when I... when I fight. They just won't shake, no matter what I do. When I knifed Carter... my hands were as steady as ever. When I hit that brick against the guy's face... I could've threaded a needle. My hands won't shake," Marty admits. His didn't shake either, the teenager reminds himself.
"But...," Callen grimaces, but Marty already carries on, "I wasn't trained when I was in the streets. Adrenaline should've gotten my hands shaky each time. They didn't shake, ever. And when I choked out that guy yesterday... not at all. My hands won't shake when I use them for that purpose. And that's freaking me out. They are shaking now. They shake when I'm nervous. They shake when I am afraid. But when I punch something, someone, when I destroy, hurt... then they don't shake at all. And that makes me believe that this is when it kicks in. That it's in me, after all, and comes out only when I fight, coz that's what these fists are meant for," Marty exhales shakily.
Callen stretches his arm out to catch Marty's wrist and draws it back to them, "Maybe adrenaline will normally do that to you... but it doesn't always. As for us agents, the one who owns a situation is the one whose hands don't shake either. That means you don't miss the target. You have it under control. You think, then you shoot. You analyze a situation before you go in and produce chaos. And some are natural at this, people like you. Kensi the same. I know her records. Her hands won't shake either. It is instinct, to you, but it's also your will to survive. Because your brain knows that there's something worth living for, and that instinct protects it, for you. In that warehouse, that guy could've killed you. So you knocked him out. You protected your life coz it was still dear to you, and thank God it was. When you knifed Carter, you did it for the same reason – and because you didn't want another child to suffer through that. And when you choked that guy out, you did so to protect the girls. This is not killer instinct, it's protection instinct. That your hands won't shake just shows how serious you take it with protecting what's important to you."
"But it can turn into the other quite effortlessly," Marty argues.
"It won't," Callen shakes his head. "How do you know?" Marty makes a face. He doesn't know, and he is the one experiencing this, right?
"Coz I know," Callen shrugs. Marty shoots him a glance, but then the older brother goes on, "I know that someone who saves fifteen children out of a prostitution ring at the risk of his own life, who risks his life again for a stranger who would've been gunned down by the Pusher in this prostitution ring, who saves two little girls of his brother's friend at the cost of his own life... that person won't turn darkside, no matter what the circumstances. You didn't until now, so you won't do in the future... and if nothing of that convinces you... I'm still there to yank you back from the cliff."
"You're wrong about one thing, though," Marty says.
"And that is?" Callen frowns. He actually thought this was pretty convincing and... emotionally loaded.
"You weren't a stranger to me when I stopped the Pusher. I knew your name," Marty smiles at him.
Callen can't help but smirk. He pats the teenager on the back.
Meanwhile over at the NCIS, the team gathered in the Ops to discuss their latest findings.
"So, what did you get from the interrogations?" Nell asks Sam and Kensi. They spent the entire morning interrogating those bastards, and Sam had to give it everything he had not to punch them all for what they did not only to G's family, but also to his own, so to the family at all. That was one of the reasons why Hetty decided that Kensi should handle the guy who stabbed G.
"About... nothing at all," Kensi sighs, hugging her arms, "Normally, those guys break under the pressure, but they are really good. I made deals. I even flirted with one guy... I threatened them with everything, really everything, still... nothing."
"That is irritating. That is usually the behavior of people operating in a more influential group. Yet, as our information looks like, this was a small group, no network," Hetty grimaces.
"Same with my guys," Sam nods, "They don't say anything about the attack on G, or the ambush at my house."
"Anything on the bomb yet?" Kensi asks.
"It was a standard wireless trigger. The driver set it off when Sam and Callen came by," Eric confirms.
"So nothing about the brand to maybe figure it out?" Sam asks.
"No, it wasn't a great thing anyway. It was just supposed to serve as distraction, most likely," Nell approves.
"Then what on the ambush?" Sam questions.
"We checked video footage and so on. They didn't tag either one of us. They just went to the places without following the cars," Eric informs him.
"So... they knew where we live," Kensi grimaces. That is definitely not good.
"How would they know?" Sam argues, "the three who came to my house are idiots. From the bit they talked to us... they were honestly surprised that Marty was there, and they really don't seem to be the type that plots, really, let alone work out a strategy."
"You said that you drove to the apartment, maybe that's why they thought he'd be over there. Eric's just said that they didn't tag us," Kensi argues.
"But why would they think that Marty'd be alone at the apartment?" Sam questions.
"Maybe they didn't know about Marty at all. If they didn't tag us... they just had the addresses. And once it was time, they just went to there to... do whatever," Kensi replies.
"It might be that the coup wasn't actually directed at us," Hetty throws in.
"Right. We thought it was to scare us off, but they didn't tag us. They specifically moved to our apartments. So that can't really be," Kensi nods.
"They didn't try to take the kids hostage, as it seems, so that can't be reason either," Sam nods.
"The execution wasn't very refined, or else Marty wouldn't have managed to overpower them," Kensi goes on.
"They had to pull it off fast, and that's why they were otherwise unprepared," Hetty agrees.
"And the time... they attacked somewhat around eleven to midnight. They had to fear that Michelle and I would already head back by the time. It would have been smarter to attack... maximum thirty minutes after we headed out. Why did they wait that long?" Sam questions.
"They moved upon someone's order," Kensi bites his lower lip, "Went in there blindly."
"But why the houses?" Nell questions, "why not NCIS? LAPD, something?"
"They would have been caught for sure," Eric argues.
"Maybe they were looking for something," Hetty suggests.
"But they checked the children's' rooms," Sam argues. Why would those people go looking in there of all places?
"If they didn't plan this thoroughly, which is very likely, then those guys probably wanted to make sure that no one was around to call police. The guy Marty choked out may have been instructed to check if someone is upstairs... and the other one just snapped when police came," Kensi replies mindfully.
"But that doesn't answer the question: What did they want?" Sam argues.
"Maybe they thought you had something that they want," Hetty suggests, "or want back."
"I'm a federal agent. I didn't take anything from the scene," Sam shakes his head. Agents don't do that, ever.
"They weren't too smart," Eric shrugs.
"And they checked all our apartment, not just yours specifically," Kensi adds, "Wait, so maybe they don't think that we took something from the scene, but maybe they think we have something from the our research that... somehow, they think is with us?"
"Why would we take this home?" Sam insists. That just doesn't make any sense.
"We have to find out who ordered them, that's the only way we figure this out," Kensi says.
"That means... next interrogation round," Sam sighs.
"Check another time if somehow information leaked to the outside that could make them believe that we have something valuable to them, Mr. Beale, Ms. Jones. I will make some phone calls," Hetty orders.
The agents head back out and the analysts start to work on their computers. Hetty glances at the screens with a sigh on her thin lips.
There are just too many open questions, still.