Predictably, Matthews wasn't giving up without a struggle. Sam and Callen let him sweat for a while, as they documented the evidence they had against him: step after step, relating each tiny thread, building up the warp and weft of the case they had against him, slowly adding stitch upon stitch, detailing each aspect of the tapestry that portrayed his duplicity. The email records were the final dart of the needle into the fabric: narrating each contact, going back over eight years.

"Do you want to think about changing your mind, Trevor?" Sam's voice was almost kindly. It had fooled many better men than Trevor. He watched as the beads of perspiration trickled down Matthews' face and felt not one iota of sympathy towards the creep.

"Or we could turn you over to our colleagues in the United Kingdom, with whom we have an extradition treaty" Callen suggested. "They seem to be very eager to talk to you."

"Lovely Victorian prisons they have over there," Sam reflected happily. "They have the quaintest tradition called "slopping out", did you know? Seemingly, there aren't enough toilet facilities and the British tax-payer doesn't see why their hard earned money should go on little luxuries like indoor plumbing for prisoners, so they make do with "chamber pots" in the cells. And once a day, you get to empty it out. Of course, what with overcrowding, it can quite rank with four men in a cell. And their four chamber pots, of course."

Nico was entranced by this line of attack. "I almost feel guilty that I mentioned Trevor has a bashful bladder. It really doesn't seem fair for them to torture him quite so much, does it? But then when I think of the 8% he's been getting from me for five years, I could string him up by his thumbs quite cheerfully."

"I'd do more than that," Deeks said, watching as Matthews started talking very quickly. "I spent a long time sitting by Kensi's bed, thinking about exactly what I'd do to each and every person who had so much as a fingertip in this. And I can be very inventive when I have to be."

"It's going to be alright," Nico consoled. "Kensi is going to be fine. Everything went alright and they didn't have to do the hysterectomy. You're going to have a wonderful future together, just like you've always deserved."

The smile on his face went nowhere near his eyes, it just sat unnaturally. "I wish I could be as sure. She didn't take it very well." That was an understatement. Kensi been horrified.

"You made that decision? Without asking me?" She looked at him as if he were a complete stranger.

"There wasn't time – and you were unconscious."

"It doesn't matter. You had no right."

"I was trying to save your life." He was pleading now. "And they didn't have to do the hysterectomy. Everything is alright. But I couldn't risk losing you."

But she hadn't wanted to hear. Kensi had turned away from him to face the wall, as if she could not bear to look at him for a second longer.

"I love you, Kensi. You are the most important thing to me. Only you. Please understand."

She said nothing. Yesterday, she had sat with her back turned to him, but that had been different.

Marty couldn't give up. He had to make her understand. "We can get through anything as long as we're together."

"Go away."

And then Callen had come in and Marty had left, not knowing what was happening. He still wasn't sure. All he knew was that it wasn't good. In fact, it sucked.