Chapter Thirty Seven: Heroes and Villains
Oh dear. The evil plot bunny has hopped back in and things have gone every so slightly wrong.
"Okay. Run that by me again. Slowly. Because I'm sure I must have misheard things. Maybe my ears are going, just like my eyes. For a moment I could swear I heard you say that Sam has gone undercover, with no contact and only Nate for back-up." Callen was finding it very hard to keep his temper.
"That's basically it, in a nutshell. Which is possibly not the best analogy to use when we're talking about PTSD, but there you go. Except that Nell is going in the day after tomorrow. With me."
"This just gets better. A non-agent who can't possibly look after herself in a dangerous situation, let alone get Sam out of there, and a cop with an arm out of commission. Fantastic."
"Nell can kick thunk in the junk again, you know. That worked out fine last time."
"Apart from the fact you nearly got killed, you mean? Yeah, that worked out great. The doctor said you didn't suffer any brain damage back then, but after hearing this plan, I'm not so sure"
Marty felt like smacking Callen on the head, only that was probably kind of dangerous, seeing the guy was still recovering. The bandages were off now and he was allowed to sit up and move around for short periods, provided that he still spent the majority of time lying down. He'd been tetchy and on edge since the moment he arrived and right now Marty was pretty bear the end of his patience.
"Except it's not my plan. And just so you know, I was against it from the start. Only by the time I knew the full extent of the craziness, Sam was already in place. So I had the choice of giving him whatever one-handed lame-ass cop protection I could, or leaving him on his own." There was a lot more Marty could have said, a lot more he wanted to say, but he was interrupted by the chime of the intercom, signalling that someone was at the front-gate. "You want to hold onto those thoughts, Callen and we can take this up later?" He stalked out, leaving Callen feeling like a heel.
"Crosby?" Marty started at the handset in disbelief. "Is your Mommy with you? Okay, you stay right where you are and I'll be right with you." Stopping only to yell "Kensi! I need you down here right away!" he sprinted down the drive, hardly able to believe that the kid had managed to get all the way from his own home out here. God only knows what could have happened to him – it was a miracle Crosby was still in one piece and not lying in a ditch somewhere with his throat cut. Or worse. Only there he was, standing at the gates, sucking contentedly on a popsicle and holding onto the hand of a slim young woman and looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Hi Marty!" Crosby said happily and rand through the gates happily. "I came to visit you!" He flung his arms around Deeks' waist and hugged him delightedly.
"Yeah, I can see that. But you're a long way from home, buddy. And I bet Mommy will be worried."
"Naw, she thinks I'm at Jakes. Ain't you glad to see me, Marty?" His little face looked dejected and Marty felt like he'd kicked the child.
"Of course I'm happy you're here. But I'm just worried that you could have got hurt. You're not supposed to go away places by yourself, are you?"
"I wasn't by myself," the boy informed him. "I was with Meera. She helped me."
The girl stepped forward shyly. "I found him walking by himself and I was worried. He said he was going to see Marty and wouldn't tell me where he lived, so I thought I should bring him here."
"Thanks for looking after him." Marty began to understand why Sam shaved his head. With a kid like that he'd either pull all his hair out or go gray overnight.
"Meera bought me this," Crosby said, pulling the popsicle out of his mouth to show it off. He stuck it back in and sucked it with obvious relish, and thrust a sticky hand into Marty's as they walked back up the drive towards the house. "You want to see Marty's dog, Meera? He's called Bobby and he can chase a ball and turn somersaults and everything."
The girl smiled at Deeks. "I can't stay long. I have things to do, but I just wanted to make sure he got here safely."
Kensi was standing in the hallway as they walked in, looking slightly concerned. "Panic averted?"
"We've got unexpected visitors – this is Crosby and Meera, who must be thirsty after that long walk. How about I go get us all some juice and let Denise know where he is?" He went off towards the kitchen.
"Come on through here," Kensi said invitingly, but she was ignored.
"Where's your Daddy?" Meera asked Crosby. "You said your Daddy was here." She took hold of his arm and gave it a shake.
"Daddy was here. He told me, "Crosby protested. "But then he went away." He tried to pull away from Meera, but she held on to him tightly.
Kensi was starting to get a bad feeling about this girl. There was something about Meera that was setting off warning bells.
"You said he would be here, you stupid little brat." Meera slapped him across the face and Crosby fell backwards onto the marble floor, too shocked to cry at first.
"Leave the kid alone!" Kensi protested, starting towards the girl, who had fury blazing in her eyes.
"No!" There was a gun in Meera's hand and it was pointing directly at Crosby's head, even as he set up a banshee wail. "I came for his father – so bring him here. Or his son will die. An eye for an eye. A son for a brother."
In the name of the wee man. What the hell is going on? Exactly who is she and who was her brother? Kensi couldn't believe her ears. And she was conscious that she had a barely healed wound in her stomach and no gun anywhere within reach. And that Sam's son was about three inches away the barrel of a gun.
Like I said at the begining: oh dear. Oh dearie me.