To live and not to breathe
Is to die in tragedy
To run, to run away to find what to believe
And I leave behind this hurricane of fucking lies
I lost my faith to this, this town that don't exist…
I don't feel any shame, I won't apologize
When there ain't nowhere you can go
Running away from pain when you've been victimized
Tales from another broken home

- "Tales of Another Broken Home," Part V of "Jesus of Suburbia," Green Day

. . .

Deeks had been in the hospital for three days before he could stay awake more than a few moments at a time. Aside from the injuries he'd sustained, the stress and emotional repercussions of the entire operation had caused such extreme sleep deprivation that exhaustion had been added onto his list of diagnoses. He hadn't yet absorbed much information from the doctors who passed by on occasion, instead relying on Kensi to worry about his physical health, knowing she'd look out for him.

The downside of his protracted sleep was that it usually ended in a nightmare of one kind or another. They overwhelmed him, regularly assaulting him with harsh and twisted memories of pain he'd endured, or pain he'd inflicted. Both themes upset him but it was the infliction of pain he knew would haunt him the longest. He appreciated Kensi's continuous and reassuring presence and wished he could tell her how much it meant to him. She looked as tired as he felt, and he knew he should encourage her to go home to sleep and be with the kids, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Kensi provided him with love and support and hope that things would turn out OK, something he had difficulty envisioning. Beyond all that, she was the only person he could easily talk with. The nurses had given him a pad of paper and a pencil, but his grogginess and impatience kept him from using them most of the time.

Instead, so long as Kensi was there, he could communicate via her lip-reading abilities. They provided a lifeline to the world he'd otherwise be isolated from. Until the doctors removed the damn tube in his throat, hopefully in a few days' time, he remained stuck in limbo, unable to do much to work through his emotions and at the mercy of whatever visitors stopped by, having to listen to them without the ability to easily respond. Most of the time, he honestly wasn't sure if he preferred the waking pain and frustration or the nightmares that plagued his sleep.

It was nighttime and he was back in the trailer at the dock. He looked around for Isaac but there was no sign of him. He felt caught in something and looked down at his hands to see that they were tied to the chair, that he was bound there and about to be tortured. Out of the shadows stepped Benny, his eyes angry. "You betrayed us, Deeks. You're a traitor."

Benny walked up to Deeks as other Brothers stepped forward, forming a circle and taunting him with hate-filled words. Benny walked around behind him and placed both hands on Deeks' shoulders for a moment before he slowly wrapped them around his throat and started squeezing. He wanted to fight back, to push Benny off him, but he couldn't move. Benny uttered a series of curses at him, except for some odd reason his voice now had a Russian accent, which caused Deeks' heartrate to quicken drastically. He couldn't see behind him to confirm his attacker's identity as Benny, or Sidorov, or whoever it was, just kept squeezing.

He tried to shout for help, he tried to hurl his own curses back at his attackers, but no sound came out of his mouth. As he slowly began to lose consciousness, another, much smaller, figure emerged from the shadows. It was Hetty. She looked on sadly but didn't attempt to intervene. He gasped for breath as the hands squeezed even harder.

He realized Hetty had been speaking to him during his nightmare. He heard her say, "Mr. Deeks, everything is alright. You are alright. Can you open your eyes for me? Open your eyes, Martin."

He opened his eyes to see her standing at his bedside, her small hands holding his good one. He peered around for Kensi but didn't see her and closed his eyes tightly in frustration. He wanted to hit something and channeled his anger at the situation toward the only person available. He glared at Hetty and pulled his hand from her grasp, remembering all the reasons she was to blame for his current situation.

She gazed at him calmly, and said, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Deeks. For all that you went through, and are still experiencing. I take full responsibility for your pain, and shall do all I can to make sure you have everything you need to recover."

Her words deflated his anger a bit and, feeling guilty at his overreaction, he acknowledged them with a small nod.

"Mr. Callen has taken Ms. Blye out for lunch to give her a short break. She'll be back with you very soon… I wanted you to know that the FBI was able to leap into action immediately after we realized your cover was blown. They took possession of all of the stolen weapons, and took down most of the known members of all ten hate groups. Your work saved countless lives, Mr. Deeks. I hope you can take comfort – and pride – in your accomplishments. I know I do."

She patted him gently on the shoulder and he closed his eyes and let sleep claim him once more.

He was with Jameson and the other Brothers, and it was the Day of the Rope. They were dragging people from their houses and hanging them from streetlights and overpasses. Deeks didn't participate, but he didn't try to stop them either. He remained a passive observer. They arrived at a familiar-looking house and pulled one of its residents outside. He realized it was his house, and the resident was Derrick. Deeks watched as the Brothers taunted him with unbelievably cruel words, but he didn't intervene. When the noose was placed around his son's neck, he awoke with a start.

He didn't even try to stop the tears that flowed down his cheeks. Kensi softly wiped them away, offering sweet words of love and encouragement. Deeks thought he might be physically sick from the horror of this latest nightmare. How could his subconscious concoct such a scenario? God, what was wrong with him?

He reached out his good arm and pulled Kensi closer, clinging to her, and to her belief in him. He couldn't understand it, couldn't see how she managed to believe he was a good person worthy of her love. Yet he didn't know how he'd survive without her, so he just continued to hold on as tightly as he could manage over the biting pain emanating from his ribs.

"Can you tell me what your nightmare was about?" she asked. "It would really help to talk about it. I know it's hard, so hard, but I'm here for you." She pulled back slightly so she could see his face and watch his response.

He shook his head, the tears still falling. "Too horrible to share," he told her.

"What made it the most horrible?" she prompted.

"Me. I was terrible. Didn't protect Derrick." He looked away, ashamed of his confession.

"Deeks, baby, it was a dream. Listen to me, OK? Your subconscious is trying to make sense of all the awful things that happened to you on this op. It's also taunting you with the worst version of how you see yourself." She took his chin in her hand and pulled it toward her. "Deeks, you would die before you let anything happen to our children. I have no doubt about that and I know you know it's true. Don't let your subconscious make you doubt yourself."

He believed Kensi's words, and knew she had a point. He would die before he let anyone hurt his family. "Hard to remember who I am," he offered her.

She leaned down to kiss him and said, "That's what I'm here for, partner. I'm gonna keep reminding you who you are until it finally sinks into that thick head of yours, OK?" She smiled as she carded her fingers through his long hair, gently tugging the strands as if she could somehow burrow her hand right into his skull to straighten out his twisted thoughts.

"OK," he said as he closed his eyes and tried to relax into her touch and allow her words to penetrate deeply into his mind.

He sat on overwatch above the brightly colored walls of Pershing Square as his old team searched a huge crowd for the Brothers. From his vantage point on a rooftop, he could see the men approaching, surrounding the crowd and readying their powerful weapons. He tried to warn the team, but no sounds came. He kept trying to scream, yet remained mute. He could only watch in horror as the Brothers launched their weapons into the crowd, and he futilely looked on as the bodies fell, including Sam, Callen, and then Kensi-

He jerked awake to Kensi's soft voice pulling him from his latest nightmare. "It's OK, baby, you're OK. Open your eyes." He did as she instructed, looking up into her tired but beautiful face and finding comfort there even as his ribs throbbed with every breath.

"You have a visitor, Deeks," she said with a small smile, looking to the opposite side of the bed.

He slowly followed her gaze and saw Sam there, sitting in a wheelchair. He was covered in bruises, one eye still badly swollen, his left arm encased in plaster and hanging in a sling. Deeks could tell from the way Sam held himself how much pain he was in, and could only imagine what additional injuries the man had suffered to save his life. Tears threatened to fall as the heavy weight of responsibility crashed into him, and he turned away in shame.

"Hey, Deeks, it's OK," offered Sam. "Look at me." When Deeks didn't respond, Sam said again, softly but firmly, "Deeks, please look at me."

Deeks turned to his friend and Sam reached out his good hand toward him. Deeks took it, mouthing an "I'm sorry," that Kensi translated.

"No, Deeks. You don't get to be sorry for this. You did nothing wrong, OK? You didn't cause any of this to happen. We're the ones who are sorry. We let you down. I'm sorry I didn't get to you quicker. I'm sorry we couldn't stop what happened to Detective Leibovitz, god I'm so sorry. I hope you'll be able to forgive me."

Deeks had carried anger toward the whole team since the op began, a generalized bitterness and frustration at having to carry out the assignment because none of them had come up with a better way to handle it all. But in this moment, he realized that Sam hadn't failed him, he had only protected him. Maybe none of them had failed him. After all, he hadn't had any better ideas himself on how to deal with the Brothers. And he had volunteered for the assignment, even though it hadn't felt like he'd had a choice. He easily told Sam, "Nothing to forgive," and realized he meant it. His profound gratitude at the lengths to which Sam had clearly gone in saving his life caused a few tears to escape and he told him, "Thank you."

"Any time, brother, any time," Sam replied, his expression completely serious.

"You OK?" Deeks asked.

"I will be," Sam reassured him. "Got a broken arm and some busted up ribs, but it'll all heal in time."

As Sam described his injuries, the pain in Deeks' own wrist and ribs flared in sympathy. He grimaced, letting go of Sam's hand to clutch at his own chest. Once he'd ridden out the pain, he looked back at Sam and told him, "I'm glad."

Sam continued, telling him, "Callen's been taking good care of me, and they just released me. I'm gonna recuperate at his house. He's making sure I have an actual bed to sleep in and everything."

The vision of Sam using one of Callen's few pieces of furniture brought a genuine smile to Deeks' face, the first one since he'd been admitted.

"Thank you for what you did," Deeks repeated. "Those men…"

"Those men were monsters and I'm proud to have helped you take them all down."

Deeks realized he hadn't yet learned the individual Brothers' fates. He hesitated to ask, afraid of finding out that any of them might still be on the loose, but his curiosity outweighed his fear. "What happened to them all?"

Sam looked to Kensi, seemingly unsure about how much detail to offer. She took over the update, telling him, "All the men at the garage that day, including Dexter, were shot and killed except for Jameson. He surrendered." She hesitated before continuing, telling him, "Deeks, he actually saved your life. Dexter was going to shoot you and Jameson knocked the gun off target."

Deeks didn't know how to process that information. The man had considered him a traitor, and yet in the end, he'd protected him from his sociopathic brother. What did it mean? He wasn't up for figuring it out at the moment, and turned back to focus on Kensi's continuing update.

She told him, "Several more Brothers were killed when the FBI moved in on them outside of L.A. Johnson wasn't with them when the sting went down, but he was located and arrested trying to flee the city. Basically the entire group has been taken off the street or eliminated."

Deeks gave a slight nod, closed his eyes and breathed a figurative sigh of relief. Knowing the Brothers had been fully contained brought him a sense of reassurance, a feeling that the world had become considerably safer.

Sam told him, "You should feel so proud, Deeks. That was one hell of a difficult operation and I don't know many people who could have pulled it off."

"Thanks, Sam," was all he could say in reply. Did he feel proud of himself? He wasn't sure. The operation's success made him happy, but his actions throughout had him doubting himself, and doubting whether he deserved to feel any pride at all in what he'd done.

About a week after he'd first been admitted to Long Beach Memorial, the swelling in his throat had subsided enough for the doctors to remove Deeks' tracheotomy tube. He felt an immediate lift from being able to breathe normally.

A speech language pathologist and respiratory therapist visited him and Kensi to assess his ability to breath and swallow. They explained that he needed to stay on voice rest for a few more days before he could start speaking. They wouldn't know if he'd experience any after-effects from his injuries until he started talking again.

He'd been receiving nutrients through a central IV line and would continue that for a few more days before they'd start him with actual food. Meanwhile, his doctors had been dialing back the pain meds slightly, and every time he shifted position, the sharp pain in his rib cage made the dosage change all too apparent. Overall it was a lot to deal with, and while he tried to see the bright side of his slow improvements, he fell back all too easily into frustration at his inability to communicate and at the physical pain he'd likely be experiencing for several more weeks.

He finally felt secure enough to encourage Kensi to take a break and go home to spend some time with the kids. Before she left, she attempted to convince him to reconsider letting Derrick visit, but he still didn't think he could handle it. So much was tied up in seeing Derrick or Delilah. He didn't want them to see him so hurt, worried it would scare them. He didn't want them to see him so emotional, and so depressed. He wanted to be strong for them, but he didn't think he was ready to even fake it. He still felt ashamed of himself for some of his actions on the operation, and still worried that he didn't deserve to return to his happy life with them.

In addition, he didn't know if it was even safe for the kids to be around him. He'd just come off a violent op where he'd seen exactly the level of violence he could still inflict, and to top it off, the doctors had actually listed "a propensity for violence" as a possible side-effect of near strangulation. He just didn't trust himself to be around them.

He typed some of this out on his phone, which he'd taken to using over the pad of paper. He texted it to Kensi and she reluctantly agreed to keep the kids away, but also scolded him for thinking he could pose a danger to any of them. And she reassured him that Derrick had more strength, resilience and understanding than he gave him credit for. Then she kissed him good-bye and left for the day.

A short time later, Hetty and Callen appeared in his doorway. He waved in greeting and they entered his room, Callen shaking his hand and gripping his shoulder, telling him how he'd visited a number of times already but he'd always been asleep. Hetty followed and rested a hand on Deeks' arm, telling him, "Mr. Deeks, it's good to see you, and very nice to see how much better you look from just a few days ago."

He nodded at her and started a text message to them both, typing, How's Sam?

Callen let him know that Sam was fine, although frustrated with Callen's inability to cook him anything nutritious. Hetty added that she'd taken the liberty of having a personal chef she knew prepare dinner for them each night. Deeks gave a small smile and a thumbs up at the update.

Hetty asked him, "Do you know what today is, Mr. Deeks?" He shook his head and she told him, "It's the first of August."

The news that the would-be Day of the Rope had arrived hit him hard. He laid his head back and looked up at the ceiling, blowing out a long, quiet breath as he tried to absorb the idea that, but for their operation, the day would have been filled with bloodshed and horror across the country. Hetty and Callen sat silently, letting him contemplate the news.

As tears began to fill his eyes, Callen finally interjected, "Today is just a regular day, Deeks, for all the people you saved. They're out there today, going about their lives, walking their dogs, taking their kids to school, seeing their friends… just living. And that's thanks to you."

They sat quietly for a bit longer before Hetty pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. She unfolded it and began reading him a list of all the targets of the ten hate groups across the country who had planned to massacre innocent people on the Day of the Rope. Mosques, synagogues, churches, LGBTQ centers, convention halls hosting African American groups, Holocaust museums, soccer stadiums, cultural centers, schools, theaters. It was more than Deeks could possibly absorb. It overwhelmed him. How, but for a chance encounter on an L.A. street, could all of this have come so close to happening? The magnitude of the plans shook him.

When his mind had finally stopped running, he texted them, So scary how close they came to pulling it off.

Hetty replied, "Yes, it is, Mr. Deeks. But a friend of mine used to say that worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy. I hope you'll be able to take tremendous satisfaction in the key role you played in the operation that did stop all those horrible things. You saved the lives of thousands of people. I know it wasn't easy, and you had to participate in some things you're not proud of, but please remember that at the end of the day, you did what you needed to do to save all those people. Your sacrifice meant something, Mr. Deeks. It meant a great deal indeed."

Deeks took in Hetty's words even as the target list continued to revolve through his mind. He began to see her point. His actions had led to a greater good, and he felt his burden of shame and guilt lifting a bit.

A few days after the thankfully still fictional Day of the Rope, Deeks' IV feeding line was removed and he got to enjoy a small bit of Jello. His speech language pathologist also came by and let him try speaking a few actual words. He chose a short, "Hi Fern, I love you," to Kensi as his first attempt. His voice sounded scratchy, hoarse, and weak, like he had terrible laryngitis, but his words made Kensi laugh even as she cried, and he was glad.

A few days after that, he was ready to be released. Since his broken ribs and wrist made crutches impossible, he was to be confined to an electric wheelchair while his knee healed. Being so immobile frustrated him, but he was grateful to be allowed to keep talking, even with the limits on volume and duration the speech pathologist had imposed.

The idea of seeing Derrick and Delilah caused Deeks the most nervousness. He feared he wouldn't handle the reunion well and that he would upset Derrick. Kensi assured him that she had given their son the pertinent details about his condition, that he understood Deeks had had a rough time on his assignment, and knew he needed to give Deeks love and support, but also space when he asked for it.

Deeks could only hope that he wouldn't screw things up too badly. Kensi had suggested Derrick come to the hospital to escort him home as a way of giving them time to themselves before inserting Delilah and Roberta into the mix, and he'd reluctantly agreed.

It had been two weeks since he'd nearly been killed by the Brothers of the Rope. He'd signed the release paperwork and sat in his wheelchair, nervously waiting for Kensi and Derrick to arrive. He heard a soft knock at the door, which then swung open, revealing his brightly smiling wife holding two baskets of goodies for the nurses, with their son standing quietly by her side.

He couldn't help the tears that sprung to his eyes at the sight. He hadn't realized until that moment exactly how much he'd missed the boy. He hadn't allowed himself to think about him, to really conjure him in his mind, for such a long time, and now Derrick stood there before him and the all-encompassing love he felt for him, the love he'd been denying himself, returned in full force.

"Derrick," he scratched out, reaching out his hand. Derrick quickly stepped forward but then paused as he reached Deeks, looking like he was afraid of hurting him. Deeks assured him, "You can hug me – I'd really like that - you just have to do it really, really, gently." The boy did just that, bending down and stretching his arms gingerly around Deeks' shoulders. Deeks' painful ribs wouldn't allow him to reach his own arms all the way around his son, but he did the best he could, telling him in a voice filled with emotion, "It's so good to see you. I missed you so much."

Kensi interjected quietly, instructing Derrick, "Sit there with Marty for a minute, OK? I'm just gonna check in with the nurses' station and give them their thank you gifts."

Derrick pulled the visitor chair over to where Deeks sat, sitting down beside him and looking him over. "How do you feel?" he asked somberly.

Deeks sighed, and replied in a cracking voice, "That's a complicated question, I think. But the short answer is that I'm getting better every day, and I think being home with you is only going to help me with that." He was surprised at how much he believed his own words even as the usual doubts filled his head. Still, he decided to cling to Kensi's belief in him, hoping she would turn out to be right. She usually was, after all.

"I'm glad you're OK," Derrick told him.

"Me too, buddy. Me too," he said as he wrapped his hand around the back of his son's head. He knew he couldn't really describe himself that way at the moment, but he allowed himself to believe that maybe he would be someday soon.

A/N: Hetty's line about worry is a quote from a motivational speaker/USC professor named Leo F. Buscaglia. And thanks to Bluenet13 for providing some great constructive criticism about my transitions into Deeks' dreams. It was much appreciated.